The Slow Road to Hell

by Grant Atherton

  I tried to laugh it off. "Maybe I'd better stay off the wine before I do something else stupid."

  A short sharp laugh from Nathan. Not very convincing. He squirmed in his seat, ill at ease and, a moment later, looked up at the clock again and said, "Perhaps it would be best if I went home after all. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

  My heart sank. Why did I have to make such a mess of things when all was going well.

  "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Nathan." I nodded toward the glass of wine in his hand. "You'll be over the limit by now."

  He took a moment and then agreed that it probably wouldn't be a wise move and said, "I should turn in anyway. I'll need to make an early start in the morning." He placed his half-full glass down by the hearth.

  It was barely ten o'clock, hardly late, but I acquiesced anyway, inwardly cursing myself for the idiot I was and for driving him away. I rose from my seat as he did, and bade him good night as he mounted the stairs.

  Trying to sound casual, I called up after him, "There's some bedding in the bedside chest. Do you need a hand?"

  "No, I'll be fine, he said, a tad too quickly, and, a moment later, closed the bedroom door behind him.

  As the mournful sound of Rodrigo's Fantasia died away, I sank back onto the couch, head in hands, and waited until all sounds of movement from above had ceased. For a minute or two longer, I sat in silence and then took one last look around the empty room before climbing the stairs to bed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Half an hour later, I was still sitting in my bedside chair, wide awake.

  All around me, the old house groaned and creaked as it settled down for the night. Floorboards squeaked on the upper landing and from somewhere downstairs, the faint rattle of a radiator presaged the long drawn-out gurgling of water as it coursed its way around the pipes.

  In the spare room next door, all was quiet. Was Nathan already sleeping or, like me, was he too restless, fretting about what the hell had just happened?

  Was I really so stupid? That I couldn't see what was right in front of me all this time? And more to the point, what was I going to do about it?

  Whilst I was reflecting on these thoughts, another sound joined the others; the creak of a door hinge from the corridor outside. It was followed by the soft tread of feet on the wooden floor.

  That was one question answered at least. Nathan was still up and about.

  The sounds of movement stopped outside my door and I waited, apprehensive, unsure why he was there, wondering if he was about to knock, worried that he might, and ready to be disappointed if he didn't.

  A brief pause and he withdrew again.

  I was out of my chair in a flash and opened the door in time to see him retreating into his room. He was still dressed.

  "Nathan?"

  He stopped, half turning, hesitant, uncertain, and then turned around and made his way to me.

  He said, "Just tell me if I'm reading this all wrong, Mikey. Am I making a big mistake here?"

  A slow shake of the head. "I'm the one who makes all the mistakes." I stepped back to let him into the room. "You're the one who always puts them right again."

  A moment later, I was in his arms, holding him tight, his lips pressed to mine. This is where I wanted to be more than anywhere. Where I belonged. Wrapped in those strong arms. Breathing in that heady scent.

  And this time there were no excuses, I knew what I wanted. And so did he. He was already unbuttoning his shirt, as ready for this as I was.

  He pulled away from me, still tugging at his buttons, and before he could act or speak, I pushed him down onto the bed. He swung himself around to lie full length and I climbed onto the bed and straddled him, swiping away his hand.

  "Oh no you don't," I said, my breathing ragged. "I get to unwrap my own presents."

  "Is that what I am?"

  "You're my welcome home gift."

  "Home?"

  "You know what I mean."

  He kicked off his shoes and I fumbled with the rest of his shirt buttons, his chest heaving and falling under my touch.

  Gripping him between my thighs, I ripped open his shirt to reveal the thick mat of hair that covered his torso. I ran my fingers through it, making my way down over the firm pecs to the swirl of hair on the flat plane of his stomach and on to the treasure trail running down under the top of his trousers.

  Trying to keep the tremor out of my voice, I said, "I have to say, you've filled out nicely over the years, Mr Quarryman." My cock strained against the fabric of my jeans as I feasted on the sight of that hard hot body and rippling muscles. "I always did have good taste in men."

