“No,” Hyacinth responded firmly. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t have liked to be courted – even if it had to be this ugly but thoroughly interesting man. Anyhow, he couldn’t deny feeling drawn to him. Only, it was a matter of not wanting to discard his pride to help Ardenovic put his chivalrous behaviour on display. He didn’t need to be rescued. He was a grown man who knew how to help himself and had his dignity. He didn’t require a knight on a white horse bestowing his grace on him.
“Then please forgive me for asking,” Ardenovic replied weakly and carefully put him down. As promised, he’d carried him home.
Hyacinth stood on the lowest step of the exterior stairs and looked down at his protector. Glittering white snowflakes had settled on his black beret. The man produced an odd image. Not only on account of his ugliness, but also because of his clothes and his exemplary bearing. The colours on him formed beautiful contrasts to each other. The paleness of his skin and the snow, the black of his shoulder-length hair, which glittered in the moonlight, and the red of his jacket. Looking at him touched something deep in his heart, and this emotion frightened him more than any filthy punter ever could.
“I’ll have already forgotten you by tomorrow.” He finally smiled and tried to appear unruffled. However, his voice sounded weak.
His rescuer shoved his hands into the pockets of his uniform’s coat and regarded him with a lengthy gaze from those unusually dark eyes. “Farewell, Hyacinth.” With those words he turned away and hurried with firm strides down the street.
Gulping hard, Hyacinth looked at him. He felt a stitch in his stomach. In a surge of panic he stumbled a few steps toward the soldier and opened his lips, wanted to call out to him that he’d changed his mind.
Not a word came from his constricted throat, and he had to look on helplessly while Mr Ardenovic disappeared from his life as the darkness devoured him. At that moment, tears rose in his eyes and he laughed shrilly about himself and the surge of unfamiliar emotions that had just befallen him. How stupid of him, how terribly stupid…
Dazed, he sat on the bed and pressed his husband’s uniform tightly to his chest, where his heart pulsated violently. How could he have acted as he did? This idiot in his memory surely hadn’t been himself! It must have been the alcohol and drugs!
How could he have forgotten that night? And how could Vrila claim he’d initially only wanted to possess him when his behaviour from back then attested to something quite different? His husband had convinced himself of something to hide his true emotions from Hyacinth and supposedly also from himself.
His fingers again clenched the soft material. Had he not been so frightfully stupid, he wouldn’t have hurt Vrila’s feelings so profoundly, and they would have discovered much sooner their love for each other. Vrila would have wooed him instead of having to rescue him from his father. That horrid night would have never happened if he’d just been courageous enough to confess his desire for Vrila as well. Had his senses not been so clouded, he’d have recognised the sincerity behind Vrila’s request. If only he hadn’t been so afraid of being hurt, both of them would have been spared so much sorrow.
If he hadn’t so crudely offended Vrila and pushed him away, his husband would have treated him tenderly instead of taking possession of him with emotional rejection.
Everything would have turned out differently.
At once a thought occurred to Hyacinth. Maybe it was not meant to be different. Because of that incident, they had had to join forces, which brought them closer together than they might have been otherwise. Or was he deluding himself so it wouldn’t hurt as much?
Vrila would do anything for him, and Hyacinth would give his life for that man. So wasn’t all in vain what had happened? The tugging in his chest wanted to convince him of the opposite, made him nearly die of a guilty conscience and self-incrimination.
His hands quivered, and he pulled himself together. “We love each other. No one can separate us.” His eyes fell on the threatening note Vrila had crumpled and thrown on the dresser earlier. In an instant it was clear to him the author of the note was trying to separate Vrila and him.
Unconsciously he furrowed his brow. Why did those people not want them together? What did it mean to them if they were not? What did they have against their relationship? Who had so much interest in separating them?
Everything was spinning in his head as the events of the past few days came together in a grand whole.
Suddenly everything was evident to him. He saw everything clearly before his eyes. And the panic he felt almost stopped his breathing.
