Conscious Decisions of the Heart

by John Wiltshire

  Nikolas frowned, something he constantly did before remembering he had a broken nose. He then winced and seemed to regret that as well. “Gabby? Anna was your friend Gabby from…” He stopped for a while, thinking. “Ben, are you telling me I was taken out by a middle-aged, female librarian?”

  Ben bit his lip. It wasn’t fair to laugh at Nikolas under the circumstances, and he hadn’t laughed much in the last few days; it felt strange now. Instead, he poked him very gently. “If you’d described her better, I’d have known who she was immediately.”

  “I described her exactly.”

  “You ranted that a woman with huge boobs and almost no clothes on told you she was pregnant with my baby. I didn’t think that described Gabby, who usually wore flannel and was old enough to be my mother.” Ben didn’t often deflect his own guilt by accusing Nikolas of failings—that was Nikolas’s trick with him—but the guilt and humiliation he felt at not seeing Gabby for what she was tore at him. He’d spent his adult life relying on his ability to judge people, and the one time he needed this skill to save Nikolas he’d abandoned it in favour of motherly hugs and the need for a grown-up to be there for him if he failed. He was pathetic. Self-hate gnawed at his belly.

  “She saw us, you know. She was watching us when—”

  “When we fought.”

  “I was going to say when I hit you and—Hey, what’s wrong? Ben, don’t…”

  Ben raised his eyes to the ceiling to try and regain some control. “I’m sorry, Nik. It was my fault. I can’t believe I said that to you—that I accused you of—If I could take it back—”

  “Ben. Stop.” Ben could feel Nikolas’s thumb stroking the base of his spine. Nikolas appeared so pale, so tired, his eyes staring vacantly out over the snowy landscape, that Ben was sure Nikolas didn’t even know he was doing it. Ben was about to tell him again that it was his fault, about to try assuage some of the awful guilt he’d been living with for so many days, when Nikolas avowed quietly, as if he’d been asked a question he was determined to answer, “It was the afternoon before he shot Sergei. He saw us together in bed. Sergei and me.” He then looked straight at Ben. “You must have realised by now, Benjamin, after so many years this was not so repugnant to me. I was seventeen. If I’d wanted it stopped, I’d have stopped it. Tell me you understand this, because it’s very hard for me to admit this to you at last.” You are the only man I have ever willingly given my body to.

  Ben put his hand to Nikolas’s bruised neck and cupped it lightly. Nothing else mattered except the thumb stroking on his warm skin and knowing Nikolas was here with him. Nothing.

  Nikolas nodded. “So, God forgive me, but when I saw him watching, I tried to make him jealous. It seemed such a small victory for all I’d sacrificed. Well, I succeeded. He was very jealous—and confused by this, naturally.” He seemed lost in his dark thoughts for a moment then added, almost to himself, “Even after all this time I still don’t really know who he was jealous of—me? Sergei?” He shrugged and inevitably winced. “We fought, but it wasn’t much of a contest. His holidays consisted of travel and enjoying himself, mine didn’t. I pinned him down on the bed and then…” He turned and stared out of the window again. “She told me I was a bad man and she was right.”

  Ben started to speak, but Nikolas laid his fingers on Ben’s lips. “I am a bad man, Ben, but I came to terms with this while I was in that shed. I’m what I am. It was the bad man in me that enabled me to survive. I can’t be a new man. I can only be myself: good, bad, and anything that lies between those two.” He eased his hand out and ran it up the shaved back of Ben’s skull.

  Ben caught his hand and kissed each finger around the bandaging. There’d been a time, very recently, when he doubted he’d ever do this again.

