by P. W. Davies
“Which makes it doubly dangerous if you do it alone,” Peter said. “How stupid is this idea?”
Victor turned his head to regard the other man. “You know I don’t consider myself a suicidal man, by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, I rather enjoy living. I would think my admiration of the finer things states that without any need of further support.” As Peter furrowed his brow, a subdued and yet, still devilish smirk hinted at the corners of Victor’s mouth. “That said,” he continued, “I’m about to throw a considerable amount of doubt at that sentiment.”
Shifting in his seat, he faced Peter more directly. One hand took hold of the other and the curl in his lips broadened. “Peter,” he said, “how would you like to be bait with me?”
Peter blinked. For as much as the prospect made his pulse quicken, he couldn’t stop himself from nodding. “Okay,” Peter breathed. A nervous laugh followed. “Alright,” he affirmed again, with slightly more confidence, straightening his posture much the same as the other man had. “Think I’ve lost my head, too, but I might as well own that.”
Peering from the wall back to Victor, Peter allowed himself to mirror Victor’s grin. “Tell me what you have in mind,” he said, “and what I can do to help.”
Seventeen
He told the story while writing out the note, about his failed engagement with his ex-fiancée and how that had resulted in the fateful night he walked up to the dive bar in Frankford. More embellished with detail, the story formed a confession, penned from Victor’s heart like he could have written it out, instead of the message his flowing penmanship left on the blank side of an expired page of pizza coupons. “I’d been denying for some time that I felt attracted to other men,” he said, his gaze set on the task, “until another attorney in my firm started to gain my interest. I did everything short of indulging the urge. I purchased a motorcycle and sought out thrills in other ways. But when I saw him standing at that street corner, smoking his cigarette, I was instantly smitten.”
Victor paused long enough to finish the message, then fished through the makeshift desk Christian had in the corner of his bedroom, pulling out a roll of tape buried deep in the confines of a drawer. “I admitted to him, before taking him home, that he would be my first male encounter,” Victor said, ripping a piece from the dispenser, “and he was nothing but gentle. I woke up beside him the next day and haven’t regretted any other morning he and I have woken beside each other. Even when he’s frustrated me. He admitted he can have a roving eye and I only ever demanded he be safe and honest.”
“Your condo really is home to him, isn’t it?” Peter asked.
Looking up, Victor flashed a smile. “Yes. I bought the larger condo when he ‘moved in’ and aside from a few more serious flings and occasional visits from my brother, it’s been him and me there.” Folding the piece of tape in his fingers, he affixed it to the note and pulled another from the roll. “He keeps this for when he needs his time alone. It keeps him from roaming too far.”
“Victor, I know he doesn’t want –”
“I know.” After affixing the second piece of folded tape into place, Victor gave Peter a much broader, sincerer smile. “I know he doesn’t. We’ve left too many things unspoken, though.” Pausing to pat his pockets, and satisfied when he heard the jangle of keys, Victor nodded and sobered. He led the way to the door. “We’ll lock up,” he said, “but I want to drive by one address before we return to the condo.”
Peter exchanged the nod and followed close behind. Exiting the apartment, he stood in the corridor with Victor, taking the note when it was handed to him and watching the other man lock the door behind them. He continued to hold it while descending the stairs and when they reached the entryway, Peter passed Victor the message and waited for the other man to press the adhesive against the glass. Victor twisted the knob. He held the door for Peter, but once he walked outside, he let it swing shut. Turning, Peter read the breadcrumb they had left for the first time.
Returned home, Christian. If you care to talk things over, you know where to find me. If you don’t, then I’ll consider this your way of saying goodbye. Victor Mason
“Do you think they’ll be able to find us?” Peter asked.
“I’m trusting someone as resourceful as Talbot could,” Victor said, pressing the button on his keychain to deactivate his car alarm. Opening the driver’s side door, Victor hesitated long enough to make eye contact with Peter. “All he needs to do is look for who bailed Christian out of jail. I left my address with the police department.”
A rush of nerves raced through Peter, and though his feet led him toward Victor’s Mustang, he couldn’t help but to second guess himself along the way. Opening the passenger side door, he settled into his seat and shut himself inside the vehicle. Once his seatbelt had been affixed, he held his breath for a moment and released it slowly. “We’re really doing this,” he said, looking at Victor. “If they take the bait, then we’re counting on Christian to rescue us like a couple of damsels in distress.”
“I intend to do more than that.” Without further explanation, Victor started the car. While the traffic had been scant driving toward Christian’s apartment, the streets felt deserted then, only becoming busier when they traveled closer to their first destination. Victor didn’t get out of the car after parking, and as he peered across the street at another apartment building, Peter frowned and struggled to make sense of where they were.
“I found the police report on Talbot’s injury and arrest,” Victor said, as if he could read Peter’s thoughts. “This is where their altercation with him took place. If we can find Christian, the rest of the night’s unpleasantness might not have to carry on any further. I have a proposition for him. When I’m done hitting him.”
Peter chuckled, the sound light and yet, still laden with nerves. “What sort of a proposition?” he asked. “We tie him to bed naked and leave him there?”
