Or perhaps the mysterious man in black, who stood beside him, had prompted Ben's impetuous words. The smile on Lyle's lips grew beguiling as the Mona Lisa's, and his eyes sparkled in a glorious spectrum of lilacs and blues. Could such colour be real, or was Lyle wearing contact lenses? Ben might've dared ask, but then Lyle pulled back his hood, revealing long straight hair that dusted to his shoulders, a deep auburn with claret-red streaks.
Ben gulped a lungful of cool air, fixing on the pool then the sky above in a desperate attempt not to gawp, open-mouthed, at the beauty of his companion. At least he could now judge that the light in the pool wasn't unexplained. The skies over the forest had cleared a little, and milky late afternoon sunlight filtered from the west. Though dusk hadn't yet descended, a full moon rose above the tops of the trees that framed the clearing.
"I thought you'd like my pool," said Lyle. "It looks even prettier on a moonlit night. If you stay an hour or so, then…"
"Out of the question," said Ben, although a small part of him begged to differ. Lyle might've stopped being threatening, but he remained a bit creepy. Okay, creepy-sexy, but Ben had never been one for risks. Which was how he'd ended up doing this job, and why he was good at it. He pulled out his tablet, which Lyle frowned doubtfully at.
"What is that thing you keep tapping? You people these days all have these strange, shiny devices with you."
Ben didn't bless this daft question with an answer. Lyle obviously liked to pretend to be an eccentric recluse, immune to the twenty-first century.
"I'm going to take some pictures," stated Ben. "This water looks deep, particularly on the far side. It needs to be marked on local maps and it needs warning signs. I might need to cordon it off, like the tower, and it potentially needs filling in."
"Filling in? You mean to destroy the pool!"
"Yup," said Ben. "It could be very deep and a real public hazard."
"You can't empty it!" Lyle seized Ben by the sleeve, yanking Ben about to face him so fast Ben nearly dropped his tablet. "This pool has been here… Well, it's much older than you, you stripling! What right have you?" Lyle pushed his face close to Ben's, his voice transformed to a snake-like hiss. "What damned right?"
"Get your hands off me, sir," said Ben, imperturbable as he could manage. It took some force to wrench his jacket from Lyle's grasp. "You know what right I have. I work for the County Environmental Office and this is undoubtedly a hazard."
Lyle's jaw locked; he appeared to be trembling, his gaze laced with venom. True fear gripped Ben for the first time that afternoon. He'd afforded Lyle the benefit of the doubt so far, but what if Lyle lashed out further, or carried a knife? Ben could still think cogently enough to know his best option was to reason with Lyle, though he couldn't be sure Lyle and reason were close companions.
"Please," said Ben. "I suggest you go home."
"Go home? Oh, if only 'twere that easy, my friend." Lyle laughed, his shoulders sagged, and his whole frame diminished once more.
"What do you mean by that?" Ben frowned. If Lyle's situation was anything like his, he harboured some sympathy. At thirty, he still lived with his parents. While he loved his mum and dad, and their thatched cottage was idyllic, he sometimes craved more space of his own. Worse, could Lyle be homeless? Had he been squatting in the tower? That said, Lyle must've spent a fortune on those red highlights in his hair, but maybe he'd lost his home and wealth only recently. "Are you living out here?"
Lyle squeezed the fine ridge of his nose. "No, no. Never mind about me. Look, I'm sorry. I won't obstruct you, I just thought…" Lyle sank to his haunches by the pool, his cloak billowing around him. "You do what you need to do, my friend. I'm sorry. I should not have snapped at you."
"You're forgiven," said Ben, wondering why it felt as if he had been the antagonist. "I won't be long. But really, don't you have anywhere better to be?"
Ben put his tablet away and edged along the slippery banks. Unsurprisingly, Lyle didn't budge. He crouched by the pool, gazing at his reflection and periodically looking up toward Ben.
This did nothing to settle Ben's rattling nerves. While assessing the integrity of the verges, he kept catching his own image in the pool: an averagely good-looking, medium-heighted chap, with well-groomed but too thick brown hair, and a dusting of six o'clock stubble. He appeared as unmemorable as Lyle was striking, and—
"Careful," said Lyle, snatching Ben from his reverie. "You're approaching a slippery bit. Not that I've seen anybody fall in before, but most people don't normally creep around the edges like you are."
