Eternal Triangle

Dreaming in Technicolor

Justin hurried down the sidewalk on Liberty Avenue after he got off the bus. He had just spoken with Brian on his cell phone and made arrangements to meet him at Daphne's after he was through with the bookstore. Brian pointed out that bringing things over to the loft on the bus wasn't very practical and he had been insistent that the move be finished today.

The older man had brushed off Justin's questions about his afternoon with Michael, which told the blond more than Brian probably wanted to say. The meeting had obviously not gone well for his lover and Justin knew better than to press the issue.

The young artist slowed as he reached the quaint bookstore. The owner, a friendly British expatriate, had a flare for the dramatic and his windows told the stories behind the books displayed there. Justin had occasionally assisted with the planning and execution of the displays-he enjoyed listening to the older man's tales of his world travels with his long-dead lover.

Justin pushed the door open and sang out, "Afternoon, Brooke."

A tall dapper gentleman in his early seventies popped out from behind one of the bookcases, "Ah, young Justin. Haven't seen you in a while. How have you been doing?"

"Great, Brooke. Work has been busy and Brian and I are speaking to each other this week, so life is looking up." Justin shared a smile with the Englishman-Brooke had become somewhat of a father figure to the young man the past few years, especially after Vic Grassi's death. There had been many times during his tumultuous relationship with Brian that Justin had needed the advice of someone more experienced.

Brooke Stevenson had lived in Pittsburgh for nearly twenty years, moving from London after the death of his much-older lover. He found an empty storefront on one of his walks along Liberty Avenue and 'Canterbury Tales' had flourished ever since, aided by his outgoing approach toward his customers. Justin had wandered in one day, looking for some art books and the two men clicked immediately. After seeing some of Justin's artwork, the older man had offered him a position designing the window displays.

Brooke soon realized his own relationship had closely resembled that of the younger men. After hearing Justin's tales of woe concerning Brian, he had offered his part-time assistant some valuable insight on how to handle his volatile lover. Justin took the advice gratefully and had used some of it, with mostly favorable results.

"Glad to hear that. Since you don't need my sage words of wisdom today, what can I do for you?"

"Weelll, Brian is taking me to London next month and I wanted to pick up some tour guides. You know, where to eat, what to see, etcetera. He's already made reservations for the airplane tickets and hotel."

"Hmph, I do believe I'm insulted. You have a perfectly good London native standing in front of you, someone you could ask any question about the town and instead you want to depend upon some musty old books. Really, I'm cut to the quick!" Brooke dramatically pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, sighing deeply. Sadly for him, the effect was ruined by the playful look on his face.

"Geeze, I already live with one drama queen-I don't need to spend my afternoon listening to another one." The two men burst out laughing. "Unfortunately, the books will be much easier to take with us."

"Well, if I'm going to be rejected for a mere book, the least I can do is to ensure you pick the very best available. Wait here." The gray-haired man disappeared behind a book stack, calling out, "From what I understand about your Brian, we can eliminate all of the 'traveling on a budget' books, which leaves these three to choose from."

He returned to the front of the store and placed the books on a table in the small reading area he had set up for the comfort of his clientele. "Why don't you look through these and see which ones you want to get. I'll be in the back-it's time to pay the bloody bills."

"Thanks Brooke." Justin beamed happily at the man as he seated himself in the overstuffed armchair. He picked up the first book on the pile and began leafing through it.

Forty-five minutes later, Justin had decided to take the first two books and was debating the necessity of the third. Deciding he had nothing to lose by browsing through it, he rapidly scanned the table of contents, checking out the various estates in and around the London area. He paused, not believing his eyes, "HOLY FUCKING SHIT!"

There, in black and white, was listed 'La Terre de la Liberté, ancestral home of the Earl of Tremont and his family.' He hadn't truly believed Marilyn when she implied that his dreams were genuine, yet here was proof that at least one detail was correct.

"What's all the shouting out here for?" Brooke's slightly ruffled head appeared through the back doorway. "Are you okay?"

