#helton

The date was this: October 31st. The spookiest time of the year. Shelton had been easily frightened as a child, and he supposed he still was in some ways. He had an abiding fear of the dark, spiders, rollercoasters, and the texture of peas and grapes. Halloween wasn’t so bad anymore, though. It was mostly a celebration of the fantastical and the dead, and Shelton was well acquainted with both. When you could create zombies and destroy them just as easily, you had no cause to fear the walking dead anymore.

The facts were these: Shelton Devers had learned he could resurrect the dead when a dog was struck by a car in front of him. When he had reached out to touch the dog, it had gone from being dead to being alive. Sixty seconds later, a bobcat in the hill nearby would drop dead, though Shelton took longer to learn that rule. He was only ten, after all.

The rules were these: One touch from Shelton brought life from death. A second touch returned the being to death. If the being lived again for more than one minute, another being would drop dead. If Shelton had not resurrected a being, he could touch them with no complications. If he had resurrected a being and then touched them again, he would kill them instantly.

His past was this: The day he had resurrected the strange dog, his mother had had an aneurysm. He had brought her to life, and his neighbor Hiram’s father had dropped dead sixty seconds later. When his mother cupped his cheek to wipe his tears away, she had collapsed again, and could not be saved this time. Shelton had gone to boarding school on the mainland. Hiram had been moved away by his mother. The last time he saw Hiram alive was after their parent’s funerals. It was the one and only time they shared a kiss.

His present was this: Shelton was twenty-seven and owned an electronic repair shop. His abilities did not extend to reanimating dead phones with the touch of a hand, but his brains usually did the trick there. It was a living. His side gig was a little more unusual, but cash was cash.

His coworkers were these: Ben Blue helped Shelton keep the shop running and assist Tory Brennan on cases. Tory was a private investigator. Shelton saved her dog Cooper’s life the first time he ever used his powers. Both were certain that it was fate, though she saw the good in it more than he did. She could solve any case, thanks in no small part to her habit of sneaking Shelton into the morgue and having him ask murder victims who had killed them. He respected her drive for justice enough to work with her, though he wished desperately that they didn’t have to break the law so much. His objection to the current case she presented, however, had nothing to do with legality and everything to do with Shelton’s grief.

The case was this: Hiram Stolowitski had been murdered on the cruise ship SMS Pacific Princess and thrown overboard, his corpse washing up onto the nearby coast. There were no leads in the investigation. Tory, sniffing a potential payday, had tapped Shelton to wake him up and ask him who killed him.

“I don’t know, Tory.” Shelton had been mourning ever since he watched the news, and the last thing he wanted was to discuss this, even with his friends. They didn’t know that he had known Hiram.

She narrowed her eyes. “Did you know him?”

Damn her research. “As kids, yeah. We were neighbors.”

Tory sighed. “Look, I know this might be dragging some stuff up, but don’t you think he deserves justice?”

He did. More than Tory could know. Hiram’s father was inadvertently killed by Shelton’s magic, and now his life was cut short. Shelton owed it to him to catch his murderer.

So now Shelton was slipping away from Marcus Karsten, the sketchy funeral director that Tory was doing her best to distract, and into the room that held Hiram’s coffin. Staring at the plain coffin, he couldn’t help but think of the goofy Halloween decorations that they had passed on the drive. The garish spiderweb-covered coffins with a vampire or ghoul lurking inside. Ominous plastic tombstones. He and Hiram had gone trick-or-treating together ever since they could walk. It was Hiram’s favorite holiday.

He opened the lid and... and... 

He had never once cried upon discovering a body. With his mother, he had been shocked, and with every corpse he awakened he grew more and more desensitized to it. But now, looking at his boyhood friend, his eyes began to sting. 

They were grown-ups now, the both of them. Well, Shelton was. Hiram was now a corpse. Pretty good-looking for a drowning victim, actually, much less gruesome then he could have been. But still. Dead. No growing left for him. Just a body in a plain black suit, which Hiram would have hated if he could see it. It was possible Hiram had grown out of his outlandish outfits as a man, but Shelton doubted he would have chosen such a boring look over a Hawaiian shirt, or full medieval funeral regalia, or at least a snazzier suit.

When he was sure no tears would escape, Shelton set the timer on his watch for sixty seconds, then he reached out and brushed his fingers against Hiram’s cheek. Cold flesh bloomed warmed. Hiram inhaled, then opened his eyes. Hazel, like Shelton remembered. Then he sat up so suddenly that Shelton fell backwards in his attempt to avoid a forehead bump that would send Hiram back to death.

“What the hell?” Hiram looked around, then his eyes locked onto Shelton, still sprawled on the floor. “Shelton Devers?”

