Death's Ink Black Shadow

by John Wiltshire

  It was something of a relief to discover this inadequacy, despite no one else seeming to notice it or care.

  Their house was easily large enough to host all their immediate family and he was dismayed to discover that without laid-on entertainment they’d found their own—Tim, the moron, and the children—Miles, Emilia and Molly—making use of his swimming pool. Which is what it was now apparently, not a swim lane. Not his swim lane. A pool with brightly coloured floating things and talk of a slide being fitted.

  Nor did anyone need him supervising Molly in the water, despite her not being able to swim, as he had a smaller (and bigger) version of himself monitoring and ensuring that all was well. Miles did health and safety the same way he did food. With great concentration.

  Nikolas was at something of a loss, until he wandered past the screaming, splashing fun and into their private rooms at the rear of the house.

  Ben was waiting for him.

  There was one place, seemingly, he was needed—always would be.

  Ben took him into his arms like a very precious thing, which was a nice change from being slapped, punched, elbowed in the ribs, and mocked.

  They stood, swaying together for a moment, then came into a kiss at exactly the same time, a deep, possessive joining of more than their mouths. Nikolas fanned his fingers out on Ben’s cheek as he kissed him so he could see the ring.

  He held Ben off for a moment, staring deeply into Ben’s green eyes, trying to read what lay behind the familiar beauty. He thought he could. It was acceptance.

  They had been a square peg and a round hole. They’d made the fit work by revelling in the gaps, the imperfections between them when they came together. But now, perhaps through a process of grinding, wearing away by events and situations beyond their control, they’d been formed into a perfect dovetail. Whether he’d become less angular or Ben more so Nikolas couldn’t say. It didn’t really matter.

  Their fit together was so perfect now that their psyches matched the accord they’d always had in bed—smooth pistons in high-performance engines, bullets chambered in well-oiled guns.

  Nikolas almost heard a clunk of coming home at last.

  Ben smiled. “You’re so high.”

  Nikolas snorted. “I am—on you.”

  “I rest my case.” Ben eased Nikolas to the bed and began to remove his shoes—something he’d had to do for two weeks now. Nikolas wasn’t touching his toes for many more to come.

  Nikolas rested his hand lightly on Ben’s head. It was a new place to admire his ring—against Ben’s hair. He envisaged many such experiments being necessary over the coming days. Weeks. Months. Years.

  The suit jacket was removed next, then the trousers, which were more awkward and caused some considerable pain.

  The tie and shirt he could have managed himself, but Ben liked this bit and Nikolas appreciated him enjoying it. You couldn’t beat hand-tailored shirts for their sensual removal qualities.

  “You don’t mind them using the pool, do you? I said they could. They did ask first.”

  Despite flying high on his favourite illegal substances, Nikolas had enough common sense left to avoid telling Ben the truth—yes, he did mind. He knew what kids did in swimming pools. And if they didn’t, the moron’s dangly bits were now dangling free in his water. He’d have shuddered if his back didn’t hurt so much. He foresaw having to have the whole pool drained and refilled. To deflect this too-knowing, too-astute Ben who was watching him far too closely he asked, “Who decided on the choice of godparents? A moron and someone who doesn’t speak English?”

  “You would have chosen them, too, if I’d asked you. Protection and care.”

  Nikolas’s brows rose a fraction. Squeezy and Ulyana Ivanovna. He’d never thought of them like that.

  He cupped his hand around Ben’s neck. “Who are you, stranger?”

  Ben quirked a smile. “The man who’s about to get into bed with you. I hope you begin to recognise me soon or it’ll start to be a bit embarrassing.”

  “I don’t know. Anonymous sex is very exciting.”

  Ben didn’t rise to this reference to Nikolas’s more exotic past as he normally did, he only eased the linen sheet back and replied, “I’ll keep my eyes closed then and try it.”

  “Ack, you’d know it was me.”

  “Your dick is that memorable?”

  “You seem to find it hard to forget.”

  Ben chuckled. “I might start letting you take your little coloured pills more often. I think you’re actually flirting. No, don’t try to turn. Lie on your back.”

  Nikolas repressed a wince and lay as ordered.

  Ben sat on the edge of the bed next to him. “I’m going to make sure no one has drowned, then I’ll be back.”

  “I’ll be asleep. Don’t wake me.”

  Ben made to get up but then bent down and just rested his forehead against Nikolas’s for a moment. “Okay?”

  Nikolas nodded against the closeness of flesh.

  He could say a lot with his gestures. He knew Ben heard every single word.

  § § §

  Nikolas was asleep when Ben returned.

  Ben stood watching him for a while before he undressed.