Justin glanced up from the page he was studying and smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry. I just…" He waved vaguely at the book and said, "I'm sure you're going to think this is stupid, but…"

"Try me." Brooke crossed the store to stand behind the armchair, peering over Justin's head at the entry he was pointing at. "Tremont estate, huh? I grew up in the village near there. We used to play on the grounds when I was a child. Why the surprised reaction?" He moved around the chair to stand, looking at Justin expectantly.

Justin briefly explained his dreams to his friend, watching the expressions that flitted across the man's expressive face. Surprise, shock, and thoughtfulness were all there at one time or another. When he finished his story, Brooke contemplated the young man sitting in front of him for a moment then said, "Come with me, there's something you need to see."

"Brooke?"

Brooke didn't answer. Instead, he turned and headed for the back of the shop again. Justin climbed to his feet and followed the other man through the office and up a narrow flight of stairs. Justin knew that Brooke lived above the store; in fact, he had been up to the apartment several times during the past few years.

The apartment was cozy and cluttered-filled with antiques, works of art and mementos of a fulfilling life. Brooke's partner, Adam, had been a photographer and they had traveled throughout Europe, Asia and Africa while he worked. Justin wandered around the living room examining different items as Brooke went over to a large roll-top desk.

"Ah, here it is." The older man pulled out a thick, tattered file from the drawer and smiled. Sitting down on the sofa, he laid the folder onto the coffee table and opened it. "Come look at this, Justin."

Justin sat down beside Brooke, raising a questioning eyebrow at the man. "Okay, so what do you want to show me?"

Brooke began speaking as he sorted through the papers in the file. "Adam was interested in genealogy and spent a considerable amount of time collecting information on our respective families. He discovered that I am very distantly related to the Kyngestones, the family name of the Earls of Tremont." He glanced over at the blond with a laugh, "It seems that the ninth Earl was a bit of a rogue, who populated the countryside with his bastards. The ironic part is that he and his wife never had any children of their own, so the title died out with him."

"So I take it you're descended from one of his illegitimate children?" Justin asked.

Brooke nodded as he removed a small stack of papers from the folder. He quickly scanned through them, saying, "Adam was always telling me stories about the family members he discovered. To be completely honest, while I found them fascinating, I never had as great an interest in them as he did. However, your dreams reminded me of something he once showed me."

"The manor house on the Tremont estate is now owned by a trust, which offers guided tours of the building and the surrounding gardens. Adam dragged me there one day, telling me I should see the place where my ancestors lived at least once in my life. While we were there, he struck up a conversation with one of the curators, who allowed him to look through some of the family papers. Adam had copies made of the ones he considered to be of particular interest."

Brooke snorted softly, obviously reminiscing about his partner. "We were always sharing tales of our youth with each other. Can you believe he actually took the time to write them down in a journal? There was one particular story of mine that he loved to listen to." He gave Justin a contemplative look and added, "I feel there's a connection between my childhood reminiscence, Adam's Tremont papers and your dreams."

"When I was, oh, about nine or ten, my younger brother and I were dared by some of the older village children to spend the night in the woods near the manor house. It was a big deal since there were rumors about it being haunted. For some less than brilliant reason, we chose to go on one of the coldest, stormiest nights possible-probably to prove just how "brave" we were! We packed up the necessities-you know, things like candy and playing cards, nothing sensible like a torch or blankets-and snuck out when mum and dad were sleeping. Now, you have to remember, this was during World War II, so everyone was on edge at the time. Harold and I managed to scare ourselves silly by the time we got to the woods, telling each other stories about invading armies and spies-not to mention the rumored ghosts."

Justin snickered, "Ghosts? Oh please, you're not going to tell me you and your brother saw ghosts that night, are you?" He shook his head disbelievingly.

Brooke looked at the blond with a serious expression. "I don't know if it was ghosts or spirits or whatever, but I do know something strange happened that evening. Harold and I had found a small protected area and were trying to sleep when, all of a sudden, a terrible feeling came over both of us. It wasn't an evil sensation, per se, more one filled with anger. We quickly decided that, dare or no dare, there was no way we were going to stay in those woods and we took off running. Just when we were realizing we were lost, we came into an overgrown clearing. There was a dilapidated old cottage standing there, so we ran into it to get out of the storm."

