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“Known me for just a moment. How would you know? Fuck you, I’m not sweet.” The second kiss to the forehead said otherwise, as did the tone devoid of spite.
“How’d he die?”
“I’d gone to see him. I talked. He balked. He tried to threaten me with a knife and tripped over a rug.”
It sounded oddly banal. “One does have to be careful with rug placement.”
“He hit his head on a table and didn’t get back up.”
Blinking, Paul asked, “Where… were you?”
“His cottage.”
“Right. Did anyone see you come or go? Hear you? Hear him?” It was the only fear he had around the news; Sykes himself roused neither sympathy nor nervousness. He’d had no living family besides Muriel, and she was well away by now. Given her usual hours at The Bell, Sykes probably hadn’t even realized she was gone yet. Paul also didn’t imagine his contacts or peers, such as they were, would think to check on him until he didn’t show for something.
Once they did, it would be difficult to construe that type of injury — especially suffered by someone under the influence of drink — as foul play without any evidence of more trauma to the body.
“No.”
“Good.” He trusted Alastair’s experience enough to believe him if he said he hadn’t been noticed. “Well, I should think it’s the way most of us thought he’d die… if not in a puddle of his own vomit. A peer will probably find him, sometime, but he hasn’t any family besides Muriel, so we needn’t worry about that.”
“Remind me never to cross you,” said Alastair with a smile. “You’re eerily pragmatic.”
“I told you. I don’t like Sykes. And anybody could die that way… I think about it all the time while I’m downstairs. Watched so many almost-deaths.” He chuckled. “And it’s not just people who’ve been drinking… it’s everybody. One thoughtless step and… hell, I’ve almost bashed my head on things.”
“Hush.”
Paul thought of something else, though, and did not hush. “Wait. What did you do with the knife?” He assumed, in any event, that someone like Alastair would know to do something with it. There might not be any signs of a struggle, but if he was discovered still holding his knife, there could be suspicions about what had transpired.
“You’re a clever lad to think of that.” Alastair almost purred the words, and it went directly to Paul’s cock. “Took it with me. Thought about leaving it in an innocent sort of place, a table or something, like he’d just left it there himself. But… better to be safe.”
“I’m just happy you’re all right. I don’t think this will come back to haunt you, if you want the truth.” He supposed he’d know if he suddenly dreamt about something coming of it, but until then he’d assume the matter was finished.
When Alastair began to work gently at the largest knot in his right shoulder, Paul suppressed a low noise of pleasure and tried to think beyond this contentment. Tomorrow would dawn. With it would come realities, some less quotidian than others, and he couldn’t fathom hiding his premonitions from Alastair even if he was afraid to expose them. Among the list of subjects he wanted to broach, it lingered in his mind because of how they’d passed the night so pleasurably.
It wasn’t what he’d seen while trying to serve Sykes a beer — without looking like he was somewhere among the stars as he spilled it onto his lap.
In what he’d experienced, Alastair’s hair was less dark, more gray, and his face was a little more worn. It sported more of a beard. The bed had been awash with afternoon light, and he had a tattoo at the base of his throat where there weren’t any at present. It was a canary, Paul now knew, thinking back to what he’d seen. He just had better context to recognize the type of bird.
All of these details gave him hope.
“I told you,” said Alastair. “Hush.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your brain is saying a lot. I feel it chattering and burning in your skull.”
“I hope it isn’t. Fevers can be awful.”
“Not like that.” Alastair chuckled. He rubbed the same knot until it began to give and Paul couldn’t stop himself from groaning, then. “You’re thinking ahead.”
“Aren’t you?”
Also of some comfort, Paul was sure Alastair needed to say things, too, and he would accept whatever was freely given without angling for more.
“Oh, a little. But right now… I’m still taken by all your delicious little noises.” Alastair punctuated the words with a firm thumb on tense flesh.
“More of that, please.”
