Face

by Tim Lebbon

  Her mother spun around in her seat. “Just get out of our car.”

  “I only want a moment of your time.” Again, Brand glanced outside at the driving snow. Nikki could see his face reflected in the window. The scar looked very fresh and red. He was smiling.

  “You’ve had a moment and now you’re starting to … annoy me. Please, leave the car.” She turned to Dan. “Stop, Mr. Brand’s getting out.”

  “Mum…” Nikki began, but her mother’s glare silenced her instantly. Let me handle this, it said. I know what’s best for all of us. It was something her mother told her so often that she no longer needed to speak for Nikki to know what she was thinking.

  Brand shook his head as the car slowed, glanced across at Nikki, then stared at her dad in the rearview mirror as if he’d had a sudden thought. “It’s very cold out there,” he said. “I might freeze.”

  The Freelander coasted to a halt just before their turning into the woods. A mile away lay their house. Two spare bedrooms, the heating programmed to come on four hours ago, a full fridge, hot food within the hour. We could help him, Nikki thought. I think he needs help.

  “You’re dressed for it. You said so yourself.” Her mother was turned around in her seat now, unwilling to present her back to this man. She pressed herself against the dashboard, as far away from Brand as possible. Nikki still sat

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  against her door. Brand took up most of the space inside the vehicle.

  He looked imploringly at her dad. “A moment of your time? Are you sure you can’t spare me just a moment of this mad, merry-go-round existence of yours? Attention spans are so much shorter nowadays, you know. Blame it on television or computers if you want. Me … I blame it on God.”

  “What do you mean?” Nikki’s mum asked.

  “Well,” Brand said, “if he wasn’t such a useless fuck he’d have sorted us out centuries ago.”

  Nikki closed her eyes.

  “Get out!” her mother screamed. “Get out of this car now! Leave us!”

  Nikki kept her eyes shut. She heard the door click open, the sound of movement as Brand slid from the seat, the hard crunch of wet snow as he landed in the fresh fall. A gust of cold air touched the moisture around her eyes and across her top lip … she hadn’t realized she’d been sweating … and then the door slammed shut.

  “Where is he?” her father said.

  Nikki opened her eyes. Brand had gone.

  Her parents both looked around for several seconds. “Into the trees,” her mother said. Not because she knew for sure, but because it was the only place the tall man could have disappeared to so quickly.

  Into the trees.

  “I want to go home,” Nikki said. “I feel sick. I need the loo. I want to go home.”

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  He was left to unload the car. Screw equality and ‘Noughties Man, when it was cold and snowing outside, when the bags were heavy, it was down to him. Normally Dan would not mind. But tonight felt far from normal. This evening, everything was as strange as hell.

  There was the blizzard, never letting up, throwing down layer upon layer of snow in an apparent attempt to erase the landscape from existence, and then memory. There was the oddball stranger they’d picked up, the weirdo who’d said his name was Brand, probably still wandering around out there even now. Dead by morning, Dan thought. Just like that guy in that famous photo from the American Midwest, he’d be tangled on barbed wire until the thaws came and the cold let up, allowing the rot to begin. And finally there was the fact that Megan, his wife of eighteen years, had told him today that she wanted to move back to the city. Back to the place where the bad stuff six years ago had effectively forced their new life out here; a life he was immensely happy with, and which he had believed Megan was happy with as well.

  No, nothing was normal about today.

  Dan struggled between the Freelander and the house five time, amazed at how they always seemed to bring more junk home from a holiday than they ever took with them in the first place. They’d only been away for three days, spending the time at a year-round guest house in Cornwall, but their bags seemed to have multiplied in that short time and become heavier. Or maybe the snow was wearing him out. It had been a long

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  drive, after all, and he wanted nothing more now than to slouch down in front of the fire with a good book and a beer.

