by Jane Davitt
Duncan shook his head. “This is public property. I have as much right to be here as you do. Maybe more; at least I’m providing a service to the public.”
“I don’t see how.” John’s face was as unfriendly as it got, which sent a flicker of pleasure through Nick, dispelling some of his anger. John was so easygoing usually that it was a shock to see him reacting ‑‑ overreacting, even ‑‑ to Alicia and Duncan, but it was impossible to miss the instinct to protect Nick that was causing his temper. Nick found himself touched by it, even though he was well able to take care of himself.
“I was at the morgue right after you,” Duncan said, avoiding John’s comment deftly. “Asked around because I knew there was something about you…you weren’t even the one who identified your father’s body. You don’t even share his name, do you? So if I’m wrong, and you were close, then I’ll apologize, but I’m guessing I’m right.” He grinned, his eyes sparkling. “I’m always right.”
“I don’t care if you’re right or not.” Nick knew it wasn’t a real denial anymore; there wasn’t any point bothering, since Duncan obviously knew who he was. “And I did come to identify his body. You think I’d ‑‑ we’d go into a place like that for the hell of it?” That little flicker of anger was still there.
“No, but if you’d known there was someone else here to identify him, you wouldn’t have come all this way, would you?” Duncan was watching him shrewdly, all his attention locked on Nick like John wasn’t even there, and that was disconcerting in a way Nick couldn’t have put a name to. “It must have been an entire day’s trip from where you are. Scotland, right?”
At least he knew the difference between England and Scotland, which was more than Alicia had. Nick found himself relaxing a little bit. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
“So?” Duncan’s smile invited more. Nick was aware of the calculation behind the charm; aware enough to identify it as a trick of the journalist’s trade, but it didn’t mean he was completely unaffected by it. It wasn’t as if he’d ever made a secret of who he was and what he did, after all; not really. If it’d been Matthew standing beside him instead of John, Matthew and Duncan would probably be negotiating a deal for an exclusive interview right now, with Nick all but forgotten.
No. Not a secret…just not something he mentioned unless he had to. There was a difference.
And now, maybe, he had to.
“Okay. Fine.” Nick looked at John, but it was hard to tell what his partner was thinking. “But not here, and not now.” Despite the incredibly beautiful weather and the way that the landscape would have been picturesque if it hadn’t been for the debris from the crash, there was a pall over this place, and being interviewed by this guy wasn’t what he was here for.
“Wherever you want.” Duncan reached into a pocket and handed Nick a business card. Their fingers brushed together. “There’s my cell phone. Tonight?”
Nick nodded. “I guess.” Might as well get it over with as soon as possible.
Duncan nodded, looking satisfied, and walked off quickly enough to make Nick suspect that he didn’t want to risk Nick changing his mind.
As soon as the man was out of earshot, John rounded on Nick. “You’re going to give this jerk everything he wants? Just like that? Since when do you do interviews?”
“It’s not like he was just going to give up and go away quietly,” Nick said, trying not to show how taken aback he was by John’s attitude. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t understand it; his own first instinct had been to say no and get away from Duncan as fast as he could. “And this is different. There might be people who’ll need to know who I am, what I can do. At least this way they’ll be able to find me.”
“Oh? You’re planning on hanging around for a while, are you, then? Because once word gets out about what you can do, it’s not going to be just the people connected with the crash who’re going to be after you, and it won’t end here.” John shook his head, his gaze fixed on Duncan as he got into his car and drove away. “He’s trouble, that one. And he thinks you’re the way for him to get a story, does he?” John hunched his shoulder expressively before making the all-purpose sound that Nick guessed this time meant he wasn’t happy. “Hmmph. Might explain the way he was staring, maybe.”
“Staring?” Nick had no idea what John was talking about. He sighed and raised a hand to his forehead, rubbing it fitfully. “Look, don’t be like this, okay? I can’t right now.”
“But you can get interviewed by sleazy gits like him?” John’s mouth closed in a tight line before opening and biting out a terse, “Fine. Have fun. What do you want to do now?”
