Transylvania

“Tom… what is it?” Harry asked carefully, edging towards the fairest, who had bowed his head again.

“Tom?” Dougie pressed shakily when he did not reply, though he knew in his gut what was coming. “Thomas Michael Fletcher, if you do not –”

“It’s Danny, alright?” Tom exclaimed, causing the other two to jump. “It’s happened; what we all knew would come out in the end has finally surfaced. Don’t look at me like that, Dougie, you knew it too.”

The youngest of the trio blinked at Tom.

“No.”

“Yes. I – I’m sorry.”

Dougie shook his head and stood, still reeling from the revelation. This cannot be, he repeated over and over to himself, numbness spreading from his feet all the way up to his head as everything he dreamed about – everything he lived for – seemed to come crashing down in icy shards around him. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the furious expression Tom was wearing – what right did he have to be mad?

“What do you mean, I knew it too?” he probed, rounding on Tom as all the hopelessness he should have been feeling turned to anger.

“Wake up, Dougie,” Tom retorted suddenly, adopting a harsh tone that took Dougie aback. “Did you ever seriously think this was going to resolve and have a magical ending? That somehow, somehow your family wouldn’t find cracks in your wall and you’d be able to live happily ever after?”

It was as if he’d just been slapped round the face. His fingers curled in fury but he couldn’t find the words to argue back, because the cold anaesthetizing his veins rapidly turned to black ice. Dougie did know Tom was right, he just hated to say the words out loud, making them fact and not just some twist of a spoiled fairytale, which was swiftly decaying with each passing minute. He’d been pushing thoughts of the moment it all came to a head to the back of his mind, because what he’d had in front of him was so fresh and beautiful that he couldn’t allow it to be marred by what could happen. He scowled at his own naivety, and sank back onto the bed, staring at only the tears that welled up in front of his eyes.

Harry looked as shocked as Dougie did at Tom’s words. “Calm down, okay? There’s no need to get mad, either of you. Tom – I haven’t the faintest clue as to why you’re this angry, but now is not the time. What do you know?”

Tom sighed and clutched at his hair, distressed from its usually immaculate morning state. “I don’t know anything, apart from that his Lordship knows Danny is the one Doug has been writing to and seeing behind his back. I don’t know whether he’s more in disbelief because he’s the from the poorest family in town, or that he’s a boy, or whether he’s just plain angry because of all the lies and the shame this will bring on the family name…”

Tom trailed off when he saw Dougie’s face, which was ghostly and tear-streaked, and he realised Dougie didn’t need to hear what his father thought. Tom’s shoulders relaxed from their tense frame, but he still appeared cold, rigid and distant to Dougie. His oaken eyes found his old friend’s, and the latter narrowed, still angry at the servant for highlighting his six months of calculated romantic stupidity.

“I’ll find Danny - I know where he’ll be,” Harry announced, breaking the sheet of silence between them. “I shall tell him to –”

“He better make himself hidden far away, if he’s going to escape his Lordship,” Tom interrupted stiffly, avoiding Dougie’s pained expression and focusing on Harry’s darkening one. “I have a feeling that this will not turn out well.”

“Fine, then. I’ll pass on that message.” Harry snapped, finally losing patience. “I don’t know why you’re acting like a pompous brat, Tom, but Dougie is your oldest friend and Danny is part of his life. You’ve never been in love, so you say, so you have no idea what he’s going through – but that gives you no excuse to behave so irrationally towards him when all he knows is in jeopardy. I suggest you pull yourself together and help us all you can, before it’s too late.”

Dougie’s jaw almost dropped, and Harry rubbed his shoulder as he passed and strode out of the door, glaring at Tom. The two blondes left in the open bedroom stared at each other, and Dougie found it difficult to decode the look in Tom’s eyes. Tom’s lips parted as if going to say something, but nothing left them, which grated on Dougie even more.

“Guess I’d better get this out of the way, then.” The seventeen-year-old growled, rising from the grand bed and slipping on a pair of shoes. His hard mask fissured as soon as he brushed past his companion, however; he could feel the discomfort and awkwardness with but a single touch, and it was so uncharacteristic that it hurt Dougie to think about.

But upon stepping out into the cold hallway, he was suddenly overwhelmed by fear again. His sun-kissed hand gripped the wooden rail for support and he only just managed to place one foot in front of the other in order to descend the spiralling staircase. Tom had said things were never going to work out well – and what worried Dougie was that Tom was rarely wrong. Though in his mind, there was a chance his friend - despite not acting like one at that moment – could potentially be exaggerating out of – out of spite? But why? What had Dougie ever done to Tom to make him do this?

