Face

by Tim Lebbon

  “You’re a good girl,” Dan whispered into the snow, his voice hoarse from the cold. “A good girl, Nikki, Daddy’s good girl. You do what you like, as long as it’s good.” Pain tried to hobble him, drop him into the snow where ice-cold arms would hold him down, freeze him, leech the warmth from his bones and his mind. But he remembered that little girl on top of the barge and walked on, each step an agony, expecting at any moment to slip away from the walking stick and break another bone.

  He closed his eyes and walked, and for a few seconds he was in a warm operating theatre, surgeons rushing around, grim expressions hidden by green surgical masks. They’d let him in, but only on his insistence. The monitoring machines had told them that the baby was in distress, it had to be born now, and Megan was crying as she was jerked and wrenched around. Dan stayed close to her behind the raised sheet screen, not wanting to see what they were doing

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  to his wife even though he could close his eyes and imagine it. She cried and groaned and whimpered, and he tried to hear what the nurses and doctors were saying to each other, was it lighthearted banter or serious talked lightened up for his benefit? Every second that went by without a sound terrified him, he was sweating and shaking nearly as much as Megan, and then they heard her cry … her first cry … and he burst into tears, vision blurred so that he didn’t really see his daughter as they showed her to him before whisking her away to clean her up. Megan was shaking, shock setting in, but she was smiling too. She was smiling.

  Dan opened his eyes. “Like you smiling,” he said past blue lips. “Like the idea of you smiling. And you …” He smiled himself, because in his mind’s eye was Nikki-a baby, a girl on the verge of her teens, and the beautiful young woman she was now-looking at him with her cheeky lopsided grin. “You may be seventeen, but you’re still my little girl.”

  He struggled on through the pain. His family gave him strength, his love for them and theirs for him. And a few minutes later the stark, ghostly form of the dead apple tree jumped from the blizzard before him, old angular branches holding onto clumps of snow. He leaned against the fence and fell over, crying out as he rolled but picking himself up again straight away.

  Three steps from the front door he brandished the walking stick before him, hopping the last few feet to crash against the door. He tried the handle. It was locked.

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  Dan slid down to the step and felt tears freezing on his cheeks.

  It was beautiful. Jazz had never been like this.

  Nikki’s room had faded around her until there was only her and Brand, the soft bed beneath their bodies, sheets dampened by sweat and becoming more tangled as they squirmed and moved together. He turned her over and pressed himself to her back, biting her neck, her shoulder blades, her buttocks, biting again, kissing her with the knife and it was beautiful, feeling the air touch where the knife had kissed was beautiful, and then he suckled the blood and pressed his tongue into the wound. Every touch of the knife sent a small shudder through her, every wet kiss of knife or tongue or both, by now she couldn’t tell which was which …

  He said nothing. He just did. Did things she had never dreamed of, parted her legs with his knee and lay the knife against the curves of her buttocks, let blood run and then followed it with his tongue. She lifted to allow him access and the knife kissed again, every parting of skin a rapture.

  He moved back up her body and entered her, and she gasped because he was so cold. Her heat made him feel colder still, and as he moved she could feel every inch, every gnarled and twisted scar that covered even that part of him. The only sounds were her own heavy breathing and the rasping of his rough skin against her smooth, lubricated by the sheen of blood … blood … there was so much …

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  Nikki lifted her head and opened her eyes, twisting so that she could see the bloodstained sheets. Surely that wasn’t right? Blood like that was bad, red, danger, and there was so much, was she feeling weak already? Was this really what she thought? Was Brand really loving her?

  She opened her mouth, not knowing what was going to emerge.

  Brand kissed the back of her neck and slid the knife along her side, parting skin as he drove back into her. He stilled and Nikki felt coldness flooding her. Still he said nothing but Nikki gasped, wondering how she could possibly have thought that anything was wrong.

  He turned her onto her back again, sliding his hands across her bloody nakedness. His face was blurred, a red smear, she must have blood in her eyes. Nerve endings flared across her body, the knife and his mouth kissing her, blade and flesh, tongue and metal sucking or opening, or both, it was all so beautiful.

  Nikki reached for him and found him still hard, cold yet wanting. She drew him down to her but he held back, touching her belly with the cool knife, pushing.

  Nikki screamed and smiled. She knew that he was giving the very best he could.

  In madness Megan found a strange peace. She had called to God but found Him cold and wanting, holding back judgment on something that was so plainly bad, evil, corrupt. So she turned to something else. She looked to her memory. And she found Nikki, a bloody wet bundle

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  only just pulled from her body, waved in front of her for a few precious seconds and then taken away again. They would clean her and make sure she was well, Megan knew, but she wanted her baby with her now. Dan hugged her head and cried. Megan knew she should cry too, but she could not. Instead she began to shake.

  Her baby, her baby was covered in blood and crying.

  “Baby,” she said, “I want my baby.” They had used knives to open her up, she knew, a scalpel to slice under the mound of her belly so that they could reach in and take out her baby, relieve her distress, rescue her beautiful daughter from the deadly trap Megan’s womb had become. But their scalpels may have cut a lot more, gone in too deep, and she had to see her daughter to make sure she was unharmed by the cool blade. “Nikki,” she said, because that was the name she and Dan had chosen for a girl. Megan was instantly aware that the first time she had uttered it was in fear. “Nikki, I want Nikki, where’s my baby Nikki?”

