EPILOGUE
Lazarus stood beside the bed, shed the midnight-blue jacket of his Italian suit, and lay across the end of the bed. His head dipped as he slowly unfastened his tie, then began unbuttoning his white dress shirt. His heart felt heavy in his chest—a feeling he hadn’t experienced in nearly two decades.
The day he died… and was brought back to life.
The day he became Lazarus.
The sounds of that day erupted in his head.
Tires squealing on asphalt. The “pop-pop” of gunshots. And screams. His screams.
· ? ? ·
The boy lay crumpled on the sun-warmed concrete, a dark crimson stain spreading across his faded Avengers T-shirt.
The skateboard lay upside down, wedged between the curb and the underside of his car.
“No!” The cry ripped from his throat as he crashed to his knees beside his little brother, the impact sending jolts of pain up his thighs.
Frothy scarlet bubbles formed at the ragged hole in the boy’s chest with each shallow breath.
His hands trembled as he pressed them to the wound, warm blood seeping between his fingers and soaking his hoodie’s cuffs.
“Help!” he screamed, his voice cracking as he whipped his head from side to side. “Somebody help us!”
Nobody came. His head snapped to the side as the Camaro's red taillights bled into the shadows while it fishtailed around the corner onto a side street, its tires leaving twin streaks of scorched rubber on the asphalt.
The engine's howl echoed between the brick buildings, gradually fading, leaving only the acrid stink of burnt rubber and gunpowder in the late afternoon air.
He was shaking, his hands slick with his little brother’s blood as he pressed harder, trying to stop the bleeding.
“HEELLPP!!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.
His frightened eyes fell to his little brother as the boy's body began to convulse.
“No-no-no! Sammy! Hold on! Hold on!” He whipped his head around again, crying in panic. “Someone HELP US!!”
Sammy convulsed violently and spit up a glob of blood that spilled over his chin and down his neck. His body arched violently, then relaxed and went still.
“No-no-no-nooo!! Sammy… SAMMY!!”
Rage and panic swept through him, and he stumbled to his feet, Sammy’s blood dripping from his hands.
He rushed forward on shaky legs. As he passed the dead black boy, he spotted a handgun poking from the boy’s waistband.
He grabbed the weapon and raced down the street, chasing the distant revving of the Camaro’s engine.
“I’ll kill you!” he screamed, crying, tears flying off his face. “I’ll fucking KILL YOU ALL!!”
But the car was gone, the sound of the engine fading into the distance, swallowed by the city's noise. He didn’t know when he’d stopped running, or even stopped moving at all.
When he came back to himself, he stood in an alley, the gun gripped loosely in his hand, the other hanging limply at his side, a faint drip-drip-drip of Sammy’s blood falling from his fingertips.
The gun suddenly felt heavy in his weak grip, and he tightened his fingers, clenching the weapon.
The image of Sammy, dead on the sidewalk, filled his head.
His blood felt like lava scalding his hands.
He raised the gun, dragging the barrel up his throat until it lodged beneath his chin.
He lifted his head and stared at the twilight sky, then closed his eyes.
His bloody finger curled around the trigger… and began to squeeze.
Then he saw his mother’s face as she was told that both her sons were dead.
Tremors ran through him, and something inside him broke. He turned and ran as fast as he could back to Sammy. The boy’s body was gone, only a large, coagulating puddle of blood on the sidewalk marking where he had fallen.
He looked around desperately, then raced for home.
“Mom!” he cried, bursting through the front door of the shitty apartment.
“MOM!” He sobbed so hard he could barely walk, clutching the wall and leaving blood smears on the faded wallpaper.
“Mom…” One arm curled around his stomach as he hunched forward, choking on sobs, tears, snot, and saliva dripping from his chin.
He staggered into the kitchen and froze.
His father sat at the table, his chair scooted back, his head hanging as he stared at the floor.
He isn’t real. He isn’t really here.
Swaying on his feet, he gripped the doorframe. “What…” he choked, his sobs catching in his throat. Before he could ask the question – ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ – he smelled liquor and gunpowder in the air, then saw the gun on the table, the man’s hand resting limply over the weapon.
“What… What did you do?” he cried at the man. “Where’s Mom? Where is she?!”
His father didn’t move. “She got the call,” he mumbled, his words slurred. “Sammy was dead.” The man’s head swayed. “She let my son get shot.”
“Where is she?!”
His dad fixed heavy-lidded eyes on his oldest son. “She let my boy die.”
“You don’t give a shit about Sammy!” he screamed at the man. “You never gave a shit about any of us! Where is my mom?!”
His dad dropped his gaze back to the floor.
What did you do? He moved into the kitchen, his legs shaking, and rounded the end of the table. His mom lay face down on the floor, blood pooling on the scuffed linoleum beneath her still body. “No! MOM!!”
He brought the gun up before he knew what he was doing. Shots erupted through the apartment. The first bullet took off the back of his dad’s skull—the second blew his brains out the side of his head.
Screams echoed deafeningly as he shoved the gun barrel under his chin and squeezed the trigger repeatedly.
The rapid clicking of the empty chamber dropped him to his knees.
The gun slipped from his bloody hand, and he fell forward on his elbows, his bloody fingers sinking into his hair as he screamed against the linoleum until his mind cracked and the person he was… was no more.
· ? ? ·
Lazarus opened his eyes, warm tears draining down his face, and gazed at Lord. “I died that day.”
“Yes.” Lord touched his lips to the tattoo. “And I brought you back.”
Sliding his hands up the back of Lord’s strong neck, Lazarus kissed his shaven head. “My Lord… and Savior,” he whispered, then raised Lord’s face. He pressed a firm kiss to his lips as tears fell. “I need your saving grace again tonight.” His kiss deepened, and he pushed against the man.
Lord stripped him naked and shed his own suit, then laid Lazarus down on the thick satin comforter. “Relax,” he instructed softly against Lazarus’s lips, his strong, protective body settling over his lover. “And let me save you again.”