by Kelley York
“Philip was supposed to be watching him—”
“—I had him, I swear I did—”
“And we looked all over—”
“Christ almighty, be still,” Crane snaps. Like obedient dogs the group falls silent, but the tension is palpable. “Now, who wants to look me in the eye and tell me you lost him? A boy half your size?”
Sid clears her throat. “Ah, yeah. He was leading us round in circles awhile, saying he couldn’t recall where he’d stashed it. In a bush, but didn’t know which one, just that it was behind a fence. He had us climbing every damn fence we saw.”
“So he wore you down then took an opportunity to slip away. I don’t know whether to be impressed with him or furious with the lot of you.”
I want to laugh. That’s my Benji, capable of outsmarting most anyone. And I hope that intelligence has him retrieving the box and finding somewhere safe to hide. Granted, our rucksacks are in a heap nearby which means he hasn’t got any money on his person, so he won’t be able to get far. But if anyone can figure out a way around that, it’s him.
Hugo appears before me, red-faced and scowling. “All right, you got ten seconds to tell us where that box went.”
I start to shrug. Pain zips through my sore arms and my smirk turns into a grimace. “Would love to tell you at this point, mate. Really, I would. But see, I wasn’t there when he hid the thing, so you may as well let me go.”
“Or I can spend some time breakin’ each of your fingers until he comes back for you,” Hugo snarls.
“He doesn’t know anything and we are not here to perform torture for the sake of torture,” Crane drawls from nearby. “Leave him be. His friend will return for him.”
Ah, so someone’s got a bit of civility about them after all.
Will Benji come back?
Christ, I hope he’s wrong about that.
◆◆◆
I can scarcely feel my arms and hands; the ropes and my positioning has rendered them numb. I desperately want to sleep, but the steady hum of activity around me and the nervousness in my gut makes sleep impossible.
The group takes turns watching over me. Two of them remain outside on the perimeter at all times, while one stands guard inside. Whoever’s turn it is to sleep goes, I think, off to the carriage—the same one I was dragged here in.
Sometime shortly after dawn, Sid takes a seat near my side, offering out a piece of bread she brought back from a nearby bakery, still warm enough that steam wafts from it when she breaks it in half. I turn my nose up at it, which does little more than make her roll her eyes.
“Be stubborn about whatever you want, but refusing food seems like the kind of stubbornness that leads a man to an early grave.”
“Not quite so much as being taken hostage, shot, and threatened with beatings, I should think.”
She snorts, cramming another hunk of bread into her mouth and muttering around it. “You ain’t dead yet, big guy.”
True enough. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to make any of this easy for them while they decide my fate or while I wait for an opportune moment to escape.
I study her as she eats. I can almost feel the ghostly eyes on me, the cold trickling across my skin because of its nearness. Should I mention it? Would she tell me, even if I asked and she knew? Perhaps she’s utterly unaware of the creature’s presence.
In the end, I keep my mouth shut. Sid takes her leave, not offering me food a second time. Which is a shame, because I probably would have taken it; my stomach is growling loud enough.
In Benji’s absence, I try to think of what he, James, or Esher, would do in this situation. James would no doubt craft some entirely mad and brilliant scheme to sneak free. Esher might nag his captors to death. Benji would… Ah, hell. He’d probably charm them into letting him go, brokering some kind of bargain.
But I’ve got no bargaining chip without that chest and it’s not as though I would hand it over even if I did. Not even for a commitment to my job so much as to spite these people. I also lack Benji’s sweet face or James’ charm to talk my way out of this.
So I sit, sullen, annoyed with myself that I have found a situation that I cannot punch my way out of, and think that I would kill for a hot cup of tea, a hearty meal, and a damned toilet.
The warehouse has settled into a state of lethargic quiet for the time being. Crane, Hugo, and Louisa depart to begin the search for Benji anew, which leaves me alone with Philip and Sid—who seems to be the only one Crane has any real faith in. Hugo, it seems, is kept closely watched because of his tendency to lose his temper.
