‘Ah no,’ began Johannes. ‘I think I would rather stay –’ He caught a warning glance from his wife and cut himself short. ‘A wonderful idea. I hope we will not be getting stopped for drunk-driving.’
‘Essie?’ said Bird. ‘Do you want to hang here with Doug?’
Bird had a clever way of making orders sound like suggestions.
‘Yeah, fine.’
Doug glanced up from his card game and shot Bird a grouchy look.
The other four donned their cold-weather gear and headed for the snowmobiles, stored for trekkers’ use in a rudimentary garage. With their absence, the cabin felt awkwardly quiet. The gas lanterns purred faintly and Doug’s cards made a plasticky snap. Esther wrote her expedition blog, stylus-tapping her entry on her palmtop. ‘The wind was strong when we broke camp this morning and Adrian’s sleeping bag pad was blown away. We laughed as he tried to run after it.’
Doug broke the silence. ‘I shouldn’t have come,’ he said, his voice dry and strained. ‘I don’t think I can hack it.’
He looked at Esther and his eyes, scanning nervously, seemed to demand something of her. His beard was growing out of shape already, and he had a hint of wildness in his manner. For Doug to be showing signs of instability already was a worry. It was well known the solitude of the ice could send people crazy, and anxiety, irritation and depression weren’t uncommon. All that nothingness affected a person.
The Long Eye, they called it, or the thousand-mile stare. Esther had seen photos of explorers gazing right through the camera, right through the viewer. Their eyes were blank, their expressions suggesting they were seeing some incommunicable horror beyond. She’d heard of how their thoughts would warp, drifting from reality to abstraction. But in the pictures, they didn’t look as if they had thoughts. They looked hollowed out, the living dead.
But this happened to people in extreme conditions, usually Antarctica. This was a trek that had barely begun and they’d arrived, more or less, at the end of a winter-long night. The sun was coming. But it was difficult. No one knew how they’d react. If you were a person with issues, an Arctic winter would always be a problem – how do you make the darkness go away?
‘Hey, don’t worry,’ said Esther. ‘Everyone gets like this. You’re probably readjusting. Today’s been a slog but we’ll soon –’
‘No,’ rasped Doug. ‘I’m going to fuck it up. I know it. I’m going to fuck it up for everyone. I’m going to –’
‘No, you’re not. We won’t let you. The only way –’
‘You know what drives me mad?’ Doug interrupted. ‘The noise. The noise of all the crap hanging from my parka. Compass, knife, clips. Torch. Zippers. Flapping. Everything flapping. And rustling. Every step. It’s all noise, noise, noise. I can still hear it. All day it’s been driving me mad. It’s in my head. Clanking and tinkling and rustling.’ Doug slapped and brushed at his chest as if trying to dislodge insects. ‘It’s like some … some horrible metal orchestra. Torture. A special torture designed to –’
‘Doug, take it easy,’ said Esther. ‘You need to rest your throat. You’re doing great, I swear. You just need a good night’s –’
‘Like last night? In the tent? Me and you?’
Outside, a couple of snowcats started up, engines coughing before they murmured into life. Esther wished Bird hadn’t left them alone.
‘Last night shouldn’t have happened,’ she said. ‘Can we maybe try and forget –’
‘Don’t fuck with me, Essie.’ Doug dashed his hand across the table, scattering his deck of cards. ‘Just … don’t give me that shit. Don’t give me regrets. Not now. Not here.’ He stood briskly then crossed to stand in front of a small window, hands in his pockets.
Esther allowed a silence to pass before addressing his reflection in the glass. ‘Sorry. Listen, I didn’t meant to hurt you by –’
‘You didn’t hurt me,’ said Doug. ‘But don’t start making out it was my fault, pretending you didn’t –’
‘I’m not doing that,’ said Esther. ‘All I’m saying is maybe we should, you know, leave it a while. It’s not right. It’s not us. We’re on the ice. It’s a weird place. Emotions get screwed up. We weren’t really thinking straight last night, were we? We were stupid, so stupid. We’ve got weeks out here. I know it’s a crappy old cliché but, well, can we just be friends? Go back to how things were?’
