Conversations you Have in Heaven

"Are there really angels, or are they just in our minds. It all comes out in the wash...in time"

- Prince (1991)



Conversations you Have in Heaven
*************************************

"You're a lucky bastard do you know that?" A voice, female, floated off lips into his conciousness.

Marilyn Manson opened his eyes. Blinked the hazel orbs as the light from the bright hospital room seared his brain, which at the moment felt like someone was trying to use a cheese grater on it anyway. He was trying to remember....something.

"Wondering what happened?" The voice spoke again.

He nodded, He realized that he was in a flat bed, hard, not the plush one he was used to. He tried to sit up, only to find that he was hooked up to numerous machines. The IV that was dripping into his vein was pulling, causing little stings in his hand, and the tubes shoved up his nose felt like they were pushing all his lifes air into him.

"Can't remember?" It spoke again, and he turned his head. The voice was coming from a girl. She was sitting in a chair, her legs thrown casually over one leg, her bare foot swinging just off the floor. Her black gauzy dress covered almost the whole of her, the arms falling off to almost completely cover her hands, and she had only added to that a Nirvana concert T-shirt from sometime in the early 90s. She was skinny, a stick really, but then his eyes landed on her face. God her skin was pale, and not from makeup, she didn't wear any. She pushed her black rimmed glasses up on her nose, and continued to stare at him through unnaturally pale blue eyes, though they looked to have no color at all. Her lips were tugged up at one corner.

"You almost died last night, though Im not sure if that was your goal," She turned over, crossing her arms over her abdomen, "Was it?" She never let his eyes go, not even as she tilted her head off to one side.

"No."

"Are you sure?" She taunted, and her eyes pierced his, seared thier way into his soul, "When they found you, you had enough coke on you to kill a horse. Your heart gave out. Kind of a rookie move from a lifetime addict isn't it?"

"I'm not..." He started, but she waved her hand and rolled her eyes.

"Of course you are. Not to mention an alchoholic and a world class asshole." She yawned and tilted her head back.

His head ached. It was cold. He couldnt find that little button to summon a nurse. He needed to talk to his lawyer. Not to mention his publicist.

"Noone knows youre here. You were so out of it when they brought you in, youd forgotten your contact and your makeup, so you're just another junkie to them. I didn't feel the need to correct them. Passing out like that in an alley....youre lucky they found you at all."

He tried to remember what hed been doing in that alley. He couldnt. Something to do with drugs. Scoring? No, he had people for that. The new coke. He needed a dealer for it. Shit. He'd done it right there in that alley. Well, that was stupid. Christ, he was almost 40, time to stop making 20 year old decisions.

"Oh gooood, you remember! Now we can talk." The girl smiled, her eyes taking on an isolent look he wasn't sure he liked. She got up, and paced untill she was right at the foot of his bed. She put her hands on the rail there, and started to talk.

"Brian. I wonder how many people ever call you that anymore. I wonder if you were ever that person anyway." She twirled a strand of seemingly colorless blonde hair on a finger, but she didn't stop.

"If you had really died on that floor, would people really be shocked? Not really. Then, you've made sure that noone is close enough to you TO care anymore haven't you? Did you really lose emotions Brian, or is it something you put on so you won't have to deal with anyone anymore? Because once someone tells you they care, you have to be responsible for thier emotions too, don't you? And you dont have time for that do you?" She retook her seat at his side. He glared at her.

"You can go now." He growled, finding his voice hurt and his throat was like sandpaper. She got up, poured him a glass of water, and handed it to him. Then she laughed.

"Was that a dismissal? Sorry, I dont exactly have to follow your rule Boney, so just lay there and shut up for once in your life. Theres noone here who knows you, noone here to bow down and kiss your ass. Just you, me, and the truth."

"Truth? What truth is that?" He demanded, and he watched her take on that look of impudence. She was immune to his power, he could see that. She was calm. Too calm. Too serene. Her assessing glances made him nervous. As if he was seeing a person for as long as he could remember that he cared what they had to say. She sighed, and continued.