"Thanks," said Ben. He'd been so caught up he'd not been that vigilant to his footing. He offered Lyle a grateful smile, but Lyle just looked plain sad. Ben felt sorry for him, which was a decent distraction from fancying him.
He teetered along what indeed turned out to be a slimy stretch of bank that felt like it could give way. Then, after carefully calibrating the high-tech chrome gauge he'd brought in his pack, he leaned out between the willows to measure the depth. He extended the two-metre gauge to its full length and it only just touched the bottom. So the water was deep enough to drown an adult, let alone a child.
Reluctantly—it would blemish the prettiness of the scene—Ben realized he would have to cordon this side of the pool off. There was no excuse not to do it now. He might have already utilized his quota of metal poles, but he'd used less than half of his roll of hazard tape.
Without delay, he retrieved the tape, and looped it around one of the willows. He unravelled it toward the next tree, wafting a tendril-like branch out of his way and cursing when it flicked back against his nose. The sound of the tape unsticking from the reel grated across the clearing and set his teeth on edge.
Lyle's silence proved as disconcerting as his earlier complaints. Ben could feel the misery rolling from his companion, who'd dropped his head forward so his hair flopped over his face.
"I'm sorry," said Ben. "If it's any consolation, I won't be cordoning off the bank where you are sitting. That slope is pretty gentle, although I suppose children might be tempted to paddle."
"I've seen children paddle in this pool," said Lyle. "None of them looked like they were going to drown. Most of them had a good deal of fun."
Ben paused. He wasn't a welfare officer yet felt compelled to ask the pertinent question: "Are you sure you're not living out here, Lyle? I believe it's forbidden to camp in woods like these without a permit, but if you've nowhere to go, there are places where you can get help."
"I don't need your help." Lyle snapped his head up, venom returning. "Are you finished here, hazard man?"
Fine, whatever, you're not my problem, mate. "Yeah, I'm done," said Ben.
"Good." Lyle whisked his hair back with a sharp, cutting movement, and then flipped his hand dismissively. "Be gone."
Well, of all the rude, arrogant…
Ben swallowed the urge to tell Lyle what he thought of him. Swearing at a member of the public while on County business was bad practice. Not that he suspected Lyle to be the sort who'd report him to his boss. God, he couldn't make Lyle out at all, and he was through with thinking too hard about him.
…Sexy—yeah, sort of, I guess. Rude weirdo—yes, yes, yes!
Ben hauled up his knapsack and picked his way back around the pool, kicking aside some nettles. As soon as he'd distanced himself from the water, he began to stride through the undergrowth, fast as he dared. He just wanted to find the path, get back to his car, and drive to a warm pub.
He'd not travelled far beyond the cordoned-off tower, and was considering getting out a torch to help him through the twilight gloom, when his left ankle jolted sideways. Pain lanced up his leg. He tumbled forward, landing hard on his right knee and both his hands.
"Ow! Crap… Crap!"
It took him a few dazed seconds to figure out what had happened. His initial suspicions suggested he'd been scuppered by one of those meandering roots. But no, an examination of his throbbing left foot revealed his shoelace had come undon
e and caught on a bramble, which had jolted his foot sideways. He sank back onto his arse in the wet mud, cradling his leg.
A tall figure hurried through the undergrowth toward him. "Are you alright?" asked Lyle. Oh great. Now rude goth guy was going to be Ben's knight in shining armour. Could this afternoon get any worse?
"I think I've sprained my ankle," said Ben grimly. The sharp pain in his right knee and the warm dampness surrounding it suggested he'd gashed that as well, but it was the ankle that caused him to scrunch his face and gasp. "But I'll be okay."
He slung off his knapsack, gritted his teeth, and tried to push himself up. The instant he put weight on the left ankle, pain sliced up his leg, twice as searing as before. "Oh God!" He collapsed back down, but his arse didn't hit the ground with the heavy impact he expected.
"I got you," said Lyle. He'd wrapped an arm around Ben, firmly but gently, and grabbed his wrist to help lower him.
