Chapter Twenty-Six
A City in Mourning
Three nights later, the streets of Blyham were brought to a standstill by a procession that started on the riverside, in front of the Vermont Hotel, where Theo Glass had been killed by Chantelle Readymarcher four months earlier. Thousands of people gathered, carrying photos and candles, to honour the victims. The parade passed along the waterfront before heading upwards through the centre of the city to gather before the town hall at eight p.m.
It was a predominantly solemn and heartfelt occasion, but there was anger too. Among the tributes to the deceased, there were placards reading How Many More Must Die? Shame on Blyham Police and Stop the Killing Now . There were Pride flags and LGBTQ+ banners but the sadness and anger that were felt in the city went far beyond that community. There was fear across all social groups as people wondered which minority would be targeted next.
Marc and Jason waited at the town hall for the parade to arrive. Neither of them was fit enough after what they’d been through to complete the route on foot. Marc’s parents sat beside them. They were both in tears, holding hands as they witnessed the shared grief of so many people. Theo’s face was displayed prominently on placards and T-shirts as the people of Blyham honoured the dead.
The police were there to monitor the crowds but kept a respectful distance. Marc knew how strong the anger in the city was towards them. One wrong move and this peaceful protest could tip into a riot. The media interest in the march was off the scale, with TV news crews and reporters battling for position in a sectioned off area in the square. They’d been warned not to provoke the mourners. Anger towards the press was almost as strong as that towards the police. None of the victims had been deemed newsworthy, until the killing of Soloman Archer had made the story a national sensation.
Only Nadine Smythe had been granted a place beside the families and friends at the front.
The tension was a dense, palpable thing, but as he looked upon the sea of people, at the candles and messages of love, Marc felt a sad sense of optimism.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, almost choking on his pain.
Jason put a gentle hand on his thigh and squeezed encouragingly. “It can sometimes take the worst to bring out the best of people.”
The mood this evening could have been a lot more hostile, where it not for the fact that Chantelle had been apprehended. She’d been caught at the Port of Tyne the day after the fire at Soloman Archer’s office, attempting to board a ferry to the Netherlands on a passport she had stolen from her housekeeper. The housekeeper had fared better than her other victims, having been discovered by the police beaten, tied up and gagged at her home. But, unlike the others, she was alive.
Chantelle had been charged with five counts of murder, two attempted murders and arson with intent to endanger life. After a brief appearance at the magistrates’ court, she’d been remanded in custody and would appear at Blyham Crown Court in a few weeks’ time. There would inevitably be a trial. Marc harboured no hope that she would plead guilty. A trial would mean recounting everything that had happened all over again. What did he care about that? He would tell his story a million times over if it meant that evil woman spent the rest of her life in prison.
The crowd in the square continued to swell and showed no sign of stopping. There must have been several thousand people there already. As the sky darkened into dusk, the candles and tealights took on a more poignant, ethereal aspect.
As touching as the display was, Marc would give anything to have his brother back instead. For each of the victims to be alive and enjoying the love of their families and friends.
The emotions he’d managed to keep a tight lid on all evening suddenly broke. As a sea of lights flickered in front of him, the tears poured down his face.
Jason put an arm around his shoulder and leaned into him.
He didn’t need to say anything, his touch was enough.
* * * *
Three hours later, Marc stood on the balcony of Jason’s apartment, staring at the cityscape. His eyes were cried out and his throat was raw from all the sobbing he had done. The vigil had unleashed so much pent-up grief. As he’d broken down before the crowd of strangers, he’d realised it was the first time that he’d truly missed his brother. He hadn’t even cried at Theo’s funeral. He’d had to keep it together for the sake of his family and to ensure that all their wishes had been fulfilled that day.
And afterwards, he’d carried on as normal. Back to work. Back to his routine.
If it hadn’t been for Nadine threatening to expose Theo’s lifestyle, would he have continued to get by, content in the knowledge that his brother had been killed by a hit-and-run driver who would likely never be caught?
It pained him to accept that the answer was yes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking to the night sky. “Little brother. I should have done so much better for you.”
The door behind slid open. Jason came onto the balcony carrying two crystal tumblers of whisky. He raised a tired smile in the evening light. The last few days had been hard on him too. Marc was not the only one choked with grief. Ryman had been more than just a business partner to him, more than just a friend. They had been like brothers themselves.
Despite his exhaustion, Jason looked incredibly handsome. Like Marc, his eyes had been cried dry.
Marc gratefully accepted the glass.
“Are you okay?” Jason asked.
He nodded. “I don’t think it will get easier just because we know the truth, not for a long time, but uncovering the truth is a start. Right?”
Jason came close. He leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. “We’ll get through it. We’ll do it together. ”
Marc smiled. They stood side by side, gazing at the city. He leaned into Jason, careful not to put too much pressure on his injured torso. “Together, I like the sound of that.”
Jason raised his glass to the sky. “To Ryman. To Theo. To Dan. To Tyrone. To Soloman. Rest peacefully.”
“Rest peacefully,” Marc said.
They both took a long, slow swallow.
Later, close to midnight, they lay naked beneath the covers. Jason was on his back, his head and shoulder propped on pillows. Marc was on his side, his fingers trailed through Jason’s chest hair, circling his nipples. His skin was dark and mottled with bruises. Now Chantelle was behind bars, Jason would at last be able to heal, without further injury.
Sex had been a necessity. A life-affirming act in the face of so much death.
“What do you think will happen next?” Marc asked softly. “After today?”
“Do you mean for the city? It’s got to get better. At least I hope it will. After the last two years, things can’t get any worse. There’s a lot of trust to be rebuilt. I’m not sure the police will ever repair the damage they’ve done.”
“There was a strong sense of community tonight. All those people came together because they cared. It should count for something.”
“Hmm. As long as lessons have been learned this time.”
“And us?”
“Us?” Jason kissed the top of his head. “What would you like to happen with us? ”
Marc slid his hand beneath the covers, placing his palm on the flat of Jason’s abdomen. “I’d like some peace. Some quiet.”
Jason let out a long sigh. “I’m all in for that.”
“A chance for us to get to know each other better. Without the threat of murder or violence.”
“Even better.”
Marc smiled. They were on the same page, both of them wanting the same thing. Their relationship might have begun in the worst circumstances, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t change things for the better. They could even grow old together.
He was racing ahead.
Right now, they were safe and with each other.
After everything they had been through, it was the best place they could be.