Page 22
Chapter Seventeen
OCTOBER 2095
Josiah
Much to Josiah’s surprise, there was no media presence outside the Inquisitus building when he returned.
He found Reed still hard at work at his desk; the charge in his holotie had run down completely, leaving only one forlorn red light, blinking pathetically.
“You look like shit,” he said.
“Ditto,” Reed shot back.
“Got anything for me?”
Reed clicked on his holopad with a dramatic flourish, then sat back with a sigh, rubbing his neck.
“There – that’s every damn bit of info I can find – it’s over to you now, Investigator Hotshot; go where the data leads you. How about you – anything to report?”
“No new leads. The forensics and the solicitor pretty much confirmed what we already know.”
“I’m not surprised.” Reed stood up and reached for the jacket slung over the back of his chair. “Right, I’m going home – Sarah will kill me if I work two nights running.”
At that moment, Esther wheeled into the department. Josiah jerked his head towards the building entrance. “I assume I have you to thank for the missing mob?”
She winked. “I may have implied that the investigation has been given to another agency.”
Josiah laughed. “So, they high-tailed it over to some other poor IA to torment them instead?”
“Well, I thought the last thing you needed was for them to see you driving out of here with your new IS. It won’t be long before they realise they’ve been duped, though, so I’ll go and get him for you.”
“Did I hear her right?” Reed grabbed hold of Josiah’s arm as she left. “You’re taking Lytton home as your IS? You? The bloody indiehunter? The man who hates indies more than anything else on the planet? You must be kidding me.”
Josiah glanced down coolly at Reed’s grip on his arm. Reed released him, but his grim expression remained.
“Dacre has no living relatives,” Josiah explained. “We can’t keep Alexander here for more than twenty-four hours without charging him, and he’s a registered IS – someone has to take care of him. We can’t let him go free – he’s valuable property, part of Dacre’s estate.”
“He’s also the prime suspect in Dacre’s murder.”
“Which is why I don’t want him getting sucked into the probate system – you know how difficult it is getting those bastards to agree to further questioning once they’ve got custody.”
“So, you’re taking him home with you instead?”
“On a temporary custody order – Esther’s worked out all the details.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Is that so?” Josiah demanded, unused to having his decisions questioned by a subordinate in this way.
“Yeah, and I don’t care how pissed off you are with me, sir – I’m not afraid of you. Oh, okay, maybe a bit.” Reed grimaced. “But if I don’t tell you, then who will?”
“What exactly is the problem? I’m buying us time here. It’s unusual, yes, but I’ve never been involved in a case where there aren’t any next of kin to take custody before. This makes sense.”
“No – arresting Lytton and charging him with Dacre’s murder makes sense. Taking a possible killer into your home and tucking him up in bed is lunacy.”
Josiah grinned. “Aw, you’re worried for my safety.”
“Yes, I bloody well am. Take Lytton home, and you’ll have to sleep with a knife under your pillow.”
Josiah laughed, but he was touched by Reed’s concern. “Look, I’m a trained soldier; do you really think a kid like that can take me out?”
“No, but I don’t think you realise how much Lytton is playing you, and has been since we first met him. The timing of this whole thing is shitty. We all know what day it was yesterday, and we all know how that affects you. Lytton’s got into your head. I’m not sure what his intentions are, but I don’t trust him one bit.”
“His intentions…? He’s an IS.”
“He’s a murder suspect, facing the death penalty if he’s found guilty. He has nothing to lose, and you’re his one chance of getting out of this alive.”
“Thanks for your concern, but I’ll be fine. If Lytton is guilty, I’ll find the evidence to send him to trial. If he’s innocent, I’ll ensure he gets sent to probate and put back into the system. He hasn’t got into my head – on the contrary. I’m doing my job here, nothing else. It isn’t personal. Honestly, Cam. Relax. I’ll be fine.”
Reed exhaled slowly. “Okay. I just want to be sure you’re aware of the dangers. I know you don’t like indies, and I can’t imagine you’ll be comfortable having one under your own roof after what happened to Peter.”
At that moment, Esther returned with Alexander walking beside her wheelchair. He looked weary, the layer of brown stubble covering his jaw making his porcelain skin look even paler.
“Here’s the paperwork.” Esther flicked a holodoc into the air in front of him. “You need to put your biosig here.” She pointed. “And then he’s all yours.”
Alexander blinked. “Sorry to interrupt, ma’am, but could you explain what’s happening?”