All the blonde felt of himself as he reached the first floor landing was idiocy, selfishness and naivety, pushing out of every pore and swarming round him like mosquitoes, prickling his skin through his cotton shirt. The only image his mind could conjure was Danny’s face, freckles flashing like condemning spots in front of his eyes and cobalt orbs pleading to him through his imagination. Not only was Dougie in danger by their reckless courtship, but the subject of his dreams was now hovering on the edge of existence, and it would take only one push from the Earl of Essex to send him tumbling over into darkness. Dougie thought he may soon be in fogginess too, if he was never to be illuminated by the light shining from those blue eyes again.

The door handle of his father’s study rattled in his shaky grasp, a hollow representation of his fear. His ribcage lifted in an attempt to coax oxygen into his bloodstream and courage into his mind, but instead the hallway just became slightly jumpy and swayed in front of his eyes. He couldn’t seem to find the strength to push his thumb down on the lever, opening the barrier between him and his father – and before he managed to summon it, the handle was wrenched from his grasp.

“In.”

The singular syllable, paired with the crushing glare in his father’s lined features, seemed to make the aura of his youthful and stupid feelings thicken around him, clutching at his airways and causing his legs to stumble as he obeyed the order. He found himself being thrust into a cold chair as a shadow draped over his body, cast by the Earl standing in front of the window. All he could do was stare up at the cutting eyes of the man who seemed hell-bent on righting, in his eyes, the wrongs of his son by whatever means possible.

“May God have mercy on your soul, boy,” snarled the lips of Dougie’s father, and the boy trembled. “I don’t know how in hell you could possibly think so little of our reputation and the family name to go against the Lord like this. What you have done, with a – a boy - I can’t bear to think… your mother is in pieces. She’s never been so distraught! Did you never stop to think?”

“I – I –”

“I don’t have time for pathetic excuses; I have an appointment and papers to sign concerning this matter. It will stop. You – the both of you – will be punished for your treachery… he more seriously than you. How a lowlife little farm boy could even dare, the insolence –”

“What – what do you m-mean, papers to sign?” Dougie interrupted, suddenly finding his voice at the sound of this worrying news. His father did not cut him off again, however, but gave a small smirk that made Dougie’s heart plummet.

“Do you remember the Smith arson, Dougie?” He spoke in a threateningly soft voice, and his son gave a small squeak of acknowledgment. “The case about a year ago where two men died and considerable damage was done to the family house and barn buildings? Well, can you tell me who did it?”

Dougie shook his head. “Nobody knows… nobody was caught. They don’t have a culprit…”

“They do now,” the Earl corrected with a triumphant grin, and an icy wave spread up Dougie’s spine. “The Jones’ farm is right next door and wasn’t faring too well in comparison with Mr Smith’s. Jealousy, want of land… terrible things, Dougie, and Daniel’s father was out of town on the date of the fire, so he cannot be convicted. However, his son was around at the time, and – ”

“You can’t do this!” Dougie protested though tears, his face pale and quivering, his lungs brimming with cold dread. “It will never stand, there is no evidence –”

“The court is bored with the case, they need somebody, even if direct proof cannot be found!” his father roared. “Besides, who are they most likely to believe? The richest, most powerful man in the county, or a brattish farmer’s son? Judges will not dare rule against my testimony – and that is why there will be no trial. My word is final.”

“You can’t do this!” Dougie repeated, getting to his feet, his bellow reverberating round the room. “Arson resulting in death and destruction to property – he’ll be hanged!”

“We’ll rip him out of history, and it should teach him that he shouldn’t have fooled around with my son,” his father sneered, striding to the door. “It should serve as an example to you, too. Be more careful who you choose to court next time – if I ever let you choose for yourself again.”

The door to the study slammed and Dougie collided with it, clenching his fists round the handle and pulling as the jangle of keys from the other side sounded in the lock.

“You monster!” he cried, expelling every bit of air in his lungs as he pounded on the thick wood with his fists. “You murderer! Let me out! I’ll find a way to stop this if it’s the last thing I do!”

But his cries for release were quickly eroded by sobs and hyperventilation, ribcage clashing with femurs and kneecaps colliding with varnished mahogany as his throat threatened to burn with bile. He clutched at his stomach, unable to hold the tears in as he tried desperately not to vomit with fear and despair. He never thought his father was capable of such monstrous actions, blowing it way out of proportion like this in order to take somebody’s life. Danny’s life.

