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The scene before him was all too familiar. The darkened crypt, lit only by the flickering firelight from his torch. Must, dust, and cobwebs filled the air. The scent of decay, cloying and sickly-sweet, choked him with every nervous breath. His footsteps echoed despite the dirt and dust on the floor. He was a trespasser, life among the dead.
He wasn't the only one. Footprints ahead of him, barely visible in the glow of his torch, made a path. His hunch had been right. Alone, he followed the scuffed marks between the marble slabs and tried his best to focus on the hastily-made tracks instead of the rotting corpses that made his skin crawl.
One corpse, fresher than the others, gave him pause. Tybalt's body was laid out in his best clothes, only just starting to wither. He said a silent prayer for his former enemy and made the sign of the cross before moving past.
The pale light of the moon was filtering in through a crack in the ceiling of the crypt, a beacon now guiding him better than the tracks at his feet. His heart raced as he caught sight of the bier he'd been seeking - Juliet's final resting place. A chill passed through him as he looked ahead to her corpse. In the moon's glow, she seemed almost alive. A hint of color tinged her cheeks, and her lips were parted slightly, as if she were merely sleeping. He approached, eyes alert for the earlier trespasser, and nearly dropped the torch. Between her hands, instead of a rosary or flowers, as one would expect of a dead maiden, Juliet clutched the hilt of a dagger. Romeo's dagger.
In three urgent strides he closed the distance between himself and the bier, and his heart clenched as he took in the macabre scene. Romeo, laid out beside his love, dead as she. He gave a strangled cry as he stared down, trying not to believe his own eyes.
"Believe, Benvolio."
The torch fell from his hand and clattered to the floor at the sound of the painfully familiar voice. He stumbled away from the dead couple, nearly tripping over his dropped torch.
On the bier, Romeo's eyes snapped open, staring lifeless in his direction. His purple-black lips, swollen with something strange, curled into a mockery of a smile. "Here, we'll show you and then you'll believe."
Benvolio shook his head and shut his eyes as Romeo's corpse began to move. He tried to step back. Icy hands closed around his upper arms, holding him in place. He risked a glance behind him, and immediately wished he hadn't. Tybalt's corpse, now wearing everyday clothes - the very clothes in which he'd died - pressed close against him, fingers digging into his skin. "You have to watch," it said. The voice, like the corpse, was hollow. "See what you've done."
"I didn't -"
A cold finger pressed itself to his lips. Mercutio - Mercutio's corpse, more properly - stood beside them, eyes as lifeless as the rest. It reached up and cupped Benvolio's cheek, exactly as the man himself had done in life. Benvolio shuddered at the touch, but let his head be turned back toward the cold marble bier. He feared what would happen to the corpses, and to himself, if he tried to fight his way free. He had no idea if he could free himself. The dead seemed stronger than they had been in life.
Romeo's body knelt over Juliet's now, dagger back inside the sheath on its belt. Benvolio could see more clearly now the stain that had seeped out from her breast and stained her white gown a dull red. Romeo turned his glassy stare to Benvolio again as his hands lifted a small glass vial and held it to his swollen and discolored lips.
"Don't!" The corpse ignored the words and tipped the bottle back, miming the swallowing of the deadly poison Romeo had consumed not long before. The corpse shuddered for a moment before falling beside Juliet. Benvolio felt fresh tears on his cheeks. Losing Romeo to exile had been bad enough. He hadn't thought things would become so much worse.
Juliet's body flinched and its eyes fluttered open. She hadn't been dead when her family had placed her in the crypt. The dagger in her breast had told Benvolio that much, but to see it played out by her corpse, like a marionette, made it real in a way he wouldn't have thought possible. He recoiled, but the corpses with him held him fast, Mercutio's icy fingers not letting him turn his head even a finger's width. He willed himself to shut his eyes, but found he couldn't. He wanted this whole farce to stop. He didn't need to see this.
"You do."
Whether it was his own guilt echoing in his head or the disembodied voices of one of the dead that spoke, he didn't know. He stared ahead, willing whatever was going to happen to happen quickly. Juliet's corpse smiled, closer to a real smile than the rictus grin Romeo's corpse had given. It stared down at Romeo's body. Pale hands reached out to touch his arms and shake him awake. He watched as its features twisted from hope and joy to confusion and pain and horror as it - she - realized that her lover wasn't just sleeping. She picked up the deadly vial in shaking hands and pressed it to her lips, tilting her head all the way back. When she realized it was empty, she dropped it and bent over Romeo's body, pressing her lips to his, as if to kiss the poison from them. Her body spasmed, as if she were crying, and then froze, as her lifeless eyes fell upon his dagger.
"Juliet, no."
"It's too late," Tybalt whispered in his ear. The smell of decay washed over him. "You brought her to this."
Benvolio flinched as the corpse thrust Romeo's dagger into its breast. Fresh blood poured from the wound, staining her already ruined wedding dress an even deeper red. Blood gurgled and dribbled out from between her lips as she sank back onto the cold marble beside Romeo's body. He stared at her corpse in disbelief. How could she bleed fresh blood? She was already dead.
Pain burst to life in his chest and his knees buckled. If it weren't for the corpses pinning him he'd have fallen to the ground. He looked down in surprise. The hilt of Mercutio's dagger stuck out of his chest. Panic flooded his senses for a moment and blotted out the pain. He stared into Mercutio's dead eyes. "Why?"
"It's all your fault," Mercutio said. "All of this. It's only right that you join us in Hell."
Benvolio opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. Mercutio had only voiced what he hadn't been brave enough to admit. It was his fault, all of it. He couldn't stop Mercutio, couldn't stop Romeo. He'd delivered the news of Juliet's "death" to Romeo personally. He hadn't tried to help the man he called friend and cousin. He'd run home to tell Lady Montague, because he couldn't deal with the man's grief on his own. He'd barely been able to handle his own grief at the time. And now it was too late. He let himself go slack in Tybalt's grasp. Blood continued to flow out onto Juliet's dress - his blood, pouring out of her wound. Fitting.
The corpses disappeared in a burst of smoke, leaving Benvolio alone in a colorless void. He stumbled, but managed to stay standing. The dagger was gone, and he tested the spot where he'd been stabbed with his fingers, finding both the skin and cloth unblemished. A chill ran up his spine, and he turned. A figure in dark clothing stood a few paces away, silver hair shimmering in the odd light of this strange void. The figure wore men's clothes, but its face was neither masculine or feminine. It gave Benvolio a closed-lipped smile.
"Who are you?"
The figure stared at him, amusement in its eyes. Benvolio met its gaze, and shuddered as cold realization poured through him. "Is it my turn now?"
The figure before him shook its head, smile still playing across its lips.
"But, why?" His voice sounded small to his own ears. "Isn't that why you're here?"
Another shake of the head. "Your punishment...." A voice echoed around him. The figure's lips remained frozen in a bemused smile, and Benvolio had no idea whether the voice was its or not. "Your punishment is that you live. Live with the weight of their deaths on your conscience always. Penance for your crime. Death is too easy."
With a start, Benvolio awoke, bolting upright and breathing heavily. His mattress and blanket were soaked in sweat and he shivered, despite the warmth of the August air coming in his window. He stared at nothing for a few moments while he came fully awake and his breathing returned to normal. He ran a hand over his face, pushing away the sweat and tears and wiping them on his blanket. He picked up his dagger off the table beside his bed and stared at it in the light of the moon. Death was too easy. And nothing about Benvolio's life was easy. Never would be easy. Not anymore.