Shadows of the past i te.., p.20
Shadows of the Past I (Temporary Bliss #2), page 20
He should have put an end to it the moment Aleksandr had first shown up at his door unable to remember who he was after their initial encounter at the rooftop party back in summer. Stupid. Weak. But Raymond’s resolve had been declining since that night. His sobriety too. There had been a time in the past when he’d reached a balance; things had been going smoothly — they had been. Something had snapped along the way, though. The world had turned on its head and he had begun losing himself again.
The added stress Victor had thrown on his shoulders had not helped him, only made things worse. How did I end up here? It was hard remembering when his mind had started fraying. The past months alone had been tumultuous to say the least.
Dany’s death anniversary, last year. Kneeling in front of his grave in Moscow. It had been a rainy day, gloomy. Fitting. The reddish-yellow of the leaves had been swaying in the wind, weighed down by droplets of water dripping from the edges, and the rivulets had been running down on the black marble, blurring his picture. The rain had been cold on his face, soaked through his clothes. Only a lit candle with a bronze metallic covering on it had stood by his grave, the one he’d brought with him, the flame fighting the drafts fiercely. A struggle reminiscent of Dany’s own. The guilt should have subsided with time, but the more Raymond had stood there, the more he’d fallen into apathy. It had been a spur of the moment decision. The first time in so long. Before the missing drive. Before meeting Alex. Things had been going well. They had been going too well, but loneliness had been eating away at him.
He squeezed his eyes shut, seeking to banish the image from his mind. His shaking hands were pale in the wan light. The more he tried to fight the memories, the harder they struck, confusing him as always, making himself question his own sanity. The bitterness clung to him. A memory got distorted after recalling it one too many times. He knew that some things had been real that night, the same way he got the certitude of being alive simply because he was able to draw breath; the night his life had taken a turn for the worse. Those things haunting his sleep, the shouts, the desperation, the struggle and the blood — they had all been real.
A sigh parted his lips. A sheen of cold sweat broke over his skin. He forced his mind to stop spinning. He looked up at Alex.
I got Dany in my mind and Alex in my bed.
Despite holding onto brittle hopes, he knew putting himself through the same thing twice wasn’t something he intended to do. In spite of his better judgement, a sense of warmth passed through Ray at the fragility he saw on the boy’s face, the bitterness eased. Redemption.
He wanted to embrace the good in what he felt, yet he hated it at the same time. The thought of giving into it taunted him, it whispered to him to abandon all reason and follow it like a blindman.
No. Allowing that kind of weakness was not an option; that path ended in blood. He rubbed his eyes, sighed and stared out the window again. There were bigger issues at hand. At one point he had decided his love life would never occupy a front seat in his thoughts anymore. It was a lie. Being alone was the best option. That’s why no one had ever gotten close to him after Dany. No one but the obstinate child standing up to him and forcing his hand.
What the hell was I thinking?
Alex shifted under the duvet with a whimper. His bare arm hung over the side of the bed, the white gauze on his wrist discernible in the darkness. The notion of losing the boy’s already feeble trust to Victor’s manipulations gave him nausea. Alex was in a confused and vulnerable state, hanging onto every thread of hope which dangled in front of him. Whatever would transpire between the two of them in the future, if Ray could even dare contemplate such a thing, was irrelevant. One thing he was sure of was that he could not let the boy end up as Dany had. Things were already delicate, the last thing he needed was Vitya poisoning his mind further. And he had no doubt the schemes and machinations Victor Petrov would resort to in his race to gain leverage. It seemed like hurting Raymond was the Russian’s main purpose in life lately.
