Page 18 of Now Comes the Dark

After another minute, the watcher faded into the shadows and disappeared through the alley that led to the next street.

The time would come. And soon. But it would not be tonight.

Chapter Seven

Murder with the Morning

Roman dreamed about Mallon. He was in bed with the hot French man, their limbs entwined, bodies arching together as they kissed and caressed every part of each other. Several times Roman threatened to wake up, but somehow forced himself back into the dream, where they were still together, still kissing, but fucking now. Roman moaned in his sleep. The dream was so real, so intense, that he could feel the heat of Mallon’s body against his own, could smell his skin and taste the whisky and smoke on his breath.

An urgent knock at the bedroom door pulled him back to reality. He fought it, wanting to remain in his imagination with Mallon, but the knocking persisted and in seconds he was fully awake.

“What?” he groaned.

“Can I come in?” Ashley called.

Roman had tossed the covers aside in his sleep. A raging boner tented the front of his underpants. He grabbed the duvetand pulled it over him. “Okay.” He rearranged the pillows and shuffled up the bed.Ouch. His head hurt when he moved.

They had gotten home before eleven and had polished off a full bottle of red wine with their pizza, before starting on a bottle of vodka and playing their favourite songs on YouTube as they opened their hearts to each other. Roman had admitted how strong the sexual desire Mallon had unleashed in him was, while Ashley got maudlin and detailed all the things he regretted about dating Patrick. He had a vague memory of stumbling to bed sometime after four.

Ashley came into the bedroom, wearing a pair of pyjama shorts and a baggy Spiderman T-shirt. He held his phone in front of him.

“What time is it?” Roman asked, shielding his eyes from light that came through the open door.

“Nearly one.”

Shit. Another Sunday wasted to a late night and a hangover.

Roman groaned and wriggled into a sitting position. Ashley got onto the edge of the bed.

“Have you seen what’s happened?” he asked.

“You’ve literally just woke me up,” Roman laughed, managing to open his eyes fully for the first time. His Mallon-induced erection stayed rock hard beneath the covers.

“There’s been another murder, someone from the village.”

“What? Who?”

“Not sure. The victim lives on the Grange Estate in the East End, they say.”

“How do you know it’s related to the other killings?”

“It’s what people are saying on WhatsApp and Facebook.”

“Gossiping. It could be totally unconnected.”

“They’ve never been wrong before.” Ashley’s WhatsApp group had broken the news of the last three murders in the community before the details had been publicly released. He tapped thescreen of his phone as the messages refreshed. “It’s definitely a murder. The police have got the whole place sealed off. Look.”

He showed the screen, which displayed a photo of a typical crime scene. The area was taped and guarded by uniformed officers, while a fully kitted forensic team worked in the background. The horrible reality of the image shocked him wide-awake. Had another member of their community fallen victim to a hate crime?

“How long has it been since the last one?”

Ashley rubbed his stubbled chin. “About four months, give or take. Wasn’t Charles Lear killed sometime in June? And that couple were killed a couple of months before that.”

Roman nodded. “Yeah. That was in April, around Easter. Fuck. What is this city coming to?”

Ashley studied the photograph again. “The fucking police are only interested when someone gets killed, a juicy case they can cover themselves in glory with when they solve it. But if they do confirm the victim was one of us, no doubt they’ll file it away and move on.”

There was a huge distrust of Blyham Police with the LGBTQ community. Sometimes Roman thought his friends went too far in the fervour of their hatred of the cops, but he only had to remember the statistics to share their anger. Despite an overall rise in abuse and violence within the village, a figure he was now part of, five men had had been murdered in the last fourteen months and not a single charge had been brought. Several people had been arrested and taken in for questioning, friends and partners of the victims, but no serious suspects had come to light. If the current speculation was proved to be right, then this morning brought the total of dead to six—six that they knew of. There could be other deaths that hadn’t been connected to the case.

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