"Oh, you know what I'm talking about. Wow, you must be really uncomfortable right now huh? Noone here to command, noone to intimidate. And charming me wont get you anywhere either, so get that smirk off your face rock star, I could care less about your flame. Do I look like a moth to you?" She laughed, the tinkling sound mocking him. The emotions crackled in the air, thickening it, and when he went to press that button again, she held up a wire, swinging around a little remote.

"Looking for this?" She asked innocently, licking her bottom lip, but that laughter was still in her eyes.

"Give that to me. NOW." He tried to yell, but that only hurt, so he only succeeded in hissing loudly.

"No," She said softly, "And do stop yelling. I wouldnt want our conversation to be interrupted now would I?" She laughed again, and he found himself speechless, almost in a panic. He was trapped in a room where noone knew where he was with a girl who didnt have any qualms about pushing all his buttons and enjoying it.

"What do you want?" He spat at her.

"Now, now. Control that temper. Its not good for your heart." He lapsed into silence. How the hell did she know about his heart?

"Good, youre finally silent. God, someone should shake you daily. You're an impossible power junkie. A tyrant, and worse, a silent self-destructor. A 38 year old divorce` with so much to offer and giving so little back. You once did. But youve become more and more useless as time has gone on. Youve isolated yourself in this caccoon of 'I dont have to give a shit because I'm rich and powerful now' that you have NO idea whats going on out there. There was a time thats all you cared about."

"Im busy goddammit, I dont have time for this!" He spat, trying not to think aout all the projects that were suffering in his absence.

"Then why were you out there trying out new ways to destroy yourself? I want to know what, exactly, you thought THAT was going to accomplish. I really want to know. I know you Brian, and you don't do anything without a reason. So what was last night about?" She taunted, never moving quite close enough for him to touch her.

He continued to try to stare her down.

"Ohhh, right. The new brand of coke. Pogo really oughta learn to keep his mouth shut. Take his Ritalin and stop giving you ideas." She sighed. Manson started, noone knew about the conversation between him and Pogo that led him out into the night to search for a new form of high, the one he'd had already not quite doing the job anymore.

"Why?" she asked, her glass colored eyes alert and focused. "I mean really. You have everything you ever wanted. You're rich, powerful, you have people doing whatever you want when you want it. You can go wherever you want at the drop of a word. But that isn't quite good enough for you is it? You have to keep pushing it. If one bottle of absinth is good, then three is the only goal. If you can snort ten lines, then twenty is what you want. You're not doing anything anymore. This new album is going to be half-assed because of your inability to be sober enough to state anything. Don't you UNDERSTAND?!"

"Understand what?" He sneered, almost shrinking away from this light stick of anger.

"You're DYING!" She spat, "Your heart wont take this, it just won't. This isn't a game Brian, you're literally dying. You HAVE to stop! Or is that what you want? To go out like that. And fuck the people who care about you. And then you'll be just another dead overdose and NOONE will be suprised. Noone will be shocked, noone will even bat an eyelash. They wouldve seen it coming, expecting it. A living version of that stupid (s)AINT video," She looked at him with disgust. "And those who mourn you wont turn you into a martyr, not anymore, so you can take that off the table. You've been too rich and too diconnected for too long for that. You hurt people Brian. You hurt everyone. Where's your best friend Brian? Where's Jeordie? Oh yeah, you threw him away. For Dita, who threw YOU away. What are you DOING? Stop this Brian, stop it now. Go to rehab, cold turkey, I don't care, but stop it. Are you afraid you wont be able to create without it? Is death a risk youre willing to take to find out? Listen to me, and listen well. People still need you. All you have to do is open your eyes, your mind, your heart. Realize that you're not alone and people are willing to go above and beyond to see you through this. To love you."

She shook her head. He regarded her with silent eyes and she continued.