  Then he eased in alongside and debated waking him.

  Even flat on his back and in pain, Nikolas Mikkelsen was quite willing and able to have some fun, even if Ben had to do all the work.

  But he didn’t.

  He let Nikolas sleep.

  Even asleep, Ben was now more in tune with Nikolas than he had been for all these past months with him very much awake.

  Only now could Ben appreciate the way Nikolas had spread himself across their lives, trying desperately to hold it all together—a man trying to prevent an earthquake with the strength of his fingers and the unrelenting force of his resolve. It had nearly torn him apart. Literally.

  Ben had thought he’d cracked Nikolas open, brought him out of his shell and into the light when he’d chained him to the bed and forced him to tell his secrets. All he’d actually done was remove his armour during a lull in the fighting. Unarmed, Nikolas had faced the danger while Ben partied, thinking the war was over.

  Their war would never be over.

  Well, he’d suited up himself and gone out as Nikolas Mikkelsen’s knight in shining armour—no, nothing much had shined or been noble in that bedroom in London with Anatoly Aronofsky.

  Ben didn’t need to tell Nikolas, because he saw the knowledge in the amber eyes sometimes, that what he’d done to that old man had been more about a helpless little ten-year-old boy than it had been about finding out the truth. But as Nikolas always maintained, that concept was highly overrated. Revenge, however, payback—that was very sweet indeed.

  He slid closer to the sleeping figure—Nik was always silent, always contained, even like this. Nikolas’s skin was very warm for it was a hot night. It was hard to believe November was only a few weeks away, Christmas soon on its heels.

  Ben would have liked Kate to be at her daughter’s christening and had suffered her absence like a hunger he couldn’t assuage. It surprised him. It wasn’t sexual, wasn’t even just missing her as a friend. He missed her as Molly’s mother—what her death took from his daughter. Kate had loved him. She’d known and respected Nikolas for years. What she’d done, her betrayal, must have been driven by desperation, a longing for a baby perhaps as strong as the need he bore for Nikolas. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Nikolas Mikkelsen. Who were they to judge her? Maybe that strength, Kate’s love for her baby, would defeat even death. He hoped that Molly would always have that strong spirit beside her, fighting for her still, as Kate had, in her own way, fought for Molly’s life then. Maybe as a young woman, struggling to understand her place in the world, his daughter would one day find a solitary white feather upon her pillow and know that her birth, her life, had been wanted with a fierce passion. Ben hoped so. The only thing that lessened the pain was knowing that Nikolas thought all this too. He hadn’t
said so, of course. He hadn’t changed that much. But Ben had sensed a new appreciation of Kate when Samuel had confirmed Molly’s last name—Rider-Mikkelsen—a remembrance that Kate was bringing Molly home to them, in a way, when she’d been killed. She must have seen a chance for reconciliation between them, and so, Ben knew, had Nikolas.

  Too late now. She was gone, along with all the others they’d lost over the years.

  Would he ever not think about the body suspended in the peat? Unchanged—never changing. Were its eyes open? Was it staring in horror at them across the moorland grass that separated its resting place from theirs?

  Was it watching them?

  Ben shuddered.

  Shadows from moonlight played and danced around the glass of their bedroom. They seemed just slightly more ominous now.

  It was okay.

  Life wasn’t sunlit uplands and glass houses, vast wealth and running around with your pretty boyfriend in the expensive toys he bought you.

  Life was wearing armour too heavy to bear and carrying weapons too eager to be used.

  Life was learning to swim hard and fast and keep your head above the shit.

  Life was having someone alongside you in every single manoeuvre, every fall, every painful rise again, and knowing that, win or lose, the war was never fought alone.

  To be continued in Enduring Night…

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  John Wiltshire currently resides in New Zealand while he attempts to raise enough money to return to England and buy a house on Dartmoor. This endeavour is taking longer than he’d planned.

  TRADEMARKS ACKNOWLEDGMENT

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Russian Standard: Russian Standard Vodka, LLC.

  Romanée Conti: Domaine de la Romanée-Conti

  Volvo Estate: The Volvo Group

  Ducati: Ducati Motor Holding S.p.A.

  Times: Times Newspapers, Ltd.

  Land Rover: Jaguar Land Rover Automotive, PLC.

  Mercedes: Daimler AG

  Maserati GranTurismo: Maserati S.p.A.

  Maserati: Maserati S.p.A.

  Lycra: Invista S.à r.l.

  I Spit On Your Grave: Cinemagic Pictures

  Morris Minor: Morris Motors Limited

  Walther PPK: Carl Walther GmbH Sportwaffen

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