Slices of Life, Vol. One: The Base: The Beginning

ALASTAIR

Alastair was standing still, looking at his husband’s coffin laying there, on the edge of the grave. In fifteen minutes or so, the funeral service would be over, and the rectangular object containing the earthly remains of Sylvester, Duke Sandringham, would be lowered into the ground, the final destination of the man’s fifty-three-year-long journey on earth.

Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, just like the pastor was saying, Alastair thought, looking at the coffin. His husband’s last wish was to be entombed in the family’s mausoleum, at Sandrigham Castle in Sussex, where all his ancestors found their eternal peace. Unfortunately, it was a wish that couldn’t be granted, mostly due to the rapidity the body started to decay.

Deep inside, Alastair was a superstitious Scot, so cremation was out of the question, as he was afraid the soul of the deceased would return from the underworld to haunt him forever. The redhead smiled internally at the thought: the haunting would have been a logical continuation of the life he and Sylvester had.

At that point of his silent monologue, Alastair did some math: he married the Duke at nineteen, and his current age was of thirty-eight, meaning half of his life was spent in the shadow of the man laying in that coffin. No, not in the shadow, the youngest director in the history of the CIA corrected himself mentally, in the loving company.

Sylvester loved him very much, he took a lot of time to teach the young, inexperienced Alastair how to act in the presence of the most rich and powerful. The still-boy, who lived in austerity for the last twelve years of his life, was beyond amazed and shocked to discover those people were his peers. When he confessed it to his then-fiancee, the older man smiled with superiority, telling him to act according to his wealth and status.

The art of choosing the outfit that would advantage his body conformation the most, the talent of matching shoes, ties and suits to create the perfect harmony, the impeccable manners, the ability to control his reactions were only some of the things Alasdair owed to Sylvester’s teachings. It’s true, the man was not the most patient mentor, and sometimes he had a heavy hand, too, but the redhead was grateful nonetheless.

The funeral service was finally over, and those attending it, most of them the Duke’s business partners or acquaintances, were offering their condolences to the grieving widower, who accepted them with a polite nod and a handshake. It was the man’s last duty to his late husband, and he wanted to perform it with all the dignity and solemnity it required.

Last, but not least, were the members of Alastair’s family, his Stark and Bloom nephews, Tarian-Alexander and Alden, Fabian and Sebastian respectively, all of them accompanied by their wives or husbands. Adele, Fabian’s wife, and Julianna, the woman Tarian-Alexander was married to, were carrying in their arms little Martin-Cornelius and Edgar, the newest generation of Bloom and Stark heirs.

Sebastian, his husband Joraan, Bayan and little Daniel were grouped behind Alastair, and the man felt the warmth, support and comfort coming from all of them, even from the four-year-old, his ray of light on a gloomy day. Since the tragic events following the little boy’s birth, the bond between the redhead and his youngest Bloom nephew was tighter than ever, mostly thanks to Sylvester, who insisted on taking the grieving fathers under their roof.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, uncle,” Sebastian spoke in a pain-filled, low voice, “if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call us, we decided to stay a little bit longer in New York.”

“Thank you, my dear boy,” Alastair smiled tiredly, “I don’t need anything, not now, not in the near future. You could, however, take Bayan with you for the summer, because I’m afraid I’m not going to be the best company for a fourteen-year-old over the next few weeks.”

“Of course, it is our pleasure, plus it will be a nice surprise for my father,” Joraan’s eyes lightened, as he ruffled the kid’s unruly, dark-red hair, “he really enjoys kiddo’s company.”

“I also have to travel to South Africa in about a week, for a business meeting,” Fabian, Sebastian’s older brother, intervened, “and Adele will accompany me, so why don’t we all leave at the same time? I was going to use the company’s private plane, as always, so...”

Tarian-Alexander Stark cleared his throat, cutting his Bloom cousin short. “Dear Uncle Alastair, allow me to congratulate you on the new status,” he said, a sweet smile on his face. “Some people are born lucky, and you are one of them.”

“Cousin, are you out of your mind?” Sebastian snapped. “What status are you talking about? Of grieving widower? May I remind you why we are here, today?”

“Oh, come on, Sebbie boy, don’t be a hypocrite, please,” the redhead said in a contempt-filled voice. “You inherited a third part of the Bloom fortune, poor Edward MacAllister left you all his money, and then you hit the jackpot again, marrying South Africa’s richest heir. I mean, come on, I would keep my mouth shut if I were you.”