Nick felt sick knowing that John was angry with him, but this wasn’t the time or place to do anything about it. He tucked his hands into his pockets, realizing that it made him smaller, less of a target, and looked across the hillside at the wreckage. “Go down there, I guess. If they’ll let us.” They’d seen people who were obviously relatives standing down amongst the debris earlier in the day, though, so he didn’t think it would be a problem.
John bit his lip, his annoyance visibly draining from him. “I’m sorry. He just ‑‑ he rubbed me up the wrong way, somehow.” He sighed, running a tanned hand back through his hair and ruffling it up. “Want to tell me I’m being an idiot? You can, if you like, you know; I’ll not stop you. Not when it’s true.”
“You’re being an idiot,” Nick said, relieved. He reached out and touched John’s hand. “Not really. I’m glad you look out for me; I don’t know what I’d do without you. I just…I think I have to do this.”
“Why?” John gave him a puzzled look. “I just don’t see what good you think it’ll do. He’s one of those people who write about Elvis living on the moon; it’s not like he’ll take it seriously. You heard him; he doesn’t even believe in what you can do. Probably thinks we’re a pair of conmen.”
Nick shrugged. “We’ll show him we’re not. And even if he doesn’t believe us…I don’t know if that matters.” He was grateful for this conversation because it delayed what he needed to do. He could feel the first twinges of it, a ghost ‑‑ not Grant, thank God ‑‑ edging closer to him, needing him in a way it was almost impossible to be needed.
“You’ve got that look on your face,” John said gloomily. “Have we got company, then?”
Guilt for having made this a part of John’s life was pushed aside without much effort, because the ghost was already twisting tendrils through Nick, tugging him in the direction of the wreckage, and he didn’t have any choice but to follow. He hated feeling like a child to the spirit world’s Pied Piper.
“Yeah,” he managed, starting down the hill. “Come on.”
He was aware of John following him, but he didn’t stop until he was near the torn-off wing of the plane. He knelt beside it, reaching out to touch the sheared metal.
“It’s okay.” Nick whispered it; he didn’t need to be loud for the ghosts to hear him. “Whatever it is you need to say…I’m here.”
It came at him all in a rush, images that were unusually blurry ‑‑ had the woman lost her glasses? It all happened so fast that he could barely keep up, and he had to put a hand down to balance himself; the grass was dried out like straw, stiff and prickly against his skin. She’d been afraid, but she knew that she was dead.
Selena. My sister. I need you to tell her I’m sorry.
“I’ll find her,” Nick promised. “Sorry for what?”
I told our parents a secret I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t mine to tell. There was a sensation of grief and guilt, so strong that Nick gasped. The flickering heartbeat of an unborn baby on an ultrasound screen. Bloodied gloves. An aching in a womb he didn’t have. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did it ‑‑ I was jealous, maybe. That they always loved her more. They thought she was so perfect, and…anyway. I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry. I don’t want her to hate me.
John knelt down beside him, his arm curving around Nick’s shoulders, supporting him. Nick could
n’t spare him more than a glance, but John looked fairly calm, as if he sensed that this woman wasn’t anything like the threat that Grant was.
And she wasn’t. Tale told, the ghost waited, although for what Nick didn’t know. He couldn’t tell her that it was okay and have it mean anything; for all he knew, her sister wouldn’t forgive her.
He could lie, but they always seemed to know when he did that…
“I’ll tell her,” he said finally, not sure what else she wanted. “I’ll make sure she knows. You’ve done everything you can here, and it’s time to go now.”
There was a wave of sadness so intense that Nick felt tears well up in his eyes; he fumbled a hand out and caught at John’s sleeve, then half turned and pressed his face to John’s shoulder hard enough that it hurt. She was going, fading away, and then she was gone, leaving them alone on the hillside.
“She’s gone,” Nick whispered, still feeling the emotion of it. The sorrow was a deep ache that made it hard to breathe.
