Men of London 02 - Sight and Sinners (23 page)

Taylor shook his head vehemently. “Don’t talk such crap. It’s the action that counts. We all have impulses, which bring out our bad side. It’s not acting on them that makes us the better man.”

Draven turned and strode over to the front door. He opened it and beckoned Taylor over. “You need to leave.”

Taylor stared at him. “Leave? Draven, this isn’t going to go away when I do. I
spoke
to Jude. He asked me to tell you to let him move on. He even quoted some damn line from a book from some author, Susan Scart Milly someone or other, about brothers and sisters. He said it was your favourite quote.”

Draven’s eyes flinched at that, as if recognising the quote, and Taylor took hope and pressed on. “He wants to be with your folks, wants to be at peace. You can’t deny him that.”

“Leave.” Draven’s tone was uncompromising, his shoulders ramrod straight, his face unrelenting. “I should never have gotten involved with you. All you do is confuse people with your bloody so-called psychic crap and I want no more part of it. “

Taylor’s heart broke and his eyes prickled with tears. “Honestly? That’s your answer to all this, to bury your damn head in the sand and push everyone away who gets close to you?” He shook his head. “I’m just the messenger, Draven. I always have been. I can’t distort the truth or tell lies, and I thought you’d realised that. Obviously I was wrong.”

Eyes blinded with hot tears, he fumbled for his shoes and slid his feet into them. “Fine. You want me gone, I’ll go. But I’m warning you. Don’t call me again with apologies until you’ve got your head right.” He shrugged into his jacket and fastened it with shaking hands. Draven still stood as still as someone frozen in time in an old film clip.

Taylor tried to calm his racing heart, and the sobs that threatened to well up. It had been an emotional day and he hated himself for feeling so vulnerable.

He walked to the still-opened door and as he reached the step outside, he turned back to look at Draven, whose face was set, his lips pinched.

“I’m going to say this once, so listen. I know I shouldn’t have but I really care for you.” Taylor swallowed as the lump in his throat grew bigger and his chest grew tighter. “I know it’s only been a short while but I thought we had something starting. It looks like it’s one-sided.

“In case we don’t see each other again, I thought you should know. Perhaps one day when you sit down and think about everything I’ve told you, you’ll realise I never meant to hurt you, I just wanted to help.” Tears were rolling down his cheeks now. “I hope you think about things, Dray. For your and Jude’s sake.”

Draven continued to stare at him through eyes that seemed carved out of obsidian.

Taylor tried to smile but wasn’t sure he’d pulled it off. “Jude told me something else. He said to tell you Pudsey said hello. I hope whatever or whoever that is, it brings you comfort. Goodbye, Draven.”

Taylor turned away and walked down the stone steps to the pavement and didn’t take another glance backward. His eyes were so filled with hot tears it was unlikely he’d have seen anything anyway. He wanted to get home to his place, to Leslie, who would cuddle and mother him, make him feel loved and wrap him in blankets and hold him tight. Then he wanted to fall into darkness and sleep the pain away.

*****

Draven closed the door behind Taylor’s departing figure and moved to the kitchen. He was numb, confused, his chest ached with pain he’d never experienced before and his hand hurt like shit from where he’d cut it. Drops of blood spattered the carpet in neat lines, and he ignored that as he reached the kitchen sink and washed away the blood that caked his fingers. Like an automaton, he pulled out the first aid box from the cupboard under the sink, put plaster on the cut then took a bottle of carpet cleaner and a rag back into the lounge and hallway to try to repair the damage he’d done on the carpet. For some minutes he busied himself with cleaning up the mess, scrubbing the blood away and trying to forget the past few hours had ever happened.

Finally, he dropped the blood-soaked cloth in the laundry basket then stood stock still in the kitchen as his stomach tensed and his hands shook. With eyes as gritty as a beach full of sand, he took deep breaths to stave off the panic that threatened as random thoughts flooded his brain.

Dear God, I nearly hit Taylor.

