"It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen."
The words escaped Ben on instinct, his tongue reacting to a joyous leap in his heart. The sentiment seemed absurd before he'd even finished speaking. Despite his job, he'd rarely been a great fan of the out-of-doors, picturesque though this pool was. Maybe that pang in his chest came from triggered memories of the last time he'd had a great time in woodlands nearby, at scout camp. That'd been nearly twenty years ago, before all the other kids got caught up in being cool and left Ben behind, being… well, Ben.
Or perhaps the mysterious man in black, who stood beside him, had prompted Ben's impetuous words. The smile on Lyle's lips grew beguiling as the Mona Lisa's, and his eyes sparkled in a glorious spectrum of lilacs and blues. Could such colour be real, or was Lyle wearing contact lenses? Ben might've dared ask, but then Lyle pulled back his hood, revealing long straight hair that dusted to his shoulders, a deep auburn with claret-red streaks.
Ben gulped a lungful of cool air, fixing on the pool then the sky above in a desperate attempt not to gawp, open-mouthed, at the beauty of his companion. At least he could now judge that the light in the pool wasn't unexplained. The skies over the forest had cleared a little, and milky late afternoon sunlight filtered from the west. Though dusk hadn't yet descended, a full moon rose above the tops of the trees that framed the clearing.
"I thought you'd like my pool," said Lyle. "It looks even prettier on a moonlit night. If you stay an hour or so, then…"
"Out of the question," said Ben, although a small part of him begged to differ. Lyle might've stopped being threatening, but he remained a bit creepy. Okay, creepy-sexy, but Ben had never been one for risks. Which was how he'd ended up doing this job, and why he was good at it. He pulled out his tablet, which Lyle frowned doubtfully at.
"What is that thing you keep tapping? You people these days all have these strange, shiny devices with you."
Ben didn't bless this daft question with an answer. Lyle obviously liked to pretend to be an eccentric recluse, immune to the twenty-first century.
"I'm going to take some pictures," stated Ben. "This water looks deep, particularly on the far side. It needs to be marked on local maps and it needs warning signs. I might need to cordon it off, like the tower, and it potentially needs filling in."
"Filling in? You mean to destroy the pool!"
"Yup," said Ben. "It could be very deep and a real public hazard."
"You can't empty it!" Lyle seized Ben by the sleeve, yanking Ben about to face him so fast Ben nearly dropped his tablet. "This pool has been here… Well, it's much older than you, you stripling! What right have you?" Lyle pushed his face close to Ben's, his voice transformed to a snake-like hiss. "What damned right?"
"Get your hands off me, sir," said Ben, imperturbable as he could manage. It took some force to wrench his jacket from Lyle's grasp. "You know what right I have. I work for the County Environmental Office and this is undoubtedly a hazard."
Lyle's jaw locked; he appeared to be trembling, his gaze laced with venom. True fear gripped Ben for the first time that afternoon. He'd afforded Lyle the benefit of the doubt so far, but what if Lyle lashed out further, or carried a knife? Ben could still think cogently enough to know his best option was to reason with Lyle, though he couldn't be sure Lyle and reason were close companions.
"Please," said Ben. "I suggest you go home."
"Go home? Oh, if only 'twere that easy, my friend." Lyle laughed, his shoulders sagged, and his whole frame diminished once more.
"What do you mean by that?" Ben frowned. If Lyle's situation was anything like his, he harboured some sympathy. At thirty, he still lived with his parents. While he loved his mum and dad, and their thatched cottage was idyllic, he sometimes craved more space of his own. Worse, could Lyle be homeless? Had he been squatting in the tower? That said, Lyle must've spent a fortune on those red highlights in his hair, but maybe he'd lost his home and wealth only recently. "Are you living out here?"
Lyle squeezed the fine ridge of his nose. "No, no. Never mind about me. Look, I'm sorry. I won't obstruct you, I just thought…" Lyle sank to his haunches by the pool, his cloak billowing around him. "You do what you need to do, my friend. I'm sorry. I should not have snapped at you."
"You're forgiven," said Ben, wondering why it felt as if he had been the antagonist. "I won't be long. But really, don't you have anywhere better to be?"
Ben put his tablet away and edged along the slippery banks. Unsurprisingly, Lyle didn't budge. He crouched by the pool, gazing at his reflection and periodically looking up toward Ben.
This did nothing to settle Ben's rattling nerves. While assessing the integrity of the verges, he kept catching his own image in the pool: an averagely good-looking, medium-heighted chap, with well-groomed but too thick brown hair, and a dusting of six o'clock stubble. He appeared as unmemorable as Lyle was striking, and—
"Careful," said Lyle, snatching Ben from his reverie. "You're approaching a slippery bit. Not that I've seen anybody fall in before, but most people don't normally creep around the edges like you are."
"Thanks," said Ben. He'd been so caught up he'd not been that vigilant to his footing. He offered Lyle a grateful smile, but Lyle just looked plain sad. Ben felt sorry for him, which was a decent distraction from fancying him.
