A/N- Hi there! Here's a kinda new story This story used to be called 3rd Planet. I'm reposting this story because I've changed the premise of the story and I thought I'd give it a fresh start. The first chapter is pretty much the same but it will be different from then on. So yes, please enjoy...
Warning: Slash, some religious references, and lots of dead people...
I like dead people. In a completely non-necrophilia sort of way. I've never thought much of live people. They lie, cheat, and basically screw you over. But dead people, they're the most honest sort of human being out there. I mean they can't lie, because they're, well, dead. They're also great listeners, for exactly the same reason.
Not surprisingly, I work at a cemetery. Doing odd jobs here and there since I don't have any actual useful skills. I live there too, and I'm quite comfortable in my morbid sanctuary. It's the most peaceful place on earth. Except for the occasional hysterical mourner that is.
I have just finished setting up for a wake, which is one of my favorite jobs. I look down at the other person in the room. The young man lies stiffly in his pine coffin, its interior is a deep azure. His face is pale and somber. I adjust his tie so that it lies straight against his black suit. I don't understand why people insist on dressing the dead in formal attire. When I die I want to be buried naked. Leave in the same state I came, I reason.
I pull up a chair and sit next to the young man I identify as Benjamin Mayer from the paperwork. I wonder if he went by Ben or Benny. The paperwork only identified him as Benjamin Mayer. I kind of like his name and I wonder if would mind if I borrowed it for a while.
There is still a while before the mourners start trickling in, so I stay to chat.
"I guess this isn't where you were planning to spend your Saturday afternoon." He doesn't answer. They never do.
"It's not so bad here" I pull up my legs on the plastic chair and wrap my arms around them. "I've been here for years. It's calm. I think you'll like it."
His eyes are closed and I wonder what color they are. "They're going to put you next to Angela. She was five when she died. Her mother still comes and visits, she's nice. Will anyone come visit you?"
Will anyone come visit me when I died? I often think about this. "If not, I'll come visit you, just like I do Matilde. Ok?"
I wonder…"How did you die?"
"I hear it was a boating accident."
I jump and fall off the chair, landing in heap of limbs on the somber burgundy carpet. I stare up at Benjamin's coffin. It couldn't be. Could it?
No. The amused voice comes from the entrance to the room. I hear a deep chuckle much like the voice, and I turn in its direction. A man stands there. He appears to be alive. Good. I'm already weird enough without hearing dead people. I like my dead people quiet.
The man walks slowly into the room his hands held up in fake humility. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scared you."
But he's not. Sorry, that is. I can see the amusement in his dark eyes. "No. You're not."
He stops walking, his eyebrows raising. "Excuse me?"
"You meant to scare me. You're not sorry you did it." Now I'm up. I lean against Benjamin Mayer's coffin. I don't think he'll mind.
The man, who seems to be in his early twenties, frowns for a moment before smiling again. "I guess you're right. Just didn't want to come off as a jerk, you know?"
Is he related to Benjamin? He seems too lighthearted to be a close relative or friend.
He comes and stands next to me and looks down at Benjamin. I frown at the man. His skin is a milky shade of brown and his hair is curly. "I don't like liars."
The man looks back up at me. He studies my blank expression before saying, "You're not a very polite person."
We stand in silence for a few minutes. I should leave. My work here is done and I don't like this strange man staring at me.
"Were you a friend of Ben's?" The man finally asks.
"No. I work here," I tap my fingers against the coffin.
The man nods. "Ben and I were good friends as kids. We hadn't talked for years though. I wasn't sure if I should come."
I look at him as he studies Benjamin's face. Why is he telling me this? He's frowning again. Death makes people nervous. They don't know how to react. Me, I'm used to it. It doesn't faze me anymore, never did I suppose.
"What color were his eyes?" For some reason I need to know.
"Uhm…they were blue. Why?" He looks perplexed. I don't give him an explanation. I don't have one. Instead I shrug.
"Do you always talk to dead people?" He's amused again. I can tell.
"Yes." I say truthfully
He doesn't seem to know how to respond. I guess he thought I'd say no. I look once more at Benjamin Mayer and then turn to leave the room.
