Page 7 of Now Comes the Dark

A high-pitched scream cut through the night. All three men were out of it, one clutching his head, the other a broken nose and the third cupping his balls as tears streaked down his face.

“Get the fuck out of here,” the stranger growled at them. He had an accent that Roman couldn’t place. Now was not the time to figure it out. “I’ve already called the police. They’ll be here in minutes.”

“You assaulted us,” the ginger man wailed, getting unsteadily to his feet.

“And when the cops arrive, I’ll tell them why,” the man answered. “Self-defence. I recorded what you were up to on my phone before wading in. A homophobic attack will look great on your police record, don’t you think? You can try to explain yourside when you go in front of the magistrates’ court. But it won’t be as fun as when I talk to the papers and tell them how easily I kicked your asses.”

The big guy straightened up. His breath was fast and irregular, but he appeared to be making a recovery. Without the element of surprise, Roman wondered how well the stranger would fare against them, however magnificent he’d already proved himself to be. The man was weighing up his options.

“Come on, big boy,” the stranger said, adopting an assertive fighting stance. “Let’s see what you’ve got?”

“I need a hospital,” the little runt wailed. “I’m not kidding. My nose is broken.”

The other two exchanged glances, as though working out whether they could take him together. The ginger one still had a hand on the back of his head.

The big man was the first to speak. “Screw this. Get in the car. It’s not worth the fucking aggro.”

His companions were quick to obey. They were out of their depths, and they knew it. The big man moved to the driver’s side. “There’ll be other nights, faggots. You won’t be so lucky next time.” He spat on the ground before getting behind the wheel.

Roman stared at the man who had saved him as they drove away. He tried to speak, but there were no words. His throat was paralysed.

“Come on,” the stranger said, “before their egos get the better of them and they circle around for another shot.”

“The police,” Roman gasped at last. “You called the police.”

“No. I didn’t have time. And it turns out, I didn’t need them.” He took a gentle grip of Roman’s arm and led him back down the road. “Come on. The New Inn will still be open. We need to get off the streets for now.”

The man walked fast. Roman had trouble keeping up with him and couldn’t stop from looking over his shoulder to see if his attackers were following. The road was clear.

“Thank you,” he said at last. Now that the shock of the ordeal was sinking in, he felt a growing weakness all through his body.I could have died there. At best he’d have faced a trip to the hospital to fix several broken bones. Those men had been serious, and though he hadn’t paid attention to all the hate crimes that had occurred in Blyham, he knew how badly beaten the survivors had been. And five men hadn’t been lucky at all.

“Mallon,” the man said. “My name is Mallon. I couldn’t stand by and watch them get away with that.”

“Thank you,” he repeated. “I’m Roman. How…how did you do that? There were three of them. That could easily have ended differently.”

“Boxing. Boot camps. I’ve been a fighter since I was a boy.”

The New Inn was fifty yards ahead. Roman saw a group of customers outside, and relief rushed through him. People. His kind of people. They were safe—for now, at least.

He glanced at Mallon as they walked. His gaze was fixed in front.A man with purpose and determination. His expression was deadly serious, his jaw taut.

The New Inn was the most traditional of the bars in the village, with old wooden floors and dark wood panelling. The long, original bar led through to a more recent extension and conservatory with a beer garden. The DJ played a selection of songs from the 1970s and ’80s, while the clientele of older gays stood around chatting. The bar area was packed. Mallon guided Roman through the crowd to the near-empty beer garden. Efficient heaters kept the night chill at bay.

“Stay here,” Mallon said, releasing his arm once Roman was seated. “What do you want to drink?”

“Vodka. Diet Coke.”

Mallon nodded and left him.

Roman wrapped his arms around himself and shivered, despite the warmth.Fuck. He’d never experienced anything as frightening in his entire life. Like any gay man, he was used to homophobia, but the abuse he’d experienced in the past had always been verbal—name calling and hateful comments. This was the first time he’d been threatened with physical danger.And if Mallon hadn’t turned up when he did?Roman shuddered and his heart raced again.

His hands throbbed. Some of the skin was broken on both palms from when he’d fallen forward. He inspected the damage. It could have been a lot worse. He’d have to clean them up to avoid getting an infection.

Mallon returned a few minutes later and set a drink in front of Roman. “I got you a double. You’ll need it.”

“Thanks.”

Mallon had a whisky for himself. He pulled out a chair and sat beside him. “Okay now?”

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