Chapter Text
Chapter 6: The End
Revelation, Chapter 22, Verse 21. 21The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people. Amen.
Callum opened his eyes to find himself in a large, comfortable bed. He was sandwiched between white cotton sheets, smelling faintly of washing powder, fresh air and the musk he had come to associate with Ben. He stretched out, occupying the whole bed, realising quite quickly he was alone due to the lack of protest coming from Ben, who would often complain quietly when Callum pandiculated in this manner. He craned his neck to see the other pillow, confirming that it was unoccupied, with only a sliver of sunlight hitting the pillow. He put his hand on the warm fabric feeling how smooth and pleasant it was.
He heard the pitter-patter of light feet coming into the room, followed by a strained grunt as a large Labrador jumped up onto the bed to join him, his golden fur shimmering as he walked across the bed towards Callum. The dog sniffed and licked at his face before curling up next to Callum and leaning back, asking to be fussed.
“Hello, you” Callum said, his voice softening, using the tone he reserved for dogs and babies, and occasionally Ben if he was being particularly cute. He pet the dog enthusiastically, looking at his collar for a name tag. He found a metal, bone-shaped, electric blue tag engraved with the name “Oscar”. Callum continued petting Oscar, telling him what a good boy he was until he became aware of chatter downstairs.
He gently pushed Oscar off him and stood up, observing the bedroom in which he found himself for the first time. Oscar grunted and curled up, falling asleep on the bed. The bedroom was a modest size, but well decorated. Most of the furniture and walls were white, giving the room a clean feeling. The wardrobe had a full-length mirror, so he took the time to adjust himself, to sort his hair out, he swept his fringe lazily over to one side and smoothed down the rest of his hair. His skin looked slightly more wrinkled and less elastic than he was expecting, his hair starting to grey and thin out. He had aged.
Resisting the urge to panic, he turned to one of the pictures on the wall and immediately recognised the people in it, but not the situation. It was him and Ben, both well dressed, in suits, hair immaculately coiffured smiling at each other, wedding rings evident on both their ring fingers. He looked down at his own hand to see the same ring, and he span it around on his finger, smiling once again.
He made his way downstairs, following the sound of the chatter into the kitchen. A teenage girl was sat at the kitchen island just finishing off the last of a slice of toast and Ben was at the stove frying something, dressed in (as far as Callum could tell) only a dressing gown.
The girl smiled at him as he walked in, took her plate over to the sink and kissed him on the cheek. “Morning Dad” her voice was light and cheery. “Just gonna take Oscar for a walk, want anything from the shop?”
Callum shook his head slightly flustered, not really recognising the person who had just called him Dad, she smiled at him and walked out, whistling for Oscar to come down to her.
“Ah, Lex, get us some milk please” Ben shouted after her.
The name made Callum prick his ears up, it must be Ben’s daughter, they found her, they escaped Gilead. He rushed over to Ben, undoing his dressing gown and snaking his arm around his waist, tucking it into the waistband of his underwear.
Ben wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him. The kiss was passionate and warm and everything Callum needed in that moment.
“Good morning” Ben smiled at him “you don’t often greet me like that anymore” a grin spreading across his face.
Callum smiled back, but concern remained in his eyes, betraying his true feelings to Ben.
“You okay Callum?” Ben asked, “You look a bit off” he cradled Callum’s head, eyes darted over his face searching for a problem.
Callum shrugged “I’ll explain after breakfast” his voice content and happy. It was clear to Callum he had forgotten the last few years of his life; he was not entirely sure what the last thing he remembered was, but his life seemed good. He had a loving husband, a wonderful daughter and a dog all in a beautiful home. This is the life he had dreamed of. And burdening Ben with his memory trouble could wait for an hour or so.
“Callum” Ben shouted, breathing heavily, voice panicked.
“What babe?” he replied contentment slipping from his voice, replaced with concern.
“Callum you need to wake up, you were hit on the head, wake up” Ben’s tone harsh, panicked.
Callum mumbled, confused, “What do you mean wake up?”
Ben was shouting now “Wake up, you need to wake up, get up, open your eyes, please, oh please, Callum”
Callum’s eyes opened, he woke up with a start, nearly kicking Ben as his body spasmed violently. His head throbbing. Ben was doing his best to shake Callum using only his shoulders but stopped, shuffled back in relief when he saw Callum’s eyes open as he regained consciousness.
Callum realised they were both restrained, on the floor in the back of a van, his hands bound at the wrists behind his back and his ancles tied to each other. The rough rope cutting into his skin, rubbing it raw, his hands moist with his own blood.
“Thought I lost you for a second there” Ben smiled, breathless. “Some guardian pistol-whipped you after the trial, it knocked you out.
Callum wracked his brains for the memory but came up blank. “I was dreaming” Callum said, trying to blink away the pain, head still fuzzy, noticing Ben had somehow slipped out of his gag and managed to free Callum of his, the moist leather dangling below their chins.
“Anywhere nice?” Ben asked as the van came to a heavy stop, both of them slamming against the dividing wall with the cab, as the inertia carried them forwards.
“Yeah, we were-” Callum was cut off by two masked men opening the doors at the back of the van. Both he and Ben shuffled together into the corner, as far away from them as they could be, but it was no use.
The men picked Ben and Callum up kicking and screaming and dropped them, unceremoniously on the ground outside.
