The Bruise_Black Sky

by John Wiltshire

Whatever it was, it broke Nikolas.

  It was the one thing Ben had promised he would never do—hurt Nikolas—and he did.

  In some twisted, sick corner of Nikolas’s mind, Ben saw a realisation forming that he’d underestimated him. Nikolas had always taken that promise not to harm him as a sign that fundamentally Ben was weak. Nikolas used pain and betrayal as currency, and that Ben wouldn’t hurt him had marked him as someone who would allow themselves to be owned, manipulated and controlled.

  Ben now changed the very basis of their relationship, and when he was done, Nikolas shattered beneath him.

  §§§

  Nikolas had nothing left.

  How could he have been so arrogant as to think he needed to keep Ben safe by running away?

  He curled up, covering his face.

  When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned into the offered embrace, and Ben held him so tight that the imprisonment by metal no longer mattered. Nikolas was freed by Ben’s love for him, always had been, but now saw this fully for the first time.

  He told Ben about the salt mine and the nightmares he had about the drowning couple he’d condemned to slow, lingering, and terrifying deaths on nothing but a bruise on a face and a mistaken belief in their complicity in Oliver’s death.

  He told Ben that Kate had been murdered by their ex-colleagues in the department and that by concealing her knowledge of his past, he’d made that cover up appear sinister and thus turned her into a threat to be eliminated.

  He told Ben that he’d planned to disappear, because if they knew he’d lied about Kate, it cast suspicion upon his motives, and therefore a spotlight of doubt to shine upon Ben.

  And then Nikolas confessed almost his last secret. He loved Ben enough to leave him, even though by leaving Ben, any life he had, as Nikolas Mikkelsen or otherwise, would effectively be over.

  He loved Ben more than he loved himself.

  Ben was the only person in his whole life who Nikolas would not sacrifice to the altar of his own survival.

  §§§

  Ben couldn’t see this as much of a confession—being told that he was the centre of someone’s universe and more important than life itself—but he gave Nikolas the benefit of the doubt that the circumstances were a little unusual.

  They had always done things a little differently.

  It was kind of their default setting.

  He undid the handcuffs, but didn’t slacken his tight hold. He needed to be crushed by Nikolas, held so tight that remembrance of what he’d done would be squeezed out and dissipate.

  He only relented when he heard a soft, “I can’t breathe, Benjamin,” from below and let his arms fall slack as he rolled onto his back. Nothing had evaporated. It was all still there—his painful lump of guilt.

  Nikolas rubbed his beard thoughtfully as they moved to lie side by side on the bed. Ben needed to say something. He felt an overwhelming urge to bring words into the room to explain, soften, carry away his remorse, but none powerful enough came to mind.

  Nikolas cleared his throat, seeming to test his voice after the stress of the last hour and said remarkably calmly, “I will never forgive you. You know that, yes?”

  The shock of this after Nikolas’s intense confession along with his own shame made Ben’s pulse flutter. A flood of heat infused his face, which prevented him from replying before Nikolas carried on in the same even tone, “A whole study full of thought-provoking journals. Two new books on the First World War. But no, what does Ben Rider-Mikkelsen bring me to read? Three zombie books. Cannibalistic, reanimated dead people. No forgiveness is possible.”

  Ben closed his eyes on a relief so overwhelming he thought tears might fall. He actually felt his jaw wobble and clenched it tight.

  Nikolas chuckled against his ear, apparently watching the clampdown and whispered, “So it is just as well that no forgiveness is necessary,” and Ben knew he wasn’t talking about reading material any more, but what was fundamental and terrible between them. Nikolas took hold of his fingers, just playing idly with them, and he added in the same soft voice, “I am bound to you, min skat. Permission was given.” When he didn’t respond, Nikolas shifted position, levering up and lying on him. In the privacy of darkness, Ben felt lips brush his and opened his eyes to find a very familiar amber gaze fixed intently on him. “We are one body now, Ben. Permission could not be withdrawn.”

  Something ugly and toxic slew from Ben on these words with their familiar, distorting accent, and he rolled them both so they were in a fresh part of the bed away from its poisonous influence.

  Nikolas laughed delightedly, clearly reading Ben better than zombies, and he held his face close into his neck and added very slowly and distinctly so the twisted vowels were clear for once, “It never will be.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Three days later, when they had recovered, slept, ate, and not left one another’s side for that whole time, Nikolas told Ben there was one last thing to tell him—but that he needed to see this in person.

  Ben only wanted to go home, to Devon, but he would do anything Nikolas wanted. Nikolas wasn’t even exploiting this capitulation. He was calmer and less defensive than Ben had ever seen him. He appeared to be coasting on the fact that someone loved him enough to break him, to beat him into submission. No one had ever bothered to do that for him before, always bowing down to his arrogance and self-belief and utter refusal to change to suit anyone else’s convenience.

  Not Ben. Ben was in it for the long haul.

  Nikolas drove to St Albans. Kate’s parents were expecting them because he’d called ahead.

  They’d known Ben briefly nine years previous and then met him once again in Denmark, when he’d been gaunt with unhappiness, starved and shaven haired. They had not made the connection until he walked up the driveway with Nikolas. Then they clearly saw it.

  Jennifer Armstrong was holding the baby, so Ben got it pretty much the same time they did. He jerked his gaze to Nikolas, but Nikolas’s expression was guarded, the first time in some days. Ben allowed him his privacy, and accepted the invitation to enter the house and take a seat in the sitting room.