“You really are a piece of work,” Sebastian shook his head in disbelief, “money’s all you care about, never mind that the man who watched over you and your brother just lost his husband, and that we are having this discussion in front of his grave. If I could, I would donate the MacAllister estate to you in the blink of an eye, but his will expressly forbids me to do that.”

“Come on, boys, calm down, both of you,” Alastair said in the same tired voice. “Tarian-Alexander, I’m a childless widower, who do you think would inherit my estate when I die? The five of you,”he made a circular gesture, “you are the only family I have left. As for the Sandrigham estate, it doesn’t belong to me, I’m only the curator, until Her Majesty the Queen will decide who is Sylvester’s rightful successor.”

“If we are your heirs, why don’t you give our share right now?” Alden Stark, Tarian-Alexander’s younger brother, also intervened. “It would avoid a lot of complications in the future,” he added.

“Come on, uncle, let’s get you home,” Sebastian put an arm around Alastair’s shoulders, guiding him to the limo.

They rode to the Sandrigham mansion in silence, the young Bloom focused on the road, trying to calm down the anger that was threatening to take over him. Initially, Fabian and Adele intended to join them, too, but the scene from earlier got baby Martin Cornelius agitated, so the couple headed straight to their duplex on Fifth Avenue.

Once they arrived at the imposing, luxurious residence, the two young husbands helped an emotionally drained Alastair out of the car, while Bayan ran upstairs to pack his bags for the South African vacation, little Daniel in tow. The teenager adored his cousin’s son, the two of them being inseparable when they were together.

While the kids were busy packing and, most likely, chatting, Sebastian fixed a plate of sliced meats, cheese assortments and crackers, putting it in the fridge for later. Right then, Alastair was numb, but in a few hours, his organism would start to claim its rights, and it was good to have something at hand.

Meanwhile, Joraan and Bayan carried the suitcases and bags down, Daniel following them everywhere. Ever since he was very little, the boy became agitated if at least one of his fathers wasn’t around, so they arranged their work schedules in such a way that he was never alone. In spite of this, the child was very independent, learned new things very fast and possessed an enormous thirst for knowledge.

“We are done here,” Sebastian said in a very gentle voice, his heart aching for his poor uncle, “is there anything you want us to do before we go?”

“No, dear boy,” Alastair replied, staring blankly into space, “go and live your life, enjoy it to the fullest, I’ll be alright...eventually.”

“We’ll be back tomorrow, but if you may need something sooner, don’t hesitate to give us a call,” Joraan also spoke, pain filling his gentle, soothing voice.”

“Thank you, but it won’t be the case,” the older redhead assured the two young men the best he could. “You better go and catch some sleep, you all look exhausted, poor things,” he smiled paternally. I think I’ll do the same,” he continued, feeling very tired all of a sudden.

“I”m worried about your uncle, he doesn’t look very well, in spite of his efforts to hide that,” Joraan worriedly said on the way back to the hotel.

“Yes, I’ve noticed that too,” Sebastian confirmed, with sadness in his voice. “The Duke was a cold-hearted bastard, who treated him like dirt most of the time, but Uncle Alastair loved him very much. It will take a lot of time for him to recover after the loss, and I can’t say I don’t understand him.”

Left alone, Alastair sat in his favorite reading spot for a long time, without making the slightest move, like a statue of pain and sorrow. When he finally got out of that state, the man looked around confused, as it started to get dark. Sylvester must have gotten tired and went to bed earlier than usual, he thought, heading upstairs.

As he was standing in front of the bedroom door, hand on the knob, Alastair frowned, asking himself if he made the right choice. The man couldn’t remember the mood of his husband when he went upstairs, so he didn’t know if he should join him in bed or go to the tiny room the Duke exiled him to whenever something was not to his liking.

Deciding not to take chances, Alastair headed to the furthest end of the corridor, where he had spent most of his married life, in darkness, silence and coldness, punished for the slightest mistakes, which, in the eyes of the Duke, were mortal sins. The man changed into a set of clean pajamas, too exhausted to take a shower, and slid under the cool blankets, sleep taking over him.

“Happy Birthday, my Alastair! Come on, husband, wake up, we are getting late!” The voice of the Duke, as cheerful as it sounded, made the twenty-one-year-old jolt from the bed.

