by Anthology
Mark reached across and took it from its place on top of the small fridge beside the electric kettle. It seemed suspiciously light. He gave it a shake. "You're out of luck, honey. Didn't you eat the last ones yesterday?"
"Damn it, yes! I forgot to bring more in. I'll see what the canteen has on offer. Any preferences?"
"Chocolate Digestives for me," he said cheerfully. "I'll start the kettle. Tea or coffee?"
"Coffee. Black." She hurried out the door.
Minutes later, it opened again.
"Hi." Kevin poked his head into the office. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"
"Sure," Mark answered. "Heather's just hopped out to the canteen for more biscuits, she should be back soon."
"Yeah, I met her in the corridor." He sat in her chair and scooted it the short distance to Mark's desk. "Listen, um, about what I talked about the other night. When you go to take a look at the woods and the road, I want to come with you," he said quickly. "Logically I know the girl wasn't real, but it's been there in the back of my mind for years, ever since I started work on TDWE's first season. The what-ifs, you know?"
"I know," Mark replied, "but all I'm going to do is walk the—"
"Besides, I could plan out the camera angles, best viewpoints, stuff like that, and get a head start on that part of the pre-production set-up. I've cleared it with the location manager."
Mark managed to keep his smile in place. Very few people knew what he could do and he preferred to keep it that way. As far as being gay was concerned, he was out and proud. As a psychic, not so much. He was hidden deep in that particular closet and tuning in on what phenomenon might be in any given place was difficult to hide. But on the other hand, he and Jack could always come back to the site when Kevin had gone home to Bristol. "Well, in that case," he said brightly, "we're leaving after lunch tomorrow. You can lead the way, if you like."
Kevin's grin looked a little forced, but he nodded.
* * * *
"I brought dinner," Jack announced, breezing into the apartment with a jauntiness Mark envied and holding up a large plastic bag containing a selection of Indian dishes, judging by the aroma wafting around the room.
"Great. I hoped you would," Mark said. He saved the document he was working on to his laptop and stood, stretched his aching back. "Meant to phone you, but an overdose of microfiche ate my brain."
"And you lost track of time." Jack chuckled and hugged him. "No probs, love. I know you, remember? What have you found out?"
"Not as much as I'd hoped. I've just finished putting it in some kind of order." He followed Jack into the kitchen and collected plates from the cupboard. "Charles Darleigh bought the estate in 1872 and renamed it. He'd made his money in ship-building and seems to have been above reproach. Certainly not into multiple wives and the deflowering of country virgins. He refurbished the big house and the dower house, and his descendants sold the estate to the current owners, Haversham Enterprises, in 1970. They're a conference and hotel chain. Mmm, Chicken Rogan Josh. My favourite."
"Yup. Can I add another 'You Owe Me One' to the list?"
"I suppose," Mark replied with fake reluctance. "Anyhow, it's the pre-Darleighs we're interested in. Henry Mattison bought the land during the Dissolution of the Monasteries, and the last of his line, Edgar Mattison, sold it to Charles. So it's either Edgar or his father, Arthur, we're possibly looking at for the bad man."
"Okay, so when do we visit the crime scene?" Jack asked.
"Tomorrow afternoon." Mark paused. "Kevin wants to come along."
"Understandable, I suppose. Don't worry, I can distract him if you need to do your thing. Maybe drag him off to the local church to check the names on tombstones. And then, you'd owe me another one," he finished, rubbing his hands together.
"Anyone would think I locked you out of the bedroom." Mark shook his head sadly. "Pathetic, that's what you are." He slid his arms around Jack's waist and moved in close. "Perhaps I better start paying off some of those IOUs before your poor neglected dick drops off through lack of use. Before or after dinner?"
Jack grinned, but before he could speak the rumble in his stomach answered for him.
* * * *
By midafternoon the next day, the two vehicles approached the haunted corner from the valley floor and pulled into a layby fifty feet away. Woodland crowded close on both sides of the road, winter-naked branches stark against the deceptively blue sky, the ground between their gnarled roots littered with autumn's leaves and fallen twigs. The date on Mark's newspaper showed the last day of February, and winter wasn't giving up to spring without a fight. Despite the delicate beauty of the occasional patch of snowdrops, frost glittered on the grass verges, and its chill breath prickled in Mark's nostrils as he climbed out of the car.