I told him to leave, that I didn’t want him. I hurt him so badly. Those tears, God, he looked shattered. He said he cares for me. Does he love me? If he did, he probably doesn’t anymore.

Hell, I love him so damn much.

Fuck, my comatose brother wants me to switch off his life support and let him go.

“What the fuck kind of karma is this then?” Draven shouted into the empty kitchen. His hands clenched at his sides. “Have I been such an arsehole in a past life that I get to make these kinds of decisions? I didn’t fucking ask for this.”

He sank to his knees on the kitchen floor, head bowed as tears overcame him. The sense of loss at Taylor’s departure; the keen agony of knowing that he’d been telling the truth when he said he’d spoken to Jude; the fact he’d actually raised his hand to Taylor in his pain—all this came surging into his head and he swore loudly, profanity echoing in the still kitchen.

“Fuck you, Jude, fuck you, Taylor and fuck you, Draven bloody Samuels for your pig headedness.”

The outburst didn’t make him feel any better. He moved and sat back against the kitchen cupboard, arms wrapped about his body, trying to make sense of it all. When he finally looked up, the accusing eyes of Freud, the cookie jar, on the counter opposite him seemed to stare right into his soul. Draven stared at the overly large eyes of the pig and whispered to it brokenly.

“I didn’t mean to send Taylor away. I think I just panicked. He knew the quote, the one Jude and I used to say to each other. No one alive knows that. It was our secret quote.” He sniffed and wiped his running nose with his shirt sleeve.

“And he knew about Pudsey. Only Jude could have told him about that stupid cat; I’ve never mentioned him.” He smiled through his tears as he gazed into what now looked like the eyes of a more sympathetic pig.

“We found Pudsey in the shed, all mauled and broken. We fixed him up and stole food and stuff from the kitchen because Mum didn’t like cats. When he was better, Jude snuck him into his room. I told him if Mum and Dad found him, they’d make him get rid of him, but he was adamant. So we kept him hidden for about three weeks until we came down to the kitchen one night looking for midnight snacks and found our folks waiting for us.

“They’d known about the damn cat for weeks and were waiting for us to come clean.” Draven laughed sadly. “They gave us a real bollocking but when it came down to it, they let us keep him. He died of old age years ago.”

Freud looked on wisely, a beneficent smile on his ceramic face. He didn’t seem too worried about the demise of the cat and Draven scowled.

“He was a damn good cat so take that look off your face.” He groaned. “Dear heavens, I’m talking to a damn cookie jar again. I’m really losing my mind. Taylor would laugh himself silly at that.”

His voice tailed off as he realised he probably had no Taylor anymore. He struggled to his feet and picked up his phone, cold tendrils of fear winding themselves through his skin and up his spine. “I fucked up, Freud. Big-time. I need to call him, tell him to come back. Do you think he’ll listen to me? God, I can’t lose Taylor too. I love him, even if I can’t tell him that yet.”

He dialled Taylor’s number and listened anxiously at the ring tone. No one picked up and finally it went to Taylor’s voice mail.

Hi, you’ve reached Taylor. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.

“Taylor, it’s me. I, uhmm, I’m sorry, I was upset and I took it out on you. Again. Please call me, Tay. I’m so damned fucked up I’m talking to my cookie jar and believe me, that pig isn’t a great conversationalist. I know you were telling the truth. I believe in you. You said you cared about me, and that’s,” his voice choked, “That’s good to know.” He winced as he said those words.

Good to know? Way to go, Draven.

“Anyway, call me back when you get this message. I have something to tell you too. In person. Bye.”

He put his mobile down on the kitchen top and glanced at Freud. The pig stared back.

“I can’t do this without him,” Draven murmured. “I can’t help Jude the way he wants me to if Taylor isn’t with me. I need him. I’m not strong enough. Not on my own.”

He left the kitchen and went to the hall cupboard. He pulled out an old blanket and went back into the lounge. There, he switched on the television for background noise and settled himself on the couch, mobile beside him. He wanted to be able to answer his phone straight away if Taylor rang back.