  He hoped Megan was sorting out something warm to eat while he unloaded. Nikki was upstairs already, no doubt, preening herself in her full-length mirror and twitching to get on the phone to Jeremy, her dopey boyfriend. The first thing the kid had said upon meeting Dan was, “Hey, Mr. Powell, call me Jazz’, since then Dan had called him Jeremy as much as possible, purely out of principle. He was a nice enough kid, relatively concerned about his future, conscious of his appearance, quite bright … but he was also going out with Dan’s one and only daughter. He persuaded himself that it was a father’s right to be sarcastic and worried, because he remembered himself at that age. A walking gland.

  Shit, Nikki was seventeen. She was a pretty girl. Dan knew that he had to face up to these things.

  On his final trip out to the car he saw something moving in the woods. Surely he can’t have made it here yet? Dan thought, and by allowing his subconscious fears to the fore he realized just how much Brand had shaken him. The guy was not only weird, he was spooky, and the way he’d been glancing at Nikki … Dan had seen him in the mirror, a little sideways look every few seconds. He was sure his daughter hadn’t known she was being sized up, surely not, surely she’d have said or done something? Of course she hadn’t known … she was only seventeen. And then all that odd talk, asking for a moment of

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  their time when they’d already stopped to offer the idiot refuge from the blizzard. Home sounds good, the guy had said. And then he claimed he had no home. And then the God stuff, really the last thing to say in front of Megan, guaranteed to drive her into a righteous frenzy. And indeed it had. Almost as if Brand had known his words would antagonize Megan, draw her out of the silent shell she’d been in for virtually the whole trip.

  Maybe that’s what had annoyed Dan most of all. He hated the idea, but he also hated the fact that it was Megan who had driven the fruitcake from the car in the end, not him. His job was protector… he’d failed once before, true, but he never would again … and still, tonight, his wife had been the decisive one. She had acted while Dan had prevaricated.

  Well, he’d been ready to pull over and drag the guy from the back seat if he had to.

  Another movement deep within the trees. Perhaps it was snow dropping down through the canopy, laden branches snapping them off at the trunk. Following an abnormal storm like this, Dan knew, there would be many more trees than usual damaged by the weight of snow. He paused, trying to see beneath the tree canopy, the heavy bags in each hand making his shoulders begin to burn.

  A face. Dan saw a face between tree trunks, too large and out of perspective, surely, but it was there, and it was smiling. A curtain of snow blew across the driveway, shoved by a sudden gust of wind, completely obscuring his view of

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  the trees for several seconds. He squinted and hunched his shoulders, bending his knees so that he could rest the bags on the snow, tucking his face into the neck of his jacket to protect it from the cold surge of air. It passed as suddenly as it had arrived and he looked up again. The face had gone. In its place was a branch, snapped from one of the trees at the edge of the wood and now standing upright in a three-foot-high snowdrift. The fleshy yellow wound where it had broken from the trunk was clearly visible. Nothing else. No Brand, no stranger, no leering idiot watching the house from the dark.

  Dan turned and walked inside, nudging the door shut with his heel. He dropped the bags onto the kitchen floor, turned and shot the bolts at the head and foot of the door. Better safe-

  “Locking up already?”

  “Jesus!” Dan jumped.

  “Dan …” Megan gasped,
surprised.

  “Sorry, love, you scared me. Yes, thought I’d lock up now. Why? You thinking of going for a walk?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “The furthest I’ll be walking this evening is to bed. But first…” She indicated the microwave with a flourish, whipped a tea-towel over her arm like a hoi polloi waiter and opened the door. “Chicken tikka massala, a can of Caffreys, and your armchair awaits, good Sir.”

  “What about ‘Noughties Man?” Dan asked, breathing in the spicy aroma.

  “Forget that. You unload car, strong man. I cook tea!”

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  Dan hugged Megan to him and buried his face in her hair. It still sparkled with drops of cool water, all that remained of the snow she’d caught on the way in. “And then I’ll take what’s rightly mine, woman!” He grabbed her bum and growled.