"This is when it became bizarre. The feeling of rage was still around us when we entered the cottage, but after a few minutes, we felt a second sensation as well. This one was, well, it's hard to describe, but it seemed to us as if it was trying to calm the anger, sooth it in some way. We weren't afraid anymore and we spent the remainder of the night there."

The blond man frowned, "I don't see the connection."

"Well, the so-called ghosts were reported to be a young artist and his older male lover who were tragically separated-Lord Jerome Tailor and Blaise Kyngestone, the second Earl of Tremont."

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Justin sprang to his feet and began pacing around the small room. As he stormed about, muttering under his breath, he tugged on his hair wildly. Finally he turned to the older man and nearly begged, "Please tell me you're making this up-my life is complicated enough without this shit."

Brooke held out the papers to the agitated man and quietly said, "Read these, Justin-I think they will fill in some of the missing pieces for you."

Almost against his will, Justin found himself reaching out and removing the papers from the outstretched hand. He reseated himself on the couch and Brooke patted him on the knee.

"Everything will be fine, Justin. Now, I'm going to go make us some tea while you read those. I think we could both use some refreshments." He smiled faintly as he stood up and left the room.

Justin sighed as he rubbed his face with his hand then settled more comfortably into the cushions and began reading.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is done. Lord Jerome Tailor, aged twenty years, three months and six days, was justly executed for his crimes of treason against Her Majesty's government. I can hardly believe he could have been so perfidious. I feel as if the past three years never happened-that the man I loved-for I did love him-never existed.

Sir Morgan and I will be returning to my estate tomorrow. I cannot remain here in London-there are too many memories associated with it now. But how will I bear to be at La Terre de la Liberté? We were together there in so many places-him sketching at the pond where we met, us making love there-I'm not sure I can do this.

I had an audience with the Queen yesterday after the execution. I petitioned her for a favor and she, in her gracious glory, kindly bestowed it upon me. For all his guilt, I could not bear the thought of him lying in a traitor's grave, so tomorrow, with the Queen's permission, I will take his body to La Terre de la Liberté and bury him near his beloved cottage. I do this in memory of the boy he was.

My beautiful boy.

Signed the twenty-fifth of February, in the year of our Lord 1587

Blaise Kyngestone, Earl of Tremont

Tremont House, London England

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My mind races tonight, filled with anguish, grief and doubts-so many misgivings.

My men and I returned to my estate yesterday, bringing Jerome home. My steward had arranged with the local priest to perform the burial service in the afternoon. I could not bear to watch as they filled in the grave-I fled, riding for hours across my lands. I visited the pond where I first spied him-tormenting myself with my memories.

I arrived back at the house well after dark. Sir Morgan was almost frantic with worry-he has been supportive throughout this whole ordeal, hardly leaving my side for a moment. After my return, I joined my men in the great hall, where I challenged them to match me drink for drink-I desperately wanted to forget everything that has happened the past few days.

This morning, my despair increased tenfold, if possible. My steward presented me with a letter from Jerome-written the day before his death. The missive has raised countless doubts in my mind and I vow to seek out the truth, and if it is as he said-that he was set up-I swear I will take my revenge on whoever did this to him.

My God in heaven, I grieve for him. I keep remembering the day of his death-I close my eyes and see him kneeling there, whispering to me that he loves me. My dreams are haunted by the thud of the axe hitting the stone block-I fear I will go mad from the sound of it. The guilt I'm suffering crushes my soul-I left him in his cell, offering him no words of comfort in his final hours, no possible belief in his innocence. What he must have gone through, watching me walk through that door?

I must escape my thoughts-I can scarce stand myself.

Signed the twenty-seventh of February, in the year of our Lord 1587

Blaise Kyngestone, Earl of Tremont

La Terre de la Liberté

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The twenty-third day of February, 1587

The Tower of London

My dearest Blaise,

My love, I write to you in the hope you can correct a grievous wrong that is being done to me. As you read this, I am being held in the Tower, under conviction of treason against our good Queen Elizabeth. Tomorrow at dawn, unless you can find the means to prevent it, I will be executed for a crime I didn't commit.