Aleksandr’s eagerness to meet Victor was catastrophic from the get-go. There were certain matters which the youth needed to know and others which were not as much related to him, but they still could be used to influence him in the wrong direction. Not that he was entitled to finding out the problems which concerned Raymond directly, but Ray felt as if he owed it to him. It was clear the boy was not going anywhere. He was headstrong and determined to stick around. Ray knew that much. Aleksandr needed to hear those words from him first, otherwise things could get ugly. But he could not bring himself to think about it. He panicked only at the thought of saying something. It would be best if Alex did not find out. At all, if possible. But he was smart enough to put two and two together, and with Victor showing up anytime to meet him, those revelations would take place sooner rather than later.
“What are you doing on the floor?” Alex’s sleep mumbled voice made him look up once more. The quilt had fallen into his lap exposing his bare chest, one naked leg stretched over one side of the bed.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Ray said, cleaning out the ash from the floor. He dusted off his hands, getting on his feet. It wasn’t a lie.
“Again?” Alex pushed himself up on his arms, gazing after Ray as he paced towards the bedroom door. Raymond narrowed his eyes in the darkness, considering the young man in his bed. He had been foolish to think his restless nights would go by unobserved. “Ray?”
“I’m fine. Go back to sleep,” he said, snarkier than intended. Alex sat up, his black locks a mess from the pillow. He looked young in the pale cast of the moonlight; young and striking. Raymond tried to recall if he’d ever shared something of the sort with Dany, but he was drawing a blank.
“Aren’t you coming back to bed?”
“I’ll sleep downstairs,” he replied, rubbing his forehead.
“Why?”
Even if he hadn’t let out that weak ‘Why?’, Ray could have still seen the defeat in his posture, the sagged shoulders, the little pout on his face.
Because I can’t do this anymore, that’s why. He kept his tongue in check though, despite the words ready to fly out of his mouth. He focused instead on the wounds inflicted on him during the attack on the villa. His chest hurt. His temple pounded. His fingers pulsed. Entertaining the thought a criminal organization was trying to either murder him or gain information of Ivan’s whereabouts was easier than dealing with Alex right then. Yet the resigned acceptance on Alex’s face only brought more pain with it.
The boy would be gone from his bed as soon as he moved in with Mark. He could at least enjoy the last nights with him. Ray could pretend they were whole and after the entire affair was done and dealt with, he would put some much needed distance between them two, maybe even let Vitya tell him everything just to make sure whatever feelings were budding inside of him were properly thrashed and trampled over.
The solution Raymond had come up with was not perfect, but at least he knew Mark could be trusted. Alex’s emotional state had weighed considerably in his decision. Ray could have played the boy on his fingers until he agreed to leaving the country, or accepting the offer to buy him a flat. But at the end of the day, he could not let him be alone. Having somebody to watch over him, having company, Ray hoped that would keep him distracted. He wanted to offer him a sense of normalcy because it had become apparent Alex’s psyche was messed up beyond repair. In that respect, Mark was someone who understood.
“I didn’t want to keep you awake as well,” he said, walking back to the bed. Alex perked up at that, a smile flourishing on his lips again, just like when he’d told him he would agree to get the job at the club. Another mistake done in the spur of the moment, but it could be easily dealt with. Ray would just avoid the place altogether. He tried not to think much about the last two days. The tension between them had been enough to fuel his headaches.
Alex lounged, grabbing his wrist and dragging him back into bed. “Come. I’ll put you to sleep,” he grinned, letting his hand rove over the bruises on his chest. He frowned at them again. The youth had agreed to accept his help only if Ray told him about the attack. Alex had gotten his way in the end. Ray could not help but feel as if he’d been tricked. It was funny to think he could keep such a cold composure in front of men like Ivan but lose all rational thought because of a nineteen-year-old.
Aleksandr’s fingers moved to the Roza tattoo on his chest. His fascination with the ink had not gone unnoticed. Ray hated it. He hated the fact something which stood for blood and death was still carved into his chest, the promise of an allegiance which he no longer wanted to be part of; he hated Aleksandr was drawn to it like a magnet; he hated what that did to him; he hated himself.
He put one knee on the bed and enfolded Alex in his arms, staring into those subtle amber eyes which changed their colour in the light.