Jack slid out of the passenger seat and joined him. "Good luck finding cold spots in this weather," he muttered.
Mark dug his elbow in Jack's ribs and gazed around at the trees. "Hey, Kevin, this is the place, right?"
Kevin left his car and stood with his back to them, staring across the road. "Yes," he said and shivered visibly. "Shit, it's as cold as a witch's tit. See the sycamore over there? That's the one we nearly crashed into. It's grown a bit," he added.
"Okay," Mark said and walked briskly past him to the corner, Jack following close on his heels. Warmth pooled in his chest. On the few occasions they'd faced the paranormal together, Jack's protective instincts kicked in, and Mark was grateful for it.
"Anyone coming down the hill wouldn't see what's approaching them around the bend," Jack said quietly. "Or crossing the road. No sign of a way through the trees, either."
"I'm pretty sure there used to be one, though." Mark closed his eyes and lowered his barriers a little way, aware of Jack's solid heat on many levels; aware, too, of the life stirring in the woods, the rising sap of new growth, the inexorable turn of the seasons. And there, a trickle of an energy that prickled his fingertips and edged the first tendrils of terror into his consciousness. He slammed up all his shields. "Yes," he said. "Her path."
"Whose?" Kevin asked, walking over to them. "The girl's? There isn't one. Because she isn't real."
"We need a path of some kind for the shoot," Mark reminded him. "Though the trees are far enough apart for someone to dodge around them."
"You'll have to clear the undergrowth back in places," Jack put in. "The brambles look vicious. You don't want your girl torn to ribbons for real."
"Very true." The reminder of why he was there snapped Kevin back into professional mode. "Filters and dry ice would give us a good atmosphere," he muttered, half to himself. He strode off into the wood without a backward glance, talking as he went. "By Easter, a lot of the leaves will be on the trees, which is a shame. I kind of like the bare branches against a dramatic sky. But we can get round that. Come on." They followed him. "High and low shots would give the idea of predator-eyes watching her. He's supposed to have set his dogs on her trail so we can use running cam shots from the hound's perspective. Maybe get a horseman riding through as well, along with a pair of Irish wolfhounds, maybe? Or that dog they used in the Harry Potter films. What was it?"
"No idea," Jack said, a second ahead of Mark. They glanced at each other and smiled, and said nothing more while Kevin crouched, peered round trees, and squinted up at the westering sun as he hurried on.
"Whatever," he said absently after a long pause. "It was a bloody huge beast. With teeth like bandsaws. Ah-hah! Here would be good for a confrontation." He stopped on the edge of a large clearing, and the prickling in Mark's fingers became a tingle bordering on pain. By now the road was out of sight and a hundred yards away, and he could hear Janet's screams—
"Hey." Jack's concerned whisper and the touch of his hand became an anchor. He'd stopped, Mark realised, and Kevin was out of sight ahead of them. "Are you okay?"
"Yes. Her name's Janet. There used to be something here..."
"What sort of something?"
"Not sure. A buildi
ng of some kind?"
"That's my territory." Jack grinned and drew a well-worn trowel out of its holster on his belt. "You stay back in the trees and let me poke around."
* * * *
Despite the slanting light, Jack found it difficult to make any sense of the irregularities under the turf and leaf-litter. He needed height before he used his trowel, he decided, and the usual scaffolding tower or hydraulic cherry-picker archaeologists commonly used for aerial photos of an excavation were conspicuous by their absence. Instead he looked around for the next best thing, a convenient tree.
A gnarled oak offered the best opportunity, and Jack jumped for its lowest branch. He pulled himself onto it and began to climb. Forty feet up, he wedged himself in a Y-shaped crook of branches and gazed down. The seemingly random protuberances suddenly formed a familiar pattern to his educated eyes—the shallow outlines of a building.