He teetered along what indeed turned out to be a slimy stretch of bank that felt like it could give way. Then, after carefully calibrating the high-tech chrome gauge he'd brought in his pack, he leaned out between the willows to measure the depth. He extended the two-metre gauge to its full length and it only just touched the bottom. So the water was deep enough to drown an adult, let alone a child.
Reluctantly—it would blemish the prettiness of the scene—Ben realized he would have to cordon this side of the pool off. There was no excuse not to do it now. He might have already utilized his quota of metal poles, but he'd used less than half of his roll of hazard tape.
Without delay, he retrieved the tape, and looped it around one of the willows. He unravelled it toward the next tree, wafting a tendril-like branch out of his way and cursing when it flicked back against his nose. The sound of the tape unsticking from the reel grated across the clearing and set his teeth on edge.
Lyle's silence proved as disconcerting as his earlier complaints. Ben could feel the misery rolling from his companion, who'd dropped his head forward so his hair flopped over his face.
"I'm sorry," said Ben. "If it's any consolation, I won't be cordoning off the bank where you are sitting. That slope is pretty gentle, although I suppose children might be tempted to paddle."
"I've seen children paddle in this pool," said Lyle. "None of them looked like they were going to drown. Most of them had a good deal of fun."
Ben paused. He wasn't a welfare officer yet felt compelled to ask the pertinent question: "Are you sure you're not living out here, Lyle? I believe it's forbidden to camp in woods like these without a permit, but if you've nowhere to go, there are places where you can get help."
"I don't need your help." Lyle snapped his head up, venom returning. "Are you finished here, hazard man?"
Fine, whatever, you're not my problem, mate. "Yeah, I'm done," said Ben.
"Good." Lyle whisked his hair back with a sharp, cutting movement, and then flipped his hand dismissively. "Be gone."
Well, of all the rude, arrogant…
Ben swallowed the urge to tell Lyle what he thought of him. Swearing at a member of the public while on County business was bad practice. Not that he suspected Lyle to be the sort who'd report him to his boss. God, he couldn't make Lyle out at all, and he was through with thinking too hard about him.
…Sexy—yeah, sort of, I guess. Rude weirdo—yes, yes, yes!
Ben hauled up his knapsack and picked his way back around the pool, kicking aside some nettles. As soon as he'd distanced himself from the water, he began to stride through the undergrowth, fast as he dared. He just wanted to find the path, get back to his car, and drive to a warm pub.
He'd not travelled far beyond the cordoned-off tower, and was considering getting out a torch to help him through the twilight gloom, when his left ankle jolted sideways. Pain lanced up his leg. He tumbled forward, landing hard on his right knee and both his hands.
"Ow! Crap… Crap!"
It took him a few dazed seconds to figure out what had happened. His initial suspicions suggested he'd been scuppered by one of those meandering roots. But no, an examination of his throbbing left foot revealed his shoelace had come undone and caught on a bramble, which had jolted his foot sideways. He sank back onto his arse in the wet mud, cradling his leg.
A tall figure hurried through the undergrowth toward him. "Are you alright?" asked Lyle. Oh great. Now rude goth guy was going to be Ben's knight in shining armour. Could this afternoon get any worse?
"I think I've sprained my ankle," said Ben grimly. The sharp pain in his right knee and the warm dampness surrounding it suggested he'd gashed that as well, but it was the ankle that caused him to scrunch his face and gasp. "But I'll be okay."
He slung off his knapsack, gritted his teeth, and tried to push himself up. The instant he put weight on the left ankle, pain sliced up his leg, twice as searing as before. "Oh God!" He collapsed back down, but his arse didn't hit the ground with the heavy impact he expected.
"I got you," said Lyle. He'd wrapped an arm around Ben, firmly but gently, and grabbed his wrist to help lower him.
"Bloody hell," said Ben, rubbing his brow, despair close to claiming him. He found himself leaning against Lyle's chest. The contact was comforting, despite Ben's misgivings about Lyle. "You're going to have to help me. Or go and call for help and—"
"I'm afraid I can't do that," said Lyle. Ben would've articulated some kind of protest had Lyle not leaned down and pressed his lips to Ben's cheek, a dry but caressing… seriously, was that a kiss?
"What the hell?" Ben went to push Lyle away, but Lyle's strength belied his reedy build. He held Ben fast.
"I'm sorry," whispered Lyle, his breath scorching Ben's neck, more intimate than the kiss. "You really have to leave now. I fear, Benjamin Miles, you will be the death of me."
Ben grabbed his bag, whether to use as a weapon or for protection, he wasn't sure. It proved the last movement he was capable of. Nausea swelled inside him in synch with cold, hard fear. He couldn't move and he couldn't breathe; everything went dark and he no longer felt Lyle wrapped around him. Where had Lyle gone? And shit, that kiss was creepy not beautiful, right?
Right?
And then he was standing under a streetlamp, inhaling a familiar scent of beer and wood-smoke, and gazing up at the sign of his favourite pub, The Five Bells.
"What… on… Earth?"