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Chapter Six

Josiah

They drove home in silence. Josiah was lost in thought – until he heard an unmistakeable gurgling sound coming from the direction of Alexander’s stomach.

“Shit – you must be hungry.” He could have kicked himself. “You haven’t had lunch. I should have thought; you should have said.”

“You haven’t had lunch, either.”

“Nah, but I did have a great big slab of a really fantastic chocolate cake.” Josiah grinned. He saw a café in a parade of shops ahead and swung the duck into a parking bay across the street. “What do you want? Tea? A sandwich?”

“Both would be nice. Cheese or tuna.”

Josiah glanced out of the café window as he waited in line to order.

Alexander seemed unaware he was being watched as he sat in the duck.

Suddenly, he smiled, and for a brief moment he looked ecstatically happy – then he flinched, as if remembering something.

He wrapped his arms tightly around his body, and Josiah saw him mouthing the lines to that song again as he calmed himself. It was a rare unguarded moment.

After buying two teas and a couple of sandwiches, he carried them back towards the duck.

He’d just stepped out into the road to cross the street when he was hit by a sudden, vivid flashback.

His arm jerked upwards of its own volition, and the teas almost went flying.

Closing his eyes, he stood still, fighting the rising tide of memories – the scent of blood, the bright red stains on his hands and clothes, the sound of screaming…

“Hey… Josiah, are you okay?” A strong hand grasped his arm and mercifully took the tray away from his trembling fingers.

“I’m fine.” Josiah blinked, clenching his teeth hard, sweat trickling down his face.

“Here – hold on to me.” Alexander gripped him tightly, holding him up. Josiah had a few years and several inches on his indie, but he still felt like an infant clinging to his father as Alexander steered him safely back to the duck and helped him inside.

“Fuck!” Josiah banged the palms of his hands on the steering wheel. Alexander silently handed him his tea. He took a deep gulp, feeling the warm fluid ground him, and his vision slowly cleared, his breathing becoming calmer.

“The same nightmare as before?” Alexander queried gently.

“Yes. It’s never happened during the day, though. It’s usually when I’m asleep.”

“Any idea what could have triggered it?” The IS glanced at him curiously.

“No. Just… I was crossing the street with a tray of cups the night Peter died, but I’ve done that plenty of times since without this happening. I always buy drinks for my team when we’re working a case.”

“Perhaps because of Owen – triggering memories of Peter?” Alexander suggested.

“I don’t know.” Josiah clenched his fists so hard they made his sore knuckles sting, but the pain was a blessed distraction.

“Here.” Alexander passed him a sandwich, shooting him a few concerned glances as they ate. But mercifully, he said no more.

A little cluster of reporters was still gathered outside Josiah’s house when they returned home .

“Get down,” he ordered. Alexander swiftly ducked, just in time, as the reporters spotted the AV.

Dozens of camera flashes lit the air, but they didn’t get what they’d come for.

Clicking open the garage door, Josiah drove swiftly inside and the doors closed behind them, shutting out the media scrum. “Fuckers,” he growled.

“I thought you’d be used to them by now. They’ve been all over you for the past few years,” Alexander said as they climbed out of the duck.

“Yeah – at Inquisitus, usually, not here.” Josiah glanced at Peter’s gleaming red car.

“Ah, I see. This is your home. Your sanctuary.”

“Yes, but it was his home, too. It feels like they’re violating him.

His memory.” Josiah placed a hand on the car.

“This was Peter’s house. It still is his house, more than it’s ever been mine.

He grew up here. Sometimes, I swear I can still hear him around the place…

” He broke off, feeling stupid. “Christ, I sound like a nutter.”

“No. I understand,” Alexander said quietly.

He touched Peter’s car too, lightly brushing his fingertips along the smooth surface until he reached Josiah’s hand, stopping next to it so their fingers were touching.

“After my mother died, I sometimes thought I could sense her, although she was always just out of reach, as if she was in another room, or behind a curtain. I used to—” He stopped abruptly, and Josiah was surprised to see that his eyes were wet.

“I used to have her scarf,” he confided.

“It smelled of her, and when I inhaled, I could see her, vividly, in my mind’s eye.

That’s one of the hardest things about being an IS – no scarf, no photos of my mother, no videos – just my memories, and you forget.

