I couldn't stop watching the tape they brought me. It was one of the most depressing things I'd ever seen, but also the most fascinating. I couldn't explain the feelings that gripped me any more than I could explain the strangeness I witnessed.
It started with Hanna. The camera was set up overhead by an investigator hired when the corpse was reported. It zoomed in on Hanna at the stove, trying to make macaroni and cheese. He was so endearingly clumsy with it, it was almost cute if you could ignore the dead body propped against the wall. Hanna spoke to it the whole time.
"-so it turned out to be nothing, but I still wish you were there, you know?" he would say, every time I started the tape over. He would be smiling and springy. "We could have gone to the park or something after. We'll go when you wake up, Dawson, it'll be great!"
After that, he'd burn himself on the pan, curse loudly, and send the pot tumbling to the ground, spilling his dinner all over the dingy kitchen tile. He'd stand there dejectedly for a minute, staring. He'd fall to his knees. His head would move from the mess to the corpse then, and even though the angle didn't show it, I knew his eyes were welling up with tears because he'd sniffle a few seconds later, wipe at his eyes under the glasses.
"I wish you'd wake up, Styada. I obviously can't cook for myself, after all…" his voice wavered with a desperately forced laugh. His shoulders shook. A few minutes later, he'd be openly sobbing, moving to embrace the corpse. He'd hold him tight, crying as he babbled somewhat incoherently. He'd beg the dead man to wake up, to smile just one more time, just open your eyes please, what do I have to do?
"God, just fucking hold me," he'd bawl, gripping tighter. "You always held me when I cried, why can't you now? Why won't you hold me?"
This would continue for a while, and my heart would clench painfully. This kind of anguish is hard to fabricate through a psychotic episode.
Hanna would pull away after, wiping furiously at his face and turning back to the mess on the floor.
"I'm sorry about that," he'd say, grabbing a dishtowel from the counter. "I know you're probably just trying to rest, I shouldn't cry over you like that. I'm being selfish. You'll wake up soon, it's ok…I can be patient. I just miss you is all."
He'd start to cry again halfway through cleaning up the macaroni, then the tape would cut out into a second of static. It came back in with Hanna manhandling the body to another wall, doing his damnedest to go slow and careful. There'd be a shoddy bandage job where he'd burned his hand. Once he'd gotten the body in place, he'd leave a book at his feet.
"This one's your favorite, right? I'll just leave it here in case you wake up while I'm sleeping. Don't want you getting bored. I'm sure you won't wanna go out, it's pretty wet out there lately."
He'd shuffle out of his clothes then and slip into pajamas. Before climbing into bed, he'd lean down to press a lingering kiss to the dead man's lips.
"Good night, Epsilon. I hope you're better tomorrow."
The video would cut out again, then phase back in with Hanna sitting up in bed, staring at the corpse in the dark. He'd be sniffling again.
"It's just a nightmare," came his muffled whisper. There would be a strange blue light in his hand. I couldn't see what was making it, only a dark scribble on his palm . It was as though he was simply holding a ball of light. "I…do you mind if I…I don't think you will. You never minded before anyway…"
He'd close his palm, extinguishing the light, stumble out of bed and settle down in the corpse's lap. He'd fall asleep against the orange-clad chest after peppering small, chaste kisses to the green-tinged jaw and neck, and the video would cut out for good with the sound of his hitching, sobbing breaths evening.
I rubbed my eyes, still at a loss. I'd be meeting Hanna in person for the first time today. I didn't know what to think of him, what to say to him. I wanted to hold him close to me, I wanted to ask him what the hell he was thinking, I wanted to slap him and tell him he was a moron keeping a dead body in his house. Was he a necrophiliac? How did he get that body? What caused him to fabricate this life he seemed to think they had together? Hanna would have been fourteen when the man died, they couldn't have been lovers. I doubted they even knew each other. Had he just picked a body at random, or found one specifically? Someone who looked like an old lover or an unrequited love?
I'd handled psychotic criminals before, but Hanna wasn't a criminal. There was no way those terrified, anguished eyes belonged to a felon.
Uh. Forgot disclaimer on the first chapter there. But hell, guys, y'all know I don't own HiNaBN!
Also, ugh. I hope I'm not too terrible at writing sad.
