Suddenly Isaac seemed to deflate beneath him, like a balloon losing air. Every ounce of tension went from his muscles, and Matthew quickly recognized it for what it was. Defeat. Isaac couldn’t see a way to work this out, to understand it, cope with it, and so he was giving in to his emotions. Sure enough, the form that had grown so pliant, so malleable beneath him started to shudder and shake, racked with sobs that grew more powerful with every passing second.
“Come on now, Nathaniel,” Matthew said, his voice oddly calm. He had no idea where the control was coming from, but as long as he could hold on to it, and his brother, until the scumbag was taken away, then everything would be all right. Eventually. “You can do better than that, surely? You’re a bright guy—you must have a more compelling reason for this than hatred. Than bigotry. And how did you even know about us? We deserve to know.”
A smirk flirted with the corners of Nathaniel’s lips. “Yeah, I suppose you do. Well here it is, in a nutshell. About a year ago now, my grandmother died, and I was the one who ended up taking care of everything—her funeral, the sale of her house, clearing out her belongings. I was up in her attic when I came across a box of stuff that looked ancient. Seriously fucking old. So naturally I started looking through it. What I found, some of it was just stuff, but the rest…well, it was the mother lode. A bunch of diaries that sounded like the writer was a lunatic. Completely off his rocker. Only the more I read, the more I realized he wasn’t. Over four hundred years ago, my ancestor lived and worked in Eyam.”
A strangled sound came from Isaac. Matthew gripped his brother tighter but didn’t speak.
“Some of the entries were uneventful, about daily life, his home, his family. He was a learned man, an accomplished man, as I’m sure you’ve already worked out. But then he began to write the strangest things. About a couple of villagers who disappeared up onto the moor every full moon, changed into wolves and roamed until the moon set. The morning after, they’d come back down into the village and carry on with their lives. My ancestor seemed oddly okay with this, seeming to accept it as a matter of course, which I found out later was because he’d always known about it, ever since he was a child. It was a village secret that was passed down through generations.
“These werewolves, as they were called, were the guardians of the village. Everyone feared the change but knew as long as they kept away from the moor on full moons, everything would be okay. The wolves would protect the village, the livestock, from other predators. They were heroes. My ancestor accepted this. Everyone did. But then something changed.”
The fire in Matthew’s body turned into ice. He knew what was coming next and, in spite of his still-shuddering body, he suspected Isaac did too.
“People started getting ill. Weird blue-black boils covered their bodies, pus-infected, disgusting. They suffered great agony, then they died. Just a few people at first, then more. It was an epidemic and it was spreading. There was panic. People didn’t know what to do. They feared for their lives, feared that God was somehow punishing them for their sins. Those God-fearing folk, fools that they were,” he shot the vicar an apologetic glance, “truly believed this plague was the work of a celestial being. But my ancestor knew better. He investigated, asked questions—the right questions—and discovered that the disease had come into the village at around about the same time that a couple of villagers had returned from a trip to London.”
Matthew lost control of his body. He slumped to one side, falling hard onto the unforgiving surface beneath him, barely noticing the pain that sliced through him as he landed. Vaguely, he was aware that Isaac hadn’t moved either. The fight had left them both, seeped into the floor and away into nothing.
People had thought that he, he and his brother, had been responsible for the outbreak of the plague. It couldn’t be.
Nathaniel continued, seemingly unaware of the brothers’ reactions. “Two villagers who had walked amongst a vicious outbreak of the disease and had not succumbed to it. Instead they carried it on their persons and delivered it upon an unsuspecting village, full of people who loved them. A brutal death sentence for so many. And what did they do? Were they sorry? No. They clubbed together with that…that vicar and forced everyone to resign themselves to their fate, to stay inside the boundaries of the village and wait to die, watching their friends and relatives do the same. Sure, they tended the sick, they buried the dead, they cared, they helped. But what else could they do when they knew they were responsible? That they’d sentenced Eyam to die?”