  "Now let's see what I'm getting, shall we, Mr MacGregor?" His voice was husky, deep in the back of his throat. He grabbed the hem of my sweatshirt and dragged it over my head in one fluid movement, pulling my arms up over my head as he tugged it off and threw it aside. "Not bad." His broad hands were all over me, squeezing my arms and pecs. The muscles in his arms rippled beneath the dark covering of hair.

  "Not bad?" My voice trembled. "I'll have you know this body cost me a fortune in gym fees."

  "Don't worry. You got your money's worth."

  "You approve?"

  "Oh, I approve all right." He grabbed me around the waist and half pushed, half pulled me over onto the middle of the bed, rolled over, wrapped a muscular leg around my thighs, and leaned down, seeking my lips once more. He pushed his tongue into my mouth and I took it in eagerly, wrapping my own tongue around his, enjoying the wine-tangy taste of him. His bristles scraped my skin as he pressed his mouth hard against mine.

  I pulled away, gulping in air. "Wait. Wait a moment." I rolled him onto his back again and reached for his belt.

  The next few minutes were lost in a frenzy of activity, of belts unbuckled and zips undone, and a whir of flying clothes as jeans, trousers, shirts and underwear were ripped off and cast aside. And then Nathan was reaching over to the bedside cabinet, wrenching open the drawer and grabbing a tube of lube.

  "On top," he barked. I straddled him again and a second later, he was guiding his finger to its target. As he found his mark, I relaxed enough to let his lube-slick finger slide into me, threw back my head and cried out. Beneath me, his thick cock throbbed and jerked, pressing into me. My heart raced.

  "I need you," I moaned.

  Leaning down, I squeezed his pecs, digging my fingers into his hairy pelt, and ground my hips, writhing against his swollen cock. His flesh was warm and damp. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and he groaned, gripping me around the waist and bucking his hips, pressing into me.

  "The drawer. The drawer. A condom." His arm outstretched, he was grabbing thin air as he tried to reach the drawer handle. I beat him to it, almost ripped the drawer off its runners in my haste and rummaged around inside it until I found what I was looking for.

  He tried to snatch it from me but I held it out of his reach. "I'll do it," I said, tearing it out of its wrapper. "I want to take a good look at what I've been missing."

  I swung myself off his lap and reached down to grab the thick rampant cock as it sprang free, and ran the thumb of my free hand up and down the thick vein on the underside of his shaft. The glans was slick with pre-cum and, moaning with pleasure, I leaned down and pressed my lips to the large bulbous head, ran my tongue over the glistening drop of pre-cum leaking from the tip of his cock, enjoying the salty taste, and then took it into my mouth, greedily sucking it down into the back of my throat, running my tongue around the shaft.

  Nathan groaned, writhing beneath me, his fingers curled into my hair. He pulled me down, grinding his hips, and forced his cock into the back of my throat.

  Pulling back, I released him and raised my head. "Seems such a shame to cover it up." My heart was racing.

  "Well, you'd best do it soon" He was panting hard as he released his hold on me. "Or you'll be getting a facial."

  "Hmmm, promises, promises." I unrolled the condom onto his shaft and waited
till he'd lubed up before straddling him again. Reaching behind me, I grasped his cock and guided it into place. He grunted and slowly pushed into me.

  "Easy, boy. Easy," I said. "It's been a while since I had one this size."

  He slid into me, taking his time, and, as the discomfort passed and I relaxed, he gradually increased his stroke until he was pounding hard, slamming his thick member deep into me. I bucked and thrashed, pushing back to meet each thrust. He drove into me, the fingers of one hand digging into the cheeks of my ass, the other hand wrapped around my shaft, pumping slowly as our guttural groans drowned out the complaining squeak of the bedsprings.

  As my moment neared, my balls tightened and the juices rose in my shaft. From somewhere far away, I heard myself cry out, a long high wailing sound as the world exploded in a paroxysm of pleasure, and fire raged through my flesh.

