The Bruise_Black Sky

by John Wiltshire

  But a small Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen seed had escaped the lockdown. She’d liberated it and made something from it.

  It defied belief.

  He was undone by the knowledge of the baby, and could not see how to proceed.

  At least he’d impressed on Kate’s parents not to bring the baby to the funeral. Further, he’d encouraged them not to mention her existence at all. He was clever like that, persuasive when he wanted to be. Let people grieve wholly and naturally for Kate as an individual and not as a new mother. Don’t diminish the tragedy of her death by implying that being a mother now made her death more poignant. They’d been confused, but had gradually come around to his point of view. Had he played on their innate, middle-class English wish not to admit their daughter was an unmarried mother to all their St Albans friends? Of course, he had. It’s what he did.

  §§§

  Ben was home when he entered the kitchen of their London house. Radulf scrambled up from his basket to greet him, and Ben made him a cup of tea.

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “I went to make my apologies to the friends I had been at the concert with.”

  “Oh. They okay about it?”

  “They understood fully.”

  Ben slid into a chair opposite him and began to flick through a magazine. He’d been crying and was keeping his eyes lowered so this wouldn’t be obvious. Nikolas almost huffed. As if there was ever anything Ben did that he didn’t notice. Except father a daughter. That one had slipped him by.

  The resemblance was so marked that anyone seeing them together would make the connection. Less than five percent of the world’s population had green eyes. What were the odds?

  “What are you thinking?”

  Nikolas picked up his tea. “Nothing. How were Tim and…Michael? They were fond of her, I know.”

  Ben shrugged. “You know.”

  Nikolas rose and held out his hand. “Come. You’re tired. Think about this tomorrow. It doesn’t go away.”

  Ben rose. “My mum didn’t have a funeral. Did yours?”

  Sensing a good topic for distracting Ben, Nikolas answered without lying about anything in particular. “Of course. In Copenhagen. One of her colleagues in the orchestra she had toured with played the piano.”

  “God. You must have been…”

  “Nika was crying, of course. I told him the coffin was actually empty because they never found her body. He seemed to find that more upsetting, although I only meant to make it easier for him. Actually, I think I was cross because why have a coffin at all? I wanted to have the funeral at the beach—a Viking longboat set on fire. But no one ever listened to me. And it was December. If you wanted, we could have a service for your mother. People do.”

  Ben shook his head. “Who would come? There’s only me left.”

  Nikolas closed his eyes for a moment, the irony almost too much.

  They climbed into bed and lay next to each other, both on folded arms, studying the ceiling.

  “Peter called. He’s in talks about getting the film back on track.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  Ben turned on his side, facing him, running his finger idly up and down Nikolas’s ribs. “I can’t summon up much enthusiasm.”

  “No. But it might be good to get away for a while after this.” Very convenient.

  “I guess.”

  “Don’t decide now. Think about it.” I’ll decide for you and let you know when it’s the right time to accept. “Emmy will be home next week. Then it’ll be Christmas.”

  “Christmas will be terrible for Kate’s parents.”

  “Yes.” Busy as well.

  “I’m glad Em didn’t have end of term stuff we had to go to or we’d have had to cancel.”

  Nikolas narrowed his eyes.

  He’d forgotten.

  Kristina. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I was just thinking that I have left my black suit in Devon. I will have to buy another.”

  “Nik…”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why is your office empty at home?”

  “It’s not. It’s full of ugly monitors. I am regretting my impulsive act now.”

  “I looked in your desk drawers.”

  “Last time you did that I didn’t hear the end of it for months. I’m surprised you aren’t pleased they’re empty.”

  “But why—?”

  “I have moved it all to another house I own, Ben. Nothing to worry about. I just felt we needed to be more secure now that we have Babushka and Emmy with us. That’s all.”

  “Your papers would threaten—?”

  “Why do they say death makes us feel like having sex?”

  “Huh? I—does it for you?”