Matthew watched as if from afar as his brother got his feet underneath him and stumbled upright. Pushing his hair out of his face, he wiped the tears and snot away viciously, then advanced on Nathaniel.
“Hey,” Alex said from across the room, “watch yourself.”
Isaac shot the tooled-up men a glance. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna touch him.”
“You,” he said, leaning down and putting his face inches from his lover’s, “are unhinged. Totally fucking insane. I don’t know who your ancestor is and I don’t fucking care. I just hope he was one of the ones to die. I hope I buried him in an unmarked grave. Clearly he’d already reproduced, which is why you are on this Earth. More’s the pity. He was crazy, and it obviously runs in the family.”
Matthew watched as his brother pushed a finger into the center of Nathaniel’s chest. He crawled forward, willing his limbs to cooperate. He needed to be closer, to do something, anything, to help his brother. To ease his pain.
“I don’t know where your mental fucking relative got that bullshit story from. Yes, Matthew and I had been to London, both of us on business. But it was only when we got to the edges of the city that we realized how bad the situation was, and we weren’t allowed in anyway. So we turned around and came back. We didn’t come into contact with anyone who had been in London. So pray tell me, how the hell could we have carried the Black Death into Eyam? And do you seriously think we could have lived with ourselves for over four hundred years if we had? I’d have happily given my life for any one of those villagers, and would have found a way to kill myself had I been responsible for their fate. But I wasn’t, and nor was my brother. It was a terrible, catastrophic thing that happened, and it haunts me every single day. But it was just a freak of nature, an accident. Nobody was responsible for it.”
Nathaniel’s eyes widened then narrowed. “You would say that, wouldn’t you?”
“No!” Isaac roared, gripping Nathaniel’s shoulders and shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. No one moved a millimeter to intervene. “I wouldn’t! There’s nothing you can say here that can make this right. What happened four centuries ago has no bearing on what you’ve done, other than some thin motive you’ve concocted. You’ve broken the law, you’ve butchered, you’ve tried to frame us, you’ve betrayed us. And now you’re trying to make out that this is somehow all our fault? You’re not even on this fucking planet, are you?”
Nathaniel tried to speak but Isaac wouldn’t allow it. “Don’t,” he snapped. “Just don’t. There’s nothing you can do, nothing you can say to quantify or excuse your behavior, so keep your mouth shut before I ram my fist down your throat. And even that’s too good for you. Tell me,” he continued coldly, “did you cook all of this up from the beginning? That fucking tattoo? Moving to Eyam, befriending me and my brother? Seducing me, making me fall in love with you? Toying with me, stringing me along just so you could force the knife that much deeper then give it a damn good twist?”
“N-no. Well, yes, sort of. I moved to Eyam to get my revenge on you two for what you did. I got the tattoo after finding the diaries, as I started planning what I was going to do.” He was apparently still unwilling to admit he was wrong. “That was all. I never intended to befriend you and I certainly never intended to fall in love with you, Isaac. That was something that just…happened. I couldn’t help it but I also couldn’t deviate from my plan.”
A maniacal laugh escaped Isaac’s throat. “You never intended to fall in love
with me? What the hell are you talking about? You don’t love me—didn’t love me! How in God’s name can you be in love with someone and also try to frame them for something they didn’t do, try to bring their entire lives crashing down around them, completely destroying them? Tell me, how is that possible?”
Nathaniel shrugged. Matthew watched as Isaac’s hands curled into fists, and he stood up and edged closer.
“I don’t know,” Nathaniel said. “It just is. I loved you. I still do, and want to be with you for the rest of my life, but I did what had to be done and I wouldn’t change any of it. I’m sorry I lied to you but I’m not sorry I did it. You both need to be punished.”
Isaac spun around, taking two paces away from Nathaniel, shaking his head. “You’re mentally ill. It’s the only explanation. You have a problem. It’s not jail you should be going to but a medical facility. Out of respect for what we had, I’ll make sure you go to the best place to care for you. But I won’t visit, and I’ll never, ever forgive you. Ever.”