"Oh, yes..." he murmured. "Good call, lover." He scrambled to the ground, looked around for Mark, and found him sitting on a fallen tree, frowning, gazing unseeingly towards the clearing. "Mark? Are you tuning in?"
"Mm? No. Just thinking about the anomaly. She escaped from here, not the big house. It used to be a gatehouse or a hunting lodge, maybe." Before he could say more, Kevin came hurrying towards them through the trees.
"Nothing useful back there," he reported. "Just fields and farm tracks. But I'm not sure about this clearing..." He trailed off, frowning.
"What do you mean?" Jack asked.
"Nothing." Kevin shook himself as if to get rid of something clinging to him. "I want to go over the ground between here and the road again, double-check the camera angles, if that's okay with you guys."
"Go ahead," Mark said, smiling. "Take your time, there's no rush. We'll head back to the cars." But he made no move to leave his perch on the log.
Jack watched Kevin disappear amongst the trees and undergrowth. "Do you think he's psychic as well?" he asked quietly.
"Maybe. A lot of people have some degree of ability, though it's usually just a sensitivity to the paranormal."
Jack swung astride the fallen tree, wrapped his arms around Mark, and leaned his chin on Mark's shoulder. "Can I say I am so fucking glad I'm an insensitive bastard?" he whispered, his lips brushing his lover's ear. Mark shivered in his embrace and pressed back, tilting his head a little. Jack took full advantage, kissing and gently nipping his way down Mark's throat until the thick collar of his padded jacket barred his way. At the same time he wormed his hands under Mark's jacket and cupped the front of his jeans. To his delight, he could feel Mark's cock thicken. The way Mark responded to his every touch was a never-failing pleasure. Of course, it worked just as effectively when he was on the receiving end of Mark's caresses; give and take, the perfect balance.
"Luckiest day of my life when I walked into that pub and saw you," Mark murmured.
"Mine, too. If Kevin wasn't bouncing around the place like Tigger on speed, I'd unzip you, warm my freezing hands on your hot dick, and show you exactly how much I love being with you."
"If they're that cold, it wouldn't do you any good. You'd need a magnifying glass and a crochet hook to find—"
"Mark! Jack!" Kevin's panicked yell split them apart and they leaped to the ground. "Help me!"
As one, they sprinted on Kevin's trail, following the sounds. His shouts became more frightened, and they could hear him crashing through the underbrush in headlong flight.
"Kevin!" Jack caught a glimpse of him through the trees and accelerated. Kevin was stumbling over hidden obstacles, lurching off-balance under the raking talons of dead brambles, and it slowed him enough for them to close in on him. Ahead was the road, and Kevin showed no sign of stopping. In one desperate burst, Jack passed Mark and hurled himself forward in a rugby tackle. He brought Kevin down on the grass verge. Moments later, a lorry roared past. If he'd missed the tackle, or been slower, Kevin would have ended up very dead.
"Kevin," Jack panted, scrambling to his feet. "Are you okay?"
"C-Christ!" he whimpered. "That lorry—Oh, God!"
"We need to get him out of here," Mark said quickly. "We'll come back for his car later. It's safe enough in the layby. I saw a pub when we came through the village, and I think a shot of whiskey will do him good."
"It'll do us all good," Jack muttered. "What the hell set him off? It was like he thought the Hound of the Baskervilles was after him."
"No," Kevin wheezed. "Her."
"Oh, fuck." Jack sighed.
Mark said nothing, but Jack could recognise guilt when it was written all over his lover's face. Though why it should be there, he couldn't guess.
Chapter Four
Neston had one pub, a surprisingly spacious one for such a small village. They took over a corner table, and Kevin relaxed into his chair with a relieved sigh. He'd stayed silent during the short journey, and Mark hadn't pressed him. He waited until Jack came back from the bar followed by a waiter carrying a tray of coffees and a jug of cream.
"I'm driving back, so yours are fortified with the good stuff," Jack said, taking his seat. Mark hoped Kevin would see them as protective barriers rather than blocking his escape.
"Thanks," Kevin said and sipped the hot fragrant liquid. "God, I needed this."
"What did you see?" Mark asked quietly.
