Page 158 of Crocodile Tears

He was escorted to a secure exit, where a shiny black limousine was waiting. His new houder had also sent four indentured servants with it, to escort him to his new home. They all wore plain black suits and white shirts, with no insignia to indicate who they belonged to, their silver ID pins neatly attached to their suit jackets.

Their outfits looked cheaper than his charcoal suit, which meant he was already being singled out for different treatment; he wasn’t sure if that boded well for his future or not.

Sliding into the back of the AV, he gazed out of the tinted windows as the limo swept him through the prison gates.

The media were camped outside, desperate to catch a glimpse of him wearing his new houder’s ID tag, and hoping, no doubt, to revel in every last detail of his humiliation.

They rushed forward, cameras flashing, screaming his name, but the tinted windows ensured they didn’t get the shots they wanted. The driver soon lost them.

“Where are we going?” he asked the IS sitting beside him. The man didn’t reply; he didn’t even spare him a glance. Alex resigned himself to the silence. This was his life now, and he’d better get used to it.

He looked out onto the world as an IS for the first time. They passed through a lost zone, then past shops, offices, restaurants, and along residential streets. People were going about their everyday business as usual – getting into their ducks, pushing children along in buggies. Today was just another day for them, but everything had changed for him.

He sat back in his seat, his stomach churning anxiously, wondering what this new life would bring.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

OCTOBER 2095

Josiah

They sat down to eat the casserole Alexander had prepared. It was delicious, but Josiah wasn’t going to tell him that, so he just ate it, in stony silence. Alexander sat opposite him at the kitchen table, chewing slowly, his eyes cast down.

Josiah was too angry to be civil to Alexander right now. He felt violated at the thought of the IS looking through those boxes and seeing into the private, sacred part of his life. His memories of Peter were his and his alone.

In the years since Peter’s death, he hadn’t been able to throw out any part of their life together. At first, he’d kept all Peter’s belongings exactly where they were. It had taken him three years to force himself to move his clothes into the spare room. Until now, he’d never had houseguests.

He should have anticipated that the IS, left alone in the house with too much time on his hands, would start poking around. He’d been so wrapped up in the case that he hadn’t been thinking clearly.

“That’s not the only reason you haven’t been thinking clearly,”he heard Peter say wryly.“AndI can understand why – he’s very attractive.”

Peter had never been the jealous type – he would have been amused by Josiah’s unwilling fascination with Alexander Lytton. Thenagain, Peter had always known that he was as loyal as the day was long – he’d never so much as looked at another man while Peter was alive.

“And for all these years after my death as well,” Peter murmured. “You know, I’d never have asked you to be a monk for me, Joe.”

“Shut up,” he growled.

Alexander looked up, startled. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m going to bed.” He pushed his plate away and stood up.

“Of course.” Alexander stood, too, his head bowed. “I’ll clear away and tidy up, sir.”

He didn’t like Alexander cleaning up after him, but that wasn’t a conversation he felt like having right now. He was bone tired, exhausted by all the activity of the past few days combined with two sleepless nights. He couldn’t handle Alexander or the complexities of his own confused emotions.

Heading upstairs to his bedroom, he took off his suit jacket and hung it up neatly in his wardrobe, and then swiped off his tie. Removing his muddy shoes, he left them outside the bedroom door to remind himself to polish them in the morning. He was about to take off his socks when a noise outside stopped him in his tracks.

Creak, creak, creak…It was the sound of the ancient swing in the back garden. Peter often used to sneak out to sit on it while puffing on an illicit cigarette.Creak, creak, creak…

Josiah was frozen to the spot, his tired mind playing tricks on him. Maybe if he went over to the window and looked out, he’d see Peter’s familiar round shoulders and the glowing light of his cigarette. His husband would look up at him and grin. He’d had a habit of hiding the cigarette in the palm of his hand and waving his other hand to disperse the smoke as if that would convince a disapproving Josiah that he wasn’t actually smoking.

It felt so real, as if it could actually happen. He tiptoed across the bedroom to the window and paused, with his hand on the curtain switch. If only the past seven years had been a dream, and Peter was down below, waiting for him…

He flicked the switch, and the curtains opened, slowly. His heartskipped a beat as he saw a lonely figure sitting on the swing below, moving back and forth.Creak, creak, creak…

Of course it wasn’t Peter. It was Alexander. He wasn’t smoking – he was leaning to one side, his head bowed, looking somehow completely different.

Josiah gazed down at him for a long time, wondering what was so changed about him, and then he realised: the indie didn’t know he was being watched, and this was a rare glimpse of him in a private moment. If this was the true Alexander, then Josiah’s heart ached for him. He looked heartbreakingly sad.

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