Right to Silence

by Lily Luchesi

  This was Michael Finnigan. Alive again. Right there, in the same room as Brighton. He felt his heart lurch in his chest and his breathing became laboured. Unwanted tears sprang into his eyes. Could this be? Could the universe really have seen fit to bring Michael back to him?

  “Hello,” the man now called Mark said. “You must be Brighton Sands, right? Come in, don’t be shy. Sorry, I was just looking for your file. How on Earth did you locate it all the way over there?” He chuckled to himself as he took the file from beneath his sandwich wrapper.

  Brighton stepped closer till he was standing right across the desk from Mark. He could not say a word. He could only concentrate on his breathing so he wouldn’t hyperventilate. His love was alive! Mark’s jumbled thoughts were still coming to him clearly, and it was enough for him to know that Mark had absolutely no idea who he was.

  Angelica didn’t mention how handsome this guy would be...not that I care, of course. Marie would murder me. Hell, I’d murder me! He’s a quiet one. God, why’d he have to lick his lips like that? Okay, focus. You’ve already made yourself out to be a fucking idiot. No need to further embarrass yourself. He looks kind of familiar, too. I’d remember if I ever saw a face like that, though.

  Brighton knew he needed to say something. Anything. Even “nice to meet you” or “how do you do” would suffice. He could not say anything. He did, however, want to silence Mark’s thoughts. They were crowding him in, making it even harder to breathe.

  Without further thought, Brighton put his hand on the collar of the hideous jumper Mark was wearing and pulled him into a kiss, right over the desk. Brighton closed his eyes and absorbed every single thing he could. Mark’s lips were a little dry and he tasted like the tea he’d been drinking. His body stiffened against Brighton’s at first, and Brighton could detect a single thought of Marie, the name that had been thought about earlier.

  That name was only there for a moment, though, because Mark relaxed into the kiss and Brighton felt Mark’s hands cup his face, running his thumbs over Brighton’s cheekbones.

  Brighton gently forced Mark’s lips open with his own and he felt more than heard Mark moan into the kiss, at the slightest brush of Brighton’s tongue on his.

  It was warm, familiar, as close to Heaven as Brighton imagined he’d ever get, and the best of all was that it was blissfully silent. No thoughts. Just the feeling of warm lips on his and love in his heart.

  They finally needed breath, and Brighton realised now, since they were actually face-to-face, he needed to talk, to explain, and to hopefully save face and not make Mark think he was as crazy as he really was.

  Mark looked up at him, at least four inches shorter than he was, and Brighton could not detect a single thing from him. He had literally kissed him stupid.

  “That was the single best ‘nice to meet you’ I have ever experienced,” Mark said finally, plopping down into his chair. “I— I think it would be best, however, if we put that on the backburner in order to get you signed in, eh?” He smiled weakly.

  Brighton could sense his arousal and it matched his own. Not surprising that they had the same chemistry in this life that they did in the previous one. Brighton sat in the visitor’s chair and said, “Very good idea, Director. I presume you know why I am here, becoming a part of this company.”

  Mark nodded, and Brighton noticed a tell-tale tremor in his hands as he opened a file clearly marked “Sands, B.”

  “Talented chemist doing highly unnecessary postgrad work at university. You have a hobby of going to the gun range and ‘improving’ your firearms— highly illegal, by the way. You are also a swordsman who won national fencing competitions when you were in college. That’s quite the repertoire.” He cleared his throat and pushed some papers across the meticulously neat desk. “Read these over and sign and initial where indicated.”

  Brighton signed the papers, slightly surprised at the amount of money he’d be paid weekly. Angelica had said it would be decent pay, not that two weeks would pay his rent for three months! It was unexpected, but welcome.

