you and me. You have come to fulfil your task and show me your mercy. I’m at peace with that and I

surrender myself into your hands.”

Death doesn’t move.

“What’s keeping you? There’s so little left of me. I promise not to fight you.”

Death still doesn’t move. No, there is in fact a slight motion, but not in Steve’s direction.

Steve looks. Daniël is standing next to him. He doesn’t look back at his dying lover but stares

intently at Death, and he is a terrible sight to behold. The madness of a man gone berserk shines from

his bloodshot eyes. He’s baring his teeth like a ferocious animal. His face is distorted in rage. He’s

bloodlessly pale.

“Don’t you dare to take him from me. If you want him, you’ll have to go through me. You can

have me too, I don’t care. I know what’s inked in my skin. Not the one that says you have the last

word. The other one. The Heart or Death. I made my choice, now I shall live it. Even if it means I’ll

have to die by it. The two of us or the deal is off.” Daniël’s threatening whisper is the softest sound

Steve has ever heard and yet to him it’s easily distinguishable between the noises that have no

meaning to him. “He’s in unbearable pain and he’s beyond exhaustion. Some of the more serious

damage to his body, to his brain, may well be permanent. I know that. And I shield him from the only

thing that can free him from his suffering. What I do is cruel, I know that too. Consider me love’s ugly

face.

“You can try and scatter his bones all over this earth. Know that I will find them one by one. If

you take him to the underworld, I will come to reclaim him. And I will not look back, even if his

decaying flesh touches mine. Someday I will have to let him go, and I shall take his hand for the last

time in mine and say to him that, yes, he is going to leave me for you. Mors vincit omnia. But today is

not that day.

“I, Daniël Borghart, stake my claim on Steve Gavan.” He stands as tall as his body is able, his

head high and defiant. “Because he is my beloved and my friend.”

Death makes a move, swift as the hunter it can be. Daniël still moves faster. He dives on

Steve’s bed, covering him with his body. Shielding him.

“My sweet boy, you have to let me go.”

“No.”

“Your love weighs so heavy on me.”

“If love is weaker than death, if it’s as light as a feather, what’s its use?”

“There is no shame in bowing your head for the only true justice in this life.”

“If you’re no longer able to fight, I will defend you. As long as you’re in my arms, you’re safe.

I am yours and you are mine.”

“Together.”

Death crushes down on them with scorching fire, with the claws of the beast and the gentleness

of the welcoming earth.

Chapter 4

There is nothing, absolutely nothing. No light. No darkness. Not even time, because there is no

beginning and no end. There are no answers, because there’s not a single question left. And there is no

word for nothing. There are no words. No thoughts. Nothing.

Then, slowly, Nothingness makes place for the peaceful, instinctive knowledge that he’s

somewhere safe. No longer is he imprisoned inside the boundaries of his physical existence. He’s as

small as a single atom and as vast as the universe. Travelling among the stars is as easy as exploring

the depths of the deepest ocean. He remembers everything that is ever forgotten and foresees

everything that is yet unknown. He sees how all that is begins and there is no doubt in his mind how it

will all end. It’s nothing he hadn’t already known, because it’s ingrained knowledge to all that comes

from the same source: he just hadn’t been aware of it.

And yet, among this perfection there is the tender beginning of doubt. At first not more than a

small seed, an almost too easy to ignore feeling that he is not where he’s supposed to be. But it grows.

And with it time starts, however feebly. And memory that is his, and his alone, takes form. He’s

assumed to have words for everything so he can say what needs to be said to the one who needs to hear

those words from his mouth. He’s supposed to have hands to touch the one who needs to be touched by

him. To have eyes because there’s someone in need of being noticed by him. To have a body so his

beloved can hold him. He cannot be limitless, without fixed boundaries.

He has to return to his body. Even if it means losing the ability to touch the sun without

burning and witness how life moves forwards with death so close in its footsteps they are like lovers

unable to be without each other. His beloved needs him. It all comes down to this simple, unavoidable

truth. What’s the use of having all the knowledge in the world and being without any physical

boundaries when he’s unable to hold the one human being who truly matters in his arms, or when he

doesn’t even have the words to tell him that everything will be as it should be? He is at peace with

himself and with the end of his existence, he embraces Death as a liberator, a friend even, but he has

to go back to the all-too fragile flesh and bones. Time will no longer be without beginning or end. The

darkness will be no longer be absolute, the light not all-embracing. His brain will no longer allow him

to remember the terrible violent beauty of the birth of all life. His heart will mourn that loss bitterly.

He will have to give up his final wisdom for love. If love is the one thing that rules above everything

else, then it is at times a harsh and unforgiving monarch. But it has to be done.

So he looks and immediately looks away.

But already it’s too late.

This has to be a mistake. If this is a joke, then he isn’t laughing. How can he return to this

ruin? He hadn’t just lived inside this dwelling; it had always been far more than merely a vessel for

his mind, or his soul, if you like to call it that. He had lived by its laws and needs and talents. He had

learned by it. Discovered the world by it. His body’s ability to do something so many little boys dream

about and so few men see actually coming true, had granted him the rare privilege of earning a more

than comfortable living doing something he would do anyway, even if he’d have to pay for it out of

his own pocket and work some mind-numbing job in an office.

His had always been a good body, dutiful and functioning as it was supposed to, most of the

time. A source of many pleasures. Injuries had been part of the job, but everything healed fully with

adequate treatment and the right combination of rest and exercise.

Love, or perhaps he should be more blunt about it and call it sex, hadn’t been all that special,

but at least good enough to keep serious complaints, both his own and his partners, to a bare

minimum. He knew himself to be gentle and caring enough to at least try his best for whoever landed

in bed with him, but also too reserved to make a lasting impression.

When he no longer reckoned with it, love did found him in its most physical form. A tall boy,

bordering on skinny if it wasn’t for the muscles formed by hard work, a freckled face, blue-grey eyes,

and wise sayings tattooed on his arms that should have stayed mere words for many years to come,

had been introduced to him during training. Not much had happened then. The world hadn’t come to a

grinding halt. His life hadn’t changed all of a sudden. His body and soul hadn’t recognised their mate.

Or perhaps they had and it was he – or more precisely the rational, thinking part of his brain –

who had been too cautious, too weak in his faith.

Not that he had been a virgin when Daniël kissed him for the first time. Far from it. He’s old