The bloke I punched at the station is named Philip. He’s a quiet man who does what he’s told and keeps his head down. Not much of a threat there, I feel. Louisa is steadfast, steely-eyed, and something about her feels dangerous even if she would look harmless enough in a crowd.
And Sid… I can’t quite get a read on her. Every now and again, I swear I can see the flicker of shadows around her. A hand against her shoulder, a face just above hers. Her ghostly guardian. She’s the only one who bothers to try to speak with me, but as it is, I prefer to keep my mouth shut and even when she does goad me into talking, I only respond with as taunting a reply as I can think of.
Shortly after Crane and the other two have left, Philip settles atop some crates nearby with a small book, while Sid slouches by the door and watches the sky through the windows. I’m about to start gnawing at my ropes out of sheer frustration.
The sound of a fist beating against a door jars us all upright. Not the main door, no, but another one on the opposite side of the small building. Sid is on her feet in an instant and Philip lifts his head to look to her for instruction. She squints, hesitates.
“This is the police! Open up!”
Oh, well, I might be saved after all.
Sid swears under her breath. “Get him out of here. Back to the carriage or somethin’. And keep him quiet.”
She perches her Stetson onto her head and stalks to the door, unlatching the deadbolts and opening it up. She steps outside, however, rather than allowing the officers to get a peek inside. Philip, discarding his book, scrambles up and over to me, cramming a handkerchief into my mouth before I can shout for help. Disgusting. I have no idea where this has been!
With frantic hands, he then unties the outermost ropes binding me to the column. One step closer to freedom, but my wrists are still bound behind my back. I could potentially take him, off guard like this…but not just yet.
He’s stronger than he looks, however. He grabs my arm, hoisting me to my feet. He wastes no time nor care in marching me to the main door. We step outside and I blink rapidly, the sunlight almost an assault after sitting in a dimly lit warehouse for God knows how long.
As soon as I can orient myself, I plan to slam him into the wall of the building and make a run for it. My legs are tingling as feeling returns to them, and I will them to function properly to get a safe distance away.
Philip escorts me round the other side of the building, close to the docks and the water and where the carriage awaits. Just faintly I can hear Sid and the police conversing around the back of the building. Damn it all—I’m so close.
Philip reaches for the carriage door. I see a flash of movement, likely even before he does. The door flies open, slamming into his face and his nose, which is still swollen and bruised, and sends him back with a startled cry. Benji darts out from the carriage, catches hold of the larger man by the front of his shirt and shoves him toward the edge of the dock. Philip recovers quickly, plants his feet, and makes a grab for Benji. I take the opportunity to slam a shoulder into his, which does the job of sending him staggering back that last step off the dock and into the water.
“Am I ever happy to see you,” I say. Or…try to say. It comes out more like Mm mmmph mm mmmn mm!” and Benji lets out a nervous laugh and yanks the cloth from my mouth.
“I’m so sorry I took so long. But let’s chat later. We need to hurry.”
“Our
things are inside,” I start as he ushers me back the way I came. “We won’t be going anywhere without our money.”
Benji stops, bites his lower lip, and gives me another push. We halt near the front door and he says, “Wait here and keep a lookout,” before ducking inside.
I swear under my breath, praying Sid hasn’t managed to get the police to go away and is lying in wait in there. But not a moment later, Benji is joining me again with our bags.
There’s no time to even get my hands untied. We just run.
Running like this is a bit trickier than I would have anticipated. We get several blocks down the docks before I have no choice but to stop and allow Benji to fuss a moment before he can get the knots undone. As they fall away, I let out a noise of relief. Proof of my capture is embedded into my skin where my wrists have been rubbed raw. Benji takes my hands in his, turning them over to examine the rope burns. Then his eyes travel up and widen.
“Your arm, it’s bleeding—”
“It’s just a scratch.” I manage a tired grin. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, you know.”