"Bloody hell," said Ben, rubbing his brow, despair close to claiming him. He found himself leaning against Lyle's chest. The contact was comforting, despite Ben's misgivings about Lyle. "You're going to have to help me. Or go and call for help and—"
"I'm afraid I can't do that," said Lyle. Ben would've articulated some kind of protest had Lyle not leaned down and pressed his lips to Ben's cheek, a dry but caressing… seriously, was that a kiss?
"What the hell?" Ben went to push Lyle away, but Lyle's strength belied his reedy build. He held Ben fast.
"I'm sorry," whispered Lyle, his breath scorching Ben's neck, more intimate than the kiss. "You really have to leave now. I fear, Benjamin Miles, you will be the death of me."
Ben grabbed his bag, whether to use as a weapon or for protection, he wasn't sure. It proved the last movement he was capable of. Nausea swelled inside him in synch with cold, hard fear. He couldn't move and he couldn't breathe; everything went dark and he no longer felt Lyle wrapped around him. Where had Lyle gone? And shit, that kiss was creepy not beautiful, right?
Right?
And then he was standing under a streetlamp, inhaling a familiar scent of beer and wood-smoke, and gazing up at the sign of his favourite pub, The Five Bells.
"What… on… Earth?"
Chapter Three
There had been several occasions in Ben's life when he couldn't recall how he'd got home from the pub. This was the first time he had no idea how he'd got there.
His head swam, as if he'd already been on the booze. He braced a hand against the lamppost and drew a deep, fortifying breath. Then, driven by the instinct to get to somewhere safe and populated rather than by any rational calculation, he clutched his knapsack tight to his chest and staggered toward the The Five Bells.
As he took the few steps across the pavement, he discovered he limped. His ankle ached and his knee was twinging slightly, though he could walk. Not like in the woods. Bloody hell… the woods! He shoved the swing door of the pub open with his shoulder and entered the low-lit interior, scanning the bar and wooden booths desperately for friendly faces. The screams in his mind grew louder by the heartbeat.
What just happened to me? How did I get here?
"Ben! We're over here."
The shout from Kristof snatched Ben back from his spiralling panic. His colleague Kristof—blond, perpetually suntanned, and very well groomed—waved from a booth on the far side of the cosy pub. Ben managed to pull himself together enough to nod an acknowledgement and walk across the room, although he nearly collided with a wooden pillar and then a girl carrying two glasses of white wine.
As he approached, he mustered some semblance of a smile for Kristof, who was drinking with a small group of friends from the office—Andrea, a planning officer, Sam from enforcement, and Tessa, their boss, who wasn't too much of a bitch when off duty and in the right mood.
"How was Shanty Wood?" asked Tessa. "I hope you didn't drop that expensive depth gauge in the water like you did the last one." Her smirk vanished as Ben got closer. Despite his attempted smile, Ben must've looked as shell-shocked as he felt, clutching his knapsack so tight his knuckles whitened. "Ben, are you alright? You look shattered. Did something happen?"
He wanted to tell them what happened. He should tell them what happened. He remembered everything, until… Well, until moments after he'd tripped and Lyle had kissed him. Oh God… and then what? Had he been drugged? But how? He'd not eaten or drunk anything, nor could he recollect the tell-tale prick of a needle. Maybe he'd lost time, somehow, whole swathes of memory erased.
He couldn't conjure anything that resembled the right words to tell his story, not yet. He forced his grin wider. "No, I'm fine."
"No man is fine working past four p.m. on a Friday," said Kristof. "Tessa, you should pay the man danger money for that alone." He slid out from one of the benches, gesturing that Ben should sit down. "Do you want a pint, mate? Or are you driving."
His car! Ben certainly hadn't driven here, so his vehicle must still be in the Shanty Wood carpark. He really had to tell them what'd happened, but he needed a drink first more than he'd ever needed one in his life. He plonked himself down on the warm bit of bench that Kristof had vacated and finally relinquished his knapsack onto the space beside him. "I'll have a pint of something strong," he said. "I, uh, walked back from the wood."
"Why did you do that?" asked Tessa. Ben's odd behaviour also grabbed the attention of the other two occupants of the table, Andrea and Sam, who'd been absorbed by something Andrea had been showing Sam on her laptop. "It's three miles back from Shanty Wood, and there are no pavements along those country lanes. It's a wonder you weren't mowed down and killed."