  Mark kept talking, mostly to keep himself from thinking: Brighton would keep catching thought fragments that Mark would immediately discard. “Angelica told me you don’t need training. If a case comes up, we will call you. You are free to use the training facilities and gym as much as you’d like. Of course, this place is operational all day, every day. And—”

  “I did it because I find you very pleasing to look at.” Brighton was never able to hold his tongue for long. “I felt a connection the moment we locked eyes and I know you felt it, too, so don’t bother denying it. I believe in going after what you want without hesitation. Life is far too short for that.” He stood up and gazed down at the shocked expression on Mark’s face.

  “It’s obvious you’ve got a girlfriend, but your arousal from our kiss is even more obvious. Like I said, I don’t believe in wasting time. I leave the metaphorical ball in your court.” Brighton turned around to leave, knowing that walking away from the man he wanted to grab and hold till the end of time was the hardest thing he’d had to do in this life.

  As he reached the door he felt a warm hand grab his wrist. He stopped stock still as images of the past, images that, for some reason, hadn’t come when they’d kissed, flooded his brain. They were images he hoped he’d never see again.

  Their first meeting. Their first kiss. Mabuz’s dirty fangs piercing Finnigan’s throat. Needing to shoot the man he loved before that same man turned into a bloodsucking fiend.

  “Wait.” Mark’s soft voice broke through the memories.

  Brighton turned around to face him, and the turn caused their hands to clasp lightly. He looked at him and waited, not as patient as he looked.

  “I have no idea how you know what you know. I have no idea how you just walked in here and managed to make me feel how I feel right now. What I do know is that I can’t let you walk out of here. I...don’t want to let you leave,” he said, his voice soft and his eyes wide.

  Brighton smiled down at him. “I knew you wouldn’t just let me leave. Now, finish your work and let me take you to dinner tonight.”

  Mark’s face paled. “But I’m not...at least, I was never...I’ve never dated a man before. I have a fiancée, for Pete’s sake! How do I even begin to deal with this?”

  In most cases, in movies and books, Brighton would say something profound and touching to help Mark with his emotions. This was real life, however, and Brighton was no romance hero.

  “That’s for you to decide. I will be at Amici tonight at seven-thirty. If you do not come, I will consider that my answer and we can both put the past twenty minutes behind us.” He let Mark’s hand go and left, hoping that their two-century-old bond was enough to bring them together again in this time.

  ***

  Mark had been kissed many times in his life. Few kisses had been very memorable. The kiss that the gorgeous and enigmatic Brighton Sands had given him nearly swept him off his feet and made his head spin...as well as doing other things to his anatomy he didn’t want to think about.

  He had never been interested in men...at least, he didn’t think so. He’d never stopped to think about it. He knew he liked women. He liked being around women, kissing women, and having sex with women. Was it possible that he could like all of those things with men, too?

  He knew what being bisexual was, of course, but he had always thought that you knew things like that about yourself when you were in college, at the latest. He was in his late thirties. How did he not realise this before then?

  And what did this mean for his relationship with Marie? He loved her...didn’t he? He had been so sure of his life. He had been planning a wedding! And that bastard had to waltz in here and take his breath away, all the while making him question everything in his life.

  The moment Brighton had walked in, he had felt something from him. Even when he hadn’t looked up at him, there had been a magnetic pull surrounding Brighton, some invisible force that made the hair
s on the back of Mark’s neck stand up and his heart race. It was not that he was just gorgeous, it was something deeper. It was a connection that defied logic and reason.

  Mark had never believed in love at first sight. And then he saw Brighton, and all logic flew out of the window. Yes, he’d meet Brighton that night. He needed to. Brighton had managed to captivate him in a way no one had managed to do before. He craved more of him.

  He sat back down and took out his mobile, texting Marie. “Dinner meeting with a new agent tonight, so I’ll be home late.”

  A moment later the phone buzzed with a reply: “No worries, love. I’ll get a bite with the girls tonight. See you.” There was also a kissy-face emoji at the end of the message, which filled Mark with guilt. It shouldn’t have: it was just dinner. At that point, he did not even know if he would be with Brighton in the long run, or if he’d come to his senses. There was no need for him to feel bad on Marie’s behalf.