*
Despite his intention to concentrate entirely on his immediate surroundings, Vrila sank more and more into reminiscences. He thought back to the night when he’d met Hyacinth in the gutters. He remembered how disappointed, hurt and humiliated he’d been. And how much in love...
In the days and nights following their marriage, he’d made sure the lad felt how intensely he’d been offended. Hyacinth didn’t even remember the incident but had received the full brunt of Vrila’s wrath. Not to mention his despair and all of his pent-up jealousy, which he’d hardly come to terms with.
After the night his dearest one had spurned him, he never dared hope he could win his heart. Now it belonged to him, and he couldn’t have been more undeserving.
Without warning, he collided with someone and felt a dull pain in his upper body.
In confusion, he glared up at the man who’d struck him with a fist against the part of his chest behind which his heart was racing. A hood covered the stranger’s face, and before Vrila, in his stunned condition, could react, a message was pressed into the palm of his right hand, then the fellow disappeared.
Wheezing, he stared after the enemy who’d come so close without Vrila having noticed him before they’d collided. He scolded himself for his inattention and turned to the letter, obviously composed hastily.
However, the written words didn’t cause the trembling that overcame him, rather the fact that he recognised the handwriting.
*
“Sergei!” Vrila shouted into the night and peered down the steps leading to the banks of the Meln.
He’d run the whole way from the other end of town.
Completely winded, he braced his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
Something moved under the bridge, but it could be anyone of the homeless men there who felt annoyed by his bellowing and now rose from his lair to teach him a tangible lesson. “Sergei!”
A second later Perkovic appeared, and Vrila had never been more relieved to see him. They looked each other in the eyes, and Sergei immediately knew something wasn’t right. Nothing was right any longer, and he doubted it ever would be again. This affair wasn’t going to end well, and the thought caused him a panic-stricken anxiety.
Sergei hurried to him and grabbed his left shoulder. “Gavrii, what’s happened?”
“You need to… go to Hyacinth and… keep an eye on him.” His breaths came so fast he could barely speak. He swallowed hard. “He’s in great danger. They’ve sent him a threat, which... told him to leave town. I have to… prevent anyone from doing something to him.”
Perkovic released his hold and brushed through his thick curls. “What are you talking about? Hell and damnation, what’s wrong?!”
“Go to Hyacinth,” Vrila repeated insistently. “Someone will soon arrive with a coach. Pack it with whatever the lad has collected and… and then take him out of the city. You won’t wait on me; you’ll go.”
“Gavrii, I can’t leave! Not before I’ve seen Laurent a last…”
Vrila grabbed him by the collar and jerked him closer. “You get my boy out of this damn city!” Tears welled in his eyes and ran down his cheeks, irritating Perkovic and shaming himself. “You do as I say, dammit!” he growled and shoved Sergei away.
“Tell me where you’re going,” Perkovic demanded in a strangely calm voice that demonstrated his concern more clearly than any other tone could have.
>
Vrila rubbed his face. “Someone wants to meet with me. An old enemy. I have to go and settle the matter once and for all.”
“Who is the bugger? Gavrii, I can help you.”
“You don’t need to know his name. It’s not important. Help me by getting Hyacinth to a safe place. That’s all I ask from you.”
For a moment they were shrouded in silence broken only by a soft breeze wafting around their ears.
Once more Perkovic ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “What are you keeping from me? Does it have to do with that accursed secret society?”
“Get my husband out of this town. I beg you.” That one word had the power to exact from his friend the promise Vrila urgently needed to hear.
“I’ll do what you’re demanding. I’ll protect Hyacinth and make sure he’s safe. But I’d prefer it if you’d tell me what you plan to do.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” he confessed weakly. Now that he knew his husband would be out of danger, a remarkable calm settled over him. “I don’t know how it will end. Only the old Saint John will see the outcome.”
With those words he turned his back on his friend without knowing whether he’d ever see him again.