“I’ll bet you ten pounds I can put your ass to sleep first,” Ray said.
“Arrrr,” the boy chuckled as he arched like a cat, exposing his neck. “You show me, go on.”
And he did.
***
20th of December
There was a new weight on Raymond’s shoulders and, as with every responsibility, it came with a new headache. He’d spent the past night tossing in bed, unable to get any real rest. Whenever he would drift into a semblance of sleep, any small sound, the crack of the furniture or the faint engine of a distant car would reach him even through the double-glazing windows of the penthouse, jerking him awake. His senses would spring him to an alert state, his eyes darting across the dark room in search for threats, his ears trying to catch the smallest noises coming from the living room downstairs. It would take all but five seconds, sometimes more, until he convinced himself that there was nobody in the house with him. No one was lurking waiting to kill him. No malevolent presence crept through the flat seeking to hurt him. It was only him and Alex, who was out cold most of the night because of the pills.
Raymond envied him. There was nothing he wished for more right then than to swallow a pill and put himself to sleep until morning. But the moment he resorted to pills, he would end up relying on them… from there to the morphine… He shook his head. Whiskey was better. His mind would end up consuming him in this rhythm. Ray recognised the signs — he was losing it, but he still could keep it under control. It was imperative to function.
He had done his best in keeping himself composed over the past days, but the too relaxed act drew as many suspicions as his paranoia, if not more. He pushed himself up, resting on his elbows. He had no clue whether Alex bought into it or not. He was growing bolder by the day, each time he opened his mouth he sent a new hit Ray’s way. Over and over again.
I must be enjoying this, otherwise I wouldn’t make myself go through it.
He rose on the edge of the bed, ungluing the corners of his eyes with the tips of his fingers. There would be no sleep for the rest of the night. His heart slammed too hard against his chest, fluttering like the wings of a bat in search of prey. A cigarette would help him focus. A glass of whiskey would wash away the insomnia. A fistful of pills would put him straight to sleep.
He shook himself again, wary not to wake Alex up. He threw another look over his shoulder at the young man before leaving the room.
***
The call arrived early in the morning. The couch downstairs had been uncomfortable, but he’d managed to get a couple of hours’ worth of sleep. He groaned, sending the empty bottle on the floor as he pawed for his phone. He grabbed the back of the couch and pulled himself up, his stomach roiling its protest as dizziness sent the room into a spin.
“What is it?”
“Were you asleep?”
Drunk out of my ass asleep, yes, he had been. He fell back on the couch, covering his face with his left arm. “What do you want, Roman?”
“A coffee and a bagel. A handjob. Some sleep would be nice.”
“Fuck off,” Ray muttered.
“So, the kid I was talking about the other day.”
Ray squinted. The artificial lights were bright above, aggravating him further. He’d forgotten to turn them off. “Yeah?”
“Evie’s friend?” Roman said at the confusion in Ray’s voice. “He’s got a tail.”
“Alright?”
“They’ve been on him for at least a couple of days, but I doubt he knows it.”
Ray closed his eyes for a moment. Just a couple more seconds of rest, then he would get up.
“Is your British ass paying attention to me?”
Raymond groaned in response. The light hurt. He squinted again, bothered by the headache that made itself felt behind his eyes.
“I need help with this if we don’t want it to get back to Vitya.”
Victor. It was too early to even spare the man a thought. His stomach approved.
“I’ll call you in five minutes,” he said. He left the phone on the table and made his way to the downstairs bathroom. He locked the door behind him and turned the sink taps on. He needed to wake up and make himself look presentable. He might even have time to clean the mess in the living room before Alex came downstairs. He had no idea what the time was or if the boy had already woken up and seen him in that state. He wished he hadn’t. Roman’s judgmental remarks would be enough. His own thoughts were more than he could deal with. But confronting Alex’s persistent questions would cause him to snap.
