Mansions In Heaven

Where do we live in Heaven? Home? If everyone is part of a pair…they must have a home like on Earth?

Who are all of these men?

Well…it’s intriguing.

Louis is an enormous house. Well over 12,000 sq. ft.. 1920’s Moorish architecture. Subtle, extremely fine quality details. Lots of details. Awe-inspiring shadows at night and haunting bursts of natural light in the day. Drama. Beauty. Romance. He’s a rare gem of a person.

Lem is a large Georgian Revival house. Red brick exterior. Dark wood floors. Cool, wall-papered inside. Somewhat dark. Pristine. Sharp. Cutting. Imposing. But terribly elegant. The gold-standard of American perfection…


…Jack fell in love? Jack made it in the front door. But Jack never left the foyer. *Lacey laughing* And for almost 100 years Jack had stood by the front door with a knife, a pistol and hand grenade ready to possibly kill anyone who truly tried to get in front door. “What did Jack see in Lem?!?” Sex. Love. Lust. Passion. …Love. *eye-roll*

…But…whether it’s because they weren’t actually meant to last…or because Lem was never even attracted to men at all…Jack never left that space. Lacey isn’t sure if he’s even seen the rest of the house. She’s not sure he even realizes or realized that it existed or exists. It’d be comical if it wasn’t so disturbing.

“Jack!” Lacey says behind him on the main stairwell. He doesn’t seem to hear her.


“Jack!” He looks to the right finally but then seems to see nothing and so he focuses back on the inside of the front door and he sees something again.

“Jack there’s a whole house behind you.” Lacey says.

“Shh! Lacey this is our house in Cape Cod.”

“This is Lem’s house.”

“I can’t leave.”


“Because if I leave I’ll get shot. And you’ll cease to exist. And my father and mother will be killed by Indians.”

“Jack that’s a dream.”

“Dreams aren’t real, Lacey. This has to be real.”

“It isn’t your house, Jack!”

He turns around and sees her and, “You should leave! What if my brother finds out you’re here?!?!”


Harold is a perfectly appointed, sprawling, cozy yet spacious ranch house. Opulent, comfortable everything. The absolute best. The absolute of casual, unpretentious, comforting, serene charm. French television. Perfect espressos. Shaved ice. Endless sparkling water. An epic, possibly historic wine cellar. Maybe even a bomb shelter and a way to another planet through the wine cellar. And him. He very much inhabits his own house. In the absence of horrific attack one feels very, very safe.


Michael is a castle. A rare castle. From the 1000’s AD. With both respectful restoration and creature comforts that leave one speechless. He’s a literal castle. In the woods. Near a river. Totally environmentally sustainable. Mysterious security system. Museums lend him priceless pieces of history for safe keeping.

“Which house is mine?” asks Lacey.

“Well I can see why you’re in the castle.” yells J. P. through an intercom system original to the castle. His voice is muffled but Lacey can still hear it. J. P. would figure out an intercom system from the 1000’s.

…”Not now.” says Lem.

“Not ever!” says Jack but when he turns around he’s in the 1000’s in France in the front of a line of knights on horses racing into battle. He moves backward and watches them as they pass by.