“Yes, Your Grace, I mean, good morning, sorry I overslept, it won”t happen again,” Alastair whispered, lowering his gaze.

“I’m sorry for losing my temper so bad last night, but you brought it upon yourself, the Duke spoke in the same cheerful voice. “That eye of yours looks pretty bad, you should put something on it to cover the bruise. As for the rest, well, you would be wearing clothes, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Alastair whispered, gathering all his strength not to pass out from the pain he felt all over his body. The young man’s head also throbbed, a nauseating ache threatening to take over him.

“Well, since you are going to need extra time to take care of the minor injuries your own disobedience caused, no breakfast for you this morning. If you are a good boy, I promise to make up for it tonight. There’s a party at the gentlemen’s club, I’ve been invited and you are going to accompany me,” the Duke lifted the young man’s chin, looking straight into his eyes.

“As you wish, Your Grace, I’m your husband, my duty is to follow you wherever you go,” Alastair recited, praying that the man didn’t see the panic and fear in his eyes at the mentioning of the gentlemen’s club.

“It would be nice to remember this when we are face-to-face with your deceased cousin’s lawyers. And, since we are there, you could also bring the other matter to a satisfactory end, don’t you think, my love?” The Duke caressed his young husband’s bruised cheek, pushing on the darkest, most painful area.

“I’ll do my best, Your Grace, but, as you know, my grandfather’s lawyers don’t move a finger without his approval, and, since he retired to that monastery, they got no word from him,” Alastair answered in a flat, somehow professional voice. “Besides, Greeks are extremely suspicious, your insistence on the matter would alarm them.”

“You are right about this,” the Duke hissed through clenched teeth, “that grandfather of yours will eventually kick the bucket, and then everything he owns will belong to me. Time to get ready for the big meeting with the snots who were shoved down my throat by the rotten bastards of your uncles.”

Alastair lay in bed, eyes wide awake, soaked in sweat. Turning his head, the man checked the alarm clock on the nightstand, seeing that only five minutes had passed since he went to bed. It was impossible for the images and conversation from earlier to be a dream, they were too vivid, too realistic. It was like he would have watched a film, or would have assisted to that scene personally.

The redhead slowly shook his head, making a mental dismissive gesture. His aristocratic husband had a short temper, he often yelled at the much younger, clumsy, socially awkward, naive Alastair, but he would never unleash so violently, to inflict bruises and wounds like those from the vision or whatever it was.

However, the newly-widowed man remembered with great clarity his wedding day, that started so gloriously, the sun shining up in the sky, the ceremony in the little chapel in Connecticut, the idyllic surroundings. Everywhere, the superstitious, naive nineteen-year-old thought, were signs speaking of a long, harmonious marriage, filled with love and lived in peace and harmony.

And then, there was the wedding reception, when the marriage contract was signed. Alastair remembered the moment when, after going through the document with greedy eyes, the Duke didn’t find what he was looking for, the coldness creeping into his eyes and staying there, the moment when he told the redhead that, from then on, his body didn’t belong to him anymore.

The wedding night, usually a time of happiness and pleasure, turned into young Alastair’s worst nightmare. The sweet caresses, light kisses and sweet words of love the redhead longed for were replaced by fear, pain and violence, his innocence shredded, soul shattered. After the Duke was done with him, the then-teen was chased in the room at the end of the corridor, discarded like a used, broken toy.

“Come on, you ate enough, it’s time to go to your rooms and behave,” the Duke glared at the three Bloom boys, who barely had time to take a few bites from their breakfast.

“But—but I’m still hungry,” the eight-year-old Benjamin halfheartedly protested, looking in the direction of his almost-full plate.

“You are nothing but a bunch of spoiled, ungrateful, whining pests, who are going to bring me to ruin one day. In the four months since you are here, all the expenses increased tenfold,” Sylvester poisonously spoke.

“Benjamin, sit down and finish your breakfast,” Alastair flatly said. “Fabian and Sebastian, you too. After emptying your plates and washing them,you are free to go to your rooms or in the yard, if you prefer so.”

“Are you out of your mind? How dare you to defy me in front of those...pesky things?” the Duke yelled, as soon as the three boys were out of the dining room.

“Excuse me, Your Grace, if I sounded impolite,” Alastair said, lowering his gaze, “but I did it in your best interest.”

“You insolent little creature!” Sylvester backhanded his husband, who almost fell from the chair from the force of the impact. “I thought you knew better than to disrespect me,” he gave the redhead another blow, sending him to the floor.

