The rain, which had started as a light drizzle, pelted down harder. Fulton pulled his coat around himself and backed under the branches of a tree overhanging the street. He was beginning to wish that he had arranged for the taxi to collect him from home. His parents were having a party at his house. Along with their work friends were a number of his relatives, a couple of grandparents and some aunts and uncles. His twin younger sisters, only just two years old had been asleep upstairs when he'd left. His parents had had a fight on their hands to get the inquisitive youngsters to bed when the twins wanted to be involved in what was going on downstairs.
If he crossed the street and looked to the right and up the road he would be able to see the well lit house. People were probably already spilling out onto the garden and the lighted garage. His mother had banned people from smoking inside the house. Though when she had several drinks inside her the rules would likely go out of the window.
Down in the opposite direction there was a small street party also already in progress. Tables holding bottles and cans of alcohol and soft drinks were set out in such a manner as to prevent any traffic going down the road. Revellers continued to party, not seeming to notice the rain in their jovial mood. Someone had their car stereo up at full power to provide music for the group. The headlights of three others provided the illumination. The shindig was going strong despite the fact that there were still more than three hours to go before the magical hour arrived. Fulton guessed that at least a quarter of those present would be too drunk to make it properly until midnight. They wouldn't remember it the day after.
By the time the taxi eventually arrived Fulton was pretty much drenched. He had to sit up in the front with the driver because some drunk who had started partying way too early had thrown up all over the back seat. So they were driving with the windows wound fully down in a futile attempt to escape the stench. Thus the car was as cold as the outside, and rain continued to pelt him. Added to the redolent aroma of almost fresh vomit that continued to assault him from the rear seat, and the night had not got off to a good start.
Fulton wasn't in the mood for the idle chitchat that the driver offered. He gave only a series of noncommittal grunts in reply to the man's questions and comments.
The roads into Sheffield were relatively quiet. A lot of people must have decided to stay at home, like his parents, rather that pay the inflated prices that were all one could find on 'millennium eve.'
A little over two hours later, Fulton and his three friends left the restaurant to find a club or some other location to see in the New Year. Karl Jackson said he knew somewhere for the quartet to go and he led the other three youths through the city. Loads of others were wandering the streets in party hats or with hair covered in streamers. Parties were spilling out onto the road all over the place. Keeping watch on the jollity's was a visible police presence. Fulton and Karl along with their other friend Lewis Clarke had had a bit to drink with their meal but were nowhere close to intoxication and calmed their behaviour when they passed the coppers. Dylan Brown, the fourth member of the group, was a different matter. He hadn't had any more to drink than his companions but Fulton thought he might be on something else as well. Something a little less legal.
His three friends had tried to talk with him about his growing problems but Dylan was definitely on a steep downward spiral. But tonight was about having fun, it wasn’t the time or place for a well-intentioned intervention.
They arrived at the club only to turn right around when they saw what the admission charge was. Everyone had gone money mad. The price of their food had been higher than normal but nothing as extortionate as the people running the club were tying to get away with. In the end Fulton and his three friends decided to try elsewhere.
"We should have planned this better." Fulton said as they walked the streets.
"Never mind." Lewis said. "Just keep walking until you see a party then we get ourselves some invites."
"What about that square we passed on the way here? The one with the fountains, there were plenty of people there, some good looking lasses. We can start a street party." Karl said.
Fulton and Lewis both agreed to the proposal. Dylan took another moment before nodding as well.
The square was already heaving with people when they got there and a party was well under way. The four young men quickly involved themselves in the fun and mingled with the crowd. Dylan took himself over to one of the fountains and dipped his head in the water. Fulton went over and sat by him soon followed by Lewis and Karl. Lewis looking a little distraught as Karl stole him away from a conversation with a petite blonde girl in a body hugging outfit.
"You all right?" Fulton asked.
"I just needed a drink of water," Dylan said springing up looking freshly energised. "Let's party."
Fulton wasn't sure whether Dylan had just taken anything that they suspected he might be into, but now was not the time to talk about it.
Lewis went back to chatting up the blonde girl and the other three joined the mass of revellers.
It was about a half-hour before midnight when Fulton came across Francesca. Well, he didn't find her, she found him. Fulton felt a hand on his shoulder and when he turned around he was gazing at perhaps the most astounding woman he had ever seen. It wasn't just the drink or the atmosphere that made her seem so attractive. There was something else about her. He couldn't have said what it was if anyone asked him to describe it, but it was definitely there.
She was a vision in scarlet. With shoulder length ebony hair framing her perfect features. She looked a little pale in the light from lamps around the fountains, but so did everyone who was illuminated by them. She wore a full length red dress that, while quite conservatively cut, couldn't disguise her sensational figure. She did not look cold wearing just that dress despite the frigid air. Absently Fulton wondered whether she had some sort of coat to wear if the rain started to come down again.
They had been chatting and dancing together for a short while when Francesca asked Fulton to walk her to her flat just off the square to collect a jacket. Fulton agreed and was teased by his friends when they saw him.