  And then she had her, a warm bundle, a miracle with black shiny eyes looking around in wonder, staring up at her mother’s face and perhaps feeling safe at last.

  Megan stood in the middle of the study and wept into her hands. And then she froze, a gasp half out, a memory unfinished, because she thought she had heard her baby crying again.

  She looked around. The room was empty. There were no animals. He was no longer watching her.

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  Perhaps he was too involved elsewhere.

  “No,” Megan said. She darted for the door. The hallway outside was silent, but if she held her breath and listened carefully she could hear something from upstairs. It was a human sound, though she could not tell who was making it, or what was meant by it. No words for sure. A cry maybe, or a scream, or both. A gasp of pain or pleasure.

  Her baby … the memory came again of Nikki finally being handed to her, but this time her baby had not escaped the scalpel. This time, the nurses place a slashed and bleeding infant in her arms, and her baby was crying and screaming at the unfairness of it all.

  With her first foot on the stairs something made Megan turn and look at the front door. For the third time that day, someone was trying to get in. For the first time she knew for sure who it was. Brand was upstairs with their daughter, so the shape slumped against the glass could only be Dan. For a second she did not know which way to go. God helps those … she thought, and realized that she and Dan together would at least stand a chance. She went to the front door and opened it.

  Dan was dead. He must be to look that bad, that blue. And the snow around him was speckled red, a pink pattern already spreading from his misshapen leg like ink on blotting paper. There was snow frozen in his hair, if he’d been alive his body heat would be melting it, and he must have been here for ages because there were icicles hanging from his eyes-344
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  He moved. Her husband turned to look at her, and Megan cried out because it must be Brand doing this, playing the sick puppeteer with poor dead Dan’s freezing corpse-

  “Megan,” Dan said.

  Megan knew her husband’s voice. That bastard could not contrive that. “Oh Dan, he’s upstairs with Nikki,” she said, hauling him in across the snow and ignoring his high-pitched keening, knowing that all there was for them to do was to rescue Nikki from Brand’s clutches.

  She helped him stand. He was crying and whining with the pain but he did not push her away. He also knew what needed doing, and they did not need to say anything else. As soon as he could stand, move, they had to go upstairs. Their baby was up there, and Brand was doing something to her.

  Even now, they both thought at the same time, it may be too late.

  There was a smash and the door burst open. Nikki turned her head to look at her parents standing in the doorway, and she opened her mouth, sighed and smiled happily as Brand made his own beautiful brand of love to her.

  “You’ll scar,” he whispered in her mind, “and maybe you’ll grow to like it.”

  Megan smashed at the door with the heavy toolbox from the spare room, and it surprised them both by bursting open at the first impact. Dan leaned against the frame and held the walking

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  stick ready. Megan dropped the toolbox, a screwdriver gripped in her fist.

  Brand was raping their daughter. That hit home first, but then some odd things about the scene struggled to imprint on Dan and Megan’s minds. The blood, there was so much blood, too much … and Brand’s position was all wrong, he held himself away from Nikki and they could see the knife, keen blade dulled with blood as it disappeared inside their daughter’s stomach.

  Nikki turned to look at them. And she screamed. So much agony and pain and hurt there, so much betrayal. She screamed at the unfairness of it all.

  Dan and Megan launched themselves into the room.

  Dan staggered with his first step. He knew he was going over, so with a shout that hurt his throat and blurred his vision he used his momentum to swing the walking stick at Brand. Its heavy rubber-coated end struck the naked man’s back, skittering from a knot of grey scars and clattering to the floor. Dan did the same, holding out his right hand to deflect the fall, his left hand coming around automatically and hitting the carpet with him. His scream continued, rising in pitch.

  Someone else screamed as well, the sound perpetuating the echoes of Nikki’s cries. At first Dan thought it was Brand but then realized it was Megan, leaping across his prone form and bringing her hand around in an arc. The screwdriver was rusted, as if already coated with red blood.

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  Its tip was blunt. But wielded with enough force it would kill.

  It would kill Nikki.

  Brand would shift aside and it would go into Nikki, finishing the job he had begun.

  Dan could not close his eyes.

  Too fast for him to make out-maybe he’d blinked, maybe he really had closed his eyes to avoid the dreaded outcome-things changed. Brand had moved from Nikki’s body to a standing position, one hand holding Megan’s wrist, the other punching her stomach, two, three times. She coughed and stumbled back across Dan’s legs. Dan opened his mouth at the shock as she crushed his left leg into his right, but no sound emerged, the pain was too great to be given vent just yet.

  Daddy, someone said, but Dan could only look at Brand where he stood, a sculpture of scars. The man’s face was still blank, no expression, no scar … the only flawless piece of him. Except for the black empty pits that were his eyes. If hate had a color, they would be it.