John nodded. “I can tell that much.” His shoulder lifted slightly as he ran his hand over Nick’s back, the slow pressure comforting. “They leave everything feeling brighter. Emptier.” He helped Nick stand, never letting go of him. “Do you know who she was? Did she say?”
Nick shook his head, still clutching at John’s sleeve. “Her sister’s Selena. I think her name was something with an A ‑‑ Anne, maybe.” The sunshine on his skin felt unnatural, too white, and he wished he’d bought sunglasses when he’d seen them at the airport. He’d been too exhausted then, and too distanced from John, to be able to really think about anything. He lifted his face and looked at John, whose nose was starting to look a bit pink. “We should get sunblock. Hats.” Nick managed a smile. “You know, really embrace the tourist experience. God, I love you.”
“A hat?” John looked horrified. “I don’t wear hats.” His hand slid over Nick’s as he spoke, linking their fingers. “And the only thing I want to embrace is you.” He held Nick’s gaze, giving him a faint smile. “But I’m by way of being shy, so I’ll wait until we’re back in our room to do that.”
They stared at each other for a moment and then John said softly, “I love you, too. Never doubt it.”
Do you? Nick wanted to ask, but he drew a shaky breath instead and turned away without letting go of John’s hand. He was so confused. “We need to find her. Selena. And…” He could feel more ghosts waiting, wanting him, but there were too many people around and the thought of being overwhelmed like that was more than he could handle just then. “I’ll need to come back. Tonight? Once it’s dark and everyone’s gone.” He didn’t know if everyone would be gone, or how to work out the timing with Duncan. He felt a short, very sharp longing for Matthew, who might not have asked what he wanted but who would have, at least, taken care of everything. “I don’t know how to do this.”
John’s hand tightened on his. “The easiest way, aye? Anne? Well, there was a passenger list printed in one of the newspapers; I’ll check that and see if we can get her full name, and then ‑‑” He hesitated a moment. “Then you can ask that reporter to help you find her sister. He’s probably been interviewing everyone he can get his hands on, and we might as well use him. Call him when we get back to the hotel and arrange to meet him early tonight and tell him what you need. We’ll come here afterwards, as late as you like. How’s that sound?”
“Yes,” Nick said, so grateful that he would have done anything John had asked of him just then, no matter what it had been. “Yeah, let’s do that.” He was so tired, even though they’d slept for a few hours in the middle of the day, and he didn’t know if it was because of jet lag or the sheer emotion of the situation, of finding out that he had ‑‑ God, a half brother somewhere, maybe.
“And you’ll eat something,” John went on, sounding, for a moment, disturbingly like his mother, who was never going to be anything more than polite to Nick as long as she lived and probably not after, “and rest, because you’re all but dead on your feet.”
It wasn’t the best choice of words but Nick couldn’t really argue with him. He was.
“Yes,” he said again, following the gentle tug of John’s hand. “Yes, I am.”
* * * * *
John scrawled the details of the two Annes and one Angela he’d found on the passenger list onto a piece of paper and pushed it over to Nick. “They’re the most likely. Do you want to ring him, then?”
Nick nodded, the pallor under his tan still making him look exhausted. They’d eaten, with Nick’s eyes half-closing as he chewed listlessly at another meal from the limited room service menu, and then fallen asleep, the thick curtains drawn against the sun. John had woken first, staring down at Nick’s face, frowning even in sleep, tense and worried. It wouldn’t get easier on him, not until they were on their way home, and John hated knowing that for certain, because it meant that there was nothing he could do to help.
It’d been one hell of a day and it wasn’t over yet. John stabbed the pen he’d been using into the notepad, punching small holes in the paper for no good reason at all but to be destructive, as his mother would have told him, before snatching the pen away and rapping his knuckles with it.
He’d been waiting for Nick to bring up the twin subjects of his father’s girlfriend and son, revelations which had to have left Nick feeling stunned, then curious ‑‑ about his brother anyway. John didn’t think that there was much mystery to Alicia. Nick hadn’t said a word, though, and the vague disquiet John had felt about that had been channeled into his response to Duncan.