  The world came back into focus, and I heard Nathan's rumbling shout of release as he filled me with his juices. A moment later I collapsed, sobbing and shaking, onto his chest as he withdrew.

  Gently, he rolled me onto my side and wrapped an arm around me. We lay together in silence, spent and satiated, our sweat-warm bodies pressed together, his heart beating against my skin, my hand on his chest.

  After long moments of silence, he said, "Is this a game changer, Mikey?"

  I didn't want to think about the future. "I just want to enjoy this moment. The future can take care of itself."

  That night, for the first time in many nights, I slept soundly. I must have. Because when I woke the following morning, Nathan had already gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Chin in hand, my head propped up on one arm, I shoved the food around my plate, occasionally stabbing at a sausage or piece of bacon with my fork as my breakfast congealed. My appetite had gone.

  I occasionally glanced over to the chair on the other side of the kitchen table where Nathan should have been sitting. It was empty. And I wasn't sure why.

  Last night, everything had changed. All those pent-up emotions I had suppressed for so long had finally surfaced into awareness, throwing me into confusion about what I was looking for, about my feelings for Nathan, about how it would change our relationship.

  It was as if the ground beneath me had given way and I was being pulled down into a quagmire of bewildering possibilities, left struggling to find my feet again, wondering what happened now and where we went from here. So many questions. And Nathan was the only one who could help me answer them.

  So where was he? Why had he left my bed in the early hours and crept away?

  And why wasn't he answering my calls?

  My mobile sat on the table by my plate, its face black and sullen. I willed it to ring. One call, two texts, and fifty minutes later, I was still sat there, toying with my food, waiting for him to get back to me.

  I picked up the phone, turned it over and over in my hand, started to tap in his number, stopped, put it back down.

  Finally, defeated, I dragged myself to the kitchen unit and tipped the remains of my breakfast into the waste-bin.

  I couldn' t face it any longer.

  In that dismal silence, the sound of the doorbell was an ear-shattering shock that had me dropping my cutlery into the sink with a clatter.

  Rushing towards the door, I almost fell over a kitchen chair. It had to be Nathan. He must have been called away and now he was back. Why he didn't use his key?

  I soon had my answer. It wasn't him.

  "Are you okay?"

  I'm not sure what it was Lowe read in my face but judging by the look on his, I must have seemed less than welcoming.

  "I'm sorry," I stepped back to let him in. "I'm on my first mug of coffee and I'm not totally human till I've had at least three."

  He accepted the explanation readily enough and said, "I can come back later if you'd rather."

  "No, please." I ushered him in. I was eager for information about Nathan and if Lowe had come straight from the station, he may know what was keeping Nathan so busy he couldn't return my calls.

  "Time for a coffee?" I asked.

  He accepted, gratefully, rubbing his hands, and sat himself at the kitchen table while I switched on the kettle and spooned some instant into a couple of mugs.

  "I wanted to bring you up to speed on the vicarage break-in," he said.

  "There've been some developments?"

  "'Fraid not. I just wanted to let you know we've finished over there. You're free to go back whenever you like. Sorry to have to tell you though, we didn't find anything of significance."

  He must have noticed the look of disappointment on my face as I carried the mugs to the table, and added by way of apology, "I'm sure you'll appreciate that resources are stretched at the moment. In the circumstances, the break-in has to take a lower priority. Particularly as it appears nothing was stolen."

  Personally, I thought my being bashed over the head made it a slightly more pressing concern. But I kept my thoughts to myself.

  I handed him his coffee and settled myself into the other chair. "And the murder investigations? I'm presuming something's happening there. I've been trying to get hold of Nathan all morning but he seems suddenly very busy."

  Lowe's forehead creased. "There's nothing new that I know of. I'm busy arranging more interviews but until we get started on those, the Chief is just catching up on routine work in his office as far as I know."

  "Great." My suspicions were confirmed. Nathan was avoiding me.

  Lowe studied me, a quizzical look on his face. "Are you sure you're okay?"