Blaise, you know me-I care naught for court politics. Why I have been accused of these crimes is beyond my comprehension. There are only two things in this world that matter to me-my art and you.

Please, my love, speak to the Queen-if nothing else, plead for an extension. My trial was so hurried my lawyer had little time to prepare a defense. I know that the evidence was falsified-I just need time to prove it. Queen Elizabeth trusts you-she'll listen to you.

Hasten to me, dearest one. I'm trying to be brave, so you will be proud of me, but there are many times I falter. With you by my side, I know I can face anything. I love you and miss you-please hurry!

Eternally yours,

Jerome

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A terrible injustice has occurred. My investigations are proving that the evidence presented at Jerome's trial was spurious-however, I've not had any luck discovering who would have done this to him.

My fury grows daily-today Sir Morgan and I exchanged heated words about Jerome. I almost hit him, but was able to contain myself. I left the house and once again went riding. It helps clear my mind and alleviate my depression.

I don't understand Morgan. He is continuously discouraging me from my search for the truth about Jerome. He states that there is no reason to pursue the matter-Jerome is gone and that nothing I do will bring him back. He fails to comprehend my ever-increasing desire for vengeance. I will find the person responsible for this-and make them suffer.

Signed the third of March, in the year of our Lord 1587

Blaise Kyngestone, Earl of Tremont

La Terre de la Liberté

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Last evening, Morgan and I nearly came to blows once again. My steward, who I dispatched to London to carry out the research, sent me a missive stating he has located a person with knowledge of a plot against Jerome. Morgan went insane, screaming that I've become obsessed with this. His actions were confusing to me last night, yet this morning they make perfect sense.

My man returned from London at dawn, bringing final proof of Jerome's innocence. A servant in Morgan's household, a maid by the name of Jane, overheard a conversation between her master and an unknown man. They were discussing their plans for presenting forged evidence at Jerome's trial. There was also mention of a bribe to the judge, speeding up the proceedings in order to prevent the defense from having a chance to properly present their side.

After talking to the young girl, I arranged with my steward to protect her from Morgan's retribution. She and her family will be moved to one of my smaller estates. It is the least I can do to express my gratitude to her for overcoming her fear and stepping forward with this information.

I sent several of my men to Morgan's bedchamber after I finished with my steward and the witness-the coward had slipped away during the night. He must have realized I would soon be discovering the truth. The bastard will know no peace-I will hunt him down no matter where he is. The thought of running my sword through him is all I think of now.

The fool-did he honestly believe he ever had a chance with me, even with Jerome gone? I've known him my entire life-had there been any attraction, I would have acted upon it a long time ago. His lust and irrational jealousy have cost me the one person I have ever truly cared for-the man I was able to let my guard down with. Now, the only thing I feel is a burning hatred and anger toward my erstwhile friend.

I'm going riding again this morning-out to Jerome's cottage. I was planning to have it cleaned out, but now I need to feel his presence around me. Perhaps I can find a sense of peace there, surrounded by his possessions. God, I miss him.

Rereading this, I realize I sound like a lovesick maiden-I need to get out of here.

Signed the sixth of March, in the year of our Lord 1587

Blaise Kyngestone, Earl of Tremont

La Terre de la Liberté

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Justin flipped through the papers after he reached the last entry-there was nothing past the March 6th note. He called out toward the kitchen, "Brooke? I think there are some pages missing from the Earl's diary. It just stops-there's nothing about him going after his friend."

"I'll be right there," answered the older gentleman. A second later, he appeared in the doorway, laden with a full tea tray. He pushed aside the open folder and set the tray down on the coffee table. Motioning to Justin to help himself, Brooke crossed the room to a bookcase and removed an old-looking book. Thumbing through it, he marked a place with his finger and returned to the couch.

"Here is a short biography of the second Earl." He handed the open book to Justin, who took it and read it aloud.

'Blaise Kyngestone was born May 23, 1554, only son of Robert, first Earl of Tremont and his second wife Mary. He married Lydia Thornsby (March 12, 1555-September 10, 1572), daughter of Lord Stephen Thornsby, on June 23, 1571. They had one son, Gerald, born September 10, 1572. He never remarried after his wife died in childbirth.

