Murder in the Shadows

by Jade Astor

  Darian moved closer. “Hey—are you okay?”

  No answer. Instead, Darian heard ragged breathing. The figure whirled around and scurried back into the woods. Something wasn’t right.

  Darian followed. He didn’t find a path. Whoever had come to the house had forged his way through untamed scrub. Bare, dried saplings scratched at his hands and face as he plunged forward. Their stark limbs swished shut behind him, blocking his view of the house.

  Before long, his surroundings grew too dark and knotty for him to navigate safely. Better to go back, he decided, and alert Victor. When he turned to retrace his steps, a silhouette emerged from the gloom.

  Darian jumped back, startled, as a bizarre apparition lunged toward him. He saw that whoever it was carried a wooden walking stick, the shaft as wide as a small tree trunk, and wore what looked like a long brown medieval monk’s cowl. Was this one of Sandra’s costumes? He recalled Victor mentioning an old monastery nearby, but one that had been closed for many years. Maybe this guy was a newly arrived extra in Logan’s movie.

  The man raised the staff in a vaguely threatening manner. Darian tried to play his nervousness off with humor. “Friar Tuck, I presume?”

  The man peered at him. His weathered face, grizzled with a scruffy half-beard, twisted with overt hostility. “You don’t belong here.”

  The voice creaked, as if the speaker was trying out an unfamiliar language. Or if—like a monk—he was used to staying silent for long periods of time.

  “No, it’s okay. I’m a guest. Victor Reece’s guest. I’m volunteering on the film they’re making. Look, are you all right? Are you lost? Come back to the house with me. We can help.”

  Friar Tuck didn’t respond to his offer the way he had hoped. Lifting his spindly arms over his head, he aimed the cudgel at Darian and charged.

  Hardly able to believe what he saw, Darian fled in the direction of the house. Branches and twigs snatched and dragged at him, their sharp ends stinging his flesh. In horror movies, this was the part when the victim always tripped over a tree root and the axe-wielding killer caught up, laughing maniacally. At least this guy wasn’t laughing—he was grunting and wheezing as if he were about to collapse. The club whistled in the air as he swung it like a baseball bat at the back of Darian’s skull. Darian felt the rush of air as it missed him.

  “Hey! Back off!” he shouted, quickening his pace. When he reached the grounds of the house, he started screaming for help. To his relief, a pair of the French doors on the ground floor flew open and Victor stepped out. Darian grabbed him with both hands, almost slamming into him.

  “Can’t stop,” he gasped, struggling as Victor held him fast. “Chasing me.”

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” Victor soothed. He scanned the area over Darian’s shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about. He’s gone.”

  Still clinging to Victor, Darian swung around in time to see the mad friar’s cowl flapping as he reversed direction into the forest. Within moments he disappeared.

  “What the hell?” Darian asked, panting. “He chased me. With a stick!”

  Victor nodded sadly. “I know, and I’m sorry. I should have warned you, but I didn’t think he’d be so bold. Usually he doesn’t come this close to the house.”

  “Who is he?”

  “That’s Brother Lew. Crazy as a hooty owl, I’m afraid, but basically harmless.” Victor kept both hands on Darian’s arms, as though worried he break free and give chase. Fat chance. That cudgel sure didn’t look harmless. “He thought you were an intruder. In his own twisted way, he was trying to protect the place.”

  Darian had no idea what to say to that, so he simply gaped at Victor, bewildered and shaking.

  “I’ll tell you about him at dinner.” Victor finally dropped his hands to his sides, though he gave Darian’s fingers a reassuring squeeze. “After all that, I think I’d better drive you. Come on.”

  Darian didn’t object.

  “Brother Lew is one of the monks who lived in the mountains near my estate. He was a young kid when the others took him in over fifty years ago.” Victor’s hand wielded the knife with wide, steady strokes. The hunk of garlic bread he was attacking seemed to cringe under the onslaught of butter-laden steel.

  Darian nodded, sipping his red wine. Victor was right. It did calm him. Jake had delivered it to their table personally. Since then he had stopped by three times to make sure it was all right.