“You’re being transferred into my custody,” Josiah told him. “Dacre didn’t have any relatives, and we don’t want you going into probate, so you’re coming home with me until this case is resolved. ”
“Is that the legalese?” Alexander asked, glancing at the holodoc. “Do you mind if I check it, so I can be clear about my standing?”
“Of course.” Josiah stood back to let him see it, and he read through it slowly and thoroughly, taking his time.
Josiah perched on the side of the desk, his arms folded across his chest, while they waited.
Finally, Alexander seemed satisfied. “I understand. I am now the property of Inquisitus, in the custody of the principal investigating officer in charge of this case – Josiah Raine.”
“It’s temporary,” Josiah said firmly.
“That’s not important,” Alexander responded quietly. “I simply wanted to know who my contract belongs to, and to whom I should offer my services.”
“Yeah, well, that’d be me.”
Josiah took Esther’s holopad and then hesitated, his finger poised over the biosig. He glanced at Reed, who shook his head. Gritting his teeth, he looked down and signalled his agreement; the holopad locked it in by taking a retina scan.
“Right, let’s go, then,” he said gruffly, jerking his head at his new IS.
Esther cleared her throat. “There is one more thing. I asked our HR department for this.” She held up an ID tag with the Inquisitus insignia on it, similar to the one Sofie Baumann wore.
“It’s the law, I’m afraid. I’ve already transferred Mr Lytton’s microchip into our name,” she said apologetically. “And I have, of course, activated Tracker Plus on it, so we can ensure the safety of our new IS at all times.”
“Right. Fine.” Josiah stared at the tag, which was attached to a pin. It was up to each houder whether their servants wore the tag on a necklace, a bracelet, or a pin attached to their clothes – but it had to be clearly visible at all times.
“You can do the honours, as he’s being released into your custody,” Esther prompted, handing it to him.
Swiping the pin out of her hand, he turned to Alexander, who reached up, his expression solemn, to undo Dacre’s ID necklace.
“This must feel strange,” Esther said. “You’ve been wearing it for a long time. ”
“Not really. It’s not the first time I’ve been transferred into someone else’s household,” Alexander said, sounding indifferent. “And I doubt it’ll be the last.” He gave his old tag to Esther and then waited, expectantly, for Josiah to place the fresh tag on him.
Josiah paused, fighting down his disgust, then brusquely pinned the tag on him. When he’d finished, he found that Alexander’s face was utterly blank; the mask had descended again.
Reed accompanied them outside, to where their ducks were parked.
“Give my regards to Sarah,” Josiah said, noticing that Alexander was walking a respectful one step behind.
“You should come over for dinner sometime; she’d love to meet you.”
“That would be nice.” He nodded politely.
“But you won’t,” Reed sighed. “What is it with you and letting people get close, sir?”
“We’re colleagues.”
“And that means we can’t be friends?”
“It means we have a job to do.”
“Fine, but if your new IS kills you in your sleep, don’t come running to me for sympathy.”
“You can always say ‘I told you so’ to my corpse if it makes you feel better,” Josiah teased as they reached their respective ducks.
“Seriously – he’s dangerous. One way or another.”
Josiah patted his arm. “I’ll be fine. If Alexander Lytton is playing me, he’s picked the wrong opponent.”
Alexander didn’t say a word on the drive home. Every now and then, Josiah shot him a glance out of the corner of his eye to find him staring blankly out of the window. It made for an awkward journey, and he wondered what the hell he was going to do with his unwanted houseguest.
It was early evening when they reached his house. Josiah parked on the driveway rather than in the garage, so he could show his new IS the keypad code to the front door.
Alexander followed him into the house and stood in the hallway, gazing blankly ahead, seemingly without an ounce of curiosity about his new home.
“Just remember…” Josiah hung his coat up neatly on the rack in the hallway. “Director Lomax has activated Tracker Plus on your microchip, so we’ll know where you are at all times.”
“I won’t try to escape, sir,” Alexander said, lowering his eyes.
He wasn’t the challenging man who’d verbally sparred with him in the interview suite now. His whole demeanour had changed, and he was every inch the obedient servant. Josiah suddenly longed for the other Alexander to return.
“Good. Follow me. This is the kitchen, this is the dining room, that’s the downstairs toilet, and this is the living room,” he instructed, waving his hand as they passed each room.
They climbed the stairs, and he gestured briskly again as they reached the landing. “Bedroom, bathroom, box room. This is where you’ll sleep.”