“No, he’d enjoy that too much and I’m not of the mind to indulge him just yet.” Victor shifted the car into drive again and pulled out from the parking spot. “More like urging him to surrender whatever he knows about Talbot. It would make killing him unnecessary.”
“Do you think Christian could be convinced not to kill him?”
Victor glanced at him before focusing on the road again. “I’m hoping his desire for freedom outweighs his need for vengeance.”
His statement lingered in the air, bringing a chill to it that affected Peter. Victor turned onto the adjoining street, slowly circling the block twice before driving adjacent to a nearby park. When neither man spotted any sign of Christian, Victor took a deep breath and turned in the direction of Rittenhouse. What he left unspoken resonated the loudest. They would have to see this through.
There was no other way.
Peter wondered if the darkness in the hallway had gained an extra eeriness to it, or if it had always been so ominous. His previous memories of walking up to Victor’s condo bore happier feelings, with the thrill of lust and budding love filling each frame. When he glanced at Victor, he could recapture a sample of those moments, even beyond the flight of nerves and sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. The other man flashed a smile at him, but even he seemed too distracted to linger in their shared company.
Whatever filled Victor’s mind in that moment, Peter couldn’t read it through his expression. His lips were pursed, eyes examining as much of the hallway as could be seen while he seemed hypervigilant toward anything that sounded like it didn’t belong there. The slow way he selected his door key met with the quietness of how he slid it into the lock and twisted the knob. The door opened without so much as a squeaky hinge and yet, even Victor seemed displeased it couldn’t have been quieter.
“I keep a compound bow in my closet,” he had said on the drive over. “Haven’t practiced with it since college, but it’s something, at the very least.” Peter had nodded, and even then, as they entered the apartment, one man walked to the closet while the other
padded for the kitchen and selected a butcher knife from the block. The idle notion of bringing one of Christian’s daggers filled Peter’s thoughts as he clutched the hilt and shifted slowly into the living room. Without the lights on, the moonlight played off the furnishings and cast strange shadows across the floor. Peter took a deep breath and shut his eyes.
“Remind me later to teach you how to properly hold a knife.”
His eyes snapped open at the sound of the voice and only after a flight of panic raced through him did he realize its owner sounded familiar. A light flickered on in the living room, revealing Christian seated in the chair furthest from the windows. While an amused smile danced across his lips, the look in his eyes read of worry and frustration. “I would expect better from a doctor,” he said.
“I’m not a surgeon,” Peter said. “When the hell did you get here?”
“Only a few minutes ago. I’m surprised the doorman didn’t tell you.” Standing, he revealed himself more fully, but even then, the sight of him failed to calm Peter. Instead of seeing the mischievous, playful lover he’d been dating, Peter saw a focused man, dressed in all-black with a wool coat covering his slight frame, making him appear stockier. Well-treaded boots sank partly into the rug and, from the way Christian held himself, Peter could sense the presence of one of those holsters and a few of those knives hidden under the coat. For the first time, Peter saw the killer beyond the façade of a normal man.
The sound of Victor’s footsteps gained in volume while Peter stepped further into the room. He lowered the knife and frowned at Christian. “We’ve been worried about you,” he said.
“Have you really?” Christian asked.
“Yes.” Peter took a deep breath, rising to the challenge which had been presented to him. As Victor became visible in his periphery, Peter squared his shoulders. “Why do you keep trying to scare me off?”
“It’s not that. It’s foolish things like that little note the two of you left.” Christian’s gaze shifted to Victor. The intensity of his fear and displeasure only grew upon seeing the other man. “Please tell me that wasn’t really your idea.”
“It was. Since you’ve been apt to hide,” Victor said. “One way or another, I determined it would resolve all of this.”
“All it did was put you in danger.” The way Christian’s face contorted suggested at a scowl. As Peter looked closer, what he saw was an active struggle to hide the amount of emotion which had suddenly blossomed within Christian. He took a step closer to them, his jaw clenching as he spoke. “I had every intention of talking to both of you once this was ended. Until then, I wanted you safe.”
“That wasn’t all you wanted,” Peter said. “I know better. There’s a part of you that’s known all along that seeing this through might cost you everything.” He sobered dramatically, stripping away the sight of the hitman and focusing on the person who’d swept him off his feet.
The man with whom he’d fallen in love.
“I remember how we met, Christian,” Peter added. “Believe me when I say that I’ll never forget it.”
Whatever sternness Christian held onto fell away like scales and revealed someone as petrified and uncertain as the other two. His throat bobbed as he swallowed down a flurry of emotion and as he glanced away from Peter, his eyes met Victor and something about whatever he found there caused him to pause. Peter looked at Victor as well and took a deep breath upon seeing the amount of care being presented; the simple, unspoken way Victor tried to communicate to Christian that something real existed there. Something that would break Victor’s heart to lose. Peter glanced between the two men as they spoke.
