Henry was dead. You knew that. You were there when he died. He kissed you between the eyes and whispered in your ear and then was gone.

You went to his funeral, comforted his mother, lingered around his grave...

But you and all the others really had a hard time believing he was actually dead. Obviously you knew he didn't fake his death...but you all were always waiting for him to walk in. Like his was simply, uncharacteristically late for one of your rare gatherings.

You kept seeing glimpses of him everywhere. Those raspberry scented roses that bloomed in his garden in random spots, his old books still around your house in unexpected places, a glimpse of a tall inky haired man ducking into a taxi or turning around a corner...You felt his presence.

You knew your Henry would never truly rest.

It was in a dream though that you finally saw him again. You walked through a meseum, cold and academic and found Henry idly drifting from exhibit to exhibit. Tall and broad, dark haired, cool blue eyes behind his glasses, in one of his immaculate black suits. The only difference between him in life than here in death was a small circular charred mark on his temple from his demise. A little kiss from death.

He looks at you fondly but expectantly and lights his cigarette. "Ah, there you are." He says casually, like he was expecting you for a date.