  “Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite right even then, if you get my drift. When the monastery closed down, he refused to go with the others. Finally they gave up trying to force him and just let him stay there. He’s kept up the place by himself ever since.” Victor lifted his own glass and stared into it thoughtfully. “I guess I’ll have to take action one of these days. The older he gets, the harder it must be for him out in the woods.”

  “How does he survive?” Darian asked, amazed.

  “In the summer he has a little garden and fishes in the stream. He harvests enough to get through the winter, and of course we help him out as much as we can. We generally don’t see him often. Once or twice a year at most. But the supplies we leave out disappear overnight.” Victor scowled. “Are you okay? I’m really sorry. I should have gone out there with you. I just never dreamed he’d try something like that.”

  “It’s okay. I wasn’t hurt. But it makes me wonder if the rest of your guests are safe. You’d better warn them not to wander around the grounds alone.”

  “I know. I’m horrified. All I can think is that he’s gone around the bend, living out there alone for so long. Guess it’s time to look for some social services agency that will help.”

  “Evicting him sounds harsh, I know, but it’s probably necessary. He might freeze to death or start a forest fire trying to warm himself.”

  Victor nodded. “I know. It’s for his own good. Still, I hate to do that to him. This is his home and has been for a long time. In a way I feel responsible for him.”

  “I can understand that. It’s a difficult situation.”

  Victor frowned. “Comes with being the lord of the manor, I guess. My burden to carry.”

  Shortly after Jake brought their meals, Patricia made a surprise appearance under the guise of needing to speak to her husband in person. The two took a long, slow gape at Victor as they walked toward the kitchen together. Argo would definitely be hearing all about this evening, Darian knew. He had no doubt that Jake had summoned his wife to assist in spying on their table.

  Their talk soon turned to their careers. Darian told Victor about his decision to leave Florida for the position at Birchwood, and Victor explained that he and his filmmaking friends had graduated together with degrees in theater arts. That made them eligible to either go on for advanced degrees, like Sandra, or look for jobs as waiters or convenience store clerks.

  “Not that I’ve ever had to worry about money,” he said in a guilty voice. “Thanks to an accident of birth, I have the freedom to follow my dream. Logan and Wes haven’t been as fortunate.”

  “Well, at least all of you followed your dreams and didn’t let anyone tell you money mattered more than your happiness. I think there’s a lot to be said for that. Be proud of it.”

  “I think they’ll make it in the end. Logan especially. He’s totally committed to this film, and I can respect that. Trouble is, he’s so wrapped up in his vision, and all the fame and fortune he thinks it will bring him, that he can’t admit it when he makes a mistake. ”

  It sounded like Victor believed he’d made plenty of them.

  “I’m sure you can guess the biggest one, at least in my opinion,” Victor went on.

  Darian recalled Sandra’s tirade on the same subject. “Jamie London?”

  “Exactly.” Victor twirled his fork in creamy angel hair. “Okay, so he’s got some name recognition thanks to his soap opera career. That doesn’t mean he has the right to run the whole show, does it?”

  “You wouldn’t think so.”

  “Then ag
ain, I can understand why Logan would want to get his money’s worth. Jamie’s the only one of us who’s getting paid—except for Chuck, but you always have to pay for tech stuff, right? No chance at all of getting the film on the air if it looks like it came from someone’s garage.”

  “Why is everyone working for Logan for free? Do all of you believe in the project that much?”

  “Well, he used old-fashioned family guilt to persuade Sandra. As for the rest of us, I’d be lying if I said we aren’t all secretly wishing fame and fortune will come our way. Logan’s a little out there sometimes, but those are the kind of guys that can strike gold when you least expect it. Besides, we thought it would be fun—sort of like a college reunion.”

  “Ah.”

  “The four of us used to make films together—at least, we tried. They didn’t come out too great, but of course the equipment we had was pretty primitive in those days. You can do more now with a phone than you could with a state-of-the-art camera back then. And you know how it is when you’re in college. People come and go, lose interest. We didn’t end up with a masterpiece, despite our lofty expectations, but the four of us stuck together.”

