Dead and Hating It

Chapter 1-2

He had been down by the river one afternoon a year previously; taking pictures for a photo essay he was doing for the local paper about the colors of autumn. Not the most exciting story, but one the paper did every year to usher in the fall season.

He’d just taken two shots of a particularly brilliant red-leafed tree, its branches reflected on the surface of the slow-moving water, when he was aware of someone standing behind him.

“Sightseeing?” the man had asked when Kurt turned to look at him. “It’s a beautiful day for it.”

“Nope. Working,” Kurt had replied, eyeing the man. He was tall, or at least taller than Kurt’s five ten, with close-cropped blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and built like a weight-lifter. He also looked maybe ten years older than Kurt’s twenty-five.

“You’re a pro?”

Kurt had chuckled at his phrasing. “I’m a staff photographer for the local newspaper.” He told him what his assignment was.

“Mind if I watch? I promise I won’t make any suggestions about what you should be taking pictures of,” the man replied with an ingratiating smile. “Oh, I’m George.” He’d held out his hand.

“Kurt,” Kurt had said as they shook hands. “It’s a free country so I can’t stop you if you want to stick around.”

“Meaning you’d rather I didn’t.”

Kurt had shrugged before going back to what he’d been doing. He was used to people wanting to watch, although he’d never figured out why they found what he did so fascinating. To him, it was just a job. An interesting one at times, but that was it. As he moved farther down the riverbank, shooting more pictures, George followed along, occasionally commenting on something he saw, but that was it.

Eventually, it began to get dark. Too dark to take the sort of shots he wanted. Kurt had put his cameras back in their cases and started up the slope to the road, expecting George to take off for wherever he’d left his car.

Instead, George had said, much to Kurt’s surprise, “I was planning on eating supper at Maize’s. Would you care to join me?”

Maize’s was a small family-style restaurant not far from where they were standing. One Kurt had eaten at several times as the food was good.

After a moment’s hesitation, and because he was hungry, Kurt had replied, “Sure, why not.”

That had been the beginning of their relationship. When Kurt had asked, a week later while they were on their first date, why George had asked him out, George had replied, “I was fascinated with you, the moment I saw you.” He’d smiled wryly. “Yeah, I didn’t know if you were gay or not, but I was willing to find out and hoped you were. Silly of me? Probably. But I got lucky. You are.”

Kurt thought he was the one who had gotten lucky. George was all he’d ever wanted in a man—kind, caring, a good listener who seemed interested in everything Kurt had to say. It had taken another week before they’d fallen into bed. Then they were inseparable when they weren’t working, or during those times when George was off on a business trip as part of his job for the sales firm he worked for.

Then came the fateful day when George had suggested they celebrate their one-year anniversary by having a fancy picnic supper by the river, “At the spot where we met.”

Kurt thought he was being very romantic and told him so. They decided to have champagne and caviar to begin with, then chicken and provolone sandwiches topped with pesto sauce, and strawberries dipped in chocolate for dessert.

They arrived at the riverbank as the sun was going down. George lit the candles they’d brought with them, after spreading out a blanket, then they sprawled lazily on it while they drank champagne and ate—feeding each other the strawberries to end their meal.

“This has been perfect,” Kurt said. Feeling giddy from the amount of champagne he’d had, he kissed George, suggesting, since no one was around, they should make love—which they did.

When they finished, George said with a grin, “We need to wash off,” gesturing to the river. Kurt had no problem with that, even though it was very dark. He and George had gone swimming several times the previous summer, although at a beach farther up the river set aside for swimming and boating.

“Last one in…” Kurt said, jumping to his feet. He hit the water running, then dove in when it was deep enough, swam to the center, and dog-paddled while he waited for George to join him. After a moment, he called out, “Where are you? Did you chicken out?”