You forget their faces, the details of their features…

how they looked, and moved, and sounded. ”

“Yes.” Josiah covered Alexander’s hand with his own. “That’s exactly it.” They stood there for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. “Come on – I have work to do.”

“Were you taken in by Tyler?” Alexander asked as they walked up the steps to the house. “Even for a second?”

Josiah paused. “No. Not even for a second.”

“I wish I’d known.”

“You should have trusted me,” Josiah said meaningfully. Opening the interior door, he locked it again behind Alexander once they were safely in the house.

“You have a good poker face; I thought he’d caught you in his web.

I’ve only ever known him to win, you see,” Alexander explained.

“That’s all I saw during my time as his indie – all the people he caught and used.

He finds out what people want most, and then he creates a trap designed especially for them. ”

“Well, he doesn’t have it in his power to give me what I want most.”

“Peter? That’s what you want most, isn’t it? You want Peter back?”

Josiah grunted. “Yeah, and that can never happen.”

“Owen…”

“Was a pale imitation.” Josiah snorted derisively. “Men like Tyler always mistake style for substance, because they believe everyone thinks the same way they do. Peter wasn’t a type. I fell in love with who he was, not what he looked like. Owen didn’t come close.”

“He sounds very special,” Alexander responded softly.

“He was. I’d never met anyone like him before, and I never will again. You can’t replace people with someone who looks a bit like them. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Elliot tried,” Alexander said. Josiah stopped in the process of removing his jacket. “He even gave me his dead husband’s name. He wanted me to pretend to be Chris – that’s why he got upset when I forgot and called him ‘sir’ by mistake. I felt sorry for him, because he had to know it wasn’t real.”

“Maybe, but from what you’ve said, Elliot had the emotional depth of a potato.” Josiah hung up his jacket and then jogged up the stairs.

“You’re not like that. You’re much better than him.” Alexander stood at the bottom of the stairs, gazing up.

“Me? I’m an idiot,” Josiah told him gruffly.

“I like to be in control, but grief makes you realise how little control you have. You realise your love can’t protect the people you care about, no matter how strong it is.

Life and death are chaotic, messy – nobody controls them.

Peter understood that; he was chaotic and messy, too.

He took everything life threw at him in his stride.

He’d have moved on by now if I’d been the one who’d died that night.

He’d have known how. I don’t. I’m frozen in the same spot, holding on tight to something that’s long gone.

” He felt his voice break and wondered where those words had come from.

“You must be so tired,” Alexander said gently. “Holding on so tightly for so long. You must ache to put that burden down.”

His sympathy made Josiah’s eyes sting; bending his head, he struggled to regain control. When he looked up, he found Alexander still gazing at him from the foot of the stairs.

“Trouble is, I think it might be the only thing holding me together,” he said. “If I let it go…”

“You’re afraid you’ll fall apart?” Alexander shook his head. “You won’t. You might unravel a little, but you’re strong. I’ve found the human spirit is more resilient than you could ever believe.”

“You’re more flexible than me. You adapted.”

“Oh no.” Alexander gave a little laugh. “I broke. I broke, but I survived, and once you realise you can survive that, then you can survive pretty much anything.”

“I don’t want to break,” Josiah told him firmly.

There was a mystified expression on Alexander’s face that slowly turned into one of profound sympathy. “Oh, Josiah – you don’t realise, do you? You broke years ago. All you’ve been doing ever since is keeping yourself broken, instead of allowing yourself to heal.”

Josiah gave another little grunt and turned away. “I must do some work,” he said tersely. “Don’t disturb me.”

He took a shower to clear his head. He was still shaken by what had happened in the street, but he couldn’t let that distract him now.

He stood under the pounding water, trying to understand what Alexander wanted from him.

The trip to Tyler’s house had been enlightening, for all sorts of different reasons, but he was no further forward in solving Dacre’s murder.

Why had Alexander taken him there? What was this big secret that would make him angry and upset? Would it help him find Dacre’s killer?

“So many mysteries wrapped up in such a fascinating package,” Peter’s voice murmured in his ear. “No wonder he intrigues you. ”

“Not helping,” Josiah growled. “God, I miss you.” He rested his head against the cool shower tiles. “If you were here, I could talk this through with you – although fuck knows what you’d have said if I’d brought an IS home to stay with us.” He grinned.

“I’d have welcomed him. You can tell that poor bastard has been through hell.”