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.
§ § §
Nikolas returned from his walk frozen but for the first time since Gabby, content to feel the cold and to have nothing more to fear from it. He would soon be warm, either in Ben’s arms or, if he was particularly persuasive, in Ben’s body. He was always very persuasive where Ben’s body was concerned. He smiled to himself as he let Radulf into the cabin. It was quiet. Ben had finished chopping wood and there was a big basket of kindling by the fire. He called up to see if he was showering and wanted some company, but there was no reply. He climbed stiffly up the stairs, and the only warning he had something was badly wrong was when he saw a bloodstained shirt on the floor. He went into the bathroom and hissed, “Ben?”
Ben didn’t stop his activity, but he smiled slyly to himself. “I knew it would work. Give me a minute, and I’ll make you stay for good.” He continued sawing the kitchen knife across his wrist.
Nik suddenly shouted, “Ben!” Ben looked up startled. “Drop the knife, Ben. That’s an order!” Old habits never died. After only a second’s hesitation, Ben stopped and let the knife rest loosely on his lap. Nikolas knelt down cautiously and took it from him. He quickly pulled off his own shirt and bundled it against the deep cut on Ben’s wrist. Ben was staring at him, puzzled. He was even paler than before, stress aging his face. He glanced down at where Nikolas was pressing his wrist.
“Am I dead? You feel real, but you don’t look very pleased to see me.”
“Shut up. Can you stand?” He helped Ben to his feet and led him to the bed. He kept the pressure up on the shirt until Ben was sitting then commanded sharply, “Hold this.” Ben did, frowning down at the material. Nikolas went into the bathroom, averting his eyes from the pool of blood and tore furiously through the cabinet, pulling out some bandages and tape. He came back into the bedroom and stood staring at the gaunt figure on the bed. Suddenly, he threw the bandages in Ben’s face. Ben’s eyes opened wide with shock. “Fuck you! You stupid child! What the fuck is this?”
“You’re not…you’d gone again. I thought—”
“I went for a walk with the fucking dog!”
“I just wanted to be with you again—catch up to you before you got too far away from me. I thought…” He frowned down at his wrist. “I thought it’d be easier.”
“Well you were cutting the wrong way. Trust me, it works well enough if you cut the other way.”
“Oh.”
Nikolas knelt down beside Ben. He took the shaved head in his hands and stared at him. “You’re in shock. God forgive me, but I think you’ve been in shock since you came to me in the hospital. I’m sorry, I didn’t see it. I’ve been a little preoccupied.” He stood up then kissed Ben’s head. He sat alongside him on the bed. “Keep the pressure on.”
Ben nodded dutifully. “I am.”
Nikolas let Ben continue with this task to calm him down, to give him something concrete and easy to focus on. “You thought I’d gone again? Is that what you’re telling me? That I’d just disappeared again?”
“No, I thought you’d never come back. I thought you were still gone.” It seemed important to Ben that Nikolas got this distinction, that what he was doing, therefore, was totally rational and understandable.
“And you were going to what? Follow me into death?”
Ben bowed his head. “You’re making me feel stupid.”
“Good, because you are stupid. Ben, look at me.” He waited patiently. Ben turned his head reluctantly. “Death is the final certainty for everyone. Eventually, one of us will die, and the other will have to go on alone. No, stop that. Listen to me. Ben, look at me and listen.” Once more, he waited. “I think I’ve made a mistake with you.” He managed to smile faintly at Ben’s reaction to this. “Not like that. I’ve made mistakes by taking you for granted, assuming you knew how I felt about you when I didn’t feel inclined to tell you, not letting you into the parts of my life that are painful because I wanted to protect you. You aren’t my little brother. I don’t have to protect you to assuage my guilt for failing so badly to protect him. A very wise child told me recently I should dig out the shrapnel from my wounds—that I couldn’t heal until I did.” He closed his eyes for a moment to gather courage and then continued, “I don’t intend to die for a very long time, Benjamin. My will to live has defeated everything in this life that seems determined to kill me. I’m going to live for a very, very long time, and I intend for you to be by my side until that time is done. Do you understand what I’m saying? What I’m now asking you?”
Ben’s eyes were so wide they appeared almost black, the green just a hint of colour around the edges. Nikolas put his hand to the side of Ben’s face and stroked over his cheekbone with his thumb. “Until death parts us, yes?” Nikolas removed his hand and reached into his back pocket. Ben’s eyes followed every movement. Nikolas took out the bloodstained knife and, still staring intently at Ben, drew it across his own, already battered wrist—no hesitation, no hint this caused him pain. When he was satisfied with the blood, he gently lifted Ben’s wrist and eased off the tacky, temporary bandage. The cut, much deeper than the one he’d made on his own wrist, began to bleed again. He caught Ben’s gaze once more. “Yes?”
Ben nodded. “Yes. Until death parts us.”
They pressed their wrists together, a fitting bond between two men whose lives had been so determined and shaped by blood. They leant in and kissed, sharing mouths as their blood flowed warm between them.