  § § §

  Ben had endured a very bad few days, and they didn’t seem to stop coming. The police had insisted on speaking with Nikolas as soon as he was conscious but hadn’t actually been able to make an appointment with him until it suited his convenience. It hadn’t suited him to speak to them at the station, either, so they made the journey through the snow to him. Ben was so nervous he managed to pour coffee down his T-shirt and was actually shaking when he answered the door and ushered them in. He resisted blurting out he was guilty of something and agreed to leave—at their insistence. Nikolas said he preferred him to stay. They objected. Nikolas studied his nails, and as they needed him to answer questions, he won. They sat down. Ben sat down. They eyed Nikolas. He raised his eyebrows at them, politely.

  “Mr Beck, can you think of any reason why Gabriel Peterson abducted you?”

  “No.”

  “No? Did you have a relationship with Ms Peterson?”

  “No.”

  “No? Can you confirm what your relationship with Mr Rider is?”

  “No.”

  “No? You don’t know what your relationship with Mr Rider is?”

  “Oh, I know what it is. I’m just not going to confirm it to you.”

  “You’re not being very helpful, Mr Beck.”

  “No.”

  “Who’s Nikolas Mikkelsen, Mr Beck?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Were you aware Mr Rider was taking money for sex from Nikolas Mikkelsen while he was in London? That Mr Rider is, in fact, a prostitute?”

  Nikolas’s eyebrows rose a little higher and everyone in the room probably knew he was resisting the urge to look at Ben. “No. I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “What happened between you and Mr Rider over the two nights before your abduction, Mr Beck?”

  “Be more specific.”

  Ben glanced at Nikolas out of the corner of his eye.

  “We have physical evidence from Mr Rider that shows he was subjected to a prolonged and vicious assault. He was tied down, punched, beaten severely, and raped. Was there anyone else here, Mr Beck, besides you and Mr Rider?”

  “No.”

  “So you’re responsible for his injuries?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you given Mr Rider money while you’ve been on Aeroe?”

  “Be more specific.”

  “Answer the question please. Have you given him money, paid for this lodge and paid for expensive meals in restaurants?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s return to the events of December fourteenth, Mr Beck. What did you do after you assaulted Mr Rider?”

  “After? I believe I went to sleep.”

  “Where was Mr Rider at this time?”

  “Asleep alongside me, I should think.”

  There was pause in the questioning. The detectives glanced at each other. One of them scratched his ear. “Mr Rider slept alongside you all night?”

  “And all morning. We didn’t get up until lunchtime if I recall. I brought him up some coffee.”

  “You brought him coffee?”

  They regrouped once more. One of them gave a slight nod to the other. He turned a page in his notebook and began, “Shall I tell you what we believed happened, Mr Beck? We believe you came to Aeroe to meet Mr Rider, a male prostitute you formed a relationship with in London. While here, you discovered Mr Rider also had a relationship with Nikolas Mikkelsen and Gabriel Peterson. Perhaps you also discovered one of his former clients died in unexplained circumstances last year, and Mr Rider has been benefiting financially from that since. Indeed, he bought his vehicle with money he acquired through this incident. Angry, you tied him up, beat him and raped him, and threatened to stop supporting him financially. Mr Rider was the one who came up with the plan to abduct you. You’re a very wealthy man, Mr Beck. With the help of Ms Peterson, he took you from the lodge and held you for four days in her hunting shed. He didn’t call the police for almost half a day after you left the lodge, and we believe in this time he was securing you in the shed. However, guilty about her part in your abduction, Gabby visited you frequently with food and other items of comfort. It was, in fact, Mr Rider who inflicted the injuries upon you over those four days when you
refused to give him money. Ms Peterson finally decided to let you go, and when Mr Rider discovered this, he attacked her and killed her. How do you respond to this, Mr Beck?”

  Ben was about to confess to it all, but Nikolas did one of his best dismissive waves and said, “I’m tired now, gentlemen. I’d like you to leave.”

  “Mr Beck, we didn’t want to have this conversation with Mr Rider present. Does Mr Rider have some sort of hold over you?”