“Tom…” he howled, hating the foetal position he curled into as he pitifully called through the door. “Tom, let me out! Mother, please…”

But the door remained locked. A quick glance up at the small study window suggested that it too was bolted, too small for the shivering boy to crawl through anyway, and a cough reverberated through his torso as he attempted to clear his throat. He stumbled to his feet, firing a kick at the room’s exit and spinning away again, dizzy from lack of oxygen. The wooden planks below him swam in front of his eyes, melting into one another as he clutched his forehead and tried to stand straight – but it was in vain, as his feet tangled in the loose rug that slid on the slippery, polished floor, pulling him down. His arms reached out to seize the writing desk but missed wildly, and the body part that instead caught the sharp edge of the table was his damp temple, spreading blackness through his senses as he crumpled to the floor.

-

The tin roof a foot above their bodies was cracked and cold, rattling as autumn wind whipped beneath their clothes. A simple, brown shirt lay next to an elaborate white one, which was degraded from its clean, freshly ironed state by several creases and patches of dust and dirt. A pale finger ran over the snowy collar, tenderly tracing the needlework before leaving the material and venturing onto the chilled, bronzer skin that guarded a collarbone. A pair of lips above the collarbone smiled tenderly, and was answered by another pair’s upturned expression.

“You’re cold... you’re never cold.”

“I’m not cold in the slightest,” the blonde protested, raising a hand and lazily brushing moist, brown hair off a freckled face. “I’m never cold, not when you’re here.”

Two pairs of blue eyes locked, and the brunette’s lips parted to utter a whisper. “Well, then, I’ll never let you become cold,”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes. I Promise.”

Dougie shivered.

“Wake up!”

Groggily, blue eyes were exposed to the dark room and to another fair-haired boy, who was hovering over his friend with a worried expression painted on his brow. Dougie recoiled slightly at the sensation of fingers and a damp, bloody cloth at his forehead, and frowned at the sight of Tom, who was crouching over him and looking as though he were about to burst into tears at any second. The boy on the floor couldn’t help but to yawn and rub his sore, sticky eyelids, blinking in the light that was much dimmer than it was when he was last conscious. He grumbled incomprehensibly, sitting up as Tom retreated a little.

“C’mon, let's get you out of here. I’ve only just been able to search for the keys to the study.”

It was then that Dougie saw the shadows on Tom’s face. His stomach sank as he remembered the last thing his father said to him, looping over and over in his mind like a mantra written to torture. He shuddered and looked down at his hands, before whipping his head up to face Tom. “How long have I been asleep?”

“It’s ten to seven in the morning,” Tom clarified in a whisper, and Dougie’s eyes widened at the knowledge that he’d slept through the day and night. “You must’ve passed out from the screaming… and the crying… and you’ve hit your head pretty hard, by the amount of blood that was on your face - oh, Dougie, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am…”

Suddenly, there was a sound of bone hitting clothed wood, and the moisture in Tom’s eyes gathered to spill over his cheeks. His trembling hand tightly clutched the rag he’d been cleaning Dougie’s head with, the other palm trying and failing to stifle the irregular sobs coming from his throat. Dougie looked on in alarm, reaching out a hand to console the servant, previous hostility forgotten – but Tom shuffled away, refusing the comfort.

“No, you don’t understand,” he whimpered, peering up at Dougie fearfully through melted chocolate orbs. “I – I – oh, Doug…”

“Tom, what is it?” Dougie asked shakily, afraid to hear the answer. “What’s happened?”

“I – it was – it was me. Doug.”

“What was you?”

“I t-told your f-father about Danny.”

Silence swallowed the two young men, and Dougie’s head grew heavy again. He could feel his trachea become under strain, the windpipe seeming to restrict his airflow as all the worry for Tom left his body in a flash.

“You – you – what?” he whispered dazedly, not daring to believe for a second what he was hearing.

“I’m sorry!” Tom cried, lurching forward and gripping Dougie’s knees. “Dougie, your father knew that I was in on it, I couldn’t hide it any longer! They found this letter in my room that you’d written to Danny, one that I was supposed to deliver yesterday – well, Saturday - before he’d come over and there was no need anymore, remember? He would have had me thrown out if I didn’t tell…”

“Get off me,” Dougie spat, every cell in his body overcome with disgust, as he scrambled away from Tom and stood up. “I never in a million years thought you would be so – so uncaring, so selfish –”

“What would I have done if I was thrown out, Dougie?” Tom sobbed, picking himself up off the floor. “This house is my whole life! I have no family, nowhere else to go! Your father has been my boss and provided a roof for me for twenty years; I’m loyal to him –”

“What about loyalty to your friends? Does that mean nothing to you?” Dougie choked, tears streaming from his furious eyes. “Don’t you realise what you’ve j-just done? You’ve t-taken my life and ripped it apart – my future is in t-tatters, nobody will ever t-take me seriously again –”

“Oh, and that is all my fault?” Tom retorted, his ribcage heaving underneath his cotton uniform. “I am not to blame for your sneaking around and your irresponsibility, Doug. I frequently told you that your disregard for society’s rules would plunge you into hot water –”

Dougie, unable to deny these statements, broke into a fresh wave of tears. “Yes, but I wasn’t the one who signed Danny’s death warrant!”