“In two months, the team of specialists in charge of supervising my nephews’ health will do the first evaluation of the children. I thought it is essential they look well-fed and happy, sorry if I’m wrong,” Alastair’s voice was shaking, as he was cleaning the blood on his face with a paper towel.

“It is none of my concern,” the Duke shrugged, although deep down, he had to admit that the good-of-nothing husband of his was right. If the doctors would detect signs of neglect, the children would be taken from Alastair’s care, and he would lose a source of substantial income.

“Your Grace,” the young man hesitantly spoke, not daring to raise his head, “I applied for a job at the Department of Defense, and they called me for an interview tomorrow. The payment won’t be big at first, but there are plenty of opportunities to be promoted, maybe even make a solid career as a military diplomat.”

“Why am I the last to know about this? Why didn’t you inform me earlier?” Sylvester turned around, facing his shaking husband. “And, supposedly you get this job, who’s going to take care of the three snots? Don’t count on me for that, I’m a very busy man,” he spat.

“I’ll talk to the board, asking them to recommend to me someone who can stay with the children and tutor them, if we continue with homeschooling. If we decide they should be enrolled in a normal school, things will be even less complicated.”

“It’s an unnecessary expense, that will add to all the others,” the Duke continued to show his discontent, making Alastair flinch.

“My new job would require wearing a military uniform, so I won’t be needing so many clothes, especially designer suits. Also, the shirts don’t need to be made of the most expensive materials, and, of course, there will be my monthly paycheck. It should be enough to cover the expenses with the kids,” the redhead whispered.

Alastair smiled at the memory, because that was one of the most special days of his life. The expression of contentment, almost gratitude on Sylvester’s face when he realized how much money his husband was going to bring to the family budget was priceless. He took the young man’s hand, guiding him upstairs, and, in broad daylight, the two of them made sweet love.

The Duke treated Alastair like a prince for a few months, until he ruined everything, again. There were not the major incidents, but petty things, the ones that were disrupting the harmony of their marriage, and it was always his fault. A misplaced object, a remark that had no place in a certain conversation, being two minutes late when coming home from work, and the list could go on.

The air in the room suddenly grew colder, although the heat was turned on, and Alastair listened intently to the footsteps-like noise coming from the corridor. Finally, Sylvester came home from the gentlemen’s club, he thought, relieved that his decision to spend the night in the little room was a wise one.

Still, there was a wave of uneasiness in the air, something unfamiliar, and it was coming from the master bedroom. Maybe the Duke drank too much, and he was needing help to get into bed, Alastair thought, worried. He got out of bed, leaving the room, and headed to the master bedroom. Once the man stepped inside, the realization hit him with the force of a hurricane: Sylvester was dead.

Slowly, the haze surrounding the widower’s brain started to dissipate, and he remembered all the recent events with remarkable clarity. What shocked Alastair the most, however, wasn’t the actual death of his husband, but the man’s ability to hold him in his grip, even after he no longer walked on the earth.

“We will always be his prisoners, even if he no longer harms us physically,” the image of Alastair’s younger version, pale, battered and bruised, appeared in his mind.

“No, you are finally free to do whatever you want, to...” The thirty-eight-year-old stopped, realizing his young self was right. He couldn’t tell his story, the real one. Not then, not ever, to no one.

“See?” the young man hugged himself, “you are so caught in the web of lies the bastard had woven around you, that you don’t even know reality from illusion. This was the reality,” he pointed to a large bruise covering his side, “and this, and this.”

“No one would believe us, Alastair, so what’s the point? We have to stick to the fairy tale marriage version, otherwise I may risk losing my sanity and reputation.”

“What about me? Would I ever have a chance to make my voice heard? To exist?” The young man’s eyes and voice were filled with sadness.

“Let’s make a deal: when the babies of the clan, my great-nephews, will grow up, I’ll leave you in charge, to watch over them and give all the love in your heart. But no one must know the truth about this ill-fated marriage. Let them think I married for status and prestige, let me appear as the cold-hearted, calculated bastard they think I am,” Alastair replied, a bitter smile on his lips.

“Agreed,” the young redhead nodded. “In the end, we’ll both be alright, you’ll see. We may even find love along the way, maybe even a soulmate who can embrace us, with good and bad. Anything is possible, as long as there’s hope.”