Ben clenched his teeth, grasping for an answer under the pressure of all four of his colleagues' scrutiny. "I ran out of petrol and I'm not up-to-date with my breakdown insurance payments." Lying wasn't a great idea, but this seemed to satisfy Tessa enough to abate her interrogation. She rolled her eyes and Andrea and Sam went back to looking at whatever fascinated them, which turned out to be work related.
The department had received bad news that day: they'd all been labouring on plans to build new footpaths and a family nature centre at a nearby beauty spot named Warrencroft Forest. While Ben had been on his mission to Shanty Wood, it'd all fallen through.
"I can't believe it," said Andrea. "Some nature nut finds a rare orchid in the dirt, the whole place is declared a site of special scientific interest, and suddenly we're not even allowed to redo the carpark. No more regeneration project for Warrencroft. That's six months of planning down the drain."
Andrea started showing more pictures of the "bloody daisies" responsible, which drew the topic from Ben's late arrival. He should've been as annoyed as Andrea—he'd worked hard on the project too, including spending many late nights at the office—but thoughts of Shanty Wood, not Warrencroft, consumed him. When Kristof returned with Ben's pint, Ben downed it too quickly. He drank his second beer in a steadier fashion, although still failed to add anything to the conversation save grunting sympathetically.
Now he'd considered matters, the timings of his journey back from the forest were astounding—and impossible. The last time he'd checked the hour, before he'd even reached the tower, it'd been a quarter past four. Then he'd carried out his survey and cordoned the dangerous areas off, all while being bugged and slowed down by Lyle. That must've taken at least an hour.
According to his watch, it was only twenty-five minutes past five now. The pub clock and Andrea's laptop confirmed this. Lyle would've had no time to drug Ben or anything sinister, let alone to transport him from the woods to the pub. The walk back to the carpark alone would take up to half an hour, the drive another ten to fifteen minutes. Nothing added up. And, hell, hadn't he injured himself so badly he'd been unable to walk?
"Will you excuse me?" said Ben, cutting through the others' conversation. He dashed for the Gents loo at a breakneck pace and locked himself in a cubicle. He fumbled open his button flies and yanked down his trousers.
There was a slight bloo
dstain on the inside of the crumpled fabric that had touched his knees, but no sign of any cut or even of bruising. He didn't need to pull up the bottom of his trousers to confirm that his left ankle had been fixed. He stood beside the toilet bowl with his weight distributed evenly between both feet and experienced no pain, not even the slight twinging he'd felt when he'd found himself outside the pub.
He threw the toilet seat down with a clatter and sat heavily on it, his head in his hands. Peeping between his fingers, he fixed on his boots, the laces of which were tied in neat bows, matching and even on both sides. A cold knot tightened in his gut. They were the kind of pretty bows his mum used to tie on his older sister's pigtails, years ago. Way too perfect. Nothing like the careless way Ben fastened his boots.
Hands shaking, he tugged one of the trailing bootlace ends. It didn't come undone instantly; the bow proved a complicated one that Ben hadn't a notion how to tie.
He jumped off the toilet, threw up the lid, and was violently sick.
*~*~*
When he returned to his friends about ten minutes later, all four of them looked at him with concern.
"I was about to come find you," said Kristof. "Are you okay?"
"I'm not feeling so great," admitted Ben, slumping back down next to Kristof. "I'll stay off the beer, maybe."
Tessa fetched him some ice water, which he sipped. He placed down the empty glass, and the words he'd grasped for all evening finally came to him.
"Guys," he said quietly. "Something happened to me this afternoon. Something weird. Has, er, anybody heard any stories about magic in Shanty Wood?"
Tessa's chuckle betrayed a patronizing air. "If you think the common loss of couples' clothing in the area is magic, then yes, there's plenty of it. What do you mean by weird, Ben?"
Ben found he didn't want to share anything about Lyle, particularly not with Tessa. Glancing sidelong at Kristof, who he hoped to be more open-minded, Ben said, "Oh, stupid stuff. My shoelaces came undone then got done up again without me tying them. Time went weirdly slowly and…" He still couldn't bring himself to come clean about his sudden arrival at the pub. Nobody would believe him, so he resorted to another lie. "I, uh, swear I had enough petrol when I set out on that trip, but I ran out."
The Lonely Merman Page 2