He recognized him. Right away. Shelton’s chest ached as he got to his feet. “Hi, Hi.”

That got a chuckle. “What’s going on?” Hi looked around. “Is this my rescue mission? Are you in the Coast Guard?”

The lump that had been lodged in Shelton’s throat ever since he had seen the news of his death got exponentially larger. “Can you tell me what happened to you?”

“I was at the vending machine, and my chips got stuck, so I was banging on the glass and then I stuck my arm inside the machine, and then I saw someone with a mask in the glass reflection, which was kind of like a horror movie, and then they put a plastic bag over my head and held it there until I passed out.” The familiarity of Hi’s mile-a-minute speech was bringing the tears back to Shelton’s eyes. “It was pretty scary, not gonna lie.” Hi looked down again at the coffin, eyes narrowing.

“Do you know who did it? Or why?” Time was ticking away on Shelton’s watch.

Hi shrugged. “I sang ABBA during karaoke earlier that night, and some of the hecklers got pretty heated. Might be worth investigating. Other than that, I don’t know.” He drummed the coffin lid. “I’m dead, aren’t I.” Not a question, but Shelton answered with a soft nod.

Hi groaned. “God, my mom is gonna be so insufferable. She kept pulling up statistics about the dangers of cruises and the open ocean or some bullshit. Now she’s gonna think her Facebook research was right for the rest of eternity.” 

“I’m sorry,” Shelton said, voice cracking just a bit. He wasn’t sorry for Hi’s mother, but for his death. And his father. And actually, yeah, his crazy mother, all alone now. Once Shelton sent Hi back to death. There were only a few seconds left.

He could kiss him once more, maybe, or at least give him a hug, whichever one felt more right. Shelton stepped close to Hiram, still perched inside of the coffin, steeling himself to end this.

Hi peered at his face. “Are you an angel?”

“Definitely not.” Shelton didn’t know what he was, but he knew what he wasn’t.

“Well, I didn’t believe in a hell. That means I can’t go there, right?”

Shelton meant to laugh, but it came out like a sob. “I hope not.”

“Well, it was good to see you, Shelton. Whatever this is, I’m glad you’re here.” The genuine smile that accompanied his words shattered something in Shelton’s chest. He reached forward and touched Hi’s chest. Over the shirt wasn’t a kill touch, he needed skin-to-skin contact for that, but Shelton could feel his heartbeat underneath his palm. He clung to that, to his life and his warmth, as Hi tipped his head back, his eyes interested.

Three seconds. Shelton leaned in, tilting his face towards Hi’s. 

Two seconds. Close enough to feel his warm breath, possibly his last breath. 

One second. He made a decision. Knew the inevitable consequence, knew there would be blood on his hands, knew that nothing could ever work out the way he wanted it too.

The event horizon. Shelton lurched backwards before his lips could touch Hi’s. They could never, ever touch one another again. Upstairs, a body dropped dead to the floor, but Shelton didn’t hear it over the ringing in his ears.

Hi was alive. Hi could stay alive. As long as they never touched skin to skin, Hi could live again.

“You okay?” Hi swung his legs out of the coffin and reached out to him. Shelton jumped back again.

“Don’t touch me!” he shouted, making Hi jump. Excitement and fear were racing through his veins, the adrenaline making his mouth tingle and skin feel electric. What had he done? “You’re not dead now, man. You’re alive. I brought you back.”

“Huh?” Hi looked more intrigued than confused. God, Shelton has missed him.

“I brought you back to life by touching you,” Shelton said. “But if we touch again, you’ll die again.”

Hi blinked, then looked out the window. “Is this a Halloween thing? Am I Frankenstein?” He snapped his fingers. “If you say that I’m actually Frankenstein’s monster, I swear to God I will kill us both. I was just dead, my head’s still fuzzy.”

“It’ll wear off.” Shelton was still a little teary, but he couldn’t help smiling. “Let’s figure out how to get you out of here.”

The future was this: Hiram was smuggled out of the funeral home in his own coffin, then they were driven home by Ben and Tory. Ben had figured out what Shelton had done the second he laid eyes on Hiram. Tory had known when the funeral director Marcus Karsten had dropped dead right next to her. Nothing against Hiram, but she was furious with Shelton. 

There were consequences. There were always consequences. Shelton had known that since the night his mother and Hiram’s father had died. There would always be secrets between them, and grief, and lives lived apart, and the absence of any physical comfort. There would always be sad smiles and hands held through rubber gloves and plastic-wrap kisses.

But for now, there was this: Hiram was alive, and in the backseat with Shelton, his eyes glued to the Halloween decorations outside. “Hey, can we go out tonight? I could be a bedsheet ghost. A sexy one. You could be my grim reaper.”