He opened the door to the spare room. It was freezing inside, so he turned on the heating, which had been off for years – no point heating a room that was never used.
“There’s an en-suite shower and toilet. Sheets and towels and stuff are in the dresser.”
“If you don’t mind, I would like to take a shower now, sir,” Alexander requested. He sniffed at his armpits. “I don’t smell very nice.”
“Go ahead. I’ll be downstairs. Come down when you’re done. You hungry?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, I’ll cook something, then.”
“I could do it, sir. It’s on my list of skills.”
Josiah didn’t like the idea of this stranger cooking for him in his own home, so he shook his head. “Come downstairs when you’re ready. I’ll be in the kitchen,” he said curtly.
“Yes, sir. One other thing, sir?”
“Yes?”
“Do I have your permission to shave?” Alexander ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw .
“What?”
“I wasn’t sure how you wanted my physical appearance, sir. My previous houder liked me clean-shaven, and my body hair waxed away completely, including my armpits, groin area, and buttocks.”
Josiah stared at him. “I really don’t give a damn about your hair,” he snapped.
“Then I will shave, sir. If you change your mind, please let me know. I am anxious to please.”
“Right.” Josiah turned briskly on his heel, feeling completely out of his depth. Did all houders have an opinion about their ISs’ body hair? Did people really care about this kind of thing?
As he trotted down to the kitchen to prepare dinner, he could hear Alexander moving around, and he didn’t like it. He’d become accustomed to silence and solitude since Hattie’s death, and it suited him just fine.
He opened the fridge and was instantly reminded of how, every year on the anniversary of Peter’s death, he made Peter’s favourite meal, “stir-fry surprise”. Peter had been an abysmal cook, and this had been the only dish he could throw together with passable results. When Josiah had jokingly asked what the “surprise” was, Peter told him it was whatever was to hand – sometimes corned beef, sometimes tofu, and on one memorable occasion a mish-mash of tinned goods so jumbled up that Josiah failed to even identify them.
There were enough vegetables, pasta, and corned beef to make a stir-fry surprise for two, but little else. He didn’t like the idea of sharing Peter’s special meal with Alexander, but he knew that was ridiculous.
Slamming a frying pan on the hob, he heated up some oil and threw the vegetables in to fry.
He banged around the kitchen irritably, slinging the pasta in boiling water, chopping up the corned beef to throw into the stir-fry later, and stirring the vegetables as they sizzled happily on the hob. He was so busy that when he looked up and saw Alexander standing in the doorway, it startled him.
Alexander’s hair was wet and slicked back, his jaw was freshly shaven, and his scent hit him like a physical blow .
Reeling, Josiah remembered, too late, that Peter had appropriated the en-suite shower in the spare room for himself, to wash off all the grease from his job as a mechanic. His toiletries were still in there, and therefore Alexander now smelled exactly like him.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, Alexander was wearing a pair of khaki army combat trousers that were a couple of inches too long at the bottom and far too big at the waist, tightened with a wide brown belt to keep them up, and an olive-green tee-shirt with a picture of a black dog on it.
“Take them off!” Josiah roared, taking even himself by surprise.
Alexander froze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have any clean clothes, and these were hanging in the wardrobe, so I thought you meant for me to?—”
“I said, take them off,” he yelled, striding towards the IS, the spoon still clenched in his hand.
Alexander flinched, clearly expecting a blow, and that quenched his anger immediately. He stopped dead in his tracks, his chest heaving.
Before he could stop him, Alexander grabbed the hem of the tee-shirt and pulled it over his head.
“Not here,” Josiah said desperately. They stared at each other helplessly. “Upstairs.”
“What do you want me to wear? I have nothing else. Or… would you prefer me naked? Is that it? Is that what I did wrong? I’m so sorry. Of course…” Alexander fumbled at the belt holding up the combat trousers.
“No,” Josiah protested shakily, putting his hand over Alexander’s hands. “No, I don’t want you naked. I want you very much dressed – just not in those clothes.”
Realisation seeped into Alexander’s eyes. “I’m so sorry. They’re his , of course. I didn’t know,” he said softly.
“No, why should you? It’s fine. Go back to your room.” Josiah led the way. “I’ll get you some of my clothes. You can wear those.”
He found a couple of pairs of old sweatpants and tee-shirts and then realised he was still shaking.
It had all been too much: the smell of the stir-fry surprise, the sound of Alexander moving around, and then the scent of Peter wafting through the house again. No wonder he’d snapped.
