~ Chapter Eight
"You were invading his dreams, what did you expect?" The Big Head was talking, but Marty wasn't listening. He was tearing great big handfuls of feathers from his wings and watching them float, down, down, through the depths of space.
"Did I really die like that?"
"You didn't think you . . . presto, zapped right up here, did you?"
"Yeah, I kinda thought, you know, out, out brief candle." Everything had gone black and he had suddenly been on clouds. Real fluffy, white clouds. "How can he even look at me. After. . ." It had been so seriously selfish. Dying there, like that. Killed by stupidity. Putting his best friend through the wringer. How he could have just walked back into Steve's life? With a pathetic line like "Just call me angel of the morning, Baby!".
"Steve loves you."
Yeah, and there was the heart of everything. Because Steve really loved him. Shown it in everything he had done. Sat by his bed while Marty died, and been pathetically grateful when Marty returned. And Marty had never returned the favor. Never done anything, except entertaining pathetic fantasies of jumping Steve the first chance he got. "Why didn't you just send me . . . down there?"
"And what would you have learned from that?"
A line from a movie struck Marty. Something about this babe who was given a second chance. "I have lived my life for nothing and nobody. Heady, I want another chance."
"What do you think this is, Marty?"
"No. I want to . . . live."
"I can't do that." Rod sounded sad. Like genuine regret tainted his voice.
"But . . . I . . . I don't want to be an angel anymore." What could he give Steve? He wasn't real, it wasn't flesh that was wrapped around his bones. He had no bones. He was a manifestation. He had nothing to offer Steve except for his presence and it suddenly wasn't enough anymore.
"I can take that away, Marty. You'd have to be judged again, and your final residence established."
"No!" Marty shook his head. "Just. . . I think I have to see Steve."
"Sounds like an excellent idea, Marty."
