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There’s a small tattoo on the inside of Ilya’s left ankle, that Shane hasn’t seen before. It’s done in white ink, which makes it almost invisible against Ilya’s equally pale skin; which makes it no surprise that it has gone unnoticed all this time.
It’s simple. Four numbers— 4530– that hold no significance Shane can think of.
It’s not a birthday. It’s not an anniversary. If it’s a code, Shane’s not sure what it’s for… definitely nothing that they own. Unless Ilya has something, which requires a code, that he’s kept secret from Shane… and was important enough to have said secret code tattooed on the inside of his left ankle.
But Shane doubts that.
Across the room, Svetlana laughs. It’s hollow and worn— neither of them have much energy after such a stressful 24 hours. “Do you always look this intense when you are thinking, Hollander?”
“I don’t know,” he replies. “Maybe.”
She offers him an equally hollow and worn smile. “And what is it you are so intensely thinking about?”
Shane opens his mouth, but then closes it back. He absentmindedly fidgets with Ilya’s necklace. With the crucifix… and the ring. Now is not the time…
“Nothing,” Shane lies, and Svetlana (graciously) doesn’t call him out on it.
**
Shane sits in the passenger seat of his own car, and watches his dad flap a trash bag open. He takes it into Ilya’s house and returns sometime later after scouring every corner and crevice for pill bottles. Then he deposits the bag into the trash can and rolls the trashcan to the curb.
Why he came along for this, he’s not sure…
Being back at Ilya’s house makes him feel sick to his stomach. The memory of parking in almost the same spot, walking up the steps to the front door. Using his Snoopy and Woodstock key Ilya had made for him. Calling out into the dark, quiet house… and getting no response.
The growing sense of dread the closer he got to the bathroom.
Cradling Ilya’s body— his cold and limp… but not quite lifeless body— to his chest as he tried to make sense of what was going on. To himself, as well as the dispatcher on the phone.
It was there, in the bright fluorescent light of the bathroom, Shane saw it. The tattoo.
He pushed the images of Ilya away and thinks instead about 4530. He pulls out his phone and googles the number. Falls down a rabbit hole of penalty codes, and publication numbers.
All of which Shane is certain have nothing to do with the small tattoo on the inside of Ilya’s ankle.
**
“There is that look again,” Svetlana says, and her voice is more teasing this time; less hollow, still worn… maybe more so, now. “Care to finally share what it is for?”
Shane swallows. In his hands are discharge papers. The last week has been a living hell. For himself, and he’s sure it’s been for Svetlana, too. He can only imagine what it’s been for Ilya. They are waiting for him to speak with the psychiatrist one final time. Then Shane can take him home.
Now is probably still not the time… but he asks anyway. “The tattoo on his ankle,” Shane says; Svetlana stills. “Why 4530? What does it mean?”
She sighs, and looks at Shane. “It is for his mother. The number of days he had with her before she—” her voice trails off. Shane (graciously) doesn’t press, happy to at least know what the numbers mean… Saddened by how small the number seems now that he’s been given context.
The double doors finally open, and Ilya walks out.
He walks right into Shane’s arms, apologies flowing from his lips faster than Shane can negate them. He holds him tight until Ilya calms, then lets Svetlana have a turn— even if it kills him a little to release him.
“Let’s get you home,” Shane says, once Svetlana lets Ilya go. He slides his arm around Ilya’s back, and leads him out to the car.
**
There’s a small tattoo on the inside of Ilya’s left ankle, that Shane hadn’t seen before… He saw it for the first time the evening that Ilya tried to take his own life.
He doesn’t share this with Ilya until a month later. When the media has died down, the rumors quiet.
The season is far from over, but they are at the cottage. They needed to get away from the world… so they did.
Shane holds Ilya in his arms a little tighter these days, and this day is no exception. They are laying in the hammock out by the lake, and Shane isn’t entirely sure that Ilya hasn’t fallen asleep. He twists his body so he can press a kiss to Ilya’s forehead and sees his eyes open, staring blankly out at the water.
“There’s something I want to show you…” Shane says, and Ilya turns his attention— now clearly piqued— to Shane.
“What is it?”
Shane wiggles his body free of Ilya’s, and sits up— Ilya does the same.
He doesn’t know how he managed to hide it for this long, but he has. So he brings his left leg up to rest on his right knee, Ilya stares at Shane’s ankle for a moment, and then his eyes go wide.
There’s a small tattoo on the inside of Shane’s left ankle… that Ilya hadn’t seen before.
Done in white ink, and just barely healed.
It’s simple. Just four numbers— 4530– followed by a semicolon.