He managed to extract his phone from the pocket of his coat and juggle it up to where he was able to see the screen without throwing it on the floor or breaking it. That was an achievement and he congratulated himself silently, until he opened his call log, thinking to ring Jake and tell him where he was.
There were five photo messages in his log and his finger froze over the call icon as he registered them. He had a vague recollection of sending Jake a text before he set off to see Tomas, but he was pretty sure that he would have remembered sending him a picture message, let alone five of them. A cold sensation invaded his gut and he almost closed the message box and put the phone away, not wanting to know how he had managed to send Jake photos while he was gratefully unconscious.
When he opened the most recent image, a tiny, involuntary whimper escaped his throat.
“No. No. No, no, no, no!”
He shoved the phone back down into his overcoat pocket, not wanting to look at the results of his own stupidity. Why did you go there alone? You should have just called Jake, or Cordiline, and got the police to check things out.
Like a fool, he’d somehow believed that Tomas would talk to him. That what they’d once shared might, in some small way, have made a difference.
Well, you got that right. Jake probably thinks you deserved everything you got.
He closed his eyes for a moment because his head was spinning and he wanted to be sick again. That wasn’t going to help him one bit.
Pull yourself together. You are going to die if you just lie here and then you’ll never get the chance to explain.
It was heading toward dusk. If he was going to be found—if anyone was searching for him—they would need as much light as possible. That made his heart beat faster and he curled his fingers around the phone again, taking comfort from the small rectangle of warmth in his hand. He pulled it to his chest again and tried to make his fingers work to send a message. When that proved beyond him, he opened his mapping app and took a clumsy screenshot instead.
Come on fingers, blast you. Help me out here.
At the third attempt, he managed to send the screenshot, with its little blue location pin planted squarely in the heart of Hammersmith’s Margravine Cemetery, to Jake’s number. Then hoped fervently that his lover would understand what it meant.
He thrust the phone back into his coat as Sep returned from wherever he’d disappeared to with the spade and unlocked the car again. Rough hands grabbed him by the collar of his coat, dragging him out of the vehicle and, as he lost his uncertain footing, he was hauled across the turf between the plots and silent gray stones, into the bushes beyond them.
You are ruining a very expensive coat, bastard. You will pay for this, he cursed silently.
Even in his addled state, the sight of the disturbed ground and the yawning dark hole was enough to send a fresh surge of panic through him. He did struggle then, as much as he could, managing to get to his knees and plant both hands on the ground, pushing away from his would-be killer. Josep was stronger than he looked, though, and dragged him off balance, shoving and kicking him determinedly toward the lip of the makeshift grave.
From the way he was huffing, lost for wisecracks, Mari figured he wasn’t used to his victims fighting back. That made him try even harder to wriggle out of the path he was being herded down. Sep swore at him in Catalan, dropped him hard and hurried around to grab him under the arms, hauling him back to the edge and manhandling him over it, even as Mari turned and clawed at him. The short drop took his breath away and he struggled to get air into his lungs, trying not to let panic take over and make him crazy. He scrabbled for the side of the grave with one hand, making every effort to pull himself to his knees, calculating that he was only about a meter down at most. He almost got there, then Josep grabbed the spade and swung it at his head, knocking him out cold for a few seconds.
When he regained his scrambled senses, the maniac on the surface was shoveling loose earth onto him as fast as he could. Mari could only haul his coat up over his head and he screwed his eyes shut to keep the dirt out of them. Shoving one hand into his pocket, he brushed his fingers over the screen of his phone, keeping it deep down where, hopefully, the soil couldn’t jam its tiny components.
Chivis… You have every right to hate my guts. Really, you do. But if you have one speck of love left for me…please help me.
He took a last, long breath before pushing all his senses out into the web of communications that spiraled off from his phone and leaving reality behind.
