Death's Ink Black Shadow

by John Wiltshire

  Ben thought about what Nikolas had said for a while then asked the silent figure, “If twelve-year-old you met you now, what would he say to you?”

  Nikolas frowned and Ben clarified, “I was thinking about Hayden again. When we were filming Finding Peace, Oliver met his eight-year-old self, but it was all about what Oliver wanted, not what that little boy wanted. What if you could do it the other way around? What would twelve-year-old Aleksey say to you?”

  Nikolas nodded slowly. “He’d say kill them all.”

  Ben sank back onto the pillow next to him. He knew he didn’t need to point out the obvious. He could sense Nikolas pondering things. Sometimes Nikolas’s thoughts were very loud. Ben only added, as he spooned tightly to him, “You survived. I don’t care what you had to do. If I went back and met you then, I’d tell you to do whatever it took to stay alive long enough to meet me.”

  Nikolas chuckled. “You were just a baby in nappies when I was twelve.”

  “Possibly in this very spot.”

  Nikolas turned his head once more, his face back to its more characteristic, amused curiosity. “I had forgot that.”

  “Fate, see?”

  Nikolas laughed again and rose over Ben, blocking out the light from the moon. “We follow some unknown plan, Benjamin. You persuade me of this. You are my fate.”

  Nikolas entered Ben gently, opening him up with easy, long strokes until he was ready for more. They didn’t take long, both coming in the warmth and ease of knowing the other so well that familiarity heightened the pleasure.

  Ben was almost asleep before he finished coming, feeling a welcome weight descend upon him before he let himself tip over the dark edge of nothingness, secure in the knowledge that he was filled with Nikolas, covered by Nikolas, and impaled upon Nikolas still.

  When he woke again, it was still not yet light, and he wondered why he’d woken. Nikolas was now alongside him, breathing evenly, no sign that he was dreaming. Ben listened to the house, wondering if some small disturbance in the balance of the silence had woken him. He climbed out of bed and went across the swim lane to the kitchen. Radulf was standing by the window, staring unsighted out into the dark. He was still, his tail down. Ben clicked his tongue at the dog, who peeled away from the glass reluctantly. Ben gave him a treat and got himself a glass of water, conscious of being naked in a transparent bowl, the feeling always unnerving him.

  Radulf returned to his basket to gnaw his biscuit, and Ben headed to the bedroom. He was just about to climb into the hot, mussed bed, when a flicker of light from the study caught his eye. The monitors had come on. Nikolas had left them on sensory mode—they were off until they detected motion. He went in and stood before them. The driveway by the collapsed gate, the hill, the woods, Ulyana Ivanovna’s house. There, a movement. Fox? Deer? Ben leant forward as if that would help him see. A white, ghostly figure moved through the trees near Babushka’s house. He shouted, “Intruder,” and ran into to the bedroom, waking Nikolas instantly. Ben yanked on his jeans and boots, aware that the few moments taken to do this now could make all the difference. Nikolas was reaching under the bedside table and came out with a pistol. He too pulled on jeans and shoes, and they ran toward the front of the house.

  Radulf was back by the window, staring sightlessly out again, a rumble like muttering coming from his chest. Ben cursed his own stupidity, the thought ghosting into his brain that the dog was probably scolding, “Yes! Hello! Anna!”

  He clicked his fingers, but Nikolas shut the door before Radulf could join them, his quick, “Too dark for him,” making a complete lie of his frequent claim that he gave Radulf’s welfare no consideration at all.

  Ben wished he had a gun as well as they ran over the gravel toward the huge rhododendron bushes that stood between them and the path to the woods.

  Under their cover, they stopped, both listening. Ben’s heart was pounding. Terrible scenarios rushed through his mind—Molly Rose taken from Ulyana Ivanovna’s house, kidnapped, held for ransom—or worse.

  They could hear nothing except the normal night sounds and so went on together cautiously. The house in the woods was secure—the door locked and no signs of disturbance at any of the windows. It was impossible to tell in the dark exactly where Ben had seen the white figure. Nikolas crouched down, tugging Ben to follow suit. “We will see nothing until it is light. One hour and the sun will be up.”