*
Anxiously he paced back and forth in front of the cold hearth. Again he couldn’t grasp any clear thoughts. Totally imprisoned by his fear, he didn’t know what to do. Vrila… Where was he? Shouldn’t he have been back already?
An undefinable sound escaped from his throat and he ruffed up his hair to allow the brief pangs to clear his mind.
A knock at the door caused him to flinche in terror and reel around. For a moment he feared the murderer had come to put an end to him.
Then he saw Sergei and felt delirious relief. He dashed to the door, opened it and let his friend in. Perkovic was barely in the house before Hyacinth’s voice came thick and fast, trying to relate everything that had occurred in the past few hours.
Sergei remained completely calm and shoved him gently onto the sofa. “I know. Gavrii was at my place. He said, the two of us have to get out of the city. Where are the things you’ve packed?”
Hyacinth’s breathing paused. “What? What are you saying?” he asked in a quaking voice and stared at Sergei, a mixture of terror and hostility on his face.
“Don’t look at me like that, youngster! Your husband gave me strict orders to get you out of Ascot, and I’m going to do just that. Are the cartons in the bedroom?” Without awaiting Hyacinth’s reply, Sergei hurried into the bedchamber.
Hyacinth rose to his feet and stumbled after him. “I’m not going anywhere without Vrila! Where is he?! Tell me where my husband is!”
His heart was racing.
“He received a letter. Someone wants to meet him. He didn’t tell me who. Maybe he doesn’t even know.”
Now it stopped.
“No! No! He mustn’t go there!” He clasped Sergei’s shirt and shook him. His friend tried to sputter a few comforting words then reached for his hands, but Hyacinth wouldn’t let go of him. “He mustn’t, you hear! Dimitri! He’s not dead! Dimitri isn’t dead!”
*
Despite the cold, moths swarmed around the lantern in front of the church, which now was scarcely more than a ruin. Like most everything in Elwood. Lonely and abandoned, it stood on the beach, where the sea washed against it in gentle waves.
To warm himself, he’d burrowed his hands in his coat pockets. Nevertheless, he was shivering. Perhaps it wasn’t the cold, but his fear.
With an additional deep breath, cloudlets formed, while he strode along the paved walkway to the wide-open entrance to the house of God. He doubted God was present here. What a peculiar thought for someone who didn’t believe in a higher power.
His heavy steps on the damaged church floor echoed off the walls. The portraits of saints were faded and partly destroyed by the crumbling plaster. The altar stood covered in dust, and a tattered fabric hung from it, fluttering softly in the breeze. It blew through the shattered windows, only one of which still remained in its frame. It was stained in a variety of colours and illuminated by the pale light of the moon. Vrila tensed and glanced around with suspicion. He was alone. Where was the sorry bastard hiding?
Hesitantly he walked through the few rows of worn wooden pews. There he caught sight of the black hyacinths on the altar. His pulse quickened. He stepped closer. Among the small blossoms lay a message, weighed down by a stone. Reluctantly he reached for the sheet of paper; it instructed him to go into the run-down warehouse next to the church.
With a growl, he crumpled the message and threw it back onto the altar.
For a moment he sat down on the front pew, and for that length of time he was seized by the urge to disappear and leave the city with his husband. But he mustn’t. Doing so would put Hyacinth in further danger.
Resolute, he got up and took a side exit, its door no longer on its hinges. A gravel pathway led him to a tiny park consisting of only a few trees. Devoid of leaves at that time of year, their branches reached like arms into the gloomy night sky. A lantern allowed them to cast their shadows onto the ground.
As the pebbles crunched under his soles, he listened to the sound. Next, from somewhere an owl screeched, and it seemed to Vrila he was in a completely different world. Night time out here was so different than in the city. More pleasant. Liberating.
One would think such thoughts wouldn’t occur to him while facing his fate all alone, but he felt as though inevitability were the impetus for his remarkable musings. He began to shudder when the breeze crept under his clothes, giving him goose-bumps.