It was like flicking a switch and illuminating a whole new space. Interfacing showed him a world within the mundane world he lived in—a world where he didn’t need his body, at least, for the time being. He found his way back though the networks to Jake’s mobile easily enough. The next problem was what to do with it. He was used to extracting information from another device, but putting information there was another matter. He was not a machine, just a ghost in the network. He wriggled his way into the messaging app and activated the ghost face emoji repeatedly. The message coming through would activate an alert, if Jake had his phone with him and switched on.
He triggered a couple of heart emojis for good measure. That had to help, didn’t it?
His heart almost sang when Jake picked up the message. Of course, he had no idea how Jake was responding to it, but Mari saw him retrieve it.
He flicked into Jake’s mapping app and woke it up, waiting until he knew it was on the screen of Jake’s cell. A small blue dot identified Jake’s position on the map.
If he had been in his actual body, he would have blinked for a moment because Jake was already heading this way—and at some speed. Mari pulled the signal from his own mobile, which was weaker down here in the ground but still active, and planted a second flag on the GPS map on Jake’s cell phone.
Jake’s phone pinged and he grabbed it, thinking it was Cordiline with some news. Maybe they’d picked up St. Andrews already. Maybe they’d found Mari. The message was from Mari’s phone, though, and his heart started hammering double time as he opened it. He kept one eye on the road and the other on his cell. No words, just a screenshot of a familiar map image—Hammersmith Cemetery. Jake flicked the blue lights on as the traffic slowed. After a few frustrating moments of drumming his fingers on the wheel, a gap opened for him in the traffic ahead as drivers moved aside. He put his foot down and the car sped through the clearing.
His phone alert sounded again a few miles down the A4. He glanced at the message and frowned. Ghosts. Then hearts. Again, from Mari’s number. Jake accelerated, glad of the warning lights as he had no intention of stopping.
His mapping app opened without any prompting from him and he swerved around a car that was slowing down for traffic lights. If St. Andrews had Mari’s phone, he might send him ghosts and hearts to fuck with him, but only Mari would be able to open a map on his screen from within his own phone. He ran the light, and drivers blared their horns at him from all directions but he didn’t care. A flag appeared on the map, in the middle of the cemetery. Ice cold fingers tickled down his back and Jake coaxed more speed out of the car than he’d imagined possible.
He took the turn practically on two wheels and got as close as he could to the cemetery before abandoning the car at the nearest entrance. Jake grabbed his phone and headed through the gates at a trot. He was so focused on the map and that small blue flag he nearly missed the vehicle sitting just off the shoulder—same color, make and model that had pulled off in a hurry from the curb in front of Arregui’s building. His stomach churned at the thought of how close he’d been.
He scouted around but there was no sign of anyone, so he turned down a smaller trail through the grass between the plots, at a jog, moving past ancient gravestones, the undergrowth whipping his arms and legs. Just as he was starting to think that he was following an animal trail in the long grass, he heard the sound of a spade biting into dirt. As he came through a stand of bushes, he spotted a man with a shovel. The di
gger looked up when he heard Jake and they locked eyes.
He could only imagine what his face was like at that moment but whatever expression he wore, St. Andrews found it intimidating enough to stop digging and lift the shovel in a threatening arc. Jake kept his momentum. Surprise was gone but the fastest way to end a fight before it started was to tackle his opponent. St. Andrews swung the shovel at him as he came in range and Jake lifted an arm to protect his head.
The impact sent a shock of pain through his arm and Jake put his shoulder down, ramming into the man’s gut.
St. Andrews grunted and dropped the shovel as Jake took him down. They grappled, both trying to get a punch in, but Jake had the advantage. He felt the pain in his arm only distantly. He landed a fist to St. Andrews face and blood instantly gushed from his nose.
