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Randy’s life was going pretty well, all things considered. He had a steady gig babysitting at Miss Beard’s, several interviews lined up at various filmmaking companies, and even his own apartment in town. And if he sometimes wore ugly yellow sweaters and blasted trashy punk in his car and went to the shooting range, then that was his own damn business.
It was one of those such days when he first noticed something was wrong. He had Black Flag’s My War pumping through the car’s speakers; he’d bought it on a whim at the local music store, seeing a cheap cassette copy in the shop’s window. He just finished an interview for an internship at Lionsgate and was feeling strangely confident. It was still something he was getting used to; his newfound self-acceptance was confusing and awkward. He was still figuring it out. He knew he hated the Randy who let people like Chris walk all over him, but he wasn’t sure he liked the Randy who slept with a gun under his pillow, either. But it was there, and he was doing better. And he owed that all to one man.
Stopped at a red light, he whispered a quick breath of thanks. The light flashed green, and he drove on. In the rearview, he could see the ghost of the man he had been. As he made his way home, he felt both lighter and heavier.
—
It was, by definition, a shitty apartment. With one room that couldn’t be more than 20 feet wide, it could hardly be called a studio. There wasn’t even a real bathroom, just a glorified closet with a toilet and an old clawfoot tub crammed inside. His bed was squished between the kitchen table and the wall. He didn’t even have a TV. But none of that mattered because it was his. Every dirty, grimy, falling-apart square inch belonged unequivocally to Randy fucking Bradley.
He was sitting himself on the bed, cracking open the spine of his newest read, when he felt a gust of wind blow past, ruffling his hair. It brushed against his forehead, drawing the lines of his face. Randy glanced over to the window, confused when he saw that it was closed. But the breeze persisted, flowing around him until the air was replaced by a shadow, and the breath was replaced by an ever so familiar face…
“BOO!”
“Oh, what the fuck?!”
“Ha! Still sounds weird coming outta your mouth!”
“You’re not real,” Randy said matter-of-factly, staring directly into Benson’s eyes.
“Yeah, I am.”
“Fuck you.”
“Sure.”
Randy ran a shaking hand through his hair. “No. No, I’m dreaming. This is a hallucination. I’m dreaming. Something!” He sucked in an unsteady breath, squeezing his eyes tight and counting to ten. When he opened them, Benson still stood there in that ugly yellow sweater ruined with the splatter of his blood, much to Randy’s chagrin. His mind replayed in its eyes what it looked like to see Benson collapse to the ground, weighted down with several leaden bullets piercing his flesh. He thought about how it looked to see Benson aim his gun at others, taking the shot and standing with a faint, blood-patterned smile as the bullets sprayed guts and viscera all over the restaurant. The circle of death, he supposed.
It was funny, how his mind could change so quickly. Just that morning, he had been ever-so-grateful to Benson for changing his life. And in a way, he still was. But now, with the man himself standing in front of him, illusion or not, Randy couldn’t help but lash out. Benson had taught him that, after all.
“Sorry to say, I’m real as this shitstain of an apartment. I’ll tell you, Randy, when I said you should move out, I didn’t mean to somewhere that barely qualifies as a room, much less a home.”
“Fuck off,” Randy grumbled. He absolutely did not need a lecture in sufficient living areas from the man who spent half his time in a car and the other half in a run-down house with his mother practically glued to the floor.
Benson chuckled. “Oh, he’s got some bite. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”
“Why are you here? How are you here? What is this?!”
Benson shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I mean, I know I’m fuckin’ dead. Got popped full ‘a too many bullets not to be. Guess I had unfinished business or some shit. I dunno how this fuckin’ ghost shit works!” He threw his hands up in defeat.
The rainbow of blood splattering from the police’s guns flashed in front of Randy’s eyes. He instantly felt guilty. How much of a dick did he have to be to blame a dead man for dying? Sure, Benson’s death was ruled a suicide by cop, but Randy knew there was more to it. It was just that seeing Benson again, after all this time, made him forget that.
Randy sighed. “I’m sorry. You…” he sucked in a breath. “I shouldn’t have been so hostile.”