Tom took a shuddering breath and then fell silent, clasping one hand over his mouth and raising the other to hush his friend, eyes wide and staring at the wall past Dougie’s head. The latter held his breath, for it seemed to him as though Tom was trying to listen for something – and then he heard it. The monotonous din reached his eardrums, and he froze. The smug, dim epiphany that rang out over the town and just reached the grounds of his estate was now the only thing he could hear, and it filled his soul with such a pitiful terror that he was barely able to sense anything else.

“Dougie, wait!” Tom yelled as he was pushed aside by a cold hand, ring of keys snatched from his belt loop. He ran out of the room after Dougie, who was tearing down the hallway to the entrance hall, after the most dreadful sound one could imagine in a state like his - the toll of the death bell. “You don’t want to see this!”

But the youngest Poynter ignored the warning of his servant, fumbling with the locks of the huge oak front door. The morning air stung his face as he managed to wrench it open and flew down the drive, salty sadness fading from his face only to be replaced again as violent sobs wracked his lungs. Dim morning rays breaking over the distant hills were his only lantern as he ran from the house, desperate to right his wrongs and get into town before the bells that announced the procession to the gallows stopped…

”Are you sure about this?”

“No.”

“Then we stop –”

“No!”

Dougie’s lips found Danny’s over a field of flushed, freckled skin, clinging and pleading and backing up his exclamation. Straw scratched all over his body, building blocks of their favourite hideaway acting as a constant reminder of where they were and what the moment meant. Church bells chimed midnight in the distance as a breeze whipped round the barn, but neither of them felt it, each blanketed by the other - slick and shivering and what felt like a hundred degrees.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“I know.”

Twisting through mazes of houses, Dougie nearly suffocated on the memory. He could almost feel the fingertips on his hips trying to warm him against the bitter wind, but it was just a sad twist of fate as he thought to himself, you didn’t hurt me, but now I’ve hurt you forever.

Into the market that they once used to roam, and his heart was working furiously to keep his feet pounding against the frosty cobbles. The clock tower read two minutes to seven and it was all Dougie could do to keep running and stop himself collapsing on the ground. Torn up with fear and guilt, he only just remembered where the gallows actually were and he vowed he would never have to visit the haunting ending place for murderers, thieves and Danny ever again. His thighs burned as he climbed a dirt road, slipping on puddles as he ascended the street and earned himself shocked stares from passers by as they caught a glimpse of the shining, cherry cheeks of the Earl’s son – but he cared not about this.

Almost there. He could hear the buzz of the small, sadistic crowd that would have gathered to watch this cruel display of immorality and injustice, swarming like flies about to feast on the body that would have held life just moments before. He begged in his mind that this wasn’t happening, that it was a real criminal that the bells were ringing for. He tried to kid himself that this was all another plot-twist of the fairytale that would soon have had a prince riding up on his horse to save the day – but as Tom said, Dougie’s fantasy of happiness would have never panned out this way. All he’d ever wanted was a different life, a normal life – but being born into a rich and powerful family didn’t give you that, and Dougie now knew that toying with an innocent’s life to feel freedom and love could have disastrous consequences, if care was not taken and naivety was not seen to. The white creature on which the rescuer rides would somehow be slain by the sword of society, and as the boy stumbled over the top of the hill, he could almost smell the blood of the steed wafting powerfully through the air, making him nauseous.

Down below him in the square, the wooden theatre had been set and the single protagonist had taken his place, centre stage. Dougie’s breath was left behind as he ran, catching sight of a glistening face peering up at the sky, lips whispering avidly in prayer and the smile that usually lit up his face gone, dissolved in the farce. His hands were tied behind his back and as the thick, homicidal rope was looped round his neck, he flicked his head down to the crowd, as if searching for someone to set him free. Danny’s eyes found Dougie’s and it was pain and remorse and love and sorry all in one glance, the brunette then struggling against his lashings and the blonde pushing through bodies, hating every single person that turned out to watch this sick show. The pair stopped breathing for what seemed like eternity, and then curls that framed the recurring face in Dougie’s thoughts were swathed in thin, white cloth, disappearing from view forever.

The cheer of the spectators was not enough to smother the screamed apology that rose from amongst them as the platform dropped.