For a long time Doug didn’t reply. A couple more snowmobiles were revved up outside and the engines grew loud before fading into the distance. They were very much alone now, the rest of the team skidding across the ice under a massive sky fluttering with a tinge of greenish phosphorescence.
‘Look,’ said Esther, ‘if something’s bugging you, talk to me or to one of the others. Don’t bottle it up.’ She stood to go and stand next to him then changed her mind. Instead, she cleared some space on the table and sat there looking at his back, her soft-booted feet on the bench.
‘And what could you do about it?’ asked Doug. His voice thinned out and broke into a brief coughing fit
Esther shrugged. ‘Listen, maybe?’
Doug turned to face her, his eyes fierce and troubled. Esther wondered if that was the look he’d been concealing behind snow goggles all day.
‘I’ve nothing to say,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Nothing.’
‘Doug, please,’ said Esther. ‘Don’t take it out on …’ She trailed off, realising she was getting annoyed. She didn’t want them to get into an argument.
‘Take it out on you?’ said Doug. ‘Is that what you were going to say? Don’t take it out on me? What? Like I did last night?’ He stopped to cough, wheezing till the coughs were almost silent. ‘I thought you enjoyed it. I thought you liked it when I –’
‘Ease up, Doug,’ said Esther, her tone dark with warning anger. ‘I’m not having this conversation, OK? And you need to shut up for the sake of your health.’
Doug turned to the window again, either gazing at his own reflection or out into the night. Esther couldn’t tell. A long time seemed to pass. It was so quiet, nothing but the faintest ripple of gas lanterns to ease the coldness of the silence. Esther thought it was over and she might return to writing her blog. She was on the point of getting down from the table-top when Doug swung round, crossing to her with a couple of brisk paces. He stood by the bench where her feet were planted and forced her knees wide.
Esther recoiled instantly then held very still, quelling her fight or flight instinct. Doug stayed there, hands on her spread knees, examining her face, an unpleasant smile on his chapped lips.
‘I should save my voice,’ he rasped.
Esther returned his gaze, and after a while said, ‘You should back off.’
Doug nudged her knees a fraction wider, taunting her with his defiance, the smile turning into a challenging little leer.
Out here, there was a darkness about Doug, a sense of threat that Esther found unsettling and, if she were being honest, horribly attractive. And yet even while she was attracted, she was repulsed by this faultline she saw opening up, by Doug’s neediness and unpredictability.
It’s this place, she told herself. It’s not really him.
Scared yet half-aroused by his boldness, Esther was doing her best to think straight. She had two situations to consider: this immediate problem between her and Doug plus the bigger problem of how it would impact on the team. Her priority was the team, always the team. If it weren’t for them, she’d be fighting back. And it was probably a good thing she wasn’t because keeping Doug calm was likely her best way forwards.
‘Let’s cool it, shall we?’ she suggested. ‘Maybe you take your hands off my knees and step back a little.’ Esther was wearing thick insulating layers and she felt both protected and hampered by her clothing.
Doug gave her knees another widening nudge, still watching and smiling vaguely. Esther’s heart began to bump. He wasn’t backing off. She didn’t know what to do or how to play it. Fear made her swallow hard. ‘Dougie, please. Let’s n
ot fall out. Come on. Let’s make some tea and sit down.’
It happened so fast. Doug lunged for her, a foot on the bench and then he was clambering on to the table, pushing her back. Esther cried out, wriggling away. Glass smashed, plastic mugs bounced, Esther’s palmtop was sent flying.
‘Doug! Get off me!’
He was above her, wild-eyed and strong, and she noticed all the different browns in his beard and the stippled hints of red. He pinned her down, big hands on her forearms as he crouched over her, his eyes lit with meanness and lust. His breathing came hard and fast, and so did hers.
Esther’s face was hot, and blood was thumping in all parts of her body. She hardly knew what she was feeling most: anger or arousal.
‘Come on, Essie,’ he whispered harshly. ‘Give up the goods. I need to rest my voice. No use talking.’