“Fuck!” the man screamed and thrashed, switching from trying to fight to trying to get free. Jake twisted his fingers in the man’s hair and got up, dragging him to his feet as well. He got an arm around his neck and lifted, putting pressure on the carotid arteries, bending him back nearly in half. St. Andrews struggled for about five seconds, then went slack, but within ten seconds he was out. If he really wanted to, Jake could give a final twist, and he’d never open his eyes again.
Instead, he dropped him on the grass and grabbed the shovel. There was a shallow depression of disturbed earth in front of him, about six feet by three, to his trained eye, with fresh clods of damp soil strewn all around. He glanced at his phone. He was standing right on top of the flag. Jake grabbed the shovel and started digging, frantic that he would be too late and sweating bullets that he’d accidentally drive the shovel into Mari if he went too fast.
“Mari! Mari!” He didn’t expect an answer but if Mari heard, at least he would know that he had found him.
Dirt flew and, as he got deeper, he forced himself to go slower, more carefully. He prodded first before he sunk the business end of the shovel deeper and about a minute later he was glad when he nudged against something softer but not as yielding as the fresh earth. Jake dropped the shovel and started digging with his hands, throwing big clods out of his way and shoving as much as he could aside until he uncovered soft, sage green wool. Mari’s coat.
“Mari? Oh my god, Mari… Mari…oh fuck, please be alive…”
Blue lights strobed through the foliage, looking eerie and alien in the gathering darkness as Jake straddled the hole. He pulled the coat back and was greeted with Mari’s pale, still face.
“No…no, no, no… Oh spirits, no…please… Mari!” He tapped his cheek and got no response. He felt for a pulse and couldn’t detect one. “Mari!” He lay down on the edge of the hole so he could reach Mari’s lips without risking kneeling on his chest. He pinched his nose and opened his mouth before starting rescue breathing and chest compressions.
A few moments later he was surrounded by figures in uniform, police in dark blue and paramedics in green jumpsuits, all of whom set to work with their hands to excavate the rest of the shallow grave in the woods. Jake was barely aware of any of it. He only saw Mari’s beautiful face, eyes closed as if he was asleep, his skin streaked with earth.
Finally, they removed enough dirt to free him, and one of the paramedics told Jake to stop CPR so they could get him out. The transfer from the bottom of the hole to the ground beside it took seconds and a set of paramedics took over CPR.
Jake stared, the feeling of helplessness the worst he’d even experienced. His chest constricted like it was in a vise and he was shaking hard enough to rattle his teeth. Time distorted in one long, torturous, never-ending cycle of chest compressions and breathing. The minutes felt like days going by.
One of the officers questioned him about the man lying on the ground a few feet away.
“He’s Joseph St. Andrews, the Cemetery Rapist. I found him burying Mari,” he said, on autopilot.
“Got a pulse,” one of the paramedics said. Jake closed his eyes and swallowed.
Mari was transferred to a stretcher. As Jake started to follow, his phone pinged in his pocket and he pulled it out, finger poised to turn the damned thing off. The message was from Mari. A large heart shaped emoji, surrounded by smaller ones. Nothing more.
Jake wasn’t sure if his own heart was still beating. Mari was still interfacing. How was that even possible?
“Hang on a minute,” Jake told one of the paramedics as they were fitting an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. “I need to find his phone.”
“I think he’s got more to worry about than losing his phone, mate,” the medic told him with a good-natured grunt as he moved around to lift the stretcher.
His phone pinged again. Several times, in fact. A scramble of random images popped up on the screen. A wide-eyed scream face, a box with a ribbon on it, another heart, a hotdog, a frustrated face. That one popped up three times.
Jake reached across Mari’s torso, ignoring the objections of the nearest medic for one moment. Mari had one hand free but the other was still trapped in the pocket of his muddy coat, secured there by the restraining straps that held him on to the backboard. He flipped the buckle of the belt around his middle and slid his hand into Mari’s pocket. The slim mobile device was still very warm, warmer than Mari’s fingers, as Jake retrieved it and stroked his dirt-streaked hair in reassurance. “I’ve got you, Ilmari.”