"It was nice talking to ya," he calls after me. "My name's Reese by the way."
I'm not sure why the man, Reese, is still talking to me, and tell him so.
He laughs quietly, "I like you, you're strange."
"Ok." What else am I supposed to say to that?
I open the heavy mahogany door to leave the room, when he asks me, "What's your name?"
I just want to leave. Reese is making me nervous. Live people often make me nervous.
"I'll see ya round Quinn." He smiles and gives me a small wave.
I doubt it. I don't respond, letting the door close behind me. I make my way to the next room that needs prepping.
The building is almost empty, except for a couple of cemetery employees running late. I'm doing one last run through to make sure that everything is as it should be.
"Quinn," I hear Melanie, the cemetery director, call my name. I turn to face her, already wary.
"Yes?" I ask.
Melanie was made to be a cemetery director. She's got that regal yet empathetic look going. She's the queen of St. Peter's Cemetery. My dad used to say that. I always thought it was a horrible compliment, but Melanie would always smile when he said it, flirting shamelessly with him..
"Come talk to me a minute." She smiles sweetly at me. I don't want to talk to her, but sigh and follow her to her office anyway.
Her office is large. It's done all in somber earth tones, as is the rest of the building, for obvious reasons. She takes a seat behind her large wooden desk and gestures for me to sit. I stay standing.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" I start fidgeting.
This can't be good. I start to play with a strand of ligh brown hair. I really need a haircut.
"I just wanted to know how things are going with you." Her voice is dripping with concern. It's her work voice, I can tell.
"Are you sure? I hear you're still talking to the bodies." Damn.
"Yes. I'm sure I'm fine. More than fine. I'm content." That didn't come out the way I wanted it to.
"But not happy? Why don't you try getting out of this place once in a while? Make some friends. A young good-looking boy like you should be out chasing the girls not talking to corpses."
"I don't want to go out. I don't want friends and I don't want to chase anyone."
A picture of myself running down the street after a groups of girls pops into my head. I'm not a graceful runner. My limbs are flailing all over the place as the girls scream in terror. Oh, no. Run. Run before the crazy man gets you!
"Look Quinn," her voice jerks me back to reality, "if it were anybody else I wouldn't make the effort, but you know how much I cared about your father. I just want you to be happy. He would want you to be happy."
Using the Dad card. How low. "I know. I am happy, so don't worry about me."
"All right, I'll let you go this time. Just try not to talk to the bodies anymore, it scares the customers away."
I give her a non-committal grunt and leave. I assume that was the end of the conversation. I don't do goodbyes, which confuses people but honestly, I couldn't care less.
After locking up, I make my way home through the dark cemetery. I breathe in deeply and smile. There is nothing like this for me. The wind is rushing by, making the trees rumble. The grass underfoot gives way under my footsteps. Darkness surrounds me, letting the stars above shine down on me. I don't understand how people can be afraid of cemeteries at night. There is nothing evil or otherworldly about it. Just peace and solitude.
I reach the small cabin I call home. It's this quaint little log thing that looks like it came out of a fairy tale. It's location makes it an unfortunate real estate nightmare though. Once inside, I go straight for the small kitchen and pour two glasses of milk. I grab some cookies and head back out. Taking a flashlight with me, I make my way towards a tombstone next to the cabin and sit down.
"Hey Dad." I set one glass of milk on the smooth, flat tombstone. It's a simple slab inscribed with the words :
It's our daily routine. After work, I come out here and have some milk and cookies with him. It's something we used to do when I was little and he was alive. Even though he's dead now, and can't appreciate the food, I've continued with our tradition.
"Melanie's been bugging me again. Wants me to be normal or something.." I chew thoughtfully on a cookie.
"I don't think it's going to happen though. It's just this feeling I get, that things are just going to get weirder."
After a while, I take my empty cup and flashlight and go back into the cabin. I leave Dad's glass of milk out. One of the stray cats will come and drink it.
A/N- Thanks for reading and remember to REVIEW! and have a happy New Years!