Kevin said nothing for a long time, and his coffee was half-finished when he finally spoke. "Nothing. As in bugger-all. But I felt—" He stopped and swallowed more coffee. "I have never been so sodding scared in my life! Something bloody awful was after me and I—just panicked, and I don't know why! Nothing was there!"
"I'm sorry," Mark said. "I should have warned you when I sensed her, only I didn't get the connection until Jack mentioned it. You picked up on Janet's terror and ran, just as she did."
"What?" Kevin stared at him as if he'd started talking fluent Gibberish. "Who's Janet?"
Mark flushed. "Um, Dominic Waldron is a fake psychic. I'm not. I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself. No one at Goldstream knows, and I'd just as soon keep it that way. You are, too. Or at least, sensitive enough to tune into what happened to her there. I suspect," he continued, "so were all the people who've seen her and other ghosts over the years."
"That's crazy," Kevin said, scowling. "Ghosts aren't real."
"Yes," Mark replied. "They are. How else do you explain your running like a lemming straight for the road and an oncoming lorry?"
"And you sensed the clearing didn't feel right," Jack put in. "It isn't. I climbed a tree, and from about forty feet up you can see the footprint of a building. I'm betting that's where she was taken and raped, and that's where she escaped."
"Bullshit. I've worked on TDWE since the beginning, and not once did I pick up anything from the places we filmed at!"
"I've been with the show from the start as well," Mark said. "I try to convince the spirits to move on before the crews get there. Mostly they do. Those that don't, well, they seem to be temporarily put off by all the electronics humming around. Either way, there's only residual EMF to pick up."
"So you've got no proof!" Kevin said triumphantly. "You're as full of hot air as Domiprick is!"
"Running like a lemming, remember?" Jack reminded him, and Kevin paled.
"Sod it. I don't ever want to feel like that again. Can you get rid of her?" he demanded, rounding on Mark as if he posed the threat.
Mark winced. "I can try," he answered. "But not here and not now. Will you keep quiet about me?"
Kevin nodded. "But I'm not keeping secrets from Heather."
"Fine. Just ask her not to spread it around. Can you imagine what my life would be like if Dominic learned I'm a genuine psychic?"
"Only too well. I wouldn't do that to my worst enemy. Neither would she. So, uh, what do you want me to do? About the—you know?"
"Nothing." Mark smiled. "We'll have something to eat here to soak up the whiskey in the coffee, then when you're ready we'll take you back to the layby for your car. You go on h
ome and leave the rest to me."
"Okay." Kevin's shoulders relaxed and Mark could see the relief on his face. "Keep me posted, yeah?"
"I will," Mark promised.
They didn't talk much during the meal, for which Mark was grateful. He kept silent for the most part, letting Jack carry what little conversation there was. Later at the layby, he watched Kevin climb into his car and make a tight turn to go back through the village and startled when Jack nudged him.
"You're too quiet. Are you going to blame yourself?" Jack asked. "Because if you are, I might have to take punitive measures."
"Oh, really? Such as?"
"Cancelling the 'You Owe Me One' entries. Ever heard of Lysistrata? That'll be me. Only not in a Greek frock."
"Don't think either of us could cope with that," Mark admitted. "Celibacy or you in a frock. And yes, I do feel a bit guilty. It never occurred to me Kevin would sense her too, and—"
"No ands or buts," Jack interrupted. "While I was ordering at the bar, I mentioned something white had flown at me when I drove down the hill. The barman looked a bit shifty and rabbited on about plastic bags from supermarkets, and people who threw them away. He knows there's something out here."
"Not everyone wants to advertise their ghosts. Speaking of which, I'd like to take a look round the churchyard, see if anything hits my radar."
"Your wish is my command." He turned on the ignition and pulled away, turning to head back through the village. "I remember passing it earlier."
Two saints had charge of the small church, Philip and James. Parts of the graveyard were neat and cared for, but substantial areas, where the older gravestones were sited, had been left to grow wild as a nature habitat. Snowdrops carpeted the ground and the taller spears that would be daffodils in the not too distant future spiked above them. The place was quiet, redolent with peace and tranquillity.