"You're in there," Karl said giving Francesca a lingering look.
Francesca took Fulton's hand and led him away from the frivolities towards a block of flats. He followed along more than willingly and they entered the building. The block was in a good state of repair which quite surprising Fulton. Although he couldn't imagine someone like Francesca living anywhere decrepit. But he couldn't really imagine her living here. She seemed like a woman with a certain amount of class, used to living somewhere more upmarket. Unbidden came the image of Francesca as some sort of old fashioned aristocracy who had deigned to mix with the peasants, the vision seemed to fit though she didn't seem stuck up in any way.
They stopped outside the lift and Francesca pressed the call button. Her nails were long and shiny reflecting a distorted image of the lobby on their surface, they were painted the same vibrant colour as her dress and matched her full lips.
She turned to face Fulton and he felt his heart catch in his chest. Her eyes pierced his soul and there was something like a predatory gleam behind them. Fulton’s body started to react at the dark promise behind that gaze. She licked her lips and stepped closer to him. The scent of her perfume provoked his nostrils. His head swam as he felt heat wash over him.
"I didn't invite you to come with me because I needed a jacket," she whispered.
Fulton was about to speak when Francesca put a finger to his lips. At that moment the lift arrived and Francesca pulled him inside by the front of his shirt.
She pressed the button for her floor and the lift moved up after the doors slid closed. Francesca tumbled into him as the lift jerked into motion. Her arms wrapped around his body. She tilted her head back to look into his eyes and Fulton had to lower his lips to hers.
They were still kissing when the lift stopped and the doors opened. Francesca capered around him and drew him alo
ng after her. They entered her flat and she smiled at him enticingly.
"I'm afraid that there isn't time for us to get back to your friends before midnight," she said mock apologetically with a mischievous little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and large chocolate eyes.
"They'll manage without me," Fulton replied, looking at his watch. It was less than ten minutes to twelve. He couldn't work out where the time had gone.
"If you want to see them you can go out on the balcony. If you yell they might hear you and you can still see the New Year in together." She tossed him a can of lager and showed him to the ledge.
They were six floors up but Fulton scanned the crowd for his friends. Francesca sidled up beside him and put her arm around his waist. Fulton was having no luck spotting the others. There were just too many bodies down there for him to locate three individuals who might not be stood together.
"Over there," Francesca said pointing.
Fulton looked where she indicated and sure enough there they were. Fulton pulled out his telephone and keyed in Karl's number again. He watched his friend answer and told him where to look. He saw Karl talk to the other two and all three started casting around.
It was Dylan who eventually noticed the pair waving on the balcony and he gave the other two a nudge. Lewis took the phone from Karl's hand.
"And what have you been up to you naughty boy?" he said doing his best to sound like a puritan.
"Ye'all are condemning yourselves to hellfire and eternal damnation," he drawled impersonating a preacher from one of the southern United States, complete with a ridiculous attempt at a southern American accent.
Fulton smiled as he said. "You just wish it was you up here."
"Not at all," Lewis replied. "Not that I wouldn't, mind you. But I prefer the ladies of a somewhat blonder persuasion rather than the brunette babes. I can't be doing with having to worry if they might have brains as well as looks. Besides I got that blonde's phone number and we're going to meet up tomorrow."
Fulton heard Dylan say "Two minutes to go," in the background.
When it got to eleven-fifty-nine the crowd started counting down from sixty. Others came out onto their own balconies in the surrounding blocks and chanted along with the countdown.
They had reached thirty when Fulton turned to Francesca and said "You don't seem terribly excited."
"I've seen plenty of new years," she said but when they reached ten she joined in with them all.
The countdown reached zero with raucous cries of happy New Year all around. Lewis, Dylan and Karl crowded around and shouted down the phone at Fulton who shouted right back toasting them with his can. The blonde girl went over to Lewis and kissed him fully much to his friends' amusement. Francesca took Fulton by the waist of his trousers and pulled him inside. He blushed involuntarily when he heard whistles and cries of "Go on, son," before he flipped closed the cover of his mobile and severed the connection.
Francesca drew him along and pushed him down into a plush settee. She twirled away and stopped on the other side of the room. She hit the play button on a stereo and an Irish woman's voice sounded from the speakers, it might have been something by the Corrs but Fulton wasn't sure. Francesca pirouetted back towards him. Leaning forwards she rested her hands on his knees and they kissed.
Fulton put his arms around Francesca and pulled her on top of him. She clutched him with her own arms and with surprising strength, she dragged Fulton along with her and tumbled to the carpeted floor. Francesca moved her hands over his chest and pulled his shirt up out of his trousers to run her nails over his skin. She was lying on top of him and she pressed her body against his, gyrating erotically.
They caressed and rolled around the carpet. Francesca had Fulton's shirt off in no time and licked around his pecks. Fulton had his own hands running over Francesca's shapely frame.
"Do you work out?" Francesca asked between running her tongue over his muscles.
Fulton struggled to keep enough of his breath from escaping in gasps to respond. "I do a few martial arts. Keep myself in shape and able to look after myself, you know."