  He got off work at six-thirty, which left an hour before he had to meet Brighton. The restaurant was nice, but still casual dress, so his jumper and black slacks were just fine, meaning he didn’t need to go and change. His hair was military-short, so nothing to do there. There were no cases to stay and look over.

  He sat at his desk and opened the file on Brighton. Angelica had amazing connections, and the PID here in England had access to MI-5 and MI-6 databases, so she was able to compile an amazing profile on all of the humans and creatures under Mark’s employ.

  Brighton had been a very bright student, graduating secondary school at sixteen and his first time at university at only twenty. His post-grad work was brilliant, and he was currently working on something that would suffice as synthetic blood, which was why Angelica was interested in him.

  He was ambitious, bright, handsome, and mysterious. He was everything anyone could ever want in a man. Of course, Mark surmised that he was also a bit arrogant, blunt as a spoon, and intuitive to a point where it might get uncomfortable if they were to live together…

  Mark shot up in his seat as that thought hit him. They had literally just met, and Mark was engaged already. What was this nonsense his brain was feeding him?

  “I need a bloody stiff drink.”

  ***

  Mark did not remember him or their shared life. Brighton was in the sitting room of his apartment, in walking distance of the restaurant they’d go to that evening, pondering.

  What were the pros and cons of that situation? The cons were simple: Mark would not love him as he had when he was Michael Finnigan. Mark was a repressed bisexual and only just now recognized it. Mark was engaged to a woman named Marie. Brighton would have to truly woo him tonight if he hoped to ever rekindle what Peter Mabuz had taken from him that cold January night in 1832.

  The pros were: Mark did not know how Brighton had let him down. Brighton had allowed Mabuz to bite Mark, and then Brighton had had to shoot Mark before the good doctor could be turned into a creature of evil, one Sired by the vilest of vampires to ever walk the Earth.

  Brighton paced, chain-smoking across the sitting room. This could truly work in his favour. They could have a clean slate, and finally be together. If Mark fell in love with him, that is. It was a risk he had to take, to put his heart on the line for love.

  Brighton admitted that in his current and previous lives, he was not a very good romantic figure. He looked like one, but his grasp on emotion and especially love was tentative at best. He had once thought love was silly and unnecessary, but Michael Finnigan had changed that. Now he knew that love was silly, and could only lead to pure, unbearable pain; Mark Evans was still worth the risk, however. Taking the chance to have Mark in his life was worth all the pain he could endure.

  There were parts of the situation he was currently in that still confused him, however. He had never dated before, and he knew that first dates were very difficult. He already found general social interaction difficult, so how awful was this dinner going to be?

  He wanted to strangle his brother. This was all Mahon’s doing!

  He dialled a number on his mobile.

  “Cross. ...Brighton, how did things go?” Angelica answered.

  “What do you do on a first date?” Brighton blurted out, feeling a blush creeping up his fair face.

  Angelica paused, and he was sure that she was wondering what on Earth had transpired in that office. However, she had enough tact not to ask. “That depends. Be yourself, be nice, compliment the other person, ask about them, and act interested.”

  “I have to choose between ‘be myself’ and ‘be nice’. I can’t be both. I am bloody well fucked,” Brighton commented. When he’d been with Michael, he had needed to do none of that superficial nonsense. It was an easy, comfortable relationship without frills and with a lot of affection.

  Angelica giggled. “You’ll be fine. You can cut down three vampires in one swipe, make fake blood, and dance the waltz like a pro. Don’t ask how I know that one: I have access to all your files from your friend Mr. Quinn at MI-5, including your achievements from your time at Eton. This is nothing: I promise. You’ll have fun. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a plane to catch to go back to Chicago. Bit of a ghoul emergency back home, so I can’t meet up with you this evening as planned. Let me know how your night goes.”

  She hung up and he sighed. Of course she’d be blasé about it. She was cool and confident, the product of two powerful parents and the head of an international private government organisation. Dating was nothing compared with her accomplishments.