  “Oh, that is just so disgusting,” Nikki said from the doorway.

  Dan and Megan giggled, a defence, neither of them eager to admit that they were embarrassed in front of their daughter.

  “Thought you’d be calling Jeremy,” Dan said, enjoying the brief look of annoyance on his daughter’s face.

  “Jazz is out.”

  “In this?” Megan asked, surprised.

  “Walked to Jesse’s. What’s for dinner, Mum?”

  “A freezer full of ready meals and a microwave.”

  Nikki tutted, then darted to the microwave to snatch Dan’s meal.

  “No way, you!” He beat her to it. “Bread and water for you, if you like. And tomorrow, if you’re a very good girl and you wear your gloves and scarf, I’ll take you out to build a snowman.”

  Nikki rolled her eyes at the ceiling and wandered out towards the sitting room. Megan smiled at him and said she was going to the loo. Dan was left alone in the kitchen with his curry, his Caffreys and the dreadful sense that all this was coming to an end.

  I want to move back to the city, Megan had said. I need more friends. And really, it’s no more scary than this place, is it? Late at night, anyone

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  could come out of those woods and break in …

  The attack had happened in the city. Six years ago, short years in both of their memories. She must really hate it here.

  Dan looked around the kitchen at the flagstone floor, the Rayburn hot and heavy in the corner, the antique Welsh dresser scarred by time and generations of kids and cooking. And he knew how serious Megan was, because she had said it only once. To labor the point would be to dilute her determination. She must have been thinking about it for a long time. And the worst of it was, he had not even had an inkling. He loved his wife, he cherished her, he looked forward to growing old with her … but sometimes he did not know her at all.

  Outside in the snow, something cried out.

  Megan felt the need to pray.

  In the Freelander something had made her turn, not only in the seat, but in her mind. Something had nudged her passive sense of boredom aside and made her spin around and snap at the man, be rude to him, be afraid of him, make him go, need him to go, demand that he leave them alone. All this and he had barely done anything wrong.

  She used the toilet and then went to their bedroom, sat on the bed and picked up her Bible from the beside table. She hugged it to her chest and closed her eyes.

  I was a stranger, and ye took me in.

  They had taken Brand in, but only for a few minutes. Only until something had changed in

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  the car. She could not tell exactly what had altered, nor when, but it had bitten at her furiously, sunk its teeth into the situation and urged action.

  For a second, as she had stared into Brand’s eyes-shouting at him to leave them alone, get out of the car, leave them alone-she had known that they would see him again. This did not scare so much as worry her, because a man like that might want revenge, a man like that—

  Like what? A man like what? A cold traveller (although he had looked quite warm when she turned to face him, pale but warm); a weary walker struggling through the blizzard (but he’d been standing still by the roadside, waiting for a lift he’d said, waiting …)

  Megan muttered the Lord’s prayer under her breath because it took her closer to Him, brought Him closer to her. And when she opened her eyes she realized at last why Brand had terrified her so much.

  She had seen eyes like his before.

  The eyes of the man who had attacked her.

  She opened the Bible and flicked through the pages, her breath stuttering in her throat, heart fluttering. Good God, she remembered those eyes, she had never forgotten how they had stared down at her, heartless and remorseless and laughing as their owner pummelled and hit. And she had hoped and prayed that she would never see their like again.

  It had been dark in the car. She’d been tired. The man … Brand … had said some strange things. Of course she didn’t know what she had

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  seen exactly, and sitting there for the whole journey thinking about a return to the city could not have helped. She had been musing upon it for months. That morning in bed it had just come out. Not a great way to finish their short break, she knew, because Dan loved this place. Perhaps her heart did tell her to leave, but did it also tell her to break her husband’s heart in doing so? And could she really vilify a man because of the look in his eyes?

  She didn’t know. She was confused. It looked like night outside even though it was barely seven o’clock, there was a blizzard in April, maybe her husband hated her today, just a little. And Brand’s eyes …

  She was tired. A long journey, concern over what she had told Dan, the stranger in the car … Nikki growing up, so quickly! So, so tired.

