One Must Hide

After hours

The trappings of a worldly life, from which the wanderer himself has been exiled - companionship, comfort, treasure-giving - have faded and crumbled, as will all things in the mutable kingdom of men. He will not find the lord for whom he is so desperate on Earth; rather, his journey is that of ‘life towards death and eternity beyond' –

“Robin!”

She started out of her essay immersion, her hand swerving across the page and leaving a surprised curlicue of ink.

“Robin Stephenson!”

The clock read 9:40. That can't be right. Robin hit it soundly with her fist, but the numbers didn't change. She hauled the window open and leaned out.

Marko grinned up at her from below. “Coming down?”

Robin glanced at the time again, to be sure. “You're two hours early!”

“We thought we'd get something to eat,” he shouted back.

Belatedly Robin noticed Dwayne and Paul standing in the shadows of C-block. At least, Dwayne stood; Paul, who could never seem to keep still, walked restlessly back and forth. “Where's David?”

“Busy,” Marko replied easily. “He sent us to get you.”

“But you're early,” Robin protested again..

Marko shrugged. “Not going anywhere till you come down.”

A head appeared out of the window below Robin's. “Can you keep the noise down out there?”

“We can stay here all night,” Marko said, ignoring Robin's housemate.

Robin looked down at the irate Gemma. “All right, I'm coming. Just give me a minute.”

She ducked back into her room, exasperated and guilty in equal parts: exasperated because this was now the eighth night in a row that she had been unable to prioritise her studies over going out with David and the boys, and guilty because she couldn't quite bring herself to care. Although having them turn up before ten o'clock didn't help. Keeping a balance between work, play, and sleep was hard enough without them encroaching on her study time. At least all the practice had made her fast at getting ready. She did slip a notepad into her coat pocket before leaving. Maybe she'd get a chance to do a bit more work before David turned up and demanded her full attention.

“Oh, hi, Robin!”

The greeting stopped Robin in her tracks as she passed the kitchen door. She turned slowly. Sarah stood, pan in hand, by the cooker. Neil and John and Vanessa sat at the kitchen table. They were all looking at her with expressions ranging from anxious to embarrassed.

“We were just talking about you,” Sarah went on, with forced brightness.

“Were you?” Robin asked incuriously, and made to carry on.

“Are you going out again?”

Even a week ago, Robin would have made a witty, or at least dry, rejoinder to the redundant question. Tonight, she walked out without bothering to reply.

Marko was looking at his watch, and he crowed with triumph as Robin emerged from C-block. “Six minutes, eighteen seconds, and that's two more drinks you gentlemen owe me.”

“A girl has to get ready, Marko,” Robin said defensively. “Anyway, I was held up on the way down. Evening Dwayne. Paul.”

Dwayne nodded, and Paul pretended not to hear, as he was wont.

“So where're we eating?” Robin asked, falling into step with Marko.

“I don't know. Dwayne, got any ideas?”

“Lady's choice,” said Dwayne.

“Where's a lady?” asked Marko.

Robin shot him an amused look, but when no one actually laughed, Marko turned on Dwayne and Paul. “C'mon, Paul, give me some support, here.”

It hadn't taken Robin long to realise that Paul's surly moods were completely out of character. She'd seen him laughing and joking and tussling with Marko and Dwayne, lively and animated. The change that came over him when he noticed her around was pronounced. His expression turned guarded, his shoulders stiffened, and he cast his gaze away as if in disgust. No one had offered any rationale for his attitude – least of all Paul himself. Robin didn't ask, and David and the others didn't talk about it. She supposed that, as with the truth about their business in York, one of them would eventually let slip an explanation. Until then, she and they skirted the issue.

“Italian?” she suggested. “There's a place on Micklegate.”

“Fine,” said Dwayne.

Campus was still alive: light spilled from every kitchen around the quad, students thronged the paths and bridges, music drifted from dozens of windows. It seemed strange to be with the boys so early in the evening, and Robin noticed more than a couple of interested looks from the people they passed.

“Where are your bikes?” she asked when they reached the car park.

“Left them in town last night,” said Marko.

Robin looked at him strangely, but Marko's boyish face gave nothing away. “Don't tell me you got the bus.”