"New album, movie, tour. Ambitious. But you have one more thing to do before you go out again." He waited for her next command with a scared sneer.

"WAKE UP!" She shouted. She put her hand on his forehead and her eyes, colorless and bright closing as a tear hit his cheek. Her hand was cold, and he almost couldn't feel it at all.

He snapped open his eyes to find Pogo staring at him. The room was empty except for him and Pogo. He looked around. She was gone. His eyes darted from one end of the room to another. Where was she? He tried to slow his heart which was pounding. He looked at his friend and shook off the sleep.

"Where is she?"

"Who?" Pogo looked confused as he too looked for this girl who had miraculously dissappeared. He dropped his head back on the bed, and felt for the first time in years the need to cry.

"Brian?" A voice. A whisper. He knew that voice. Jeordie. He looked over to see the concerned eyes of his former bassist and best friend staring at him, the brown depths worried.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, almost on a wavering sneer. But as Jeordie came closer and touched his hand, the dam broke. Six years seemed to flow out of his eyes as Jeordie kissed his forehead and as they had numerous times over ten years, they held each other. It seemed like the time apart never happened as Brian cried. Really cried.

Much later, as they all sat together in a circle, Brian feeling like it was the best times again, his face took on a look of confusion.

"How did you know where to find me Twiggy?" He asked.

"I dunno. It was weird. I was dreaming about you and this white haired girl came to tell me you were here and that you needed me. She looked sad and so I was afraid for the worst." He admitted. Manson went wide eyed. No. Couldn't be. He shook it off and talk turned to the new tour. It seemed....perhaps...his doll would come back to him. There was alot of time and alot of healing to do, but maybe....if he tried.....there was hope.

He couldn't get his mind off the girl.

Who was she, where was she, and how could he talk to her again.

*********************************************************************

The answers wouldn't come until he was sitting at his vanity two weeks later. He was applying his eyeliner and then he heard a sound behind him. It couldve been someone clearing thier throat, but it was more of a giggle. He looked into the mirror.

She was there. Her head was tilted to the side. She was smiling. She was sitting on his bed, her legs tucked under her, one arm holding her up while the other rested in her lap. He was shocked, how did she get past all the security? Then, somehwere in the recesses of his mind he already knew.

"I've heard you've been looking for me." She tittered and regarded him with those colorless eyes, eyes that seemed at peace now.

He gulped, he couldn't believe he was about to ask this ridiculous question.

"How did you die?"

She stood up, and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her chin atop his head, not that he could feel much but cold flesh. She pulled up the sleves of her dress. On each arm were bandages. Blood soaked through but didnt spread. They were frayed and worn, and threads hung out from them here and there. At one time, that wouldve been beautiful to him.

"It was back before the world had ever really heard from you. 1994. I was sixteen. I....I was raped. When the only thing that kept me going was gone, I just couldnt take my inner pain anymore, so I....I took my own life. I've been dead for close to fourteen years. My name is Virginia."

"And why were you there....in that....was I....?"

"I couldn't take you. I just couldn't. I felt you just had too many important things to do yet. So I influenced a homeless man to call the police. Don't make my effort in vain. Don't take yourself away from them, they need you, more than you know." She let go and stood back. Smiling sadly, she faded away, a silver flash hitting the floor.

Manson dropped to his knee and picked it up, it was a silver chain with a V on it. The silver charm winked at him despite the lack of light in the room.

"Ill always be watching over you."

On the computer, he found her obituary.

'April 30th, 1994. Local rape victim reacts to rock star Kurt Cobains tragic suicide by her own. Virginia Phillips, age 16, found dead in her Bethel, CT home from massive blood loss. Her family wishes donations be made to RAINN in leu of flowers.'


Sitting back in his massive red leather chair, Manson twirled Virginias necklace around his finger. He had to get going. He was having lunch with Jeordie. He latched the small talisman onto his own neck and he couldve sworn, before he turned off his computer and got up, that he could feel a cold hand brush his cheek.