The Good One (First Pages)

Chapter 1

Death felt much like a hangover. The light from the other side was brighter than he expected, and it shone through the cloth over his face. Corbin blinked; his hot breath blew back against his face. His body ached as he reached for the piece of fabric. The moment he removed it, Corbin knew something was drastically wrong.

He was not dead.

Corbin rolled to his side and saw a man dressed in white clothes that matched his, lying still, flat on his back, palms on the earth in peaceful eternal rest, where Corbin himself should be, as well. Corbin whipped his tongue around his mouth, fighting off the dust he had breathed in over the night. He struggled to stand, and when he did, he bolted to a nearby stream, twenty-four white shoes and socks lined up at the edge of the water. He ran in knee-deep, cupped his hands, and hastily ladled water to his mouth, not giving a thought if it was safe to drink.

His thirst now quenched, Corbin gave his blurry vision a moment to focus on the scene through the glare of the morning sun. Ten bodies remained in a circle with their heads closest to the fire, now burnt down to a smoldering pile of ash, the smell of campfire lingering in the air and in his clothes, now speckled with black ashy dots.

Corbin stumbled out of the water, now awake enough to feel the rocks jabbing his feet with each step. The reality of what he had attempted and what these other men succeeded at was beginning to set in. His chest heaved as he raked his dirty hair and staggered back to the incomplete circle of dead bodies. Corbin’s panic was suddenly distracted by the one spot, other than his, that was also empty. It had been dark last night as they all took their places, preparing to lay their mortal bodies to rest, and Corbin was not convinced he knew where each man had lain. He did not want to touch the others, but since they all wore the same clothes and their faces were covered, he could not be sure who was missing.

Corbin gently lifted the cloth from each face. He only knew them by their first names, instructed that there was no need to share anything else that had defined them while they were alive. Taren and Nathaniel were next to where he had lain. He continued removing the face coverings around the group clockwise. As he got closer to completing the circle, his teeth began to clench, and his blood boiled.

“Please don’t be the one missing,” Corbin muttered as he lifted the second-to-last cloth.

Corbin knew while lifting the last cloth. Sam’s dead pupils looking straight up and his mouth gaping open. Ben was the one missing. Corbin dropped the cloth. He looked up and down the stream, shielding his eyes from the sun, scanning the riverbank they had come down the night before.

First, betrayal began to set in. He had put his life and all his trust in Ben, who had promised to take him to a better place. Corbin did not want to be here. He wanted to be in the eternal life with Ben and these other men.

Why would Ben leave them? His foggy mind was still processing his anger when a rush of anxiety flooded his entire body. Maybe Ben woke up as well, disoriented and lost.

Corbin needed to find Ben. He needed Ben’s help to start over. He could only hope Ben had not gone far.

“Ben!” Corbin croaked, his throat still raw. He swallowed hard. “Ben!”

Chapter 2

Three weeks earlier. Downtown Seattle.

Corbin rolled over and gazed at the blank space in his bed. Now that he had run Becca off, he longed every morning for another chance to see her. He missed how she would lay her head on his chest hoping to keep him from getting up. He would only give himself a minute or two of stroking her beautiful mussed black hair, revealing a tiny scar above her left eye. She could never remember how she got it. His hands would move to the smooth tan skin of her back he could not resist touching.

He now stroked the sheets as a reflex.

Corbin replayed the mornings with Becca in his head. The 5:00 a.m. alarm would blast him from his few restless hours of tossing in bed and her from her deep sleep.

“I know things are crazy at work, but it would be nice if you took the day off and stayed in bed with me,” she pouted.

Corbin was now disgusted by his answers.

“I can’t lose my accounts. Not all of us can make a living with a tough, artsy, three-hour workday.”

Corbin knew his comments would sting her even as they came out of his mouth. He would kiss her and tuck her back in, trying desperately not to let her sad sigh get to him.

“I’ll try to leave early today,” he would say. They both knew it would not happen.

No matter how perfect his personal life, the thought of failing in his career tugged at him, never allowing him to stay away from work. Ironically, now that Becca was gone, he found the drive to get out of bed harder and the need to save his career less urgent.

Corbin eventually escaped the bed and from reliving the agonizing scenes that led to their breakup. He let the hot water run over his head as Nirvana roared through the Bluetooth surround sound in his bathroom. A world of flannel, torn jeans, and weed that he had left far behind. A mosh pit in his teens had provided a release from life’s pressures that he had never been able to replicate. Now dressed in a sleek grey suit, stale marijuana odor replaced by five-hundred-dollar Creed cologne; freedom replaced with the mundane.