  Ben knew what Nikolas was thinking—this wasn’t the first occasion they’d surprised someone on their property at night, and that time there had been an entirely innocent explanation. They had travelled down from London a few months ago very early in the morning, for they had been at a party and it hadn’t seemed worth going to bed, both looking forward to an early morning drive and arriving in Devon before most people were on the roads. As they’d pulled up in front of the house, they’d seen a man in the bushes.

  Training had taken over. They’d exited the car, rolling, coming to their feet and surprising the trespasser, who’d cursed loudly until all was revealed. He was their new gardener.

  The previous week, Nikolas had interviewed for a groundsman. Most of the applications had come from landscape design companies, until this one old codger—as Ben had termed him once and the name had stuck—arrived. Rather than sit in the kitchen and present immaculately produced marketing material, the old codger had wandered immediately into the grounds. Whilst talking to Nikolas, he’d actually pulled a pair of secateurs out of his pocket and snipped at a few things, unable to resist. Nikolas had hired him on the spot.

  The old codger had come over the morning when they’d discovered him to recce the trees in the dark so he could watch the sunrise—see where the first rays of light struck the garden and thus plan his pruning accordingly.

  He wasn’t the only one they found occasionally enjoying their greenery, either. Walkers on Dartmoor sometimes mistook their extensive boundary for the edge of a National Trust property and entered accordingly, clusters of elderly ladies with sturdy boots and rucksacks, seeking tearooms and a gift shop. And the lavatories, usually.

  Nikolas took it all in his stride. He was used to ladies in stout shoes with cut-glass accents, and seemed to quite enjoy the attention.

  Once, Ben had strolled out of the swim lane only wearing his boxers—and donning them had been a last minute decision—to find Nikolas entertaining the Dartington branch of the W.I. to tea in the kitchen and discussing azaleas with them.

  But this, Ben sensed, this ghost before dawn, was different. There had been a level of furtiveness to the movements that worried him. Nikolas tugged his waistband and indicated for them to return to the house. Ben nodded, getting his meaning. They went back into the study, and Nikolas ran the recording back to find the presence Ben had seen. Once they’d located him, it was easy to track his progress.

  He’d come in from the moors.

  It was possible he was a stray walker, likely even a lost soldier on an exercise from Okehampton Camp, or a youngster on a training weekend for the Ten Tors competition…

  Ben was less concerned where he’d come in from than where he was going. The person had paused a while at the new house—where Ben had first seen him—then come toward them. At that point, two other white spectres appeared on the screen—Nikolas and him. They’d passed the intruder only half a dozen feet away as they’d run across the lawn. “Fuck.” Ben couldn’t have agreed more. They tracked the phantom back out over the drystone wall where he was then beyond the reach of their cameras.

  “What do you think?”

  “Harmless stray.”

  Ben wasn’t impressed by this answer. “Why didn’t he make himself known to us then?”

  “Would you? Two men with a gun? Maybe he wasn’t entirely harmless. Maybe just an opportunist thief. Did you lock the garage tonight? I didn’t. We have nearly half a million pounds worth of vehicles in there and do we ever lock it?”

  Ben frowned, about to contradict Nikolas on the value of their car when Nikolas suddenl
y dismissed all urgency with a casual, “Anyway. As soon as it’s light we’ll see, yes?”

  Ben knew he was being distracted from something, but couldn’t work out what. His nerves were on edge, and he actually jumped a little when Nikolas took him in his arms. Nikolas snorted but challenged softly, “It’s because of Molly Rose. You are suddenly responsible for someone else’s life, and that changes people—so I have been told.”

  Ben huffed. “I’ve been responsible for you more years than I care to count.”

  “Ah, but I have never been any trouble, have I?” He swatted Ben’s backside and went into the bedroom. Ben thought he was going back to bed, but instead Nik began to dress properly then rummaged under the bed and handed Ben another weapon.

  Ben felt a surge of relief.

  They still thought alike about things that counted.

  It was good to know.

  § § §

  As soon as it was light, Nikolas told Ben he was going to ride to the place where the mystery intruder had entered and left the grounds, then up to a high place where he could scan around with binos.

