Death's Ink Black Shadow

by John Wiltshire

  What he thought of the fire, the losses, or anything else was a complete mystery to Ben. He spoke, he walked and talked, occasionally smiled, laughed once or twice, but nothing reached his eyes. They remained completely guarded, shut off from Ben, as were his thoughts. Nikolas was standing right there next to him, even put an arm over his shoulder, but it was as if he were retreating slowly down a dark tunnel and Ben couldn’t bring him back—or catch him up.

  The fire had started in the thatch. Mice had chewed through an electrical cable in the roof, so the fire investigator told them—did they not know that one in five house fires were caused by rodents and that they should have put traps out, especially in country properties like this? Miles was the only one who seemed impressed by this helpful attitude.

  Nikolas spent the evening in his office. Once or twice, when Ben took him tea, which he did as a matter of course now, using it as an excuse to see what he was doing, see if he could catch him in an unguarded moment and break him out of this odd shell he’d erected around himself, he found Nikolas pouring intently over the recordings on the monitor.

  Ben perched on the edge of Nikolas’s desk, watching him study the ghostly images on the black and white screen. “Can you see the fire starting?”

  Nikolas grunted.

  It was a change from the shrugging, if not an improvement.

  “Don’t suppose you can see the mouse? At least he got toasted. Or I guess they pour out when it starts to heat up? Like rats on a sinking ship? Maybe it was a rat? Mutant? Big as a dog? Zombie rat? Nikolas! Are you listening to me?”

  Nikolas grunted again. He was focused on one screen in particular and then hesitantly asked, “Can you see that?”

  Ben squinted and leant further forward. “What?”

  “There’s a jump? As if…”

  “What?”

  “No, never mind. I am probably just seeing things.”

  Ben frowned. “What do you see?”

  Nikolas sighed. “It’s like a stutter. Look…a hedgehog. See him here and then he is here. Too far.”

  “But the monitors are time lapsed. An image every…what? Five seconds?”

  Nikolas nodded. “But he could not move that fast.”

  “Course they can. They’re speedy little buggers. What do you think happened? Someone fiddled with one of the cameras? They knew they were here and how to alter them? How?”

  Nikolas shook himself and smiled, catching Ben around the back of the neck and planting a swift kiss on his hair. “Of course not. I’m just cross that my beautiful house has been destroyed. I will have to start planning and designing again, and you know how I hate doing that. Fortunately, I was very well insured.”

  “If you—”

  But Nikolas didn’t wait for Ben to finish. He’d gone, and Ben was left alone staring thoughtfully at the hedgehog as he appeared to hop across the expanse of lawn in front of what had once been Babushka’s house.

  The next day it had apparently been decided that Miles and his grandmother would continue their planned trip to France—and that Babushka and Emilia would go with them.

  Ben found this inexplicable for some reason. Partially because he got the distinct impression things were being decided when he wasn’t present. That decisions were being made from which he was deliberately excluded. Babushka was cut off from him by the language difficulties. Miles, he suspected, already shared some secret with Nikolas, and Ben had already worked out that the boy was entirely in Nikolas Mikkelsen’s thrall and would probably not give up his privileged information even under torture. Enid Toogood he didn’t know well enough to tackle, and she intimidated him to almost mute silence with genteel good breeding, so there was only one possible victim. He got Emilia on her own that morning by volunteering to let her drive his new car up and down the driveway—which was over a mile long from the start at their house to the gateposts on the ridge, so it was a decent distance.

  She was breezily taking it up to fourth gear when he indicated for her to pull over on the side of the drive and stop.

  “Tell me what’s going on, Em.”

  Her brows rose a fraction and then she narrowed her eyes. “If there was anything going on, you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

  He wrinkled his nose, thinking about this for a moment but had to ask for clarification.

  She nodded as if this confirmed something for her, but reworded, “There can’t be anything going on, can there, or you’d know about it.”

  “I don’t know; that’s why I’m asking.”