  Nikolas sat in another armchair, just slightly out of the main ring of chairs.

  Ben told them he hadn’t known.

  They asked him about his relationship with Kate—they hadn’t realised it had started up again. She’d not told them.

  He was non-committal, because he wasn’t very good at lying.

  Finally, Jennifer Armstrong put the baby down on a blanket on the carpet. “What’s to be done, Ben? Are you really in a position to look after her?”

  Her husband frowned at her and put a hand on her knee, but she sat straighter and added, “It has to be addressed. Do you really have any notion—?”

  “I don’t want to take her! Did you think I’d come here to do that?” Ben turned instinctively to Nikolas and realised that not only did Jennifer Armstrong think he was here to claim his daughter, Nikolas had assumed he would want this, too. He rose swiftly. “Do you mind if we…? Nik?”

  Summoned thus, Nikolas could hardly refuse to accompany Ben into the garden. Ben rounded on him. “This is the root of it at last! You thought I’d somehow—change? Not love you, because I’d want her? And you were doing your usual flit before you got rejected! Bloody hell, Nikolas!”

  Nikolas toed the ground, not catching his eye. “It sounds ridiculous when you put it like that. That’s utterly un—”

  “How would you put it?”

  “Well, that you’d be…” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and concluded lamely, “That you’d want a wife—a mother for her. A normal life. That now you could—have a normal family. What you’ve always wanted.”

  “A normal family?” Ben began to laugh. Nikolas looked extremely annoyed. He hated being made fun of. Ben stopped with difficulty and gestured for him to walk down the long garden path. “You’re the one who likes children—”

  “That is completely u
n—”

  “You spend your whole time gathering people around you to make a family. You even said it yourself that we can make our own families. I’ve never wanted anyone else but you. If anyone will want to take her it’s—what’s she called by the way?”

  “Molly Rose.”

  “Really? Huh. Molly Rose.” They stood together, heads bowed, foreheads almost touching. “You have taken your fucked-up life and made something good of it, Nikolas. Emilia, Babushka, me…and now maybe Molly Rose. Your family.”

  §§§

  It was a huge decision.

  But it gave Nikolas something to ponder, something to plan. He wondered what one of those little seats on wheels would be like in an open plan house with smooth tile floors which you could in theory dash across at high speed for over a hundred feet without coming to a door or wall. Or roller-skates, come to that. A bike?

  There was no hurry to decide one way or the other, for Molly Rose was clearly very happy where she was.

  Emilia arrived for Christmas, and one day they all went up to London to see a show, do some Christmas shopping—and introduce Molly Rose.

  Emilia seemed at as much of a loss what to do with her as Ben. The baby was…okay…but they’d promised her they could go to the London Dungeon that afternoon…

  The baby stayed with her grandparents throughout the Christmas festivities, because in January, Nikolas, Ben, Emilia and her grandmother flew to the States. The first of the Amazing Grace shelters had been completed.

  Ben proposed an idea to them on the plane. The over-arching brand of the charity should stay Amazing Grace, but each individual station should have its own name. He suggested Kate for the first one. Emilia then suggested Nina for another. Nikolas shrugged and added Elizabeth.

  Ulyana Ivanovna said she would like one dedicated to her when her time came, an assertion that made Emilia cry.

  They cheered her up later by going to see a film.

  It was called Finding Peace.

  Peter Cameron had expanded his screenplay to include all the Wars’ losses, and thus Oliver’s story was now only a small segment of the overall production. Ben’s contribution had been enough to tell that part. The movie had been completed for a Christmas release.

  As Nikolas sat in the darkened cinema with Ben at his side, he saw for the first time how wrong he’d been about pretty much everything. He’d witnessed this film being made. He’d stood to the side of that actual scene, watching it. That raw material had been transformed into this perfect whole. He hadn’t swum his whole existence in shit only to have one transformational moment upon finding Ben. On the contrary, everything he had now was due to that early history. His time as Aleksey had been the rushes that had enabled him to create this life. He couldn’t run from it. It couldn’t catch up to him. It gave meaning to this.

  He felt Ben take his hand, down between the seats, where the hold would be private.

  He pulled Ben’s hand up onto the armrest and held it openly.

  He had made this life, and he would live it the way he wanted.

  To Be Continued in Death’s Ink-Black Shadow

  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:

  Cadillac Escalade: General Motors Company

  Precor: Precor Inc., Amer Sports Corporation

  Mercedes Benz: Daimler AG

  Google: Google, Inc.

  Forbes: Forbes, Inc.

  Tesco: Tesco, PLC

  Fortnum & Mason: Wittington Investments, Ltd.

  Time: Time, Inc.

  Rolling Stone: Wenner Media, LLC.

  Men’s Fitness: American Media, Inc.

  Lycra: Invista S.à r.l.

  BBC: British Broadcasting Corporation

  Photoshop: Adobe Systems, Inc.

  The Exorcist: Warner Bros. Entertainment, Inc.

  Daimler: Daimler AG

  Bogner: Bogner, Inc.

  H3 Alpha Hummer: General Motors Company

  Firefly: Twentieth Television, Inc.

  Skype: Skype Technologies S.A.

  Glock: Glock Ges.m.b.H.

  Coke: The Coca-Cola Company

  Porsche Cayenne: Porsche AG

  Dr. Phil: CBS Television Distribution

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