“We got a lift,” he said. “Got your car keys?”

She got them out of her pocket. “I always have my car keys.”

“I'll drive.” He took the keys out of her unresisting hand and started walking towards her Orion.

“Wait – hang on!” Robin looked at Dwayne for help. None was forthcoming. “Marko, can you drive a real car?”

“Sure I can,” he said cheerfully, unlocking the driver's door.

“You know it's not an automatic, don't you?”

“Yup.”

“Do you know how to change gear?”

He looked at her.

“Because if you break my car, I'm going to kill you.”

He grinned and got into the driver's seat.

As usual, the back seat was covered with rubbish: empty water bottles, books that Robin still hadn't taken back to the library, a screen protector that she didn't use and de-icer that she did. “I'd better put this in the boot,” she said ashamedly.

“Don't worry about that stuff,” said Marko. “Let's go, I'm hungry.”

Dwayne and Paul crammed into the back, junk and all, and Robin got in the front. Marko turned the key in the ignition. The engine started, which was good. So did the windscreen wipers, which wasn't.

“Oh,” Robin said, really embarrassed now, “they do that sometimes.” She leaned across Marko and moved the right-hand stalk up and down a couple of times until the wipers stopped.

“That's nothing,” he assured her. “You should have seen my first car.”

“Let's go, Marko,” Paul said from the back.

“Yeah, yeah.” Marko adjusted the rear-view. “Now, which one of these pedals would be the clutch?”

Before Robin had a chance to register her alarm, he had put her creaky Ford into reverse and the Orion shot backwards out of its space, tyres squealing as Marko deftly swung it round.

“What did I say about breaking my car?” Robin demanded.

“It won't break,” Marko promised. “Well. Not much.” And he stepped on the gas.

They didn't let her see the bill.

“Put that away,” Dwayne told Robin when she got out some money to pay her share.

“But -”

“Put it away.”

Robin obeyed, guiltily relieved. Any one of the dishes on the menu would have set her back by half a week's food budget, and the more than decent wine hadn't come cheaply, either. “Thank you.”

She leaned back in her chair, feeling pleasantly replete. She'd almost forgotten what good food was like. Between tight finances, shared kitchens, and her recent lack of appetite, she hadn't enjoyed a meal in weeks.

Paul came back from paying the bill. “We ready to go?”

“Hang on.” Marko popped the last bit of garlic bread into his mouth. “Okay.”

“I don't know how you still have room for that, Marko,” Robin said.

He shrugged, chewed, then swallowed. “Wasn't going to waste it.”

They strolled out of the restaurant with the casual disregard for everyone else that Robin had come to expect: not confrontational, but effortlessly aloof. She didn't think the boys even saw the people who occasionally had to dodge out of their way. Walking with them was like driving in the slipstream of a juggernaut.

“So where's David tonight?” she asked Dwayne as they followed Paul and Marko down the hill.

“He had something to take care of,” he replied.

“That narrows it down.”

He didn't reply for a moment, looking straight ahead. Robin waited. Dwayne was the most taciturn of the boys, if you discounted Paul's sullen silences, but what he did have to say was usually worth hearing.

“He'll be along,” Dwayne said at last.

Robin wondered if that meant he didn't know where David was, or if he just wouldn't say. Something made her suspect the latter. It reminded her just how little she really knew about them, and how immediate was their mystery. She could eat with them, drink with them, stay out all night with them, and still meet silence and unreadable looks if she happened to scratch the friendly surface. She supposed she shouldn't feel as relaxed with them as she did. But then she shouldn't feel relaxed about going to unlicensed bars until the early hours of the morning, either.

“So you did leave your bikes here,” she said, noticing Dwayne and Paul's Triumphs and Marko's Harley in the rank outside the cellar bar. David's BMW was conspicuous by its absence.

“Busy night,” said Dwayne, although whether he referred to the previous evening or this one was anybody's guess.

The place did seem more crowded than usual. The boys took over their usual table without incident, but the sheer weight of numbers put them shoulder to shoulder with the other customers, and it wasn't hard to see that they didn't like it.

One person too many brushed past Paul, and the tall blonde jumped up from his seat. “Hey! Watch where you're going, man!”