Draping the blanket over his chilled body, Draven sat and watched the rain pummel down outside and run down the windowpanes like escaping sperm. He tried not to think about what the future held.

He called Clay, needing to hear a familiar voice. If he’d thought that Clay would be sympathetic to his plight, he was wrong.

“Shit, Draven, you what?” Clay exclaimed. “Christ, are all your brains in your dick and when you come, you lose them? You and I both know that man is the best thing that ever happened to you. We’ve talked about it often enough.”

Draven curled his fingers in both anger and guilt. “I called him to apologise and he’s not picking up,” he growled. “What am I supposed to do? Kidnap the guy and hold him prisoner until he gives in?”

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Then Clay sighed. “I guess it doesn’t work for everyone,” he muttered and Draven’s jaw dropped.

“What? You mean you’ve actually done that? I was bloody kidding, you psycho.”

“What? Oh. Of course.” Clay’s voice sounded hesitant, unusually so for a man who had a rod of steel in his back and the balls and principles to match. “I was joking too.”

Draven wasn’t quite so sure but he didn’t push it. There was time enough to find out more about that cryptic statement later. Right now, he had a man to win back.

Clay continued. “Well, all I can say is keep wearing him down and hope he’ll come around. I mean, he’s right, Dray. If that’s what Jude wants, maybe you need to listen.”

Draven shook his head in wonderment. “You believe him when he says he talked to my brother? I thought this whole thing might have been a bridge too far even for you. I never thought I’d see the day when solid, earth-based Clay Mortimer fell into the hole that is Alice in Wonderland and believes someone actually speaks to people on another plane of existence.”

Clay sounded sad when he next spoke. “Not everything can be explained in science. If you’d read the reports from some of the people Taylor has helped with his gift, and when you’ve been where I have trying to stop someone you love going the opposite way and killing them…” He stopped, seeming aware that he’d revealed too much. “Anyway, I have an open mind. You need to keep one too. For both your and Jude’s sake. I love that boy, Draven. But if he’s suffering or wants to move on, I rather think that’s his prerogative, don’t you?”

“I thought you said you tried to stop someone killing themselves,” Draven remarked quietly, reading between the lines not written. “Isn’t that their choice too?”

“No you fucker, it is not.” Clay growled. “This person is alive, walking around and in possession of all their faculties. They need help. Your brother is not one of those people, no matter how you want to sugar coat it.

“I can’t tell you what to do about Jude, Dray. But I can tell you that you need to work on getting Taylor back if you love him. Don’t let him go.” There was an element of pain in Clay’s voice and Draven very much wanted to pry, but he knew Clay. The man wouldn’t spill his guts without extreme pressure and now was not the time.

So he thanked his friend, mentor and boss for his advice and went back to staring at the pig.

Chapter 11

Four days later and Draven was going out of his mind. Taylor still hadn’t called back. It was a grim reminder of the last time Draven had been an arsehole, only this time, he wasn’t so sure that it was going to be fixed. His texts and calls were going unanswered. Draven knew there was only one thing he could do. Face the dragons in their den and call on some support that hopefully wouldn’t punch him in the face.

It was why he found himself in Galileo’s that evening, hopping from foot to foot in anxiety and apprehension by the reception desk, as he waited for Eddie Tripp to make his appearance.

Gideon had been sympathetic to his plight but told him in no uncertain terms that Eddie was pretty mad with him and he’d better watch his right hook. Then he arranged for his boyfriend to take time out from the kitchen to meet with Draven. There was added fuel to the best friend fire, apparently, as Leslie, too, was at the restaurant on a blind date. Draven hoped fervently that he didn’t have to face them both down. He didn’t think he’d survive it.

Alas, his hopes were dashed when he saw the pair striding toward him, one whose piercing green eyes were fixed firmly on his face with an expression of murder, the other dressed to kill in a simple but elegant suit worn with stiletto heels.