“We need to get him loaded into the ambulance,” the other paramedic, an older man, told him in more strident tones.
“Okay…just one more second,” Jake said. He moved the oxygen mask from Mari’s face. “Come back to me, baby,” he whispered, taking Mari’s face gently between his hands and kissing him.
For a long moment, nothing happened. He pressed his mouth harder and brushed his nose against Mari’s. It came away wet and he knelt back, wiping blood from his face. Mari’s lips parted and he took one long, ragged breath then another. The blood was coming from his nose, and Jake remembered what Mari had once told him about backlash caused by coming out of a prolonged interface too quickly. He didn’t have time to feel guilty. Long tawny lashes quivered and Mari opened his eyes, looking straight up at Jake like he’d known where he would find him.
“You’re real,” he croaked in a small, fragile voice. “I wasn’t sure.”
Jake made a choked sound. Some of the dirt must have gotten into his eyes and he blinked a couple times. “I’m real. I’m here. And so are you.” He put the mask over Mari’s nose and mouth again with careful hands and took a shaky breath himself. “They’re going to take you to A&E. I’ll be right behind you.” He kissed Mari’s forehead and the paramedics buckled him up again, got him onto the gurney and hurried him toward the waiting ambulance.
The scene was gruesome. An open grave, flashing lights, and more police and emergency workers had arrived while Jake had been focused on Mari. St. Andrews was handcuffed and had also regained consciousness.
“Jake.” Cordiline strode toward him. He’d either just arrived or had been talking with the uniforms. Whichever, he’d spotted Jake now and came over, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“I thought I told you to wait for backup.”
“You didn’t really think I would?”
The hand on his shoulder squeezed then patted him. “No. I suppose I didn’t. One of the patrol is going to give you a lift to A&E. I’d take you myself but…”
“It’s okay. You got your man, now go make sure the case sticks.”
Cordiline nodded and Jake gave him back his keys.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The world swayed around him as Mari lurched in and out of consciousness. Sometimes strangers loomed over him and asked him questions that he could not answer.
“Where’s Jake?” he slurred, wondering if he had imagined the kiss—imagined seeing that beloved face looking down at him, golden eyes warm with love and concern. It felt like a dream and he closed his eyes again, letting reality slip away.
When he opened them again, he was in a bright, busy room. The light h
urt his eyes and he kept shutting them.
“Hello there. I’m Ashley. Can you tell me your name?”
He risked a glance. A solid-looking man in blue scrubs that set off his short ginger hair and beard was smiling down at him. Mari swallowed hard and told him.
“That’s a mouthful. What do you like to be called?” the nurse asked him.
“Just Mari will do.”
“Splendid. What happened to you, Mari? Can you remember?”
He shook his head, but that made the room spin, so he closed his eyes again.
“Welcome back, I’m Dr. Stanley. Did you get a knock on the head, Mari?” A smiling, dark-skinned woman in a smart-looking business suit was standing over him when he opened his eyes again. He was not sure how long he had closed them for.
“Not sure…um, yes. I think he hit me with a spade,” he mumbled as broken images of the last few hours began to slot back into place in his head.
“You have a nasty bump there but the X-ray doesn’t show a fracture, so I guess that makes you a lucky chap,” she said cheerfully. “Your breathing is better now and you’ve got a bit more color in your cheeks, so we’re going to move you into a ward once we’ve got that cut on your head stitched. The police will want to talk to you, when you’re ready.”
He blinked at her. For a moment he wondered what he had done then remembered—the apartment. Tomas. Josep dragging him down from the car and into the bushes.
“Not yet,” he managed.
“That’s okay. No rush,” she told him. “Is there anyone we can call for you?”
“Jake,” he said automatically. “He said he would come with me.”
One of the nurses said something that he missed but the doctor just nodded. “I think he’s in the waiting room, I’ll get someone to bring him through.”
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