He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself. It wasn’t Alexander’s fault. The memory of the young man cowering in front of him, expecting to be hit, was as bad as seeing him in Peter’s clothes. He felt ashamed.
Getting control of himself, he walked back to the spare room with an armful of clothes and found Alexander sitting on the bed with a towel wrapped around his waist, looking devastated.
“I’m so sorry. I should have realised,” he babbled. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry, I really am.”
Josiah wondered what had happened to the challenging man he’d interrogated earlier. Then, in a flash, he understood.
He was Alexander’s houder now. He wielded ultimate power over his new servant’s every waking moment – what he ate, what he wore, what he did, and when he slept. He held Alexander’s well-being in the palm of his hand, and he was suddenly realising what a weight it was.
“It’s fine. I should apologise, not you,” he said gruffly. “It was a misunderstanding. I’m not used to having someone in my space, and I overreacted. Here.” He slung the clothes on the bed. “You can wear these for now – and there’s a change of clothes for tomorrow, too.”
A smell of burning suddenly wafted up the stairs.
“Oh shit. There goes the stir-fry surprise,” Josiah sighed.
“Is the surprise the fact that it’s burnt?” Alexander asked.
Josiah stared at him for a moment, and then they both burst out laughing.
He ran down the stairs to find the stir-fry completely ruined. He threw it into the bin, then turned to see Alexander standing in the kitchen doorway again.
“You have to stop creeping up on me like that,” he said. “Make some noise, or sing or something, when you’re coming down the stairs.”
“Yes, sir,” Alexander said seriously, and Josiah’s heart sank as he realised that every stupid suggestion he made from now on would be taken as some kind of binding order.
If Peter’s clothes had been big on Alexander, then his own positively swamped him: the sweatpants were pulled up so high they sat just under his nipples, and the tee-shirt resembled a tent.
“Tomorrow, I’ll take you back to Dacre’s house, and you can pack a bag of clothes to bring back here,” he said firmly.
“Oh, thank God. No offence, sir, but I feel like a little kid playing at dressing up in these.” Alexander grinned.
Josiah grinned back, relaxing a fraction. “Dinner’s ruined, so I thought I’d call for a takeaway. What do you want? Pizza? Indian? Chinese? Dutch?”
“Dutch – I love hachée.”
Josiah smiled at him approvingly. “Me too. Let’s get that and sit on the sofa in front of the screen with it.”
The last time he’d sat and watched the screen with someone in his house was when Peter had been alive, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but he didn’t want to make the IS eat in the kitchen while he enjoyed the comfort of the sofa.
They took their food into the living room, and Alexander paused, looking bemused.
“I haven’t seen one of those in years,” he commented, nodding his head at the static screen embedded in the far wall. “Most people have smartwalls these days.”
“I don’t like them.” Josiah shrugged. He gestured to Alexander to join him on the couch, then flicked through some movies and brought up a recent Hudson Brink classic that he thought Alexander might enjoy.
He’d never been any good at small talk, and he was completely at a loss as to how to interact with the IS. Alexander didn’t say a word, which was both a relief and a strain as the silence stretched between them.
“Don’t you like the food?” he asked, noticing that Alexander had barely touched his meal.
“It was lovely. I’m not a big eater, sir.”
There was another long silence.
“Uh, so, do you like this guy’s movies?” he said at last, waving at the screen, where Hudson Brink was heroically rescuing the feisty but foul-mouthed female love interest .
“I’m happy to watch it if you enjoy it, sir,” Alexander replied.
“That’s not what I asked – I asked if you liked this guy.”
“Not really.”
“Any reason? His acting? The genres he chooses?” Josiah ploughed on, trying his best to make conversation.
“No, I just don’t like him. I had sex with him once and thought he was an arrogant shit, to be honest.”
“Whoa! Back up a bit here – you’ve had sex with Hudson Brink? The Hudson Brink – the big movie star?”
“Yes, Elliot knew him – his Halo of Fire holopic launched both their careers. Hud was often invited to Elliot’s parties when he was in town.”
“And you slept with him?” Josiah paused while he let that sink in. “And Elliot was okay with that?”
“It wasn’t my choice, and Elliot enjoyed watching.” Alexander shrugged.
“I thought Hudson Brink was straight.”
“Well, I suspect he’s more into women than men, but I think he’d stick his dick into anything. I hadn’t been Elliot’s IS for long at that point, and it was the first time he let anyone else fuck me. It must have broken the ice, because it happened a lot after that.”