He emptied his stomach until his ribcage hurt from all the heaving. Only after cleaning himself and washing his face with cold water several times he got out of the bathroom. He picked the empty bottles and the glass as he dialled Roman’s number. He stepped into a puddle and he cursed.
“Where are you exactly?” he said as he made a wad of napkins and got down on one knee to clean the spilled drink.
“I followed him to his hometown,” Roman said unapologetically.
Ray dropped the damp napkins to the floor and took his forehead in his hand. It was going to be a long day.
***
The hometown turned out to be a village with barely functional dirt roads and shepherds goading animals while occupying the entire path. The bleating of sheep and the tang of dung did nothing to alleviate a flourishing headache. Every car moving faster than the cab Raymond was in would overtake them, leaving a trail of fine, blinding snow in its wake which would end up on the window screen.
It had been a trip of over three hours. At first, the idea of ditching the bodyguards and coming to Roman’s help on his own had appealed to him. Then he had reconsidered and decided to drag Marian with him for half the way. Should he need backup, at least he knew the former cop could be counted on.
They had left from the penthouse with one of the SUVs, but then they’d changed cars and the bodyguard had driven him close enough before Raymond had told him to stop in an unsupervised parking lot. Eyes were watching from all directions. Victor had made sure of it. Caution was required while dealing with sensitive matters. This was one of them. Ray would call if he needed help, but it was best if he met Roman alone from there. He would draw less attention and in the event that things were about to get complicated, a man on the outside to pick them up would be a blessing.
The village was so underdeveloped that the closest form of civilization could be reached by car in forty-five minutes. It was utterly insane to think Roman had spent the past days mud-crawling to follow this individual. Despite Raymond’s irritation, it had to be done. Temnota had shown a clear interest in Evsey’s friend. He held some importance, otherwise Raymond doubted they would go to such extents to tail him. Whatever information he might have, Ray wanted to know. It had intrigued him enough to want to put in the effort. This better be worth it.
The place was not too crowded by the time he arrived, and with Christmas nearing, everyone was more preoccupied with their chores. Which meant he would not be drawing too much attention to himself. He asked the driver to pull over and paid for the fare, leaving the cabbie an average tip, just enough to not get himself remarked in any way. It had been enough that he had spent the entire drive with his nose in his scarf, staring down at his phone as a way to avoid recognition. Romanian cabbies were usually chatty and under normal circumstances, talking would have been a good way to blend in if not for his clear accent which would make him stand out for sure. He drew up his hood over his beanie and pulled the scarf higher over his nose, then went down the road following the directions Roman had provided.
All that bouncing from the last hour through the unpaved, snowed roads had made his stomach simmer again. Needless to say, his mood was not appropriate for the task. The few hours of sleep and the inability to eat had left him feeling weak in the bones. A faint hungover still clung to him.
The sky was leaden, already darkening despite the mid-afternoon hours. The white-covered smoking chimneys stood tall against the freezing cold in stark contrast with the thick clouds above.
He shoved his gloved hands into the pockets of his jacket, resisting the impulse of lighting up a cigarette. In spite of the map, he got lost several times, as he missed the right turn down a wooden pathway crossing over a frozen trickle of water. GPS was useful, except in the remote villages of the Eastern European countries, forgotten by civilization.
Few cars passed on the main road; it was eerily quiet in the countryside. Voices could be heard far away, the uttered words indistinct; a dog barked here and there, but the most frequent sound he heard were chickens and the squealing of slaughtered pigs. Bloody chickens everywhere.
Everyone boasted about the country lifestyle, but the difference between people’s dreams and reality was jarring. The Romanian countryside was anything but the idyllic paradise magazines talked about. It had been a hard concept to understand at first that some people lacked potable water and they had to empty their bowels in a garden outhouse, despite living in the twenty-first century. Their lives did not revolve around green oases. Some were so poor they could not even match their shoes, let alone have access to proper healthcare or education.
