Face

by Tim Lebbon

  The dining room was throbbing with heavy metal, Shockwaves pounding through the fabric of the building, ornaments rattling on shelves and windows visibly shaking. Nikki worked her

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  way around the dancers, standing on tiptoe to look over their heads, seeing several tall people. None of them were Brand. Her hips nudged the dining table and she bit her lower lip, wondering, just wondering … she hadn’t looked at the guy’s face, had she? She’d been too shocked and embarrassed. It could have been anyone under there being sucked off.

  Holding her breath Nikki squatted down and looked under the table. Only shadows stared back.

  She worked her way around the perimeter of the room, stepping on toes and tripping over splayed legs, before she came back to the door. The music pounded at her. It seemed even louder now, but she knew it was because she was getting quickly and pleasantly pissed.

  The kitchen was still empty. She refilled her glass, then glanced at the clock. It was past tenthirty already. Everything had closed in around her in a comfortable, intimate haze, and she found herself swaying as she walked. The thought of food still made her gag, so she drank some more and guided herself to the stairs by running one hand along the hall wall.

  Where the hell was he? She thought of calling his name but it would sound strange, she’d be verbalizing her interest in someone other than Jazz. Betrayal would be given voice, and although she was sure no one would hear-or even care if they did-she would still feel bad.

  What was she doing? What would she do when she found him? And if he’d been looking for her, where the hell was he now? She thought

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  about the open door to the wine cellar and shook her head. Dark down there. If he was waiting for her down amongst the vintage wines and spiders and damp … just too weird.

  There was a bathroom, two bedrooms and a storeroom on the first floor. The bathroom was empty, except for a girl asleep in the bath with the plug in and a dribble of water slowly rising around her. Puke stained her front and hung in a clot from her chin. One bedroom was dark and neat and held a distinct out-of-bounds feel. Nikki knocked on the other door-although she’d hear no reply above the pounding music anyway-opened it a crack and peered in. Mandy and Mike’s friend were there, and Mandy was having her birthday present, naked and sweating and making enough noise to cover the sound of Nikki closing the door. She smiled and took another drink, looking up at the second floor landing, realizing through the alcohol haze that she was turned on. Not from the sight of Mandy riding Mike’s mate, but from the chase. Brand was here, somewhere, and every room she entered and every door she opened brought them closer together. Just the top floor now, and that was it. He must be waiting for her up there. In one of the bedrooms.

  There were two bedrooms and a study on the top floor. All empty.

  Nikki stood on the landing where she’d seen Mandy and the guy kissing, looking down the stairwell at the hall below, staring at the heads of people passing in and out of the dining room. She felt out of it again, disappointed and cheated

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  because she hadn’t found him, he’d issued his invitation and she had failed him. It must have been Brand, surely? Could Jesse have meant anyone else?

  Someone walked into the hall from the kitchen and stood there, unmoving, people parting around him as they went about their drunken business.

  Nikki held her breath. Black hair. From this aspect she couldn’t tell whether it was long or not, but it was black, jet black, and …

  He looked up.

  Brand.

  He smiled, just a twitch at the corners of his mouth that did nothing to the rest of his face, and then he turned and went back into the kitchen.

  Nikki ran downstairs. She dropped her glass on the first floor landing and kicked it in front of her, jumping over it as it smashed onto the hall floor and scattered into a web of shards. Holding the newel post she turned a half circle so that she was facing along the hall and into the kitchen. It seemed empty. All the noise and sense of activity came from her left and right, the dance room and the smoking room. Nothing from the kitchen. It looked cold and sterile and dead, the bright light exuding a lifelessness that she’d never noticed before, sheening the worktops with a dirty haze like a faded photograph. She could not see the food and drink tables from here, nor the door to the cellar, but she bet her life there was no one eating, taking a drink or sneaking down to steal a bottle. Just Brand. In there, waiting for her,

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  expecting her, and if she didn’t go now maybe she never would.

  Face it, she thought, this is what I’ve been waiting for all evening.

  Images of Jazz flashed at her, but it was as if she was remembering a holiday romance from years ago, not her current, missing boyfriend.

  “Wherever you are, you deserve this,” she said, feeling very adult and very cruel as she walked along the hall and into the kitchen.

  It was empty.

  “Fuck!” she shouted, darting forward and reaching for a fresh glass, pouring more whiskey, mixing in brandy and Schnapps and anything she could lay her hands on, taking one single mouthful of the horrific concoction before a finger almost touched the back of her neck.

  She spun around and Brand was there. They were alone in the kitchen. The noise of the party seemed to drift away as he spoke, as if it no longer mattered.

  “I’ve enjoyed looking at you looking for me,” he said. “It’s very revealing.”

  “Does Mandy know you’re here?”

  Brand raised his eyebrows and smiled. His face was only a few inches from Nikki’s, most of them vertical. “Last time I saw Mandy she was letting a stranger come in her mouth.”

  Nikki didn’t know what to say. She felt almost embarrassed for her friend. She looked away and tried to take another swig of her drink, but Brand was standing so close that she couldn’t raise the glass.

  “Would you do that?” he asked.