  “So you accepted the role of Thaddeus—and agreed to put up with Jamie’s tantrums—out of friendship? The bond between all of you must have been pretty strong.”

  Victor shrugged and reached for the last piece of bread. “Aside from the other thing we all obviously had in common, our sexuality, we all had the same dreams back then. We really believed the world was ours for the taking. Reality hit us all kind of hard after we graduated.”

  “I know the feeling,” Darian admitted.

  “Years went by. Nobody got anywhere. Finally Jamie landed that role on the soap. For a while we were all happy for him, thinking one of us had made it at last. Logan was sure Jamie would try to pull the rest of us along with him, though I warned him not to get his hopes up. Then, wouldn’t you know it, that whole gig goes up in smoke like all the rest. Part of what’s going on with Jamie is just plain denial. He needs to pretend he’s still some bigshot celebrity who’s doing all of us a favor by working on Logan’s little vanity project. But the truth is that he’s counting on this project to restart his career.”

  Victor pushed his wineglass—empty once again—out of the way and leaned forward.

  “Listen, I have this idea. I want to run it by you and then maybe we can take it directly to Logan. I think you’ll like it, especially since it involves a much bigger role for you in the show.”

  “It does?”

  “Yeah. I was thinking we should create a character for you to play. I was thinking his name could be Fenwick. He’s a servant in the house. And I want him and Thaddeus to have an affair—a full-blown, lip-bending, ass-grabbing romp right on camera. Logan’s trying to play it safe by emphasizing the horror aspects over sex. But we all know the sex is what the audience really comes to see. Right? No one wants to see us promenading around like refugees from a Jane Austen convention. They want to see bare chests, tight pants, and probably a whole lot more. Am I right?”

  Darian blinked in surprise. “Are you saying you want me to be in the film? And the two of us should do a love scene together?”

  “See? You’re reading my mind.” Victor grinned and picked up his wineglass. Noticing that it was empty, he scowled and set it down again.

  Jake hurried over to refill it. Thankfully, Victor waited for him to move on before he continued.

  “The way I see it, our characters would fall in love after Thaddeus kills Caleb and hides his body in the cellar next to Osbourne’s. It would play out just like it did before, with Wes and me fighting over a guy we both see as a replacement for Caleb. We could even have Caleb’s spirit possess you for a while, just to get the audience riled up. They’d wonder if what Thaddeus and Fenwick had was real or if Caleb had come back to take revenge from beyond the grave. You see?”

  “I…uh…I think so,” Darian said, bewildered. “That would be quite a departure from the script. I can’t imagine Logan would appreciate that much tinkering with his story after Jamie shredded today’s scene.”

  “That’s exactly why I think he’d go for it. Beat Jamie at his own game, right? If his character gets more scenes, then mine does too. Checkmate. Brilliant, don’t you think?”

  “It’s definitely…interesting. But Victor, I’m not an actor. And I definitely couldn’t do anything explicit.” Darian blanched, picturing Jeanette’s face if she stumbled over his film debut while surfing the internet. Or worse, had it shown to her by a precocious student or outraged trustee.

  “Oh, that was just a thought. Nothing’s written in stone, is it? Actually it’s not even written on paper. Think of the dramatic possibilities, though. We could do a séance or something while your character fights to reclaim his own personality from Caleb’s spirit. I’m telling you, the fans will love it. They might even form some of those internet groups you hear about—Team Caleb and Team Fenwick or whatever. You can’t buy that kind of advertising.”

  “Fans? Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves here? We don’t even know when or if the film will be broadcast.”

  “Details.” Victor waved his fork with angel hair wedged between the tongs. “The trick is to be controversial, edgy. The best way to get people to watch something is to ban it. So here’s our next step. You and I will write some scenes. You’re an English teacher, so it’ll be easy for you. Kind of a bridge story to show how Caleb’s spirit took over your character. Chuck can add some special effects and woo-woo filters and music. It’ll be great.”