“Right,” Josiah said slowly. “Okay. Shall we turn this arrogant shit’s movie off, then?” Turning, he looked at Alexander. “Look, I wanted to say… I’m sorry about earlier. I wasn’t angry – just taken by surprise.”
Alexander blinked at the unexpected apology and then smiled. “That’s fine, sir.”
Josiah hesitated again, before asking the question that had been bothering him. “When you flinched earlier, you looked as if you were expecting to be hit. I know you were badly abused at the show last weekend, but I assumed that was an unusual event. Have beatings been a regular part of your experience as an IS?”
“I’m a convicted felon on an open contract of servitude, sir. We’re pretty much the lowest of the low where indentured servants are concerned.”
“That’s an oblique answer.”
“Forgive me, but I need to understand – are you questioning me, sir? Is this part of your investigation? ”
“Any questioning about Dacre’s murder will take place in an interview suite at Inquisitus. I’m not allowed to use my temporary position as your houder to coerce you. Nothing you say here would be admissible in any case – only what’s recorded in the interview suite.”
“Thank you, sir. In answer to your question, yes – I’ve been regularly hit during my time as an IS.”
“Yesterday, you said Dacre never beat you.”
“He didn’t, but he did slap me occasionally.”
“It’s illegal for—” Josiah began, but Alexander’s wry snort cut him off.
“Sir, nobody cares about indies like me, and why should they? The world has problems enough, and people enough, not to care about the ones like me.”
“The ones like you?”
Alexander shrugged. “People who’ve fucked up so badly that we’re taking up space the world doesn’t have. There isn’t a court in the land that would care if I was being slapped, raped, and beaten every day.”
“I don’t think that’s true, and even if it is, it’s still not right,” Josiah said stubbornly.
“Sir, hundreds of people die every day in the Quarterlands from lack of food, poor sanitation, and the damp. Hundreds more die in the government camps as a result of overcrowding and poor medical care. Why the hell should anyone care what happens to one pampered indentured servant who gets good food, a dry place to sleep, and has full medical insurance? What the hell does it matter if I get hit every so often? I’m one of the lucky ones.”
Josiah knew only too well how people in the Quarterlands and the government camps lived. Most people viewed becoming an indentured servant as infinitely preferable to either of those fates.
“When did Dacre last slap you?” he asked.
“Tuesday morning, before I left the house,” Alexander replied. “It doesn’t mean I killed him, though,” he added quickly. “In case that’s where this is going.”
“It’s not. I’m just trying to understand what your life has been like – what you’re like, and what caused you to become this way. Why did he hit you? ”
Alexander’s hand went to his cheek, and he rubbed it absently. “I was giving him oral sex, and he said something to me. It was my fault – I wasn’t as in the moment as I should have been, and I called him ‘sir’ when I answered. He didn’t like being called that.”
“What the hell did he want to be called?”
“Elliot. I was his boyfriend, remember – in his head at least – and he didn’t like having that illusion shattered. Then he was upset about slapping me, so he showed me his new will to try and make up for it.”
That explained that little part of the puzzle – why Elliot hadn’t waited until the big, romantic dinner he had planned.
“And your previous houder – the one before Elliot?” Josiah asked. “Did he treat you the same way?”
“Oh no.” Alexander shook his head swiftly.
“That’s something, at least.”
“He was much worse,” Alexander said quietly.
Josiah stared at him, appalled. “Who was he?” he asked.
“I’d rather not talk about him, if that’s okay, sir?”
Josiah knew he could force the issue, but he sensed it wouldn’t be a good idea. Alexander had made very few personal requests, so far, and he felt he should respect this one. He’d find out soon enough anyway, when Reed arranged for the court records to be unsealed.
“Well, I want you to know that you are safe here, and I will never hit you,” he said firmly.
Alexander shrugged. “That’s what Elliot told me on his first night as my houder, too, sir.”
“I’m not Elliot Dacre.”
“I know. You’re the indiehunter, sir.”
Josiah looked at him sharply, but Alexander gave a serene smile, as if he hadn’t intended that comment to be barbed in any way.
Josiah sank into silence. He was tired from lack of sleep, and he hurt from some of the punches he’d taken the previous night. He rolled his shoulders back, feeling the tension, and his neck popped as he moved it from side to side.
“Would you like me to take care of that for you, sir?” Alexander asked.