After a couple of minutes, with the two now smouldering, Francesca pushed herself up and gave Fulton a mischievous wink.
"I'll be back in a second," she said heading for the bathroom.
"I'm not going anywhere," Fulton replied breathless with passion.
He watched her walking away and she wiggled her hips as she noticed him watching.
Fulton pushed himself up and walked over towards the bathroom himself. He looked in on the bedroom. Saw pressed white sheets and matching curtains but little else. This matched the Spartan furnishings of the rest of her flat. The living room contained a pair of settees a small table and a stereo on a shelf next to some CD's. A modest television sat in one of the corners. There were no photographs, ornaments or other decorations around. There was none of the usual array of paraphernalia people used to turn a house into a home.
Fulton looked across the hall and saw the bathroom door remained open. Inside Francesca stood with her head over a basin of water, splashing the liquid on her face washing away makeup. On the wall above the sink were the remains of a broken mirror. It was cracked in a spiral pattern, like someone had punched it in the centre.
Francesca raised her head and dried her face off with a plain towel. She still looked rather pale even under the indoor lights. Fulton was going to ask her if she was all right when he noticed her reflection in the shattered mirror. Instead of her exquisite image, the reflection appeared as an abhorrent mask. Her mouth contorted to admit long pointed fangs. Her eyes were malformed under a thick sloping brow that met an upturned nose with flaring nostrils. Looking at her almost in profile Fulton could see that Francesca's face didn't match that reflected back from the mirror.
"How do you do that?" Fulton said.
The eyes in the mirror moved and locked on him. Francesca growled and turned to face him. As she turned her face morphed and contorted so that it matched the countenance he had seen in the mirror.
"I didn't think you were a shallow person," Francesca said. "Were you only after me for my looks?"
Fulton faltered and just remained staring at, whatever he was staring at.
"Why can't people look beyond appearance and see what's on the inside?" she continued.
Fulton regained his voice. "I think it's what's on the inside that put me off this time," he said.
"Ooh. You've got fire. I like that in a man. Come on lover boy why don't we finish what we started?" She shook her head and her features melted back to their beautiful shape. She raised her hand and Fulton felt his gaze drawn up with it to her eyes.
With a huge effort and tremendous force of will that was so difficult it caused him physical pain Fulton tore his eyes away and ran from the room. He might know some martial arts but he wasn't about to test them against that. He didn't stop to retrieve his shirt or coat, so he ran out into the cold night air topless. The lift doors were already open on this floor and Fulton barrelled inside hammering the button for the ground floor. The doors seemed to take an eternity to slide closed and Fulton expected to see Francesca appear at any moment.
The lift started to move down. The indicator said it was on the third floor when a thud shook the tiny box. Something heavy had landed on the roof. Fulton looked up as the lift passed the second floor. There was a crash and a fist punched through the back left corner of the roof. The hand groped around, taking hold of the broken corner it started tugging the metal away. Peeling the roof back like a foil lid on microwave food, now that wasn’t a pleasant thought. Fulton backed into the opposite corner and hammered some more on the lowest button, as if it would make the lift travel any faster.
A hole almost wide enough for Francesca, the whatever she was, to fit through had been opened by the time the doors opened again. Fulton hit the highest numbered button he could see before darting out. He didn't wait to see the doors close before he ran out of the block. He stumbled o
n the kerb of the road and got his feet tangled in some discarded paper streamers.
The alcohol and shock to his system at seeing what he had seen had totally destroyed his sense of direction. He couldn't remember which way he had came from the square. But he knew if he could get back there where there were plenty of people he would be safe. He had no time to stand around deciding which direction to go so he ran off to the left. If he took the next left after that he should be heading around the other side of the block and that was roughly where the square was. At least he thought it was.
Fulton hazarded a glance over his right shoulder but there was no sign of his pursuer. Fulton's feet kicked up dirty rain water from numerous puddles but the rain that had stopped earlier had yet to return. The needed branch off to the left came and he turned down it.
There she was, waiting for him halfway down the street. The celebrations in the square could be seen in the background but there was too much noise for anyone to hear if Fulton called out. Not that he could think of anything to shout that wouldn't make him sound like some mad drunk or druggie.
He faltered to a halt before turning on his heels and fleeing back out of the street. He ran straight on over the road not caring about the risk of being hit by a late-night traveller. He just wanted out of this mess. Fulton tried to loose himself in a series of side streets. Ducking aside he ran into another block of flats. One of the third floor flats had the door open and Fulton saw signs of a party inside. Techno music filtered down to his ears and different coloured lights pulsed in time with the rhythm. Running past the lift with a grubby out of order sign, Fulton pounded up the stairs. Covered in graffiti and smelling vaguely of urine Fulton knew he was heading into one of the less prosperous neighbourhood blocks.
His breath coming in ragged gasps and his thighs burning, he passed the second floor. Fulton was turning around the corner to take the last flight of steps when he ran into Francesca again. He bounced back as she stood her ground and had the wind knocked out of him. Impossibly strong hands fixed themselves on his bare shoulders.
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