  “I always feel like having sex with you, Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen, so how can I tell?”

  He pushed Ben down under the sheet to discover for himself that this was true.

  Could he do it?

  Could he flee this life of being Nikolas Mikkelsen as he’d fled being Aleksey Primakov? He had all his affairs sorted, bank accounts changed, funds enough for ten lifetimes secreted away.

  He’d been planning it for months, on the off chance, contingencies…

  But now this.

  He could be on a plane under an assumed name even before the funeral.

  Away from all of this and the ties he’d bound himself with. The pressure bearing down upon him all the time, the suffocation from that spreading bruise. A new name, a new man, and he would have no guilt about the things a man called Nikolas Mikkelsen had once done.

  He stroked his palm over Ben’s head, feeling the familiar rising pleasure. If he let him, Ben would suck him to completion, and he would spill in Ben’s mouth and be swallowed.

  He tore himself away and flung Ben over onto his belly, rising furiously behind him.

  Because of course, this, Kate’s murder, wasn’t the thing he knew that was coming. It was something worse. And the only way he could keep Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen secure now was by leaving him.

  He’d done the tearing halfway across the world to protect him, but now it was the leaving of him that needed to be done. As he’d told Ben, he did whatever had to be done to keep Ben free from the shit that he’d swum in his whole life.

  A little lap of shit coming towards them…a bruise spreading…

  Ben gasped, arched and came, and Nikolas shuddered and fell on him, covering him, filling him.

  If only keeping Ben out of harm’s way was this simple.

  It wasn’t. He would run, and what was coming would turn and follow him, and Ben would be safe.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Ben sat in the armchair, studying Nikolas.

  He had to make a decision soon or it would be too late. Nikolas would wake, and then his window of opportunity would be gone. Whatever Nikolas had decided to do would be done. Ben didn’t know what was going on in Nikolas’s mind, but something was, and that something wasn’t good. But it wasn’t his characteristic not good either. This was something new and different that Ben hadn’t faced before.

  How dumb did Nikolas actually think he was?

  All his office files gone?

  Clothes gone?

  He rose silently, and very softly went over to the still figure. He sat on the edge of the bed, sensing Nikolas stirring.

  He took the strong wrist, considering the scar for just one moment, and then before Nikolas came to fully and could object, Ben clicked one hand into the handcuffs he’d fastened to the brass bedrail.

  Then he stepped away, because now Nikolas was awake.

  At first, Ben could see that Nikolas thought this was a clever joke. This belief continued all through Ben fetching him some tea and the paper. The amusement factor apparently wore a little thin when he went downstairs to make phone calls—Tim, Squeezy, Andrea and Jackson. Go on your own to the funeral. Make our apologies. Emergency with Emilia at school. London house shut up.

&nb
sp; Then he went back upstairs and removed the empty teacup.

  He sat down in the armchair.

  Nikolas was reading the paper. He made to look at the time and frowned when he noticed his bedside table was empty. “Where’s my watch? And phone?”

  “Downstairs.”

  “I—What’s going on, Ben? If you don’t want to fuck, undo me. I have a lot to get through today. Much I need to do.”

  “Such as?”

  “What?”

  “Tell me. What do you have to do today?”

  “Since when are you ever interested in what I do?”

  “Since now.”

  “Well, it’s all boring stuff you wouldn’t—”

  “Leaving me isn’t boring. Leaving me is actually very interesting. Tell me all about it.”

  Nikolas chuckled and patted the bed next to him. “Good. You play this game quite—”

  “I’m not playing.” He got up and walked out.

  §§§

  Ben pretty much knew all Nikolas’s Danish swear words, because he lived with them being muttered daily at frequent intervals, but he heard many more in other languages he didn’t know over the rest of the morning. He couldn’t vouch for them all being curses, of course, but he was pretty sure they were. He didn’t care. He shut the door to the sitting room and watched the rest of After the Wars Season One. With the sound turned up.