  Nikolas chuckled and considered Ben for a moment. “That I will confirm for you. Yes, he does most definitely have a hold over me. Now, as I’ve already told you, detectives, it’s time for you to leave.”

  “We’re not—”

  “Yes, we are finished. As you’re very well aware by now, there’s not a shred of forensic evidence to support your theory. Mr Rider was never in the shed. Mr Rider and I may stay on Aeroe for Christmas; we may return to London. If you have any further questions, please don’t hesitate to contact my lawyer.”

  After they’d gone, Nikolas beckoned Ben to sit alongside him. He stared at Ben expectantly for a while, but when he got no response, he asked, “That’s what you shaved your hair for? Seriously, Ben? I have scabs and no hair to play with because you let them get to you?”

  Ben closed his eyes. “You weren’t there. It was awful.”

  “No, I wasn’t there. Come here.” He cupped Ben behind the back of his neck and pulled him down to lie in his lap. He tipped his head back on the sofa, clearly in some considerable pain now and very tired, just brushing his palm over Ben’s absent hair. “When does our partner in crime return? The last thing I remember is his hideous barking. He must be reprimanded for that, no? Perhaps it’s time for him to return to the shelter…”

  § § §

  Ben called Squeezy and asked him to fetch Radulf the next day. He refused to leave Nikolas alone again and told Nikolas he had no intention of doing so until they were both too old to notice if they were abducted.

  Radulf walked into the cabin unaided but bumped into the end of the sofa. He couldn’t coordinate yet with such little vision. Ben called to him gently, not wanting to startle him. He ignored the call and searched the room with his one faintly seeing eye. To do this he tilted his head theatrically, which made one ear flop up and over and his jowls hang open as if he were laughing. Nikolas snorted, and immediately Radulf seemed to find what he was searching for. He turned toward him, climbed up on the sofa next to him, and laid his head down in his lap. Ben was watching Nikolas’s face, and he quickly grabbed Squeezy’s arm and took him outside to look at the snow.

  When Nikolas had recovered from his uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability, he ran his fingers through Radulf’s fur. Radulf stared up at him, one eye wide and unblinking, one milky and dead. They shared a bond now—a burden—memory of the pleasure of human blood and death. Nikolas chided softly, “You’re a bad dog.” Radulf banged his tail in agreement. Nikolas smiled as best he could. “We’ll be bad together, you and I.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Nikolas’s recovery was relatively swift once he shook off the effects of the prolonged hypothermia and blood loss. The actual injuries, the stabbings, fractures, and muscle strains, were nothing he’d not dealt with in the past. He avoided looking too much in the mirror as a general rule anyway, never too sure who he would see looking back at him, but even he could see his face was gradually returning to its normal appearance. He could almost see out of both eyes, which was always good. He had a scar on the bridge of his nose and one on his cheekbone. He began to feel an intense sense of vitality and pleasure in life he’d not felt for a long time. He knew the cause of this, unexpected life when he’d expected death. Knowing the provenance, however, didn’t lessen the enjoyment. For the first time, he looked forward more than he did back. His experiences with Gabby formed a watershed between what had been and what could now be. Even listening to the twisted theories of the police had made him appreciate the contrast between how things might appear to be and what they actually were.

  Ben, on the other hand, was not doing so well. Nikolas could only guess at what Ben had gone through. Ingrid had told him Ben hadn’t eaten for the whole time he’d been gone, and Nikolas knew he was still not eating now. He could see for himself Ben had aged, that he’d lost something indefinable. Nikolas hadn’t realised until he’d been visited by the police just what Ben had been through during his examination and questioning. The man he was living with now was a shadow of the young man he’d left only two weeks ago. He seemed hollowed out. He was very much thinner than he’d been, a leanness Nikolas had never seen on Ben before. He smiled less and seemed listless; again, something Nikolas had never seen before. Ben had always crashed through life, noisy, energetic, always needing to be active, and when outlets for his natural energy had been taken away, he’d turned those energies very pleasantly toward Nikolas. Nikolas had been the direct beneficiary of Ben’s boundless energy for five years now, and he wasn’t about to lose this privilege.