“Isaac, I love you!”
Whirling fast and descending on Nathaniel, Isaac drew back his arm, then whipped it forward and slammed his lover in the face so hard his head snapped back. Matthew reached his brother a millisecond too late to prevent it, but it didn’t matter. Isaac was done. His hands dropped to his sides, and although his body language wasn’t exactly relaxed, he no longer appeared murderous.
Nathaniel’s nose was obviously broken and blood poured down his face. He spat a load of it onto the floor, struggled to breathe.
“This changes nothing, Isaac. I’ll love you until the day I die.”
Matthew’s gaze flitted between his brother and Nathaniel, even as his heart broke for the relationship Isaac had so desperately wanted, had finally gotten, only for it to be ripped away. Nathaniel looked hopeful, earnest, beneath the blood that covered the lower half of his face, streaming onto his clothes.
Isaac stared at his lover for several long moments. Christ, surely he wasn’t relenting?
Pulling in a deep breath then releasing it, Isaac turned to his brother, his expression grim. “Get me out of here, Matthew, before the day he dies comes sooner than he expected.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Isaac waited for his brother to react. He could scarcely believe that he hadn’t gone and added something else to the punch he’d already landed on Nathaniel’s no-longer-perfect face. Perhaps he would now, just to get it in there before the authorities arrived.
Instead Matthew glanced over at Richard. “Over to you now, mate. Do what you’ve gotta do, and know we’re grateful. We’re grateful to all of you,” he added, looking around at the rest of the group. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re going home to get horribly drunk. I probably wouldn’t advise interrupting us—it won’t be a pretty sight.” He shouldered the backpack, which had been tossed to the floor in the scuffle.
Nobody replied. Isaac wasn’t surprised—what was there to say? He couldn’t think of a single word, so he turned and left the church, with Matthew following close behind. He didn’t look at Nathaniel again, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. To remind him that he’d once cared deeply about him. Especially now it was gone, completely gone as if it had never been.
Deep down he was sure it wasn’t as simple as that, but a numbness had set in. Shock, he supposed. Yes, that’d be it. He was a doctor—he knew these things. It was just that his brain wasn’t functioning the way it should, wasn’t providing him with the information he needed. Shrugging to himself, he decided it didn’t matter. Right now he didn’t need information. He needed to get home, and fast. Matthew’s idea of getting horribly drunk was a stroke of genius. Drinking until all the crap was blotted out, then passing out wherever they sat. They’d deal with the fallout in the morning.
It wasn’t big or clever, he knew. But in spite of their animal sides, they were human too. And humanity could only deal with so much. What they’d put up with over the past few months went above and beyond that threshold, and finding out that Nathaniel had been behind it all—well, that had put the threshold out of sight.
Yes, bliss was in the bottom of a bottle.
They strode through the village side by side, not speaking, not making eye contact with each other or anyone else. Clearly they were giving off keep-away vibes, as they passed several villagers who silently got out of their way. Had the word started to spread already? Isaac decided he didn’t care—everyone was going to find out eventually. Find out that he’d been so stupid, had trusted someone, loved someone, only to be betrayed in the worst possible way.
“You’re not stupid, Isaac. None of this is your fault.”
Isaac hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud. “Maybe not, but it won’t stop people thinking I’ve been a total fool.”
“Fuck what people think.” His tone brooked no argument, and Isaac had nothing to say anyway. He continued to bask in the numbness that had spread through him, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could start drinking.
Finally they arrived home, and Matthew let them in with the key he’d retrieved from the backpack. Dropping the bag on the floor, Matthew strode straight into the kitchen, opened a cupboard and rummaged around for something secreted at the back. Turning with a wry expression, he brandished the bottle he’d uncovered. A brand-new bottle of very expensive whisky.