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  “What?” But she knew what he meant, and it gave her a chill as she thought of it. Disgusted, horny.

  “Swallow come? Suck cock? Eat a stranger’s meat?”

  Nikki could not meet his gaze. He was disgusting, but not sleazy; crude, but not distasteful. Jazz tried talking dirty to her, but he only ever sounded like a little boy living out his wank fantasies. Brand … he knew what he was talking about. No fantasies here; he had lived it all.

  “I’m a vegetarian,” Nikki said, pleased with the ambiguity of her answer. Brand’s smile gave her a hint of satisfaction, a feeling of control once more. He may be older than her and taller than her, but she wasn’t just a naive little girl.

  “Why did you come to my school?” she asked, looking him in the eye. His eyes were cold, black, as if they’d brought some of the outside in.

  “I didn’t.”

  “I saw you, in the library.”

  “Then it was to see you.”

  “But you just said you didn’t come.”

  “Did, didn’t, whatever pleases you. Will it please you if I come?”

  “I told you, I’m vegetarian. And I don’t fuck strangers.”

  Brand touched her left cheek with a fingertip, drew his nail across her skin to the corner of her mouth as if tracing his own scar on her face. It sent a thrill down her spine, igniting every disc, settling into her groin and catching fire there.

  “You fuck Jazz, don’t you?”

  “He isn’t a stranger.”

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  “He isn’t here right now … sounds strange to me, leaving his beautiful girlfriend alone at a party like this.”

  “What do you mean, ‘like this’?”

  “Well, we all know what goes on here, don’t we? People under the table … the hostess giving the mostest … and I’m sure there’s a lad or two here you wouldn’t mind-“

  “I’m not a slut, Brand.”

  He touched her other cheek and repeated the movement, his hands meeting under her chin and tilting her head up so tha
t she had to look into his eyes. His breath was cool and stale, his hands warm and hard and callused. Old man’s hands. “Oh, Nikki, but I’m sure you’d love to eat meat.”

  Nikki felt hot, her stomach tensed involuntarily, she was horny and excited and terrified half to death. She wondered what would happen if she called for Jesse or Mike-or if she simply shouted for help-but the noise and the smell of the party seemed barricaded beyond the kitchen now. No one came in for drinks. No one seemed interested in the food.

  Surely that would not last for long?

  “Let me show you,” he said.

  Nikki’s eyes widened. What the hell-?

  He took her hands in his and guided her over to the refrigerator. His skin felt hot now, hotter than when he had touched her face mere seconds ago, and she wondered just how excited he was about this as well. Underneath all the mystery and the strangeness and posturing, was he just another bloke looking for a fuck?

  Brand opened the fridge and made a show of

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  sniffing at its contents. Then he moved aside some bottles and cans, winked back at Nikki, put his hand inside and brought a plate. There were two raw steaks there, uncovered, swimming in their own pink juices. He held the plate under his nose and closed his eyes, and Nikki was sure she saw the meat change color as if exposed to a few seconds of heat.

  “Blue,” he said, picking up one of the slabs of flesh and biting in.

  She should have felt revolted. She hated meat. Disliked the taste and texture, abhorred the thought of killing to eat, despised the pompous, self-righteous bastards who showed her their incisors whenever she got herself into an argument about vegetarianism. But instead of being disgusted, she was fascinated. She watched his teeth-they were grey and ragged, again like an old man’s-sinking into the meat, their points pushing it down slowly before penetrating, blood welling and squirting onto his gums and lips, dribbling into his mouth, his teeth disappearing and meeting in the middle as he pulled away and tore out a raw chunk. He chewed. His chin was pink with bloody juice. His eyes rolled Heavenward in ecstasy, a line of blood running from the corner of his mouth and dripping onto his chest.

  “That,” he said, “is worth living for.”

  “Dying,” she said, correcting him automatically.

  Brand smiled, frowned. “No.” A question and a statement. He wiped his mouth and held out the plate to her. “Care for some?”

  She did not, of course. She would puke if she

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  ate it, felt sick even smelling it, but her senses were driven back once again by the alcohol, forced into another room with the dancers and the smokers, shifted away from whatever was happening here in the kitchen. She held the second steak. It flopped over her hand like a heavy, rolled-up rag. It was cold and leaking.

  Nikki looked Brand in the eye as she put the meat to her mouth and took a bite. A big bite. She tried to give him the look she gave Jazz when she was giving him a blow job, head tilted down and eyes angled up. And for an instant-a brief, drunken instant that must have been a dream-the meat was hot and clammy, there were hairs, and the juice was not blood.

  She snapped her teeth together, pulled away and tore off a chunk of steak, chewing and smiling and still staring at Brand. His expression was bemused and impressed in equal measure. His fine scar stood out vivid-white against his hot face.

  “Lovely,” he said.

  Juice leaked from her mouth and ran down her chin, and Brand reached out to wipe it away with his palm. His hand felt like he had a fever.

  “Nikki!” Jesse shouted.

  Fuck off, she thought, can’t you see I’m busy here, can’t you see I’m being seduced … But Brand had turned away and left the kitchen, brushing past Jesse, who barely seemed to acknowledge the tall man’s presence.