Esther shook her head. ‘This isn’t on, Doug. I swear I can get you pulled from this trek. I’ll go to Bird. We can radio through to base. They’ll get a plane sent out and that’s it. You’re done. All over.’
Doug’s smile broadened. ‘Sounds great,’ he breathed. ‘What time do they land?’
‘Doug,’ said Esther, as levelly as she could. ‘Get the fuck off me.’
He pulled back slightly, taking his hands off her arms and placing them on the table. Esther was free to move but she didn’t. She lay beneath his straddling crouch, suspicious of the semi-liberation he’d given her, and not quite wanting this to be over.
They locked eyes and, perhaps because Esther wasn’t fighting, there was a shift in Doug’s manner. Confusion flitted across his face and the hard brown glitter in his eyes melted.
He frowned. ‘Essie,’ he whispered. ‘What’s going on?’
Esther stayed silent, trusting neither his mood nor her own.
‘Have I frightened you?’ he asked.
Esther lowered her gaze, unable to reply. Yes, she thought, yes you have. But not in the way you think. I’m not frightened of you. I’m frightened of the way you make me feel, of the way I want you to pin me down and fuck me, careless and uncomplicated.
‘Essie,’ he said, and his voice was tender and frail. He tipped her chin, making her look up at him again. He had such rich eyes and the ragged beard hid his features, making him mysterious and secretive. It was Doug, and yet it wasn’t. His lips were cracked and dry, and his eyes were shadowed with tiredness as if he’d spent a night on the tiles. She liked that too, liked the way he looked big and threatening but vulnerable. She wanted to take his raw lower lip between her own, run her tongue along his sores and soothe him with her moisture.
‘Ess.’ Doug reached to touch her face. His fingers stroked down her cheek and, because it was dangerous and they mustn’t, Esther turned her face aside.
The last thing she expected to see was a pair of eyes at the window. But there they were, green eyes peering in at them. Then they moved fast, faster than anything she knew, and they were gone, leaving only an image of a face melting down the square of glass.
Esther screamed, body jerking beneath Doug’s.
Doug leapt back, palms open in surrender.
‘Sorry! Sorry!’ he rasped, off the table now and standing. ‘Essie, sorry.’
But Esther kept screaming. They were miles from anywhere, yet something had stood and watched them. The image lingered, a pair of eyes bright with pale-green luminosity.
‘There’s something out there,’ she breathed.
‘What? What do you mean?’
Dumbstruck, Esther shook her head. No animal had eyes that vivid, and it certainly wasn’t human.
‘Easy,’ said Doug. ‘You’re seeing stuff, Essie. Calm down.’
Again, Esther shook her head. ‘Something’s there.’
‘Impossible. There’s nothing there,’ said Doug. ‘It’s this place. It … it fucks with your head. Esther, if it helps, I know exactly how you feel.’
Hope’s End was quiet, too quiet. Billy needed company. He’d done a stupid thing. It didn’t do to be alone in this frame of mind. It was dangerous.
But God, she was beautiful. A strong tall woman with skin as white as snow, a rosy flush in her cheeks, dark hair tumbling past her shoulders. Until tonight, he’d never even set eyes on her incarnation as Esther, though he’d always felt, no matter what she looked like, his love for her would consume them both. Or to be less grand about it, he’d want to suck her to death.
He’d sensed her presence the moment she was born, and had vowed there and then he would quit the killing. He’d been aware of her growing up though he’d been across the Atlantic, battling his lust for blood. He’d avoided Europe for over two decades, fearing his willpower would weaken if he were near her. And that was a great shame because he and Simeon had always loved Europe. Strolling through Paris in the 1900s, jewelled canes in their hands, tails of their coats rippling behind them, was a memory Billy would treasure forever. ‘So much culture,’ Simeon liked to say, gesturing widely.
When Esther had started to menstruate, the surge in Billy’s hunger had almost ruined him. He’d tasted her blood in the air, felt it tingle on his tongue. It had prompted him to embark on a year long spree of animal slaying, a madness that had ended with him breaking his vow in a seedy alley, guzzling on a Hispanic bodybuilder with a vampire he barely knew.