  The trouble was, he wasn’t too sure what was wrong with Ben, exactly, or how to go about helping him. Ben’s moods were usually utterly transparent, and although Nikolas usually amused himself by pretending to find Ben’s emotions a mystery, he didn’t. He understood Ben Rider very well and always had. He’d made it his business to know Ben very well. Obsession tended to understanding, he’d found. So this current depression confused and worried him. He tentatively suggested they return to London, and Ben agreed—if that was what Nikolas wanted. He then suggested maybe they should take a holiday somewhere—warm preferably. Again, Ben agreed, and said wherever Nikolas chose. He tried talking enthusiastically about Christmas, but that sounded forced, even to his ears. He was at something of an impasse.

  He stood in the door of the cabin two days after their visit from the police and watched Ben chopping wood. This, he still continued to do, but even here he’d lost something, some indefinable spark Nikolas hadn’t really appreciated until it was gone. Ben looked up, sensing the scrutiny. That he didn’t immediately smile hit Nikolas like a blow to the stomach. He just said, “Hi.” Nikolas nodded in return and continued to study him. By now, knowing he was being admired, Ben would’ve normally stripped off his shirt, continued chopping with his incredible muscles rippling in the reflected light off the snow. Now, he appeared cold and miserable. For one terrible moment, Nikolas thought Ben now looked like one of his ghosts from the gulag, shorn hair, cold, thin, lifeless. In the past, Ben would’ve continued chopping for another few logs, and then he’d have come over, started kissing him, dragged him to bed or the tub or even the sofa where they’d spend the rest of the daylight hours enjoying each other’s bodies until darkness came and they could begin again legitimately. Now Ben seemed as if he’d break if Nikolas did half the things to him they usually indulged in without thought to consequence.

  He went back into the lodge and clicked his fingers for Radulf. They went out together into the snow toward the lake. Nikolas didn’t remember being dragged through the snow to Gabby’s boat, so he had no particular aversion to this walk. Radulf was familiar with it; he could stagger along happily, only falling into one or two snowdrifts from which Nikolas had to extract him. They reached the lake, and Nikolas decided to walk along the stony shore where Radulf could see the water. He pulled the lapels of his coat higher when it began to snow and put his considerable intelligence to work on the problem of Benjamin Rider.

  § § §

  Ben finished chopping the wood and loaded up a basket to take inside. He felt dizzy, disorientated, straightening too quickly. He stamped his feet to clear his boots of snow and deposited the basket by the fire. He called up listlessly to Nikolas to ask if he wanted tea. There was no reply. He called again then walked up the stairs. Nikolas wasn’t in the bedroom or the bathroom.

  The dizziness overwhelmed him. His knees gave out. Just like that, he was on the ground. He put his hands to the wood floor, gasping. He was going to be sick. He made it to the toilet bowl just in
time. He was so sick he was shaking, but as soon as he could stand, he ran back downstairs and out into the snow. “Nik?” His voice died, killed by the absorbing flakes. “Nikolas!” There was no reply.

  It was happening again. It was exactly the same. Nikolas was gone.

  And then Ben realised what had really happened. Nikolas was not gone again. Nikolas was still gone. Finding him, Nikolas safe—all of that had been another dream. It had been so real again, the smell of him, the feel of him and his reassuring presence. Ben almost laughed, a choked, horrible sound. Nikolas had seen off the policemen just as Ben would’ve wanted him to had it been real. He wished he’d not woken up this time. Maybe if he could stay asleep, he could stay with this dream-Nikolas in the dream world. Awake, he was entirely alone. The world was so white, so bleak and so perfect in its uncaring coldness. He went into the cabin.

  Nikolas was the conscious decision of his heart.

  His heart now made another decision just as conscious, just as deliberate.