  Brighton went to his closet. It was almost show-time, and he did not want to keep Mark waiting. Michael had been punctual, and he was sure Mark was as well.

  His problem was not just Mark, it was this entire existence. It was knowing how comfortable he’d been in the eighteen-hundreds. Sure, he was forced deep into the closet because of the laws against homosexuality, but aside from that the nineteenth century was a great time period. He belonged there: he had a place there, and his attitude was not seen as abhorrent, as it was now.

  He had no time for niceties, for facades, for pretending to be interested in what other people had to say. He liked intelligent, deep conversations; he liked being able to speak his mind without offending all and sundry; he liked sitting in front of a fireplace in companionable silence with no pressure to constantly contribute to small talk. The twenty-first century was a place of fallacies: fake personalities, fake hair, fake nails, fake body parts, and fake bravado.

  It was filled with hate, anger, and fear. It was filled with liars and backstabbers. He felt utterly out of place and it showed in his interactions. He belonged in 1802, not 2010. Was Mark the same way, or was he going to reject him for being so provincial in mind-set? Michael had loved how he had been honest, quiet, unassuming, and shirked conventionalities. Would he still love those things about him? Brighton hoped so, because to have Mark shun him for his very personality would utterly destroy his heart and crush his spirit.

  Turning off the part of his brain that made him worry so, he quickly changed clothes and ran a hand through his dark curls. He considered himself socially passable and went to the restaurant, where he had always had a standing reservation, having saved the owner from a ravenous tiger-shifter a few years back.

  He had just finished greeting the owner when he felt Mark’s distinct, quiet presence behind him. Mark’s thoughts were swirling, easily heard above the din of the other diners’ minds.

  “Hello, Mark,” he said without turning around.

  “How did you know it was me?” Mark asked.

  Brighton turned and gave him a wink. “Just a special talent of mine. Please, sit.”

  He pulled out Mark’s chair, hoping that that was still acceptable to do on a first “sort of” date. Mark looked surprised, but happy as he sat down.

  “I am...glad you decided to come,” Brighton said, taking his seat across from Mark.

  “For all of me, I don’t know why I did,” Mark said. “I’m not gay. I’m not
...I don’t even know where we’re supposed to go from here.”

  Brighton motioned for a bottle of wine to be brought to the table as he said, “You’re not gay, you’re bisexual. And we can go one of two ways once dinner is over: you leave Marie and we become a couple, or you and I forget about this day and simply be boss and employee. The choice is yours, Mark.”

  Mark stared at him and shook his head, chuckling lightly as a waiter came and poured them each glasses of a deep red port. “I don’t know what you did to me. Are you some sort of male siren, enthralling me and then leading me to my death?”

  Brighton felt a shiver go down his spine at those words. Maybe that’s not his species, but that is exactly what he had done to Mark all those years ago.

  “I will never hurt you, if that is what you’re insinuating,” Brighton said. “I am what is known as gay demiromantic, and I do not feel things for random people. I can assure you that my reaction to you was as surprising to me as it was to you. Also, you should know that I would never have done something so direct unless I was truly compelled to, given my sexuality.

  “When I invest myself into another person, it is highly difficult for me. I have metaphorical walls around my heart, and I do not let people in easily. If I am offering a chance for you to be with me, know that I do it with trepidation and no small amount of courage.”

  Mark was what was known in the psychic community as a “projector”. His thoughts were loud and easy to read. After Brighton finished speaking, there was a noticeable silence coming from Mark’s brain.

  Literally without thinking, Mark reached across the table and put his hand over Brighton’s. “I don’t know what to say to that,” he admitted. “I...that was unexpected. Please know that I am glad and flattered that you deem me worthy of your attentions. I don’t know how I feel right now. All I know is that from the moment we met, I felt a connection with you unlike anything I have ever felt before. I think that I would be more comfortable figuring out my own mind before I say any more.”