  At lunchtime, he took up some sandwiches and another cup of tea.

  Nikolas was so furious he was speechless—actually not talking to him like a normal person does the not talking thing.

  His only comment was to say icily, “I need to piss,” to which Ben replied, “That’s what the empty bottle is for.”

  That brought on more swearing and Season Two until teatime.

  When Ben took Nikolas up a cup, he was quiet again, but it was a thoughtful silence. He said, “Tomorrow’s the funeral.”

  “We’re not going.”

  “To Kate’s funeral? You’re not going to Kate’s—?”

  “This is more important.”

  “What is this, Ben?”

  Ben sat down on the bed. Nikolas could reach him, but what was he going to do? “You’re staying there until you tell me what’s going on. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

  “There’s nothing going on! This is rid—Ben!”

  Season Two concluded with a cliffhanger at just before midnight. He hated cliffhangers and was tempted to start Season Three, but he reckoned Nikolas was hungry enough to eat now and not waste the food, so he took him up a tray of something nice. Nikolas had his arms crossed behind his head and seemed calm. He glanced at the meal but ignored it. “You know what is going to happen. I will go along with this just enough to convince you of my sincerity. I will then lie to you, and you will believe me. When you release me, I will do whatever it is you accuse me of planning to do anyway. You are completely wasting your time and mine.”

  “Nothing to do with keeping you safe is a waste of time.”

  Nikolas sat up, clearly incredulous. “Keeping me safe?”

  Ben sat once more on the edge of the bed and took Nikolas’s free hand. It was allowed, which surprised him. If Nikolas had done this to him, he’d be far angrier. “Safe maybe isn’t the right word. Something happened in America, and I’m not sure what it was. I think it’s tied up with Kate, maybe? Whatever it is, you feel guilty, which must be frightening. You’re frightened, and you think that what you’re doing is for me, but it’s not.”

  “Good God, pop psychology from watching Dr Phil. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Ben chuckled. “Exactly. That’s why you’re tied up here until you tell me.”

  “I will never tell you.”

  “Well, you’re going to have a very boring life then. Messy too, ’cus you can’t shit in a bottle, can you?”

  §§§

  By the following morning, Nikolas surrendered enough to eat the eggs and bacon that Ben brought up and drink the tea. It didn’t look as if he’d slept much. He didn’t seem to know whether to be pleased or not with the books Ben produced. Yes, reading material was always welcome to someone who otherwise had white walls to stare at, but it implied longevity of sentence. He clearly expected Ben to have relented by now.

  Ben left him to it and removed the tray.

  He had Season Three to enjoy.

  Lunchtime, he noticed that Nikolas had not opened the paperbacks. When he commented on this, Nikolas told him he was busy. Ben sat down once more and studied the still figure. “Do you want anything?”

  “No.”

  This interaction was it for the rest of that day, but by the next morning, Nikolas was looking pained. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  Ben nodded. He’d actually thought about this after his initial threat to leave Nik in bed until he was forced to cave, because, obviously, he wasn’t going to actually do that. Despite what Nikolas might think about what was happening, Ben loved him more than he loved himself, would lay down his life for Nikolas in a heartbeat, so making him lie in shit was not on his agenda.

  He produced a roll of Harry Black. His old favourite. If it was good enough for Nikolas’s phone, it was good enough for him. Nikolas’s eyes widened. “You would not dare.”

  Ben did dare. By kneeling on Nikolas, he was able to strap his good arm to his side, round and round his lean waist with the tape, and only then did he undo the handcuff. He expected Nikolas to fight, but it was a foregone conclusion who would win.

  He let Nikolas go into the bathroom by himself.

  He knew what Nikolas expected to find—razors, scissors, even a mirror he could smash. He hadn’t forgotten who Nikolas Mikkelsen —Aleksey Primakov—was. Not at all.

  Nikolas would find nothing except soap.

  Even so, Nikolas managed to free his arm.