  Ben went down to Ulyana Ivanovna’s cottage and retrieved Molly Rose to bring her up to the main house. He brought Ulyana Ivanovna too, although he didn’t mention their intruder of the previous night, only asking her casually if Molly had slept well or whether she’d been disturbed by the sound of foxes he and Nikolas had heard. She had not. Good babies, Ulyana Ivanovna informed Ben with her loud Ben-Russian voice and suitable miming, those who are well fed and are clean and comfortable, sleep through the night.

  Ben felt duly chastened. He popped Molly Rose into her little car, and they watched delightedly as she scooted immediately to Radulf. The dog was blind, but he wasn’t stupid apparently and had learnt the day before to keep his tail well out of the way of the wheels, but his attempts to move it, and hers to then catch it entertained them all until Nikolas returned. He shook his head at Ben and took the offered plate of bacon and eggs without complaint—a sure sign to Ben that he was more worried than he let on.

  By morning tea, they’d both relaxed. Fears of the night just that—things of shadows and dreams that morning light dissipated.

  Ulyana Ivanovna returned to her own concerns, leaving Molly with them. She was chasing Radulf around the kitchen in her car, which as she couldn’t steer or change direction wasn’t taxing his ability to evade her too much. Nikolas put his newspaper down and regarded Ben for a while. Ben could sense the scrutiny over the pistol he was cleaning. He hadn’t stripped, cleaned, and reassembled a gun for some time, and he was pleased how much like an old friend the cool metal felt.

  “Let’s go and check around again.”

  Ben looked up. He’d been expecting something else to be the outcome of the intense focus. Without Molly’s presence, it probably would have been. He shrugged. “There was nothing to see.”

  “Nevertheless. It’s light now. We should look again.”

  Ben never needed more than one prompt to do something physical, even if it wasn’t horizontal as he’d hoped, so in a minute or two they were strolling over the gravel toward the lawns.

  Nikolas frowned.

  Ben stopped and twitched his nose, and at the same time, they asked, “Have we forgotten something?”

  Suddenly, Nikolas groaned, “Molly.”

  Ben replied, “The gate is open!”

  He’d nipped back to the bedroom to put the gun away before leaving. He’d left the gate to the swim lane open, thinking, what harm can it do, we’re going out.

  He ran.

  Nikolas wasn’t far behind.

  They crashed into the kitchen.

  Molly was gleefully banging her little car against Radulf who was lying patiently across the gap to the water. Ben swooped her up so fast he startled her, and she began to wail. He felt like crying, too. “I’m crap at this!”

  Nikolas lifted her from him and sat her down alongside the dog. The weeping stopped now that she had access to the elusive and much-desired tail. Nikolas ruffled Ben’s hair. “No harm done.”

  “We’ve only had her twenty-four hours and she’s had a fall, almost been kidnapped, and nearly drowned!”

  “Well, she takes after her father then! Come on, we’ll all go.”

  He picked the baby up, clicked for Radulf, and strode back through the door to the sunshine outside. By the time Ben, still sulking and berating himself, caught up to them, Nikolas was kneeling next to Radulf and scrubbing him around his ears, talking to him in Russian.

  “You can thank him in English and Danish as well.”

  Nikolas rose, switched Molly Rose to his other arm and began to walk across the lawns. “I wasn’t thanking him. I was telling him that I believe him to be a complete fraud—that I believe he can see perfectly well.”

  Ben regarded the dog with a frown. “He bumps into a lot of things for a dog that can see.”

  “He has merely learnt his deceptions from a master.”

  Ben wasn’t too sure that Nikolas wasn’t right about this.

  How had the dog seen the baby heading toward the pool? How had he known to lie across the doorway?

  That the dog might be cleverer than his two owners was a thought too far, however, so Ben repressed it.

  Distracted, he suddenly realised they were heading away from the woods. “The intruder didn’t come over here. Why are we going this way?”

  “I know.” Nikolas handed the baby over. “She’s very heavy. Too fat, like her father.”

  Ben took her, a stab of guilt washing over him once more about what could have happened. “We’ll have to drain the swim lane until she’s older.”

  “Yes, absolutely. I was thinking we should also remove all your exercise equipment in case a weight lands on her head.”