His expression softens, although worry still lines the edges of his smile. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back for you?”
Before I can answer that, a grizzled man rounds the corner of the building and startles at the sight of us.
“Oi, what’re you two doin’ near my boat? Go on, git!”
He waves a fist in our direction. Laughing, we hurry off, at a slightly more leisurely pace now. It’s broad daylight, we’re putting a fair bit of distance between us and my captors and…oh, I do wish I could see the look on big old Hugo’s face when he realises that we’ve outfoxed him.
Crane, though… I think I can do without seeing that man’s ire.
◆◆◆
We choose the first hotel we see when we feel we cannot walk any further. Seeing as my coat was lost in the initial scuffle last night and there’s blood soaking my shirt sleeve, Benji removes his wool coat and drapes it around me. It’s far too small for me to wear properly, but it does the job of hiding my arm.
The hotel attendant must see his fair share of people in as sorry a state as us, because he doesn’t so much as blink when he hands over a room key and says for an extra fifty cents apiece, he can have meals sent up. Yes. I’ll gladly take that.
The rooms have only one bed here. Benji sits me on the edge of it and tugs at my shirt until I remove it. Then he studies the bullet wound with a worried frown. It’s a bit deeper than I originally thought, but not so bad that it’s in need of stitches.
“There’s a shop just across the road. I’m going to see if they’ve got bandages and something to clean that with.”
When he moves away, I catch his wrist. “No, no going out alone.”
He covers my hand with his own. “Easy. It’s just right there. You can watch me from the window, right?”
I force myself to relax and release him, glancing to the window. “Be careful.”
“Me, be careful? You’re the one who managed to get kidnapped and shot all within the space of twenty-four hours.” Benji swings on his coat again and departs with a chuckle.
I do indeed watch from the window as he crosses the street and disappears into the store, and again when he remerges. Our experience thus far in San Francisco has not inspired me to relax, it seems.
Benji returns with a roll of bandages, some rags, and a bottle of alcohol. I eye the latter.
“That’s for drinking, I hope?”
“I sincerely doubt it would taste any good.” He props one knee on the mattress and dips his chin, silent as he opens the bottle to wet one of the rags and sets to cleaning my arm. He needn’t tell me that it’s going to burn. I know damned well it will.
But watching him does take me back to Whisperwood. This is hardly the first time Benji has bandaged me up—although previous times have involved things such as a busted lip or scraped knuckles and not so much a gunshot wound. I abstained from getting into too many fights at school, knowing it distressed Benjamin to see it, but I still saw my fair share of injuries from one source or another.
Benji’s eyes flick up to me. “What are you smiling for? Doesn’t this hurt?”
“A bit. I was just…remembering. You used to do this often.”
He scoffs, but I see the corners of his mouth edging upward. “I would much rather this be a scrape from a rugby match.”
“Are you regretting coming along yet?” I ask, watching him carefully. I expect the answer to be a hesitant, polite distraction from the topic. Or to at least be an attempt to soften the blow. This trip has certainly been more than either of us anticipated.
But Benji, beautiful Benji, does not miss a beat.
“Not at all.” He looks up to meet my eyes. “I regret that we’re faced with more obstacles than I had hoped for, but I’m getting what I wanted out of this.”
“Which is…?”
“You.”
Oh, if words could melt a man’s heart. Never in all my life have I wanted to kiss Benjamin as much as I want to right now. To just take his face in my hands and tell him how darling he is, how I can’t begin to imagine this trip without him.
Yet as I lift my hands to do just that, Benji scolds me, “Be still, Preston,” and I realise he’s still quite focused on the task of bandaging my arm.
I swallow back a sigh. He’s going to be the death of me.