  Megan picked herself up quickly, ignoring Dan’s explosive scream as she heaved herself from his body. Brand was smiling at her. His face was unblemished now, but the rest of his body seemed to be in motion, every inch of him a slowly twisting sigil, all scarred on, each of them taunting her in languages she could not know. She still had the screwdriver clasped in her hand. She could not breathe, she was winded, her stomach muscles knotted tight as steel, but if she only had a few seconds left to live she would

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  spend them killing this bastard who had done this to her daughter …

  … she looked at Nikki but tried not to see, it was just too bad …

  And she threw herself at Brand.

  He batted her away with a simple movement of his arm. And then he paused, looking up, an expression of surprise animating his dead-flesh face. “Oh!” he said, as if an answer to an old riddle had just leapt into his mind.

  Dan and Megan stared up at him, and for a moment the room was almost silent. Almost, but for Nikki’s sobbing.

  Megan wanted to go to her daughter but she was too afraid to move. Dan could not move.

  “Oh!” Brand said again. He was staring at the ceiling.

  And then they all heard the sound of something walking on the roof. Heavy footsteps passing back and forth above them, and then circling them like a hunter circles prey.

  “Well,” Brand said, scratching absently at the cuts across his chest and stomach, “it seems it’s time for me to go.” His cock drooped and dripped Nikki’s blood to the carpet.

  “No,” Megan said.

  Brand frowned down at her. For an instant he looked almost confused. “Sorry?”

  “I said no.”

  “You don’t want me to go?”

  “Why come in the first place?” Dan asked, grinding his teeth together from pain.

  “I could tell you, but you’d hate it,” the scarred man said. Megan lurched for him again but he

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  kicked her once, hard, in the side. She fell winded, and the screwdriver rolled under Nikki’s bed.

  “And perhaps that’s why I will tell you. I came in the first place because I could. I wanted a moment of your time, and you wouldn’t grant it, so I gave you a moment of mine. Really, a moment of yours would have made it so much easier.”

  “For what?”

  “For you all to accept me.”

  “But why us?” Megan said, hopelessness bringing it out in one gasp.

  Brand stood, pulled his coat on and stared down at Megan. “If God won’t tell you the truth, I will: because. Just because. Just because bad things happen to good people.”

  “Daddy,” Nikki whispered from the bed.

  Dan crawled past Brand’s legs, waiting for the kick, the stamp, but none came. The noises from above grew louder, the footsteps more frequent and insistent. Whatever was up there had started running. He reached the bed and hauled himself up. And when he saw what awaited him, then he cried. Nikki’s bloodied hand reached for his and he held on tight. It was all he could do.

  “Best go,” Brand said, glancing up again at the ceiling. “Time.”

  “Bastard,” Dan whispered. “You bastard.” It was quieter than a sigh, but they all heard it in that room. Even Brand paused for a second, turned to look at Dan … and Dan was positive he saw an instant of disquiet in the mad man’s eyes.

  The banging again, louder and louder, like the

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  drums of some unknown invocation beating faster and faster toward conclusion. Brand looked up.

  Something nudged Dan’s leg. Megan, reaching past Brand’s feet, past Dan, hand searching.

  Brand glanced back down at Dan, up again. They all felt his attention leaving them. All of them, Nikki included, had a sense of joyous relief. On the carpet next to Nikki’s bed, the family’s blood combined.

  “It’s been fun,” Brand said. And then Megan lurched up and stuck the screwdriver into his neck.

  Brand whirled and smacked her around the head, sending her bouncing against the wall, sliding down, fresh blood leaking from her wounded scalp. Her eyes were open but for a few seconds she could not see.

  Dan stood quickly and quietly, imagining his pain in the past and forgetting it even while it happened, because he was not letting this murderer go. “No,” he said, lifting the wal
king stick, “you’re not going.” Brand turned and Dan hit him around the face, feeling the solid impact of the wood against bone, hearing a crunch as something broke. Brand’s head jerked back, and then he looked at Dan again. His eyes were the same dark pools of nothing.

  The tall man staggered towards Dan and Megan. The screwdriver dripped as blood leaked from the wound in his neck. Megan fell across his path, using all the strength she could muster to heave herself from the wall. Brand tripped over her body and onto the bed, grunting,

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  twitching and bashing his feet in a rapid tattoo on the carpet.

  The sound matched the frantic beating on the roof. Slates were cracking up there, the impacts were louder and louder, and then Brand’s feet stopped hitting the floor.

  Nikki’s hand reached out and touched Brand’s head. She stroked his hair, ran her fingers down across his face where she’d seen the dashing scar. There was nothing there now but cooling skin.

  “You promised me so much,” she whispered. Then her hand dropped to the screwdriver and, with one hard twist that made her scream, she drove it all the way in.

  Dan hopped and Megan crawled to the bedside. Brand’s eyes had rolled up in his head. They were still black.

  “Dead,” Megan said.

  “Maybe,” Dan agreed. He grabbed Brand’s hair and tipped him to the floor, raised the walking stick and smashed it into the corpse’s face, again and again and again until Megan turned away, Nikki began crying louder, the crunching noises turned wet and the beating on the roof slowly ebbed away into nothing.