Finally, he stood before the side door of the old warehouse where he paused and took a few deep breaths. He then pressed a hand against the dark wood. It opened with a loud creak, sending a spectral echo through the empty hall beyond it.
Entering the structure required a degree of courage that he mustered up for the sake of his husband. Hyacinth trusted him. The young man relied on his protection.
His fingers wrapped around the pistol grip more firmly, clinging to it for assurance.
When he stopped in the middle of the gigantic room, he heard deliberate steps behind him and shut his eyes for a second. His lips trembled and a barely audible sob crossed them. There was no escape. Not for him. The nightmare was beginning anew...
“You’ve bitterly disappointed me. How many blows will it still take for you to comprehend that I won’t tolerate your abnormality?” The mere sound of that dark, raw voice sent chills down his spine.
“I sent him out of town. Like you demanded in your letter.”
“You’re lying, you filthy, obnoxious dog! You’re lying!”
“I’m not lying. He’ll leave town tonight.”
“You intended to go with him!”
“For an instant I thought about doing so. But I’m staying. And he‘s going.” He was nearly unable to speak those words.
“Turn around. Or aren’t you man enough to look me in the eyes?”
Vrila obeyed the command and slowly turned around. A light-headed feeling overcame him as he saw the brother he’d thought was dead standing before him. The grin on his rage-distorted face and his black hair gave him the appearance of the devil Timothy Fowler had described.
Shouldn’t he have suspected long ago that Dimitri had only faked his death? Shouldn’t he have known it? Perceived it?
“Why?” was all he could ask.
“Those scumbags I gave everything to wanted to harm me!” Dimitri exclaimed and waved a pistol in his left hand as he strode circles around him. “That dirty swine Harold tried to have me killed because I didn’t follow his orders! The fucking bastard wanted me to lose my case! I! Lose! Can you imagine it?!”
Vrila shook his head. His brother was too proud to have ever lost a case intentionally. Not even if his life depended on it.
“They appealed to my conscience not to allow any of our own people to be put behind bars. But I refused and sent the bastard to his
well-deserved punishment, because I always win!” With a grim smile he snarled, and his eyes gleamed venomously.
Vrila became painfully aware that it was the truth. Dimitri always won. Regardless of the issue. A burning rage seized him. Hyacinth sat in a coach and was about to leave him. Because of Dimitri. This man had taken everything from him. His childhood, his youth, his dearest one – the only thing he’d ever had. “Then you belong to the society I’ve been pursuing to catch your murderer?”
Dimitri tightened his broad shoulders and bowed curtly to him. “You guessed it,” he laughed gruffly. “Unfortunately they didn’t recognise my value. I had to resort to these somewhat unusual means to stay alive.”
“Vincent Fowler served as your corpse, I assume.”
“How bright you are, Gavrila. How bright,” Dimitri said with a smirk. “Good ole Vincent had alleged similarities to me. Of course, we had to lacerate his horrid face because he was too ugly to do justice to my attractiveness.”
“We?” Vrila asked and unconsciously raised his eyebrows. Now he would learn which blond had been steadily on his heels and reporting to Dimitri. Otherwise, how could his brother have ever known about everything they’d done? He couldn’t have shadowed them himself. It would have been too risky to allow himself to be seen in public.
Dimitri nodded self-satisfied. “I did need someone to keep you under scrutiny. Andrew!” he called with a brief glance over his shoulder.
Petticoa appeared behind him, a person Vrila had almost forgotten, although he’d been in their presence so often. Why hadn’t he come to mind sooner? Now it was too late. He’d lost everything.
“Good evening, Mr Ardenovic. At your service as always,” the morgue worker smiled disingenuously. He wore a hood, just as Hyacinth had described. Then it must have been he who’d spoken to his lad at the cemetery.
A Hyacinth for His Hideousness Page 42