“Not unless you’re a trained massage therapist. ”
“As a matter of fact, I have been trained to give massages. I was sent to the Belvedere Academy by my first houder and received tuition in a variety of different subjects. I can cook to a reasonable standard, take care of clothes, including laundry, ironing, and basic mending, and set and wait tables for formal dining.”
Josiah stared at him. “Rich people really send their servants to academies to learn all that shit?”
“Yes, sir. Some people want a completely blank slate when they buy a servant’s contract. They want an IS they can educate to be their butler, cook, massage therapist, and personal manservant, all rolled into one.”
Josiah made a mental note to look up this Belvedere place. Before he had a chance to reply, Alexander stood up, went behind the sofa, and started to gently press his fingers into the back of his neck.
As if by magic, the IS’s fingers went straight to the sore spots and began teasing out the knots. Groaning, he let his head hang forward as those strong hands brought release to his aching shoulders.
Alexander’s breath was warm on the back of his neck, and the familiar scent of Peter’s aftershave enveloped him in a hazy cloud.
Zoning out, he was only dimly aware when Alexander leaned closer, his freshly shaven jaw brushing against his cheek.
“That’s it, just relax. That feels good, doesn’t it?” Alexander murmured in his ear. “Your shoulders are incredibly tense – they’re like iron. I’ve never massaged anyone with muscles this hard before. You need to relax more. Just let go. Let me take care of you. That’s it, that’s it…”
He closed his eyes, soothed by Alexander’s mesmeric voice. “That’s better. See how good it can feel if you just let go…”
The words tickled against his skin, and then he felt Alexander’s lips gently pressing against his cheek. He jerked away.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Just massaging you, sir…” Alexander reached out again, but Josiah grabbed his wrist, clenching hard.
“Not that – did you just try and kiss me?”
“Yes, sir. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You’re lonely, and I’m your servant now. I can take care of that. Isn’t that why you brought me here?” Was there a hint of a challenge in Alexander’s demure eyes?
“No, it isn’t.” He released Alexander’s wrist, shoved him away, and got up. “What the hell gave you that idea?”
“It’s what both my previous houders wanted from me,” Alexander replied, with a shrug.
“Let’s get one thing straight: you’re not here to provide me with sex. I would never, ever have sex with an IS.”
Alexander dropped his gaze. “Very well, sir.”
“The idea is repellent. It disgusts me,” Josiah added, viciously.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Alexander whispered, his head hanging down.
“I think you should go to bed. It’s late.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He moved towards the living room door, looking dejected.
“One more thing,” Josiah said quietly.
Alexander paused in the doorway.
“You should know that I’m a light sleeper, and I always go to bed with a weapon close to hand. I was once a soldier – I wake up fighting if disturbed.”
Alexander raised an eyebrow. “Are you ordering me not to kill you in your sleep, sir?”
Josiah gave a short bark of laughter. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Well, I wasn’t planning on it. I wouldn’t dare.” A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I remember reading about what you did at Rosengarten.”
That comment caught Josiah off guard. Rosengarten. It seemed that everyone knew what had happened there. But Alexander disappeared upstairs before he could think of a reply.
He tidied up, feeling unsettled, pausing as he threw away their takeaway boxes in the kitchen bin. His hachée carton from the previous evening was clearly visible from where Alexander had been standing earlier when he’d said that he loved hachée. Yet he’d barely touched his meal. Had he been lying, in an attempt to please his new houder?
Everything about Alexander was confusing. Dacre used to slap him regularly and had given him to other people for sex. How was it possible that Alexander hadn’t resented him for that? Had that resentment simmered until it had finally given way to murder? He’d been so certain that Alexander was innocent, but maybe Reed was right.
“Do you blame the poor bastard? What a fucking awful life he was leading,” Peter’s voice murmured in his ear.
“Shut up,” he snapped. “It’s all your fault he’s here. I’ll do my best for him if he’s innocent, but I can’t help him if he murdered someone. You know my rules.”
“You do know I’m not actually here, love, right?” Peter asked softly.
Josiah could almost feel his fingers ruffling his hair, teasing him gently. “Yes, I know. I know that all too bloody well. I’m the one who’s had to live without you for all these years because that big, stupid heart of yours finally got you killed.”
A tidal wave of grief hit him so hard that he had to hold on to the chair, shaking, until it passed. Then he snapped off the light and strode from the room.
Peter’s scent, and the sound of his voice, lingered in the air behind him.