2 30 AM, October 31 "There's nothing I can do right now. I'll check on it in the morning." I hung up the phone before the woman on the other end said anything more and I stood in the gloomy darkness of my study. I was sorry to have awakened the woman but it was something I needed desperately to know. She had no answers for me in that late hour, but had insisted that there had been no vandalism at the cemetery in years and the Vecchio plots had not at all been disturbed. She'd assured me that she would check on it in the morning if I were still interested. But there was a desecration of one of the gravesite. I was certain of it. My lover and I... well... we had had an interesting few hours together, to say the least. Our lovemaking couldn't have been sweeter, although it was a bit desperate and wild. I could still taste the tangy tea he'd drunk, I could still feel the urgency and desire in his fingertips as they stroked and caressed me. I could still feel his body against mine, and his lips on my face. But after we'd finally fallen apart from each other, exhausted and he'd drifted off to something resembling slumber, I remained stiff and frightfully awake. I had left Ben in our bed and went to make that phone call to the manager of the cemetery, located thirty miles north of Chicago, because I couldn't sleep. I couldn't bear to look at him anymore. Ben was dozing in our bed, yes, and that normally wouldn't have been any worry of mine, except for the fact that, I had buried him in my family plot only three months ago. Benny, always the helpful Mountie, always acting without regard for his personal safety, had gotten himself into quite a heinous situation. Riots in Chicago were always the worst thing to get involved in. Cops in riot gear were the only ones remotely brave enough to tackle the mobbing crowds. But fearless and unprotected, Ben had gone in to do what he thought was his duty, rescuing a little old lady from being trampled. Tragically, his bit of heroism cost him his life for there are just so many blows that a body can take before it gives out. I try not to think about how my lover was murdered, or remember how I held his bloody and battered body against me as he died, slowly choking on his own blood. I sat at the desk in the study and clicked on the lamp. I reached to open the second drawer on the right where I kept my records. Tucked neatly in a small accordion folder, I saw that they were still in order: a bill from Vanderburgh Funeral Home and the extra invoices for the casket and ceremony. I fingered the thin yellow bill and noted the date. Nothing mysterious about that. I lay the yellow paper on the desk blotter and drew out a cut piece of photograph from my houserobe's pocket. It was the *me* part of the photo of the two of us, Ben and me. I reached into the accordion folder and drew out the other half. It was the part showing him. He looked calm and his blue eyes were serene, almost as if he were getting a glimpse of the photographer's soul through the lens of the camera. I had cut the picture to separate the two of us and had placed the part showing me in the breast pocket of his uniform's shirt thinking that he would be buried with at least a part of me against his heart. There was no way anyone could have gotten his or her hands on that cut photo. That's why I knew the grave had been destroyed for the photograph was one of a kind, a Polaroid. The man which lay in my bed was an imposter, though the half of the photo, showing me, was the first thing he'd showed me earlier this night when I'd gotten home late from work. He'd met me in the darkness by my car in the driveway of the house we'd shared and without saying a word, he thrust his half of the picture into my paralyzed hands. He was obviously using that as proof of his identity. But as I stared at his intact face, I just couldn't believe it was really Ben. Even his lips didn't convince me, as he drew me tight to him, and devoured my mouth with his. But I allowed him to lead me inside the house where I eagerly, repeatedly and thoughtlessly fucked him, while crying his name through uncontrollable tears. ## Under the light of the lamp, I held the picture together overlapping the cleanly cut edges. I lay the two pieces down on the blotter next to the bill and bore down on my palms on the desk. On impulse, I reached for the telephone to ring the cemetery manager again, but I didn't make it. I was distracted. A noise startled me from my muse and I shot upright, banging my knee on the corner of the open drawer. Pain screamed violently up my thigh and twisted my gut, forcing a wave of nausea into my chest. I shouted a well-deserved curse. In my haste and anger to slam shut the drawer, I accidentally caught the thin chord of the lamp. The lamp scooted across the desk's rim and upset a pile of newspaper clippings. As they slithered to the carpeted floor, I noticed the figure standing in the open doorway. I tasted cold fear rising in the back of my throat and his name slipped from my lips before I registered that I had spoken. Ben walked slowly almost delicately towards me, his tall form seeming to materialize as he moved from the darkness the hallway to the pool of yellow light thrown off by the overturned lamp. Dressed only in navy blue cotton pyjama bottoms, he knelt beside the mess. Wordlessly, he began to pick up the clips of newspaper as if it were not strange to find his lover puttering about in the middle of the night. I dropped to my knees before him, emotionally overwhelmed and unable to remain upright any longer. As if pondering his next move, Ben studied the clippings whose thick black headlines proclaimed his own death. He then raised his eyes and brushing his dark brown hair off his forehead, he rose. I followed him up with my eyes and then looked dumbly at the hand he offered me. I took it, letting him pull me up. "You're dead, Benny," I managed to say. Ben tossed the newspapers on the desktop and as if I hadn't said a word, he released me and picked up the two halves of the photo. "You found the other half, Ray," he said smiling, and indicating to the pictures. His voice was low and frighteningly sensuous in the quiet of the room. I shuddered and snatched the pieces from him. "It wasn't lost," I growled. Ben rested his blue eyes on me and took one step to close the distance between us. In the dim light his fingers were pale against my skin as he took hands. He searched in my eyes for a long time, but what he was looking for, I didn't know. Maybe he looked for trust, which was something I wasn't sure I could give. But how could I doubt the man I'd spent the best ten years of my life with, the man with the intact face and intent aqua chips for eyes? The man I'd had taken mercilessly in our bed only hours before. He looked at me, with his eyes eerily calm and then he said, "I have only until the morning." Ben let me go, turned and retreated into the darkness. I stood there, trying to swallow the turn of events. Then I remembered. Through all the screaming and all the grieving, I had wished for this. I had wished for his return, if just for one night. If for just one night, I would do anything to have him back. So, there he was, but how... I didn't want to begin to understand. I turned off the light and followed him back to the bedroom. My wish had been granted and I was going to take advantage of it. -end