He wasn’t sure he wanted to look deep enough into his own soul to find out.
He didn’t know how long he’d been there, but he was suddenly aware of someone sitting down beside him.
“I’m sorry,” Two said softly. “I fear that I’ve been very impertinent.”
“How the hell did you come to talk that way?” Alex demanded. “Does everyone from your Quarter talk like they’re in some Pre-R black-and-white movie?”
Two laughed. “No. I grew up sounding quite different, but I didn’t want to be that skinny little boy from the Quarterlands when I became an IS. I wanted to leave that kid behind and become someone else. They used to show those old movies at the hotel where I worked, and I loved the elegance of that era and copied how they walked and sounded. I’m a fraud,” he laughed.
“There are worse things to be,” Alex muttered.
“And I caused you pain, which wasn’t my intention. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I should be the one saying sorry – I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“And I should have been kinder. You’re not used to being refused. Your pride was hurt.”
“Well…” Alex paused. “Sex has often been a way of escape for me. I like to lose myself in it, to not have to be me for a while. So, it wasn’t entirely transactional.”
“No, I can see that, and to be fair, that wasn’t entirely why I refused you.” Two patted his knee.
“Why then?” Alex glanced at him curiously.
“No offence, but you’re not my type.”
“Really? Whatisyour type, then?” Alex asked, taken aback.
“Well, the handsome fella in that photo of yours ticks a lot of the boxes.” Two grinned.
Alex removed the pictures from his pocket, smoothed out the one of Joe, and gazed at it. “For me, too,” he murmured.
“He must mean a lot to you,” Two observed. “And I can see why. He’s precisely my type, so you have good taste.”
“I barely know him,” Alex said softly. “I only met him once.”
“Then why is his photo so important to you?”
“It wasn’t the kind of meeting you can ever forget.”
Two was silent, the only sound the sea crashing on the rocks below.
“I escaped from my houder once,” Alex told him. “His name is George Tyler – he’s a famous businessman, so you might have heard of him.”
“Indeed I have.”
“He hated me and treated me badly, so I escaped, and for just over one whole week I was free. I was cold, dirty, hungry, and terrified, but I was free. I skulked around in the bushes, hiding, because I knew my houder would come looking for me, and then…” He paused. He couldn’t tell this story as it happened. He couldn’t risk anyone knowing what Joe did for escapedindentured servants. Two was patient, silently encouraging him, so Alex decided to tell him what he could, amending the story slightly.
“I met him in a coffee shop. His name is Josiah – Joe – and he was buying drinks for himself and his husband, Peter. I was alone and scared, and I watched them – I had nothing else to do. They were so much fun and they clearly loved each other. I barely spoke to them, but I could see that.”
“What happened to make such an impact on you that you keep his photo?” Two asked.
Alex stared out across the sea. “They went back to their car, but… uh, someone followed them. I saw this tramp open the car door and stab Peter, completely out of the blue. Maybe he was trying to steal the car. I don’t know. It all happened so quickly. I ran over and tried to pull the tramp away. Joe and I fought him together, and eventually, he dropped the knife and ran off, but it was too late for Peter. He died in Joe’s arms. I called for an ambulance, but I couldn’t stay because I was an escaped indie. So, I ran away, leaving Joe behind in the rain with Peter’s body.” Alex realised he was shaking.
Two wrapped a warm arm around his shoulders, which helped. “Oh, darling. What a nightmare. You poor, dear thing. I can see now why you keep Joe’s photo.”
“But I don’t know him. It was just one terrible moment that’ll stay with me forever. I think about him a lot and wonder how he is. I wish I could talk to him, or help him somehow.”
“He has his own path to travel, and you have yours,” Two soothed, squeezing his shoulder. “You have your own grief to contend with, I think.”