  “Nothing is going on, Ben. Ask Nikolas.”

  He gritted his teeth. “I have. He says nothing is going on.”

  “Well, there you go!”

  “Why are you going to France all of a sudden?”

  “Comprendez vous…”

  “Huh?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Em!”

  She sighed. “Ask Nikolas.”

  “I have!”

  “Yes, but you don’t listen to his answers, Ben.”

  Ben froze. She pouted and played with the steering wheel, sliding it idly through her hands.

  “What has he told you?”

  “That we’re all going to die.”

  “What!”

  She sniffed. “We’re leaving. He’s had new passports made for us all. Someone he’s got working for him? We’re going to France under assumed names.”

  “What! What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I’m fourteen, Ben. You shouldn’t swear at me. It sets a bad example.”

  “Shut up, Em. This is important. Are you being serious, or is this you channelling Nik’s sense of humour?”

  “You think someone trying to kill us is funny?”

  “No one is trying to kill anyone! This is Nikolas! Something is wrong with him, Em. He’s…flipped. I don’t know!”

  She took her eyes off the wheel and turned to him. Her gaze was so sad that Ben’s outrage stilled on an icy shiver trickling down to the base of his spine.

  “Oh, Ben. How can you be so right and so wrong at the same time? This is Nikolas.”

  Ben told her to get out of the driver’s seat, and he drove them back to the house.

  Nikolas was back in the study, on the phone.

  He put it down when he saw Ben’s face.

  “What the fuck? Smuggling them out of the country? What is this? Some kind of fucking spy novel? Why don’t you get Molly Rose and put her in a secret location too!”

  “I already have.”

  Ben’s mouth dropped open. That storybook reaction hadn’t happened often to him before, and he sat heavily on the chair, leaning forward, staring incredulously at Nikolas. He tried to speak then had to lick his lips to get words out. “Seriously, I think you’re—”

  “I know you do. That doesn’t alter the truth.”

  Ben rose and went to him, taking his hand. “Nik, this is really worrying me. Can we talk calmly about this?”

  “Of course we can. I am exceptionally calm. What do you want to say?”

  Ben blew out a little breath. “Tell me what you think is going on here. Start with that.”

  “I have been telling you. I told you right from the start. You refuse to listen.”

  “Okay, okay. Let’s pretend you haven’t told me anything. Tell me again now.”

  “It’s coming, Ben. The end—for us. You and me. Well, you, and that will end me. It’s arrived, and it’s heading our way, and I have to stop it any way I can.”

  “Okay, okay.” Ben heard his own repetition, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything more rational to say. He sat down, elbows on knees, head in hands.

  He could sense Nikolas watching him. “What we’ve survived so far will be as nothing to what is coming. They will take everything away from me, everyone I know—everyone I care for. Radulf was the first. He was an easy target, I suppose.”

  Ben straightened. “Radulf? You think…he ate badger bait.”

  “No, he was delibera
tely poisoned, but it’s irrelevant to me whether you believe me or not. He was first and then the fire, which was intended to take Em and Babushka. I am uncertain whether they knew the others were in there. Perhaps not.”

  “Jesus. Jesus. Oh, Nik, you’re scaring me.”

  Nikolas shrugged, which wasn’t the best thing he could have done. Ben rose again, agitated, pacing. “You think these are the same guys who killed Kate—that they’re out to destroy your life?”

  He heard a faint sound and turned, but Nikolas’s face was back to its infuriating neutrality. He shrugged again.

  Ben looked askance at him. “Where is Molly?”

  “Somewhere safe with her grandparents.”

  “Where?”

  “Do you believe me?”

  “No! The fuck I don’t! Where is she?”

  “I’m not going to tell you. I think you know there is no way you will be able to force the knowledge from me. I didn’t want you to find out about France until they’d gone. I hope Em didn’t tell you where they are going.”

  Ben swallowed. “What is this? Are you mad?”