“Not at all,” George replied, startling Kurt when he suddenly popped up beside him. He wrapped his arms around Kurt, kissing him. Kurt fell into it, wondering if they could make love again, in the river. Then George said, “I’m sorry I have to do this, but it’s time for me to move on and try again.” He gripped Kurt’s shoulders, forcing him under the water. For a second, Kurt thought he was fooling around, until he realized exactly what George intended. He struggled to break free, but George was bigger and much stronger. He held Kurt under until he died, pushed his body down to the river bottom then shot to the surface, swimming in slow circles.

Kurt knew this because at that point he was watching from the riverbank. How he’d gotten there, he had no clue. For a second he thought the whole episode had been an hallucination brought on by too much to drink, until he looked down and saw the sand beneath his feet—literally saw it beneath them. He could see through his feet—and his hand when he held it in front of his face. That’s when he finally realized he was dead.

George kept swimming until, Kurt thought, he was certain the body wasn’t going to surface. Then he returned to the riverbank, getting out a few feet from where Kurt was standing. The look of exaltation on his face made Kurt’s blood run cold. Or it would, if I still had blood. He figured that wasn’t likely. Any more than that I have a real body at all, now.

It only took George a few minutes to dry off, get dressed, and then pick up the remains of their picnic and Kurt’s clothes. He turned to look at the river when he finished, murmuring, “You were a nice guy, Kurt, but like all the other men I’ve dealt with, in the end you got to be very boring to be around, and as clingy as you were, breaking up with you would have been a royal pain.”

“I wasn’t clingy,” Kurt protested vehemently, even though he knew George couldn’t hear him. I wasn’t. I loved you. That wasn’t clingy, it was wanting to be with you, because you were so special.

He followed George until he got to the car, then watched him drive away without a backward glance.

Now what do I do? Kurt wondered. Will I be stuck here, waiting around until someone finds my body? He shivered at the idea as he walked back to the edge of the river. To his dismay, he could still see his body lying on the rocks at the bottom and quickly turned away. How long until it…it comes up and someone finds it? Tomorrow, a month from now, never?

Going to a nearby tree, he sat, leaned back against it, and almost went through it before he realized what was happening. Straightening, he laid down on the grass, relieved when he didn’t sink into the earth. If I had, it would have been like being buried. Not a happy thought. He wondered if he could sleep. Not that he was tired, but the idea of spending the next however long wide awake, waiting for his body to be found, did not do a thing for him.

He closed his eyes and the next thing he knew, he heard voices.

“s**t,” a man said. “Tell me that’s not what it looks like, is it?”

“I think so,” a second man said.

Kurt opened his eyes then got to his feet. He saw two men standing at the edge of the river and knew they had found his body. He didn’t know if he’d slept, or whatever, for a day or a week. He only knew he was awake, now, and waited for what would happen next.

One man called 911, while the other one puked, and several minutes later sirens screamed in the distance, getting louder as they drew closer. Then they stopped, and soon several men, EMTs and two cops, came into view. From there, things progressed as Kurt figured they usually did in a case like this. The EMTs checked Kurt’s body, telling the cops, “He’s dead.”

“No kidding,” one of the cops said. “Even I could tell that.”

Kurt refused to watch as the EMTs dealt with his remains. He heard the cops interviewing the men who had found them.

“Was he murdered?” one of the men asked, sounding almost gleeful at the idea.

“We won’t know until the coroner examines him,” the officer replied. “My guess is, he decided to go skinny-dipping and drowned, since he’s not wearing anything. Or, he committed suicide.”

“No f*****g way would I kill myself,” Kurt said angrily, even though he knew they couldn’t hear him.

“Will you be able to find out who he is?” the other man asked.

“That depends if we can find his clothes, or if someone reports him missing.”

Kurt shook his head. For damned sure you’re not going to find my clothes and I’m betting George won’t file a missing persons’ report, unless it’s to cover his ass. Someone at the paper might wonder where I am, but who knows if they’ll do anything more than think I’ve gone AWOL for a better job.

Kurt hurried to the ambulance, getting in just before the EMTs closed the door. He didn’t want to spend any more time at the place where he’d been murdered.