Benson barked a laugh. “Fuck no! I’m glad you’re angry, Randy. I’m glad you finally fuckin’ listened to me.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
Benson cracked a real grin. “I’m glad.” He flopped down on Randy’s bed, kicking back like he owned the damn place. In a way he did. Randy never would’ve bought it if it wasn’t for Benson, he supposed. “So, Randy,” Benson said. Randy enjoyed the way the other man said his name. Lilted and sharp, with a teasing edge. It stood out from the rest of his speech, in a way that was made just for Randy. “Tell, me,” he continued. “What’ve you been up to?”
“What?” Randy balked. “You come into my home a goddamn ghost and all you wanna know is how I am! Well, right now I’m very fucking confused!”
Benson snorted. “Jesus, Rand, chill out. I thought you’d be flattered.” His voice softened. “And after all this, I thought you knew I cared about you.”
“This is crazy. Absolutely insane. But… fine.” He sucked in a breath. “I’ve been good-”
“Well,” Benson interrupts him with a smirk. “You’ve been well.”
Randy barked a laugh, swatting Benson’s shoulder. He was surprised, though, when it actually made contact. He thought ghosts were supposed to be transparent or whatever, but Benson looked and felt as real as the room around them. If he hadn’t seen the man die right in front of his eyes, he would’ve thought Benson had somehow cheated death.
“ Anyway,” Randy continued, rolling his eyes. “I moved out and signed up for filmmaking classes at community college. I’ve been interviewing for a couple of internships, too. I had one at Lionsgate this morning that I thought was promising.” He shrugged. “That’s about it, I guess. What about you?” Right as the words passed his lips, he realized what a stupid question that was. But Benson surprised him by answering, albeit vaguely.
“Oh, y’know,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Same old, same old. Got blown to pieces by a bunch ‘a fuckin’ cops, and woke up in your car. But hey, film, huh? I didn’t know you were into that!”
Randy blushed, feeling flustered for no reason at all. “Yeah, well, it’s, uh, kinda recent, I guess. I dunno. That whole… day , with you, it just felt so cinematic, almost like a movie. I guess that’s what got me interested.”
Benson looked surprised. “Really? That’s a nice way to look at it.”
Randy laughed, shaking his head ruefully. “Yeah, sure. Nice.”
Benson swallowed. “God, Randy, I’m really sorry.” He sighed, air blowing out heavily from his lungs, and ran a hand through his limp, stringy mop of hair. Apparently, there were no barbers in the afterlife, Randy thought to himself. “I fucked you up good, didn’t I?” He laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. “Yeah, I did. It’s my fuckin’ fault. Now everything you do is ‘cause ‘a me, ain’t it? That’s not living, Randy. Ain’t any more living than you were doing before. Fuck.”
“Huh?” Randy was bewildered. “I think you’re taking too much credit, man. It’s not all about you. Now fucking calm down, okay? I don’t hate you.”
“I never said-”
Randy cut him off. “You didn’t have to.”
“Fuckin’ Christ.” Benson sighed, rubbing his temples. All at once, it struck Randy how young Benson was. He had the world-weariness of a much older man, cynical in a way somebody could only be when knocking on death’s door. But really, Benson couldn’t have been more than thirty-five. Maybe he just hadn’t expected to live very long, cramming a lifespan’s worth into three short decades. Well, if that’s true, he wasn’t wrong, Randy thought ruefully. “I really am dead, aren’t I? GOD-FUCKING-DAMMIT!”
Benson’s demeanor changed for a moment, eyes alight and blazing with rage. For a moment, Randy thought he was going to try to trash the apartment- could he even do that?- or worse, hurt Randy. But it was gone in an instant as he settled back on the bed, head down in his hands. He was shaking with what must’ve been quiet sobs.
And seeing this man here, on his bed, crumbling apart, made Randy realize that Benson was just a man. He’d built Benson up in his mind to near-mythical status, putting him up on a pedestal and revering him like a god, all the while condemning him like a devil. In the process, he forgot Benson was a person. And he forgot people could cry.
“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Randy said, scooting closer and tentatively wrapping an arm around the other man’s shoulders, surprised when Benson didn’t push him away. “Yeah, sure, you’re dead, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re fucking alive, alright? ‘Cause I can see you, and I can hear you, and I can feel you, right here.”
“Yeah, but-”
“No,” Randy said. “Fuckin’ listen to me.” He put his hands on Benson’s shoulders, turning the other man so that they were face to face, foreheads touching. “You’re real to me.” And then they kissed.