“I was hoping we’d be drinking this to celebrate, not to commiserate. I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me that we’d get hurt in all of this. Finding out who did it, I mean. Obviously the whole thing has hurt us, but I expected to be happy when we found out who it was. Happy that they’d been caught, stopped, and would be prevented from doing anything like it ever again. But I’m not. I’m fucking devastated, so I can’t even begin to imagine how you’re feeling.”
“You know what, brother? I can’t imagine how I’m feeling either. I’m in shock at the moment, I think. So why don’t you crack open that whisky and let me get plastered before I crack and all the pain comes rushing in. I’m not ready to deal with it, not yet. I know I’ll have to at some point, but it’s still all so raw—”
“Hey,” Matthew said gently, moving over and squeezing Isaac’s shoulder. “You don’t have to explain to me. I’m here for you, whatever you want to do. If you want to talk, to cry, to scream, to shout, to beat the shit out of someone… I’m here. Now let’s get you that drink.”
He retrieved two glasses from the cupboard and put them down on the worktop. Opening the bottle, he filled them both to the brim. Screw all that two fingers of scotch crap. They both needed oblivion, and they needed it soon. He didn’t even bother to put the cap back on the bottle.
“Here you go, mate,” Matthew said, handing a glass to Isaac, who took it with a grateful smile. “Christ, if I’d known how this would all turn out, I’d have bought two bottles of this stuff. We could have just necked one each instead of sharing.”
“I’m sure there’s more booze in the house. We’re just starting out with the particularly good stuff. I’d say cheers, but it doesn’t seem right somehow.” Isaac turned and headed for the living room, slumping into the nearest chair. Immediately he gulped down the whisky, reveling in the burning sensation as it exploded across his taste buds, then traveled down his throat. “Hey, Matthew, you’d better bring the bottle over here.”
A second later, Matthew settled into the chair next to his brother, placing the whisky on the table. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Snatching up the bottle, Isaac refilled his glass.
“It’s good stuff, this,” Matthew said.
“Yeah.”
“So you’re not in the mood to talk then, brother? No worries if not, just let me know what you want me to do. What I can do to help.”
Sighing, Isaac downed his second glass. “Help? Help!” Damn, looked as if the numbness was leaving him. Predictably it was being replaced by anger. “There’s nothing in this world you can do to help
me, Matthew. Not unless you can turn back the clock, erase my memory or something. Someone tried to fuck us over, brother, and what did I do? I damn well fell in love with him, didn’t I? I tried so hard not to but it happened anyway. And just as we worked things out, figured out a way to be together despite all the obstacles, I found out he was the one targeting us. I really thought we had something, thought he loved me. But it turned out that all along he was just trying to hurt me.”
Tentatively, Matthew said, “I don’t think he was, not really. Yes, there’s absolutely no excuse for what he did, both to us and to you specifically, but as much as he’s lied and schemed, when he said he loved you I believed him. I really did. It’s just…I think you were right when you said he was mentally ill. The guy’s clearly got something wrong upstairs, which made him act the way he did. Made him so sure he was doing the right thing, forced him to see his plan through to the end even when he became my friend and your lover.”
“I should have fucking known! All the theories we came up with about who could be doing it and why. I thought it was somebody you’d been involved with. It never even occurred to me to look at who I was involved with. I was so blind to the fact it had to be a villager, and probably blind to the fact that Nathaniel would ever do such a thing, that it didn’t even enter my head. I was stupid, so fucking stupid. That tattoo, those damn books…”
“What do you mean?” Matthew asked before refilling his own glass.
“It’s all falling into place now. He’s got a tattoo…well, you don’t need to know where, but he’s got this wolf inked onto him. When I saw it, obviously I asked about it, and he just came up with some excuse. Said he was young and got it on a whim, that it didn’t mean anything. Then, not long ago, we were in his bedroom and there were some really old leather-bound books on the bed. We were, uh, kinda busy, so I didn’t look at them, but I wanted to ask about them and never got the chance. It’s bloody obvious now what they were. The diaries. He’d been reading the damn things that very day, before we…”