  “Not at all. I’ve always told you—I’m the sanest person I know. You are the one who is mad—deluded anyway.”

  Ben came close and embraced Nikolas, wrapping his head tightly in his arms, kissing into the blond hair. He whispered, “Don’t do this, Nik. It’s all falling apart.”

  Muffled against Ben’s shirt, Nikolas replied, “Not yet. I’m holding it all together—just.”

  Ben stood back. Nikolas appeared quite rational. Ben couldn’t even see a tiny glimpse of the madness beneath the calm façade.

  “I tried pushing you away. I tried tricking you to go. I’ve tried explaining rationally to you, Ben. What more can I do?”

  “I’m going to get Tim and Squeezy dow—”

  “They’ve gone, too.”

  “What?” Ben’s knees gave out, and he sank into the chair, making it sigh as it settled on the hydraulics. “What did you say?”

  “The truth.”

  “They believed you?”

  Nikolas hesitated for a moment, and Ben then thought he saw the squirming insanity creeping around the edges. It was like watching a god crumble. “The idiot did. Tim was more—resistant.”

  “Squeezy’s forced him to go somewhere?”

  Nikolas dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I believe some force was required, yes.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Ben had an immediate thought and said with some bitterness he knew was uncharacteristic, “Squeezy won’t stay there. He’ll come down here to be with me.”

  Nikolas made a dismissive gesture. “I know. That’s why I told him you’re going to join them as soon as I get the others safely away to France.”

  “Wh—?”

  “I’m taking you to their safe house.”

  “You’re fucking not taking me anywhere. What do you think this is? This…relationship? It sure as hell isn’t you having the right or ability to make me go anywhere. How are you fucking going to do that, Nikolas? Think you can take me?”

  Nikolas appeared thoughtful. “It took me three minutes to have Jackson Keane unconscious, undressed, and in my bed, Ben. I know more about drugs than you do about food. Are you going to never eat, drink, or sleep again? Now, I must take them to the ferry. Do you want to come? Although the car would be very squashed. We’re stopping for some clothes shopping in Plymouth. Pack a bag if you like, while I’m out.”

  Ben shook his head, backing away. He said nothing though. He was entirely out of his depth and had no idea what to say about any of it.

  He watched Nikolas until he was across the swim lane and then pulled out his phone. Andrea Gillian’s number was in his list of contacts. She was Nikolas’s head doctor—or that was how Ben always thought of her. Nikolas had gone funny before; Andrea had cured him. It was simplistic to see it this way, Ben knew, for Nikolas hadn’t actually gone mad then and she had only given him some pills. Nevertheless, calling her was the first thing that leapt into his mind. She had told Nikolas then—no stress.

  Since they had returned from America their lives had been so calm outwardly, but perhaps all this domesticity and family involvement had caused Nikolas more anxiety than anyone had been aware of. Fighting terrorists, psychotic kidnappers, murdering deserters, and tsunamis—those Nikolas had taken in his stride. Finding out Ben had a baby, discovering his own long-lost son? These were the events that had apparently caused a complete psychotic split from reality.

  Andrea Gillian’s home phone rang and rang, not offering him the option of leaving a message. He called her surgery. Her receptionist said she’d had a family emergency and had left the previous day. No, she didn’t know when she was coming back.

  He tried Squeezy’s number. Tim’s.

  He even rang Jackson Keane.

  All the phones just rang and rang without being answered. Answered to him. They all had caller ID, of course.

  Ben clicked off, staring at the phone for a long time as if it would give him the clarification he needed. He had never felt so alone. He heard the gravel crunch, the murmur of voices as they all packed and left, and then the emptiness of the house crushed him, despite the glass and the bright airiness.

  He went to find Radulf, very glad to have his warm presence to embrace.

  He sat for a long time on the floor with the dog.

  After a while, he pulled Radulf’s new red blanket over them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Ben heard the crunch of wheels on gravel before he expected Nikolas back. He extricated himself from the snoring lump of fur and went to the window.