They were both pulled to their feet, turning to look at their surroundings. They were in a stadium the spectator stands empty, the place un-maintained, the grass replaced with soil trodden down by years of people making their final steps. The ceiling was open to the sky, with the only light coming in being from the moon and the stars. Infront of them were gallows with 5 nooses hanging from a beam. They looked at each other, scared, realising that this was their immutable fate.
A man walked in front of them bag over his head, obscuring his face. “We can do this one of two ways” he spoke slowly, voice low and quiet. “Either you walk to your fate in a dignified manor, like men” he paused, slightly longer than was necessary. The silence stretching out between them, unbroken by wildlife or traffic or even a gentle breeze. “Or we sedate you and prop you up over there with a stool”. He gestured to the gallows and paused again “the choice is yours”.
Callum was breathing heavily, unsure of what to do, scared of what result anything he said would get. “We’ll walk” Callum spoke quietly, voice trembling, finally coming to the conclusion that saying something was better than potentially making the executioner angry. Ben was glad Callum had the impetus to reply as he doubted he could speak without vomiting.
“Very good” the executioner said, tone cheery, and he waved away the guardians flanking Ben and Callum. The guardians untied Ben and Callum’s feet and then took their position by the exit to the stadium grounds. There was no point running, the guardians would shoot them before they had made any meaningful distance.
Callum turned to Ben and nodded at him; Ben nodded back. So much was exchanged in that nod: I love you, I’m sorry, I wish we could be together. Words were insufficient to explain their feelings for each other, and now, a nod must suffice.
Callum began walking towards the gallows, Ben trailing behind him. They ascended the stairs and took their positions over the trapdoors of two neighbouring nooses. They both turned to face the executioner who was still on the ground below them.
The executioner looked up at them solemnly, the bag over his head masked his features from Ben and Callum but his face was aged by years of state sanctioned murder "would either of you like to beg forgiveness, to attempt to save your immortal souls?" He asked, slowly and clearly, hoping they would confess their sins and gain entry to eternal bliss in heaven. He turned and walked away, just a few paces. Just enough for Ben and Callum to whisper and not be heard.
Callum turned to Ben, those beautiful blue eyes meeting his, like their first meeting. Fitting that the last thing he sees will be the most beautiful thing, the eyes of his lover. "I genuinely love you", he said quietly "and I would not change this for the world". If this is to truly be their final moments, he may as well be true to himself. True to Ben. His body burning to reach out and touch Ben. To kiss him, to hold him, to protect him from this. To run his fingers though his hair and tell him everything will be okay. But hopelessness quickly set in. He was restrained. Unable to move to touch his lover. There was no point crying or screaming or trying to escape. Nothing could change their fate.
Ben chucked and smiled, observing his beloved in the moonlight, taking in his features for the very last time. He turned his head upwards slightly and tried to blink the tears out of his eyes. "I love you too" Ben said smiling. "Having you for 6 months is better than living a lie for the rest of my life"
The executioner was only slightly aware of what they were saying, although he was intentionally turning a blind eye to their death-bed confessions of love. Perhaps, in his youth, he too may have been a gender traitor, and therefore thought these two were allowed to say goodbye. Perhaps he thought they were as in love as any straight couple he'd ever seen, and therefore entitled to live out their lives in a consensual relationship. Perhaps they were as in love as he and Duncan had been before he had been killed at the inception of Gilead. Perhaps.
"Alright that's enough" the executioner shouted, clapping his hands, blinking a tear out of his eye, conjured from the memory of his life before. His clap silenced Ben and Callum, both of whom turned to face him, fear clear in their faces, eyes wet with tears, limbs trembling. The executioner could not be seen to be going soft, especially for the filthy gender traitors, as he'd end up rather on the wrong side of the proceedings. The next steps happened quickly. A bag, branded with a pink triangle was shoved over their heads, a noose was positioned and tightened around their necks, and finally, nothing. A long, excruciating pause. The gallows creaked as the executioner walked behind them both towards the lever that would retract the trapdoors on which Ben and Callum were standing. He placed his hand on the top of the lever, positioning himself comfortably, pausing slightly, saying a silent prayer for the condemned and secretly hoping someone would run in to stop this. So, he would not need to send more of his gay brethren to early graves.
They were both breathing heavily, shaking, arms still restrained, waiting for the inevitable. Callum remained resolute, strong, preparing himself for his fate. He wished he had had the opportunity to tell Ben about his dream, how good their life was together, how happy they were, what could have been, what should have been. Instead of needless regrets he decided to spend his last moments thinking about all the happy times with Ben. The smiles, the little touches, how he finally felt comfortable with another human being. He'd never felt so happy, so free, so true to himself. He lived a lifetime in every second they spent together. His face beaming, heart filled with happiness, eyes wet from tears of both joy and sadness.
Ben's mind was too jumbled for any clear thought, too stressed by the whole situation. His face tear stained, snot leaking from his nose, whimpering uncontrollably, the sound masked by the bag blindfolding him. The rope already beginning to cut into his neck, make him itch, overload his brain with sensation. He began to urinate due to sheer fear, the anticipation proving too much for him. A warm stream of amber liquid collected in his underwear, soaked his trousers and ran down his leg. The hard man façade well and truly destroyed, revealing what has always persisted beneath, a frightened child wanting to be accepted and loved.
Then the trapdoors opened, and they fell.