  I must have spoken more abruptly than I'd intended. "Ignore me. I'm out of sorts."

  "Bad night?"

  "I wish I knew."

  That quizzical look again.

  "Let's just say it was some time before I managed to get to sleep." I took a swig of coffee.

  Lowe nodded sagely and launched into a discourse on the benefits of regular exercise as a cure for insomnia. I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was a bout of enthusiastic late-night exercise that had kept me from sleeping in the first place.

  I half listened to him, responding on automatic with a nod or a smile at convenient moments but my mind was elsewhere. What the hell was Nathan playing at? Last night had been some sort of turning point. What else was it supposed to be? His way of finding closure?

  What had it meant to him? In my usual self-centred way, I'd assumed he felt the same. But why would he? Wasn't he the one who'd said he was no good at relationships? The inference being that he wasn't looking for one. So maybe he was running shy. Keeping his distance.

  There was something he'd said. Afterwards. Right before I'd fallen asleep. He'd asked me if it had been a game changer. Is that what he was worried about? That I might want more than what was on offer last night? Is that why he'd crept away before I was awake?

  There was another possibility. After the revelations about my private life, he may be wary of getting involved with someone he thought lacked commitment. My heart sank. I hoped not. I hoped I hadn't made such a mess of things, I couldn't find some way to redeem myself and make amends for my mistakes.

  On the other hand, maybe he really was very busy and I was being paranoid. Maybe I was letting my own guilty conscience persuade me to think the worst. Perhaps that was it. I held on to that thought. It was more comforting than the alternatives.

  "Mr MacGregor?"

  I came to with a start. Blinked. I hadn't heard a word Lowe had said for the last couple of minutes.

  I apologised. "I'm finding it hard to focus right now. Give me that again would you."

  He drained his mug and put it down on the table. "I said I'll let you know when I have some interviews arranged. The Chief tells me you want to sit in on them."

  "Yes," I said, turning my attention back to our discussion. I needed to concentrate. "Let me know who and when and I'll work around whatever arrangements you make."

  I finished my coffee while he produced a pad and pencil from a
n inside pocket, scribbled a note, and pocketed them again.

  With nothing more to discuss, he made his excuses to leave and as he rose from the table, he nodded down at my empty mug and said, "I think you need a few more of those before you're ready to face the world."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  An hour later, I was still mooching around the house feeling sorry for myself and the walls were closing in on me. Enough was enough. To hell with this. To hell with Nathan. To hell with everything. I needed to get me some open space.

  Donning my coat, I headed on out into a bright wet morning of blue skies and shimmering pavements. Bright droplets of rain hung on the underside of branches like glittering diamonds and the air was fresh and full of the sea. I breathed it all in, glad to be away from the oppressive confines of the house.

  This wasn't weather for wasting. I hopped into the Elan and drove out to the coast road with the hood down, keeping the sea on my left, and raced along the town perimeter, taking the long route around to the vicarage.

  Now Lowe had given the go-ahead, I would sort through the rest of my father's papers and, task completed, hand over the keys to Trivett and never have to see the place again. But first, I wanted to put my troubles behind me for a while and feel the wind in my face.

  Aeons-old mineral deposits glinted in the crumbling face of the red crag cliffs to my right and rock pools, dotted along the scree-lined base, flashed reflected sunlight as I sped past. By the time I reached the far side of Tinkers Wood on the other side of town, my gloomy mood had lifted. At the turn into Vicarage Lane, my mobile rang, lifting my mood even more. Nathan? It had to be.

  The moment I reached the vicarage courtyard, I pulled up to the gate under the sombre shade of the roadside elms, and checked the call.

  It wasn't him. My heart sank again. Another disappointment.

  Why was I fooling myself? If he was going to call, he would have done so by now.

  The call was from Erin Corby. I couldn't imagine what she wanted to talk about. At our last meeting, I'd offered to help with counselling for Laura. But that was more of a courtesy than anything and I hadn't expected her to take me up on it.