  Even Ben occasionally got sarcasm so he didn’t pursue it. Nikolas was in a strange mood. He could tell.

  Nikolas led them to the garage and paused by the heavy oak door, tossing the electronic opener in his hand. “I didn’t want you to get jealous of your daughter—that I buy her so many presents. And it is almost your birthday…”

  Ben frowned and came closer.

  Nikolas pressed the button and the door rumbled up.

  Ben’s mouth fell open slightly.

  Parked next to their Mercedes was a convertible. He didn’t need Nikolas to tell him it was a Maserati GranTurismo Sport. What man wouldn’t know that? It was matte black, matching their Merc, but unlike that, which had a black leather interior, this one had midnight-blue leather. Ben swallowed deeply as Nikolas pointed out casually, “You have to put fuel in this one, of course. It didn’t come in a shuffle-along model, although I did ask.”

  Ben handed Molly back over. He wasn’t really listening to the bullshit. Or thinking about the baby, come to that. He’d had the same click in his head as when he’d first seen his Ducati on the net. His bike. Monster Diesel. Love. First sight.

  He’d been looking at this exact car in his car magazine only last week…

  He put his hand on the paintwork, just where the curled lip of wheel arch declared its disdain for mankind, and felt the world grey out. “Take Molly to Babushka.”

  “But—”

  “Nikolas. Take the baby to Ulyana Ivanovna.”

  § § §

  Sometime later, which passed as only rushing of air in Ben’s ears and a sense of being outside the real world, he heard footsteps and sensed Nikolas at his side. Keys were pressed into his hand. “Shall we try it out? Where would you like to go?”

  Ben spun around and grabbed Nikolas, propelling him against the wall. “There’s only one place I’m going right now. Come here.” Ben seized Nikolas’s face, kissing him, mouthing over his eyes and cheekbones, “Thank you,” and “I love you,” until it became just a blurred tangle of words, and Nikolas was laughing and kissing him back and then they were on the floor.

  It was a first for the garage. They’d made love in the stables, on the tennis court once or twice, occasionall
y even in Ulyana Ivanovna’s house before she’d moved in, when they were visiting the build, but never here on the concrete floor. It was incredibly uncomfortable, so they stood once more, grinning, holding jeans until they could press against the wall again, and then Ben sank deeply into Nikolas. He wondered if he should have offered himself as tribute, thanks for his present, but knew Nikolas would get as much pleasure from being taken hard as he would from the taking. He certainly seemed to be enjoying it, but then he had his eyes fastened onto the new car, as did Ben, when he could tear his gaze away from his favourite human view.

  Ben began thrusting with long strokes which he knew drove Nikolas wild. Nikolas asked Ben if he liked the matte paint, panting to get the final word out. Ben hissed that he did, and the blue leather and…everything, but especially Nikolas, but also the 4.7-litre V8 engine, which brought a chuckle of amused understanding, and then there was no breath for more because Ben felt his balls tightening and rising and he squeezed Nikolas’s hips hard—their signal that he was coming. Nikolas spread some more and with loud cries they were coming together in a glorious shared, heightened ecstasy, which Ben was entirely certain was due to the beautiful car they were almost close enough to touch. His beautiful car. The one Nikolas had bought for him.

  With a V8 engine.

  He suddenly withdrew his softening cock from Nikolas and slapped him on his naked backside. “Keys?”

  Nikolas put his hands on his knees, his eyes closed, breathing deeply.

  Ben struggled his jeans back up and did the same for Nikolas, ignoring his protests—it was an inevitable downside of fucking outside, and Nikolas would just have to grin and bear it. Ben did flick a worried glance to his new midnight-blue leather interior, however, and tossed a jacket over the seat for his passenger.

  He hopped over the door into the driver’s seat. He’d always wanted to do that and didn’t feel at all dumb—which Nikolas mumbled that he definitely looked.

  § § §

  They took the car up onto Dartmoor.

  At one point, they passed the entrance to the massive, oppressive Napoleonic prison and caught a glimpse of themselves in the mirror which was there to enable the guard post to have a one-eighty view of approaching vehicles.