  When he emerged he was rubbing his handcuffed wrist, and Ben had no doubt that this was one of the few times in his life that he was meeting Aleksey and not Nikolas.

  But he’d anticipated this as well.

  He pepper sprayed him.

  Nikolas howled. It was more outrage than pain, for it was a very light mist and quite diluted. Ben loved Nikolas. Would lay down his life for him. He had no intention of hurting him if it could be avoided.

  Within a few moments, Nikolas was back on the bed and handcuffed.

  But he wasn’t stupid. He allowed Ben to treat his eyes.

  §§§

  The resistance Ben had expected from Nikolas didn’t emerge until Sunday, four days into his incarceration. Nikolas went on a hunger strike. This was tricky. Ben couldn’t, wouldn’t, force-feed him, because it was impractical and messy. Nikolas, he knew, could not eat for a very long time. He’d worked out a strategy for this as well. He bribed him. He offered him cigarettes and alcohol. If he ate, he got to smoke and have some vodka. It didn’t work until the following Wednesday, and Ben reckoned the capitulation was as much to do with starving as the need to relieve stress with nicotine and booze.

  Nikolas was very stressed. He’d gone past the calm acceptance that he would eventually wear Ben down and into complete fury that Ben dared do this to him. Ben heard a lot of things he wished he didn’t, but not what he wanted to hear, so he put up with the terrible insults.

  Nikolas was having to endure being pepper sprayed every day or so, so he reckoned they were even.

  §§§

  At the end of the first two weeks, Ben allowed Nikolas to take a shower—which wasn’t much different to letting him use the bathroom for other things, except he allowed him more time and a towel.

  When Nikolas emerged, Ben had changed all the sheets on the bed.

  Nikolas stood with the towel around his waist, his hair and beard dripping water. He studied the bed, and what clean linen represented, for some very considerable time. “What do you want to know, Ben?”

  Ben didn’t take the breath of relief he wanted to. He indicated to the handcuffs. Nikolas returned to his im
prisonment for the first time without being sprayed into submission first. Ben clipped him in. “Tell me what happened in America.”

  “This has nothing to do with America.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s to do with what I was doing in Scotland with Miles Toogood.”

  Ben frowned.

  Nikolas paused then continued, “I had some dealings with a man called Ion Boc—he was a friend of Miles Toogood’s grandmother. A Romanian. I saw an opportunity to diversify some of my holdings—being in armaments may not be so profitable in the next decade. Ion Boc runs one of the largest mobile technology companies in the ex-Soviet bloc region, and I liked his ideas. I am setting up a subsidiary in Romania, but I knew you would not like me going there often. That is why I have not told you. Now, I have told you everything. Please let me go. I will forget—Ben! Fucking come back! Ben—!”

  §§§

  Ben had never felt so alone in his life.

  He’d thought Nikolas would give in after a week.

  He had nothing left to offer now.

  He was all tapped out with the horror and stress of what he was doing to the thing he loved most in the world. If he went up and offered to cut his right hand off, would that make Nikolas take him seriously? Nothing else seemed to work.

  He took Nikolas up a glass of wine.

  It was thrown in his face, and he had to wrestle the glass off him in case Nikolas smashed it and used the shards for God-knows what.

  Ben had finally had enough.

  He punched him.

  Nikolas hit him back, as best he could, and they were then at something of an impasse.

  Ben suddenly wrestled him down, pining his arms. Nikolas fought more like a man possessed than one restrained. And then Ben flipped him over.

  Nikolas gasped in incredulity, “No! Don’t you fucking dare!”

  Ben felt tears running down his face. “Don’t make me do this.”

  “I’m not fucking making you do anything!”

  “Yeah, you are! You won’t break. I can’t break you. You’re stronger than me, because I love you too much. Please, tell me.”

  “Get off me! Fucking get off!”

  Ben didn’t.

  He did what Nikolas had once given him permission to do, so it wasn’t rape.

  It wasn’t.