  Shocked, sickened, shaking, Nikki dropped the steak. It hit the floor with a wet smack.

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  “Nik, I’m leaving, I’m going home with Suzy, her parents are away and-“

  “Great!” she said. “Excellent!”

  Jesse was far too drunk to notice the bitterness in her voice. He smiled, patted his back pocket again and disappeared.

  Brand’s sudden exit seemed to be the signal for the kitchen to fill up once more. Nikki swayed where she stood next to the open fridge, reached out to grab her glass from the table and swallowed the remaining contents in one gulp. She swilled the vicious liquid around her mouth to wash away the tang of blood; used it to help her swallow the clot of fleshy meat as well. She gagged, closed her eyes, concentrated on the drunken voices in the kitchen as she let her throat work the clump down to her stomach. They were voices she did not know, saying things she hardly recognised.

  “-no time to argue-“

  “-you know how she is-“

  “-so I’ll finish it, and send it in, and who knows-“

  “-the heating’s fucked, but I can do that myself-“

  “-sucking his fucking cock under the fucking table-“

  “-love that garlic dip-“

  She opened her eyes and the kitchen was full, but empty of Brand. For a few seconds she too felt empty, desperate, determined to find him because he was all she wanted, there were bedrooms upstairs but the wine cellar would suffice, hell, the garage … but then she realized that

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  people were looking at her. They were still talking, but throwing surreptitious glances her way. All but two of them, who were staring as if she’d suddenly grown antlers and turned yellow.

  “What?” she said.

  “You’re bleeding,” said a girl she didn’t know. She could have been one of the dope smokers from the sofa next to Jazz, or someone who’d only just arrived. They were all just as faceless to Nikki now, drunken teenagers who didn’t know a thing, didn’t know anything about what was really out there and in here, now, swimming around, dodging the alcohol fugues to dart in and take crafty bites from her mind, her imagination.

  She swayed again, wiped her hand across her chin and saw it come away wet … although for a second it was white and sticky, not pink diluted blood.

  Nikki suddenly felt unwelcome, an invited who’d become uninvited and untouchable. She didn’t know anyone in the kitchen, and she thought that if she ventured through the house it would be peopled entirely by strangers. Mandy would be gone, and Mike, and Jesse and his new girl had probably already left in a sticky embrace, and before long she’d be here with a bunch of people she could never know.

  Except for Brand. Surely he was still here. He wouldn’t have left her so soon.

  Nikki went looking for him. She realized that she was badly, stupendously drunk. She never went the exact direction she intended, her hands reached out to fend off walls and, once or twice, the floor, and people were looking at her as if

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  they recognized her from a “Wanted” poster. Faces she didn’t know sneered. Mouths she had never kissed or seen speak before formed words she barely understood, in languages she could not understand. Something heavy attacked her from the dining room, and after a couple of seconds she realized it was music, pummelling the floorboards and walls and the inside of her skull. She passed by the doors. There were still people dancing in there, and for all she knew one of them was Brand, but suddenly she only wanted to get outside. It wasn’t fresh air she needed, or coolness washing her numb skin, but darkness. She thought that if she could open her eyes and see nothing maybe she’d feel better, if only for a while.

  The glazed panels in the front door glared from the spotlights in the garden.

  And then she wanted some wine. Blood-red, soft and subtle, heavy and fruity, tangy or smooth, she wanted nothing more than a bottle of red wine in one hand while the other steadied her against whatever rough floor she was sitting on. She could feel the gritty concrete speckling her bum and legs, the cold ground beneath one palm and the cool glass in the other, and she was sliding along the hallway wall and heading back to the kitchen once more. People passed her by
, shadows at the edges of her narrowing perception, and the only ridicule she actually registered was the occasional bout of laughter.

  The music must have notched up yet again because it gave her a final push into the kitchen. The room was empty once more. The food table

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  had been attacked and scraps of bread, meat and crisps were trodden into the tiled floor. The drinks table had been mixed. Smashed glass lay amongst scattered ice. One bottle of wine was on its side, glugging its contents onto the floor like a slashed artery, slowing to a dribble. And then the room was dead.

  Silent.

  And the cellar door was still ajar.

  Sweet red wine, Nikki thought, and maybe someone had actually spoken it in her ear. She walked across the kitchen to the cellar, peering down the wooden steps to where her shadow already lay on the bare concrete floor. There was a faint light down there, illuminating the racks and racks of bottles and taking on a reddish hue, as if the bulb had been spattered with blood. She swayed at the top of the stairs and knew she must turn around, leave the house and go home. She’d walk or run, hitch or ring a taxi, but she had to get home. Her father and mother and safety were waiting for her there.

  But Brand was waiting for her as well. And he was much, much closer.

  “Shut the door behind you,” a voice said, dark as the shadows it came from.

  “There’s not much light.”

  “Do you believe everything you see? Sight is a liar, on occasion. Instinct … lust… fate … they never lie.”

  Nikki felt the skin of her arms tingling as if stroked, although he was hidden down there somewhere and she could not yet see him. She closed the door, holding onto the handle for a

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