  She put the Bible down, curled under the duvet and closed her eyes.

  The next thing she knew it was morning, and her world would never be the same again.

  Later, with her mum and dad in bed, Nikki sat at her bedroom window and looked out across the fantastic landscape. It had stopped snowing an hour before and the clouds had parted and cleared, lighting up the snowfield with moonand starlight. She was tired and it inspired a dreamy feel, as if she was just coming down from smoking a joint or had been drinking heavily the night before. She was trying to think of a song. The Rabids did lots of covers, but she was sure the only way to get anywhere was by writing their

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  own material. Jesse and Mandy agreed. Jazz thought it was dull.

  Nikki simply wanted to write poetry. If they could put it to music, all well and good. But her mind was a blank.

  The scenery was beautiful. A million specks of starlight hung in the woods, every snowflake reflecting its own signature, each icicle an exclamation mark in the night. There were vague tracks in the driveway from where they had driven in hours before, but they had mostly been filled in by fresh drifting snow. And it was silent, so silent. Normally there were sounds in the night, but tonight the snow dampened everything. If there were cars passing on the main road a mile away, she could not hear them. If any creatures were abroad in such terrible weather they were moving quietly, their hunt for food or shelter silenced by the snow which may yet kill them.

  And still, no words came. She sighed, closed her eyes, saw Brand.

  Her eyes snapped open and she searched the edge of the woods. Where would he be sleeping tonight? What warmth would he find out there?

  “Warmth in my bed,” she whispered, afraid to speak too loud in case it carried across the snow and found him. She was merely trying the words for size, after all. Weighing them up. Seeing what they felt like in her mouth.

  There was no movement beneath the trees, but that did not mean that Brand was not there.

  Nikki moved to her dressing table and brushed her hair, staring in the mirror with the window just over her shoulder, a white square shining in

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  the night. She teased the knots from her long auburn hair, brushed and brushed until it was straight, rubbed some cream into the windburned skin of her cheeks and chi
n, removed her eyeliner as best she could. And all the while, her gaze kept flickering to the window reflected in her mirror, the snowfields beyond, the virgin falls waiting to be branded with footprints.

  She turned on the bedside lamp and undressed for bed with her curtains half-open.

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  The Book of Lies

  Love is a warm brain, not a leaping heart. Scientists say they have proven this, as they have also shown that association with a place will not necessarily endear a person or a thing to that locale. Place is important, of course, but love is more so. What is a place without a love to be there? An empty venue, a stage without surprise, a concert hall with no acoustics to transfer the thoughts and emotions of a composer left desperately wanting.

  So listen to this, let me tell you the truth … it’s who you’re with, not where you are.

  A place can be anywhere at any time. Take where you are at this moment. Ten million years ago perhaps it was a swamp, trees thrusting from the murky waters, vines winding their way up to the sunlight, fat leaves giving life to the trees and

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  shelter to the hundreds of small creatures living beneath them. Lizards, scorpions, insects and birds of all varieties, nesting in the branches, eating leaves, burrowing into moist, living bark, roosting for one night and then no more. And the waters, the swamp, rancid with the dead yet giving life, lizards living and dying in its embrace. Sometimes, a splash as something bigger comes through-a bear or a wolf, perhaps-but most of the time the only disturbances are water snakes venturing to the surface to breathe, or dead things falling from the trees and adding themselves to the fertile swamp bed. The air smells of rot and blossom, the rains taste fresh and pure.

  Five million years later. A desert, perhaps, swept free of flora by centuries of drought or an unforgiving decade of rain that rotted the plants, driving them down into the ground and giving the sand the chance it needed to blow in and take over. There are a few animals, but none of them reflect those which had lived here before, none echo or impersonate the bones beneath them. The smells are hot and dusty, the air tastes of nothing but heat, no hint of moisture there at all.