How Nick had swallowed the thin story the man had fed him, John didn’t know. Or missed the looks. Plain as day that the reporter had taken a fancy to Nick, or was trying that angle to get what he wanted.
John wasn’t sure which of those options annoyed him the most, but he was damned sure Nick wasn’t going to meet Duncan alone.
“Uh-huh,” Nick was saying into the phone. His eyes went to the paper John had been mangling, then his gaze lifted to meet John’s questioningly. John shrugged, and Nick’s lips twitched in an almost-smile. “Yeah, but you’ll have to decide where. We don’t exactly know the area.” He smiled properly this time at something that Duncan said. “No, probably not. It’d be kind of hard to talk. Uh-huh. Yeah, I guess.” Nick reached over and took the pen from John’s hand, scribbled something onto the rumpled paper. “Listen…I need to ask you a favor.”
John didn’t like the sound of that, or the hopeful tone of Nick’s voice, but it wasn’t as if they didn’t need the help, and they were rather limited as far as where that help might come from.
“I have a message for the sister of one of the people who died, and I need to get it to her. Yeah ‑‑ all I know is her name is something like Anne ‑‑ um, not the sister, the one who died ‑‑ the sister is Selena.” Nick read the names John had written down to Duncan. “Yeah, I don’t know for sure, but…thanks. Thank you. That’d be great. Okay. We’ll see you in a little while.” He hung up the phone.
“So he’s going to help you.” John didn’t make it into a question; there wasn’t any point when he knew the answer. “That’s…good.” He nodded, trying to look convincing, and knowing before Nick grinned at him that he hadn’t come close. “When and where?” he said gruffly.
“At his hotel. First he kind of suggested some restaurant where they have country music and line dancing, but he was kidding.” Nick smiled slightly at the memory. “He said he was just going to be hanging around tonight working on some stuff, so whenever.” He looked uncertain suddenly, in the same way he had earlier when they’d been back at the crash site and he’d admitted he wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. “When do you think we should go?”
John shrugged. “We should give him some time to get the information we need before we see him.” He looked around the hotel room, feeling suddenly hemmed-in. “Look, why don’t we do what you said; do the tourist thing for an hour or two.” He gave Nick a small, hopeful smile. “I’ll buy yo
u a drink with a wee, fancy umbrella in it, if you like, at one of those bars on the beach, and we can maybe…well, we could…talk?”
Usually, that would be the last thing he felt like doing when they had a problem, but there were times Nick needed pushing, and this felt like one of them. And John had had enough of Nick’s silence.
“Okay.” Nick didn’t sound thrilled about the idea, but John tried not to take that personally; it wasn’t as if he was looking forward to it, after all.
They found a bar that wasn’t quite as crowded as the rest ‑‑ technically it was the dinner hour and the place didn’t serve much in the way of food, so most people had probably departed for restaurants at this point. Nick did, indeed, order a drink that came with an umbrella; some sort of fruit based thing. John found himself approving based solely on the fact that the thing had to provide some vitamins, which Nick was looking like he needed, then silently berated himself for turning into his mother.
Leaning back in his chair, Nick sipped at the drink, then licked his lips. The crash of the waves was audible from where they were sitting even over the sound of the music.
John took a sip of beer, light and sharp and cold, and fiddled with a fraying corner of the woven mat in the center of the table. “You have a brother.”
It seemed to be more of a conversation stopper than a starter. Nick stared at him in silence and John tried again. “It must be ‑‑ well, I can’t think of a word. And I can’t imagine how it feels because I’ve always had my sisters so I’m used to it. You’ll be wanting to go and see him?”
“If he even exists,” Nick said, not looking up. His eyes were focused on John’s fingers as they frayed the mat further, though, so at least he wasn’t denying John’s presence. “He might not. She might just have been…who knows.”
“She sounded pretty angry about it,” John pointed out. “I don’t think she’d have made it up. Especially if she thinks the boy’s entitled to this money your dad’s supposed to have won.”