Page 79 of Trick or Treat

I have. I think we all have,

For me, my journey didn’t lead me to heaven or even hell, for that matter, which made it seem like I was finally getting my karma.

I didn’t step into some idyllic paradise adorned with clear skies and pearly white gates. What I got was darkness, despair, and confusion—exactly how I imagined my heaven to be.

I didn’t get to see my dead mother, maybe because the memories of her I buried too deep and purposely forgot—memories I chose to block out after my father murdered her so I could heal from the extreme loss. The pain was too overwhelming, so I buried it, pretending I had no mother at all as I grew up, even though we shared some amazing moments before that horrific night I had to witness.

In my heaven, my father wasn’t there, either. Nor was Carli, whose life was taken in a twisted cover-up that ultimately spiraled into my own demise.

In fact, I saw no familiar faces or any of those I had loved. There was no one there that I knew at all—no friends, no River, not even the places or people I once remembered when I was alive.

Instead, I found myself lost in the darkest depths of my mind, where all of my alternate realities played on an endless loop. I didn’t find solace among anyone I knew or the comforting places I once loved. Instead, I found myself brought back to either the cemetery or the mausoleum, in the company of the same four masked men who had torn my life apart in an instant.

Why was I here? I had no fucking idea. Why were they here with me? I didn’t fucking know either.

Every day their faces remained concealed beneath their masks—one black, one silver, one red, and one white—haunting presences I used to have nightmares about. Yet oddly enough, I felt an unsettling sense of belonging, and I desperately clung to them, hoping they’d know how to show me the way.

Even being dead, I needed safety. I needed guidance. I needed familiarity. And with the four masked men who ripped my life apart, I found exactly what I needed.

In my heaven, the sky stayed dark and dreary, constantly drenched in rain. Ironically, this was my absolute favorite weather when I was alive, making it seem only fitting that it accompanied me into the afterlife. It was far from the vibrant, blissful takes on heaven that were constantly portrayed in books and movies.

But it was my version of heaven—how I imagined the afterlife—and it felt exactly right, like I was right where I needed to be. However, all of my pain still lingered, echoing the agony I had known in my life, but my crazy meds were no longer needed, and my mind was far less tormented than before.

In my version of heaven, no birds sang—there were none at all. People didn’t laugh or smile; there was no one else around besides me, Blade, Saint, Nixon, and Riley—their faces always hidden behind thoseintimidating masks, though their eyes still glimmered with the same dark warmth they had when we all were alive.

Heartbreak and sadness clung to me like a second skin, as if those were the only emotions I could comprehend. My dead heart still thudded—especially in the presence of the men who held me captive, who I had fallen in love with just before our lives were abruptly cut short.

The entire experience was a confusing clusterfuck, and I struggled with it. It felt like every time I grew accustomed to my reality, a literal blink later, I was transported to an entirely new reality—yet the four masked men were always by my side.

That was my heaven—or maybe my hell... I couldn’t figure out which one.

Each masked man carried a part of me—fragments of my life, mixed with the broken pieces of their own stories.

Saint, whose intensity burned like fire, elicited the heat of passion I had never dared to express.

Blade, always calm and composed, radiated a sense of piercing clarity that often left my past heartbreaks throbbing beneath the surface.

Nixon moved in and out of the shadows, a ghost in the dark night, whispering secrets that tugged at my sanity.

And then there was Riley, whose presence danced between playful mischief and an all-consuming sorrow.

I felt drawn to all of them in ways I struggled to understand since they tortured me and ended up taking my life. Each day, the rain fell steadily, each droplet crystalizing the tension in the air, each splash a reminder of how fragile my existence has been before I met them.

But today was different.

When they turned to me—those intimidating masks hiding their intentions—I felt as though I could finally confront the chaos I had buried before we all took our last breaths. But I couldn’t talk—I couldn’t find the right words or any words for that matter. I needed to know why I was there or why theywere.

Would they help guide me? Or were they still my chains, holding me in a place consumed with pain yet wrapped in dark comfort?

I wandered through the cemetery that felt both familiar and foreign, the gravestones glowing faintly in the dim light. It was a beautiful place, broken dreams colliding with memories that had become fuzzy and uncertain.

The masked men reached for me, their gloved hands extending like branches, beckoning me into the world between my past and whatever awaited beyond.

“You can’t stay lost forever,”Blade whispered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers of recognition through me.

I could feel their presence—a magnetic pull towards the chaos I had fought to escape.

“You have to face the truth.”

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