He finishes his work and relocates his supplies to the top of the nearby table, oblivious to the way I cannot take my eyes off him. When someone knocks at the door, we both still, hesitating a heartbeat because we’re still so rattled from the events of the last few days. I shake it off quickly and stand to answer it. It is, of course, just a member of staff delivering us a rolling cart with dinner, drinks, and a fresh jug of water. I thank him and draw the cart inside.
As ravenous as I am—as I think we both are—we take our time to enjoy the food, of which there’s plenty. Nothing compared to the Parker House, but leagues above our lodgings in Nebraska. I had quietly let the front desk clerk know that we would be grateful for anything not-meat, so Benji has more of a selection this time: a fresh salad and some fruits, grey pea soup, and baked potatoes stuffed with sage and onion, along with a dish of some kind of pudding topped with flummery for dessert. Seeing Benji’s eyes go so wide at the spread makes it worth it that aside from some eggs, there’s nothing in front of us he won’t eat.
The meal leaves me full, content, and lethargic. By the time I’ve had seconds and downed a mug of beer, I’m prepared to crawl into bed and sleep the rest of the evening away. Benji seems inclined to let me. He clears the food, leaving the cart in the hall (although he keeps hold of his bowl of pudding), and draws the blankets up around me. I’m so exhausted I do not bother to argue. Sleep, breakfast, then we can decide what to do with that stupid—
My eyes fly open. I bolt upright.
“Benji, where’s the box?”
He places a palm flat against my bare chest and shakes his head. “It’s still safe where I left it. I’ll be heading out to fetch it once you’re settled.”
Oh, as though that statement is going to put me right at ease. I close my hand over the top of his.
“You’re what? You’re going to get it, alone?”
He blinks, as though the answer is obvious. “Yes? You need to rest.”
“You can’t be serious. It’s the middle of the night and those…whoever they are, are probably still out there looking for us!”
“All the more reason for me to do it now, while they’re likely as tired and worn out as you are and while I have darkness on my side.”
“Or, hear me out, we wait until morning when the sun is out and there are other people on the street.”
His eyebrows lift. “There were plenty of people at the train station. That didn’t stop them.”
He has a point, but not one I care to hear.
“You aren’t going alone, Benjamin. It isn’t safe.” I release him and start t
o slide back out of bed, disregarding how leaden my limbs feel. “I’m going with you.”
Benji draws back, lips pursed, studying me. “No, I don’t think so. We rented this room so you could rest and get your strength back. I’m better off than you right now, I know where the building is, and I can nip over there and be back before you’ve even realised that I’m gone.”
Christ, I’m developing a headache. Since when has Benjamin ever ventured off into something dangerous on his own? I was always with him. That’s just how it’s been.
I rise to my feet, looking down at him. “I don’t know why you’re being difficult, but the answer is no.”
A crease forms between his brows. “I wasn’t asking your permission, Preston.”
“I wasn’t implying—”
“You sort of were, really. I’m not a child. I can choose to do this and I’m confident in my ability to do it alone.”
I stammer, frustrated. “Yes, well, I think it’s foolish to go gallivanting off on your own!”
“You would do it without a second thought.”
“That’s me, Benji! I’ve always done things like that. You’re the—the responsible one. The sensible one.”
“And I am, sensibly, saying that I feel it’s smarter for me to go now on my own than risk giving them a chance to regroup and plan tomorrow. Why do you act as though I cannot look after myself?”
“Because you never do!”
The words tumble from my lips along with miles of regret the moment they do. I have never thought of Benjamin as a prideful man, not by any means. But the hurt that registers across his face just then makes me flinch. I sink back down to the edge of the mattress.
We are both silent and still, taking in what’s just transpired. After a spell, I grasp for words.
“Benji, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes,” he says, softly, not looking at me. “You did.”
I try to swallow the lump in my throat. This is uncharted territory. We don’t fight. Ever. Never in all our years have we had any real argument aside from trivial disagreements over silly things. But ever since Benjamin’s mother passed, something has shifted. The foundation beneath our relationship has tilted, leaving us both off-balance.