  Suddenly Victor reached out and covered Darian’s hand with his own. His fingers gently traced Darian’s knuckles. “Besides, you and I would get to work together. Intimately. I’ve decided that I really want that—don’t you?”

  The pressure of Victor’s hand on his made Darian swallow. Heat surged down the front of his body, causing him to shift uncomfortably in his chair. But the reality of Victor’s plan soon intruded on his rosy fantasy.

  “I can’t deny it’s tempting. I’m flattered that you took the time to plan this out for me. But please, Victor, don’t say anything to Logan. Jamie will be sure I talked you into it. The last thing I want is to be perceived as a troublemaker.”

  “Who cares what Jamie thinks? Besides, I thought you hated him.”

  “Hated him?” Darian raised his brows. “Of course not. I mean, sure, I find him annoying and rude at times, just like you do. But I make it a rule not to hate people. It’s always better to work things out.”

  “Jamie wouldn’t be so considerate of you if the situation were reversed.” Pouting, Victor pulled his hand back and shoveled some food into his mouth, perhaps to avoid saying something he’d regret. He didn’t speak again until he ran out of alfredo. “In fact, he’d probably jump at the chance.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a moment. That only makes me more determined not to play his kind of game. My strategy in life is pretty simple. If I can’t make lifelong friends with the people I work with, at least I can avoid making enemies. I think it’s best to stick to that.”

  The flash of anger in Victor’s eyes surprised him. “I want to do this for you,” he said in a low, strained voice. “I want us to work together. Is that so wrong?”

  “Of course not. But don’t forget, it’s not that simple where I’m concerned. I’ve tried to be honest with you, Victor, and I hope—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know.” Victor pushed back from the table and stood a bit unsteadily. “Him again. He’s always here, isn’t he? Never mind. Going to the men’s room. Be right back.”

  Darian didn’t look at him as he lurched away. “Sure. No problem,” he muttered.

  While Victor was gone, Jake returned with another wine bottle. “Having a nice night out?” he asked hopefully.

  “The food was great. But no more wine, thanks. Why don’t you bring us two strong coffees?”

  “Sure thing,” Jake said. He hung around for a few moments, but Darian
kept quiet.

  Eventually, Victor lumbered back, stuffing his phone into his pants pocket. Darian wondered if he’d been calling an Uber so they wouldn’t have to ride back together.

  “All right, Darian,” he said as he plunked heavily into his seat and placed both hands face-down on the table. “I’m sorry I got a bit carried away. Forget what I said. I was just talking crazy. The truth is, I can’t stand working with Jamie. I’m trying to be professional, but already I can hardly stand looking at him, touching him, never mind pretending I’m in love with him. What I really wanted to do was drive him away. I wish for all our sakes he’d just break up with Logan and quit the film.”

  “You don’t mean that. He and Logan have been your friends for years. Everything will work out. You just need to get used to working together again.”

  As soon as he said it, a startling idea flared. Victor said Jamie cheated on Logan with everyone, and Jamie had confirmed it. Did that mean Jamie and Victor had once shared more than a stage?

  Victor stared down at the tablecloth until Jake appeared and slid his coffee into place. When they were alone again, he raised his head and offered Darian a weak smile.

  “Sorry. You’re right that I’m taking this all way too seriously. I’m sure it’ll work out fine. All that wine didn’t help my mood, either. I’m afraid you’ll have to drive us back.”

  “Good idea,” Darian said.

  They drank their coffee in silence. Amazingly, Jaime London had managed to ruin their evening from afar. No doubt about it—the man had talent. Not just in terms of acting, either—he had a knack for getting under people’s skin and bringing out the worst in everyone.

  Victor picked up the tab without letting Darian see it. When they stepped outside, he seemed glum.

  “What a lousy time you had tonight. This is all my fault, Darian. I need to relax about this role—this film. Just act out Logan’s script—and whatever additions Jamie forces down our throats—to the best of my abilities and let it go as soon as we break for the day.”