Page 20 of Now Comes the Dark

Her words were met with applause. Roman and Ashley joined in. He needed to. Whatever action was decided upon, he would be part of it. He’d experienced first-hand the kind of abuse his people were suffering. It was time to fight back.

“But before all that,” Anjoa continued, “there’s something far more important we need to do. Keep safe. Look out for each other. No one else will do it for us. We need to take care of ourselves. Starting right now, tonight, you need to be vigilant. There are too many bastards out there who want to hurt us. Not all of them are killers, but they’ll beat the shit out of you if they get the chance.”

Ashley put a reassuring hand on Roman’s forearm. “You okay?” he mouthed.

Roman nodded. He didn’t want sympathy or to make any of this about him. It was about Cameron, the five other victims and protecting anyone from future danger.

“No more risks,” Phil yelled. “No casual hook-ups with sketchy men who won’t even give you their name. No going down dark alleys with strangers. No inviting dubious people home. And if you really must do all that, make sure someone sees you. Meet them in a public place first. Get their fucking faces on CCTV. Tell your friends what you’re up to. Safe call each other. If you don’t want to take someone home, then drag their arses to TheViaduct. You can fuck them there. It’s a safe space with plenty of staff and security. You won’t be alone.”

Phil’s words were met with more serious applause. No one laughed or cheered or thought any of it was funny. The world had changed. Their lives had been touched by darkness.

There was a palpable sense of fear among the crowd. So thick, Roman felt like he could touch it. He shared it, too. What had happened to Cameron could easily have happened to him or Ashley or any of their friends.

Everything Anjoa and Phil had said was right.

The danger was real, and it was here, and any one of them could be next.

Chapter Eight

Rising Tensions

The rest of the year came and went. Several of the men who had been associates or lovers of Cameron Taylor were picked up by the cops for questioning. They were all later released without charge. The LGBTQ community accused Blyham Police of a witch hunt. Rather than make legitimate headway into the investigation, it was easier for them to round up other gay guys and haul them in. Tension with law enforcement officers was at an all-time high.

The only good Roman saw to come out of it was a reduction in general hate crimes across the village. A young gay guy had been killed in a hit and run on the waterfront, right in front of The Vermont Hotel, but as it had occurred outside of the LGBTQ sector, no one saw it as being related. The driver had not been found. Blyham Police had finally put more uniforms on patrol and employed a liaison officer to instil some faith. With the patrons of the village no longer such easy targets, the incidents of abuse fell considerably, not that he noticed any change in behaviour. People were scared and afraid to go out alone.Throughout the Christmas and New Year periods, he had never seen the venues so empty. It was safer to stay away or frequent the mainstream city centre bars and clubs.

Only The Viaduct seemed to thrive. With everyone cautious of going home with a potentially deadly strangler, the arches and corridors of The Viaduct were the safest place to get off.

Roman had moderated his own behaviour since that weekend in October and had only had a single hook-up in that whole time. He’d met a guy online, and after a few conversations, they’d got together for coffee before going back to Roman’s place for sex. It had been pretty good, and Benito, a local guy of Italian heritage in his early thirties, had been a hottie, but there was no magic. Benito had messaged him afterwards, interested in a second date, and he’d suggested going for a meal that time, but Roman couldn’t see the point in stringing him along when he had no intention of taking it further.

Benito had seemed like a nice guy, but Roman was not in the market for a boyfriend.

However, when he did go out, he still kept his eyes open, hoping to see Mallon again, but in two months, there had been no sign of the sexy Frenchman.

In early January, the Pride committee announced a joint meeting to be held at the town hall with representatives from the police.

“We should go,” Roman had said when Ashley informed him of the plan.

“What good will it do?”

“It lets them know we’re still here and that they need to do a lot more to catch the Blyham-fucking-Strangler.”

It had not escaped anyone’s attention that the killer had been working to a schedule for a year and half, with a new murder committed every two-to-four months. If he stuck to that timetable, he would claim his next victim sometime betweenJanuary and March. With a growing sense of urgency, Roman and Ashley set out one Friday evening to attend the event at the town hall.

Roman had to leave work on the dot to get there in time. It wasn’t ideal. His employers had warned of a downturn in business and the need to make cuts in the first quarter of the year. Roman had done all he could to show willingness to his bosses—arriving early, staying late and taking short lunch breaks most days. He hadn’t left on time in weeks, but tonight was too important for him to miss.

It was a cold evening. In his winter jacket, leather gloves and the woollen scarf his mother had given him for Christmas, he still felt the chill as they walked through the streets. Breath swirled in vapours around his head, and his feet were numb. So far, snow had held off, though with cold this fierce, he felt it couldn’t be far away.

It was a relief to step into the warmth of the town hall foyer. A notice in the entrance said the LGBTQ Liaison meeting was being held in a function room on the first floor. It was an old building from the early 1900s. Despite a grand exterior, the inside had suffered from a low budget refit sometime in the last ten years and had the over-lit, plastic appearance of a motorway service station.

“I haven’t been here since my cousin got married,” Ashley admitted as they climbed the stairs.

“It’s an unusual venue for a wedding,” Roman said, taking in the characterless modern features.

“All she could afford…cheap and cheerful. They’ve got a good catering team, and the bar has dirt bargain-basement prices. And I remember sucking off one of the groom’s mates in the toilets.” He pointed along the corridor when they reached the first floor. “Down there.”

Roman laughed. “They should hire you as a tour guide. You could entertain the tourists with your colourful local tales. ‘Places I have shagged’.”

“Bitch,” Ashley tutted. “Anyone would think you weren’t the man who has a revolving door on his arse.”

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