That had been the dark night of his soul. It could have gone either way after that. He could have given up the fight and returned to mortal feeding, becoming his violent vampire self once again. Or he could seek professional help, explore some of his ‘stuff’, and perhaps read a little light Buddhism.
He’d opted for the latter, for Esther’s sake more than his own.
‘My name’s Billy and I’m a vampire.’ They all had to say it. He’d struggled with a range of treatments, meditative therapy and counselling options but only with the advent of a blood substitute in the 1990s had he freed himself from the lust to inflict death. He felt morally much better for it but, Christ, it wasn’t much of a life.
Billy jumped up and down, tucked his chin to his chest and ran hard on the spot.
Just say no. Blood kills. Just say no.
He feinted at the air, punching an invisible enemy, wanting the pump of adrenaline to quench his craving for more. He was a fighter in white vest and khakis, muscles glinting in the half-light, shorn head hinting at the hardness of skull, a thick squiggly vein raised on his temple.
Come on, Billy Boy! Come on, you fucker! You can do this. Fight the blood. Fight it.
But hell, maybe it was time to pack virtue in. Maybe it was fate. When Esther had lost her virginity, Billy had been ripped apart with wanting. He’d wanted to fuck and kill the world. His urge to abandon the Blud and give in to the hunger had threatened like annihilation. Hoping to keep on track, he’d exiled himself to the Arctic, far away from people and the torment of temptation. Every year since then, he’d followed winter across the globe, spending half the year in the north, the other half in the south because the lands of the midnight sun were also lands of the afternoon moon, and it was where he supposedly belonged.
And look what happens: she turns up on the ice, trekking right past his hidden shelter. It was meant to be. She was his destiny.
Or, more likely, he was hers. Oh, the poor beautiful bitch.
Simeon strolled into the white dome, looking smug, hot and skinny in his regulation black. ‘So, you’re back,’ he said to Billy. ‘Been anywhere nice?’
In front of the fire, the cat, Renfield, stretched its limbs wide and began lightly humping the hearth rug. Renfield was an Arctic vampire pedigree costing hundreds of dollars, and was the randiest, most self-sufficient, four-legged creature you were ever likely to meet.
‘Where’s Suzanne?’ puffed Billy, jumping high on the spot.
Simeon shrugged. ‘Out.’
‘Out where?’
‘The movies,’ said Simeon. ‘Then I guess she’ll stop off for a Big Mac and a shake and –’
‘I don’t trust her.’
Debauchery got boring after a few centuries and, relative to his usual fucks, Esther would be wholesome and shockable, hungry for corruption, just as she was the first time. The first time and the last time. His cock thickened at the memory and he fancied he’d use Simeon later in the night, fill his mouth and ass with big brutal flesh.
‘Wise not to trust her,’ said Simeon. ‘She’s vile and immoral. But man, I love her, don’t you?’
‘I told you to keep an eye on her. Don’t let her –’
‘Dude, you can’t do that to women any more. They changed the rules, remember? So annoying but, hey, what can we do?’
Simeon sauntered closer to Billy, looking mischievous. He clasped his hands behind his back and cocked his head, smiling with suspicious interest.
‘What?’ said Billy.
Simeon kept smirking. Renfield mewed excitedly, clawing at the hearth rug and grinding so he looked like a splayed blue cat shagging a huge white bear.
‘You know something, don’t you?’ said Billy. ‘Where is she? Where’s Suzanne? What’s going on? Christ, I’m going to have to go fetch her, aren’t I? I’m serious, if she even goes near those trekkers, I’ll –’
‘Um …’ Simeon brushed a thumb against his chin, angling his face to suggest Billy had a mark there on his own chin.
Billy, self-conscious, dabbed at his lips.
‘Uh, lower,’ said Simeon, failing to hide his glee. ‘Chin. Just there … little, um, feather.’
Billy swiped at his face. A bloodied white feather drifted to the ground and he rubbed at his skin, furious and ashamed.
‘Oh dear,’ said Simeon. ‘Still, you never did suit being a vegetarian. Makes you hideously grumpy.’
Lust Bites Page 3