Blaise inherited the title of Earl upon his father's death on December 19, 1574. He became an advisor to Queen Elizabeth shortly after assuming the title, and spent much of his time abroad, handling assorted diplomatic missions for the queen.

He was killed in a riding accident when his horse stumbled, throwing him against a stone wall and instantly breaking his neck. He was reportedly on the way to a tryst with a secret lover, of whom no evidence was ever found.

By order of his son Gerald, third Earl of Tremont, Blaise Kyngestone was not buried in the family cemetery, but in a secluded area on his estate. The spot is now marked with a simple marble monument bearing the initials BK-JT.'

"So he died that day, on the way to the cottage." Justin's statement was tinged with sadness-dreaming of these men had made them seem real to him. When Brooke nodded, Justin picked up the abandoned copy of the diary and asked, "Would you mind lending these to me for a day or so? I would like to have copies made to keep with my dream journal."

"Please, keep them. Neither Adam nor I had any children and the rest of our families already have copies for themselves."

After thanking his friend, Justin began nibbling on a cookie and asking various questions about London. The two men spent the next hour discussing the places Brooke felt the two lovers would enjoy visiting. The blond jumped when the grandfather clock struck five, not having paid attention to the time. "Shit, Brian's supposed to be meeting me at Daphne's. I'd better get going." He glanced at Brooke and said, "Thanks again for all the information you've given me today."

"Not a problem, young Justin. I hope everything works out for you. If I don't see you before you leave, have a good vacation." Brooke escorted Justin to the door and advised, "I know you've avoided talking over your dreams with Brian, but I really think that you need to. There is something happening that is sparking your dreams-something involving him. Maybe between the two of you, you can figure it out."

Justin carefully placed the papers in his messenger bag as he replied, "I'll think about it. I have a feeling he'll just think I'm crazy, though."

"You'll never know until you try."

The younger man nodded silently then left the apartment. Once he reached the sidewalk outside the store, Justin pulled out his phone and called his lover, "Hey."

"Where the fuck have you been? I thought you would be calling hours ago."

"Sorry, I'm just leaving the bookstore now. Brooke and I got caught up in a discussion about London. I'll meet you at Daphne's in about fifteen minutes, okay? Here comes the bus now."

"Fine. See you in a few."

"Later." Justin closed his phone and waved down the bus. As the bus made its way toward the part of town where Daphne lived, he seriously considered whether he should tell Brian about his dreams. He finally concluded that until he had more information, he wouldn't say anything to his cynical boyfriend-he knew that Brian would scoff at the idea of past lives, and he really wasn't in the mood to be teased about it.

Justin jumped off the bus when it reached the corner near Daphne's apartment. He was looking forward to a quiet night at the loft, unpacking his things. If he was lucky, Brian wouldn't go out. He smirked as he walked down the sidewalk, thinking of how he could persuade the brunet. Oh yeah, he had some really good ideas-he couldn't wait to try them out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brian hung up the phone at the loft and grabbed his jacket and wallet before leaving. He wanted to get Justin moved in quickly then take him out somewhere quiet for dinner. Although he hadn't said anything to Justin, Brian was concerned about his physical condition as well as his state of mind. The blond obviously was anxious about something, and Brian didn't think it was the situation with Michael. He was glad both Debbie and Emmett were planning to pry whatever it was out of him at the family dinner tomorrow.

Brian drove toward Daphne's, anticipating a peaceful evening with his young lover. He smiled, planning the wicked things he could do to Justin-the night promised to be fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michael gazed about his bedroom, mentally ticking off items he needed to accomplish. He had most of his packing finished-there were only a few things he would need to throw into his suitcase before leaving. The dark-haired man picked up a grocery list from the dresser and quickly ran his eye down it. He needed to have enough supplies to last a couple of weeks, at least. Michael planned to stop by the grocery store after he implemented his plan; he wasn't exactly sure when that would be and didn't want anything spoiling.

He heaved a sigh of satisfaction-yes, everything was in place. Now came the hardest part-waiting for the right moment to begin. However, the end result was more than worth it.

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