  Steven.

  He experienced an immediate stab of relief and gratitude that apparently he wasn’t the only person left in the world—that Nikolas hadn’t also disappeared his son.

  Ben wasn’t aware that Steven knew where they lived in Devon. Nikolas had tactfully suggested one night that it might be better that his son didn’t see the house Nikolas had built for Ben—that although Steven seemed unconcerned at not knowing his family for so long; indeed, didn’t know that Nikolas was his father, rubbing his face in a twenty million pound house given to his boyfriend might not be the best way to go. So Ben had never invited him, and Nikolas, Ben thought, had never told Steven the address. These things weren’t hard to find out though, and he was grateful now that the guy had made the effort.

  They chatted for a while about inconsequential things, the journey down, the traffic, and then Ben showed him where to put the car in the garage, and they walked over to the burnt house to explore the remains, as that story had naturally featured in Ben’s response to Steven asking, “What’s been happening? I haven’t heard from Uncle Nikolas for days.” They poked about in the detritus, pulling out the occasional gem that hadn’t been destroyed. “Where is everyone now? In with you?”

  Ben didn’t want to get into this with Steven. It was too personal, too raw. “They’ve gone off on holiday. Nik’s taking them to the ferry now.”

  Steven pursed his lips. “So there’s plenty of room…?”

  Ben didn’t see the connection, then did, and asked surprised, “You want to stay?”

  Steven shrugged, and Ben almost laughed at the resemblance to the other Mikkelsen. It would have been a very bitter sound, and he was glad he didn’t make it. Instead, he agreed casually, “Sure. Plenty of room. Stay as long as you like.”

  Steven smiled, and they began to walk back to the house.

  Cautiously, Ben asked, “Has Nikolas said anything strange to you recently?”

  Steven gave him a quick glance. “About what?”

  “Anything?”

  “Everything my uncle says is strange.”

  Ben did snort a little at that familiar reply. It was true. He’d gotten used to Nikolas’s bizarre survival mechanisms—for that is what he now knew them to be. No one else knew Nik so well. It made something inside Ben spark back to life. Maybe this was just a ridiculous glitch they’d overcome like ev
erything else they’d survived, and in a few days they’d be finding it amusing—well, he’d be teasing Nikolas, and Nikolas would be sulking. He suddenly remembered Nikolas’s reaction to Squeezy’s nephew’s death—he’d refused to take it seriously until it had almost been too late for them both. He’d also totally overreacted about a possible threat on Ben’s life in New Zealand—almost killing himself to get to Ben and save his life…from a photographer and a zoom lens, as far as Ben could tell.

  This was just Nikolas being Nikolas again. Molly and Steven’s arrival in their lives had sent him into a tailspin, as Ben had thought. Ben ruefully acknowledged to himself that he’d outwardly had his manhood crisis—a fear of loss of identity that had necessitated the purchase of a matte-black sports car. Nikolas had apparently remained serene on the surface but had been frantically paddling beneath. He’d kicked a bit too hard. That was all this was.

  By the time Ben had made Steven some lunch, he was even looking forward to Nikolas’s return.

  Although Nikolas had claimed he was impervious to Ben’s attempts to get him to talk, he wasn’t. Ben had ways and means with Nikolas that torturers didn’t use. Or at least, the ones he’d met hadn’t. Thank God.

  He suddenly sagged to an overwhelming sense of tiredness and realised that after the fire and the sleepless night and the strange argument with Nikolas—can it be a fight when only one person is shouting?—the day was catching up with him. He suggested to Steven they watch a movie for the afternoon, fully intending to do a Nikolas and actually sleep through the whole thing.

  Happily ensconced on the sofas, Ben sharing his with Radulf, they started watching After the Wars. Steven said he’d never seen it. Ben wasn’t bothered. He’d lived it. He just wanted to sleep.

  § § §

  Ben woke with a start, the cushions cold alongside him.