“I thought maybe you were hiding in another emergency room, not wanting to tell me that you’d been hurt,” Victor said, and while Peter belatedly remembered he had gone to search for his old bow, Peter discovered the quiet, reserved man had walked to them barehanded. As if he’d abandoned the search the moment he heard his lover’s voice. “Hoped that, in any event, compared to the other likely scenarios.”
Christian scoffed, though the sound bore a level of chagrin. “I’m not trying to get myself hurt,” he said.
“What are you doing, then? I’ve done my part not to question, but you’ve only spiraled further in the process, Christian.” Victor hesitated, before adding, “Peter found your scrapbook. I’ve known this is related to England. You’ve told me that much, at least. But are you still hoping to exact some sort of revenge for what happened to your father? Is that what this is about?”
Regardless of the amount of exasperation Christian directed at Peter, the latter remained unfazed. Christian focused on Victor again, through the sheen of tears. “I’ve explained it, but I haven’t,” he said. “You’ve always known what I carry around with me, but I never talk about how much it haunts me.”
“You haven’t needed to. I’ve known.” Reaching out with one hand, Victor coaxed Christian closer. “There’s another way out of this. Let me help you.”
“This could mean trouble for…”
“For all of us,” Peter interjected. “We know. We figured out why you had to run away from home. You keep reaching out for us anyway, Christian. You might as well let us stay.”
Christian focused on Peter and blinked, as if needing to translate the other man’s plea before it could resonate. As he glanced back at Victor, he raised an eyebrow and something about the placid, enticing half-smile the other man gave him in return seemed to break Christian. “I’ve known they were here for a few weeks. They must have finally caught word of where I’d run off to. I tried to follow them, but got too close not once, but twice. Somehow, they still didn’t know it was me. Not until that night at the bar.”
His eyes shifted to Peter. “I took you there, in part, to speak to Roland. He warned me there were people who had come around looking for me, but I thought we had longer before we needed to leave.”
“I don’t regret going there with you.”
“And despite what I said before, I don’t regret taking you.”
Christian finally took Victor’s hand, stepping into his personal space and looping his arms around the other man. For a moment, it felt to Peter like he’d ceased to exist, but in some way, he knew what followed demanded that. “I love you,” Christian whispered to Victor. Resting his head on the other man’s shoulder, he shut his eyes. “I love you and it would kill me for something to happen to you.”
Victor’s eyes widened, his grip on Christian tightening as his gaze took on a frenzied form of surprise. The moment the declaration clicked into place, he shut his eyes, breathing in deep like he could immerse himself within Christian; as if the world itself would stop spinning long enough for him to revel in the miraculous. “I love you, too,” he said. Peter watched him struggle with what else to say, as if the contents of his heart could be melted down and forged into the perfect sentence. “Let me help you,” he finally added. “Please.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Why do they want to kill you?”
“Kill me? No.” Christian pulled away enough to look Victor in his eyes. “Catch, yes. My father wasn’t an innocent man. He stole things from them and ran. They caught up to him and when he wouldn’t disclose the location of their belongings, they had him murdered. I didn’t realize this all until I spent half my life looking for them and got in over my head.” He hesitated. “I inherited everything my father left. This included the things he took from them. I’ve simply never handed them over to anyone because they implicate my father as much as they do Talbot.”
Peter opened his mouth, to ask the obvious question left unanswered, but felt his heart ache as he thought it out. Why hold onto something like that, when it could mean putting away the people who had haunted you for so long? He imagined his father, though, and regardless of how salt-of-the-earth the Dawes patriarch had been, if he had done anything wrong, it would still pain Peter to disclose it. “Your dad wouldn’t want this for you,” Peter said, pausing once he realized how v
ague the statement was. “I mean you being chased when you could put the people chasing you away. I know what I’m saying, Christian, and I’ll still stand by it. My dad would’ve wanted me happy.”
Christian frowned, a lost expression on his face which settled into something more impassive as he paused in thought. Pounding at the door startled the three men into silence, though, fixing their joint attention toward the entryway as they froze into place.
“How quickly did you retrieve my note?” Victor asked.
“I can’t be sure it was quick enough,” Christian said. “I had to leave my apartment in a hurry.”
“It didn’t look like it had been burgled.”
“They’re professionals and this isn’t Hollywood.”
Victor and Christian exchanged a look. Another persistent bang resonated from the door and as Peter took a deep breath, the other two men frowned. “Hide,” Victor said, his gaze intent on Christian. “Peter can stay in the living room. Let me attempt to get rid of whoever this is. With any hope, we can leave immediately to talk to the police.”
“I hope you’re intending to keep that knife handy.” Christian glanced down by Peter’s side. As Peter peered down at it, a soft chuckle brought Peter’s attention back to the other man. Whether Christian knew he’d caught Peter off-guard – forgetting he still held the knife – he didn’t let Peter react any further. He walked over to him, hitching up on his tiptoes and placing a soft kiss on his lips before spiriting away. The befuddled doctor watched him disappear down the hallway. Setting the knife on the counter, he raised an eyebrow at Victor who casually hid whatever nervousness had taken flight within him. As he turned to the door, he nodded.
“Well, let’s hope the pizza man got lost,” he said. “We’re strangely out of our league.”
Eighteen