Randy wasn’t sure who started it, but before he knew it they had crashed into each other, like planets colliding in a cosmic explosion. Benson was surprisingly warm for a dead guy, not quite to the living level, but at least room temperature. His hands found the small of Randy’s back, moving up and down the smooth skin. Benson’s mustache tickled his upper lip, but Randy found it much more pleasant than he thought he would.
But then Randy was feeling too much. All the senses crashed down upon him. The light streaming through his window was too bright. The sound of the heater whirring in his walls was deafening. The taste of Benson’s spit in his mouth was repulsive.
And the touch. Oh, the touch. Each point of contact between Benson’s body and his was on fire. Flames licked down his back, over his arms, caressing his lips. A warm cradle of terror. What was he doing!?
Randy shoved Benson away, turning from his look of betrayed confusion. “Oh, god, I can’t do this. I can’t do this! I’m not gay!”
Benson burst into laughter then, raking his body. “Fuck, Randy, that’s the funniest shit I’ve heard in a while!”
Randy frowned. “But… it’s true.” Was it?
“Kid, when I asked you that in the car, I already knew the truth. See, faggots like us always know. I just wanted to see if you’d figured it out yet.” He cracked a grin.”
“Huh,” Randy gaped. He thought back to when he dated Lisa, how he was so… indifferent to her. He’d thought it was just because of what happened with Miss Beard, but now… well, he guessed Benson was right. He fell back on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. “ Christ,” he breathed, scrubbing his fingers down his face.
“Yeah,” Benson said wryly. “I get it. I’ve been there. It’s okay, y’know. I ain’t gonna rush ya.”
“Thanks,” Randy sniffed. His life had been simultaneously turned upside-down and right-side-up, all because of Benson. But strangely, he was at peace with the chaos. “So, I guess that means you’re…” he trailed off.
“Yeah, man, I’m fuckin’ gay. You can say it, it’s okay.”
“I just…”
“Yeah. I know,” Benson said softly, reaching out to cup Randy’s chin like he’d done in the car that day. The sense of deja vu was cloying. Randy had to scoot back to breathe before he spiraled back into the guilt of that moment. Despite all the times Miss Beard had assured him that she forgave him, he could still sometimes sense himself slipping back into his old guilty pattern. Benson brought that out in him. But Benson also fixed it.
“Wait,” Randy said, brushing Benson’s hand away gently. A thought had occurred to him, something strange that Benson had said. “I was… You told me that you first regained consciousness in my car. But I didn’t see you until we got back here. So, why?” he asked plainly. “Why did you appear now? And why didn’t I see you before?”
Benson sighed. “I thought we were past this, Randy. I don’t know, okay? I’m not the master of the fuckin’ universe! Sometimes things just happen. But what I do know, is that you thanked me.”
“What?”
“In the car,” Benson clarified. “You were stopped at a light. And you said…” he swallowed thickly. “You said thank you. That’s the first thing I remember.”
“Oh,” Randy said softly, voice caressing the word’s soft syllable. “I… didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Benson cried. “What are you fuckin’ sorry for!? I’m glad you brought me back. It might be the best fuckin’ thing that’s ever happened to me!” He grabbed Randy’s cheek, pulling them together again. “So don’t fuckin’ apologize, got it?”
Randy nodded meekly, opening his mouth to speak. But he couldn’t get out so much as a breath before they were kissing again, mouths molding into each other. With deft, light hands, he pulled Randy’s shirt off over his head, gently tracing the lines of the scar on his shoulder. Randy felt the bullet go through him all over again, ripping through tendons and flesh and muscle. Benson’s frantic hands shoving a cloth up against the wound, stalling the bleeding with desperate eyes.
It felt much the same to have Benson kiss the soft pink lines into his skin, mouth drawing a map of constellations between each point of the perfectly drawn circle. Randy shivered, spine tingling as he leaned into it, letting a small moan escape his lips.
And right then he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter to him that Benson was the one who shot that bullet through him. Doesn’t matter how Randy begged Benson not to go out there with trembling words, you’re still in charge, Benson. Randy remembered his response. I was never in charge. But Randy was still bleeding. And a part of him was even now.
And he didn’t fucking care.