Marko reached across the table and yanked on Paul's coat. “Sit down, bro.”

“But –”

“Easy,” Dwayne said quietly.

Paul looked from one to the other, his expression stormy. He looked like nothing so much as a caged animal, frustrated with the cramped indignities of captivity. “I'm getting out of here.”

He pulled free of Marko grasp and stalked off, shouldering roughly through the press without a thought for who he might be offending.

Marko laughed. Dwayne didn't. Robin watched until Paul disappeared between bodies, and then looked down into the Coke she'd had Marko get for her. Paul had never even given her the time of day, and by all rights she should have been glad to see him go.

“Don't worry about him,” Marko told her, rubbing the back of his neck. “He can look after himself.”

It was too hot with so many bodies crammed into the stuffy room. Robin pulled off her coat and looked for somewhere to put it.

“Over here,” said Dwayne.

As she passed it to him, the notepad she had put in the deep side pocket slipped out. Dwayne caught it deftly in one hand. He offered it back to her. “Yours?”

Robin took it, shaking her head. “My work.” She dropped the notebook on the table.

Marko craned his neck to look at the pad. He pointed at a scribbled notation Robin had made on the cover: rfstephenson; afterhours. “What's that?”

She shrugged. “My computer room login and password. I don't use it much. The network's always down.”

“What's the F stand for?”

“Farren. My middle name.”

“That's unusual,” Marko said.

“Everyone says that,” Robin agreed. “It's Old English.”

Marko scratched the back of one hand, then the other. “So what's it mean?”

“Farren means ‘wanderer' and Robin's from Robert, which translates to something like ‘bright fame', so make of that what you will.” She paused. “Marko's like Martin, you know. ‘Of Mars'. Warlike.”

Marko smiled strangely, an expression far from his usual knowing smirk. “That fits. What about him?”

Robin looked sideways at Dwayne. “I think Dwayne means ‘my parents hated me'.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it the moment the words were out. Dwayne's face, usually so expressionless, betrayed a flicker of something that could have been anger or pain or both.

Marko's friendly josh on his shoulder returned him to normal. “Yeah, why'd you think he never introduces himself to anyone?”

His flippant tone seemed to suggest that he hadn't noticed Dwayne's lapse, but Robin doubted it. She wondered if she should apologise.

Marko suddenly shook himself all over. “Robin, you wearing something silver?”

Dwayne looked up sharply.

“No,” she replied, mystified. “Silver brings me out in a rash. Why?”

Looking distinctly uncomfortable now, Marko scrubbed both hands through his hair. “Where's Paul when you need him?”

Robin didn't know what he was talking about, but the sudden tension in Marko's voice needed no explanation to be alarming, and Dwayne had stiffened with his head angled to one side, as if listening for something.

Then Marko slowly lowered his hands. His expression made him seem older, more focused, more serious. Robin saw him catch Dwayne's eye. Dwayne gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. They both relaxed minutely.

“Another drink?” Marko asked, back to his usual self.

Robin pushed her empty glass towards him with one finger. Then she stood up. “Excuse me.”

She pondered the incident as she threaded her way through the crowded bar. The speed with which Marko's entire manner had altered was the really unsettling thing. He'd seemed to Robin the most laid back of the boys, but now she questioned the authenticity of his friendly act. Perhaps the knowledge that she would have to go home and finish that essay was just niggling at her, but Robin suddenly resented the constant second-guessing. She wondered when David would deign to make an appearance. Maybe he wouldn't. That was just the sort of thing he'd do to keep her off balance.

Robin pushed through the door whose sign had been vandalised to read T I TS. Someone had left a fire exit open, and the staircase beyond was cool in comparison to the bar. Halfway up the stairs, she leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to relieve the pressure ache in her temples. Too much wine, or else someone must have been smoking a joint nearby without her noticing.

The ladies' would probably have been much worse if the bar had had more female customers, but it was bad enough, and Robin made a point of not taking any longer than necessary. Even the water seemed suspect, and she definitely didn't trust the roller towel. She dried her hands on her jeans instead, and met her own gaze briefly in a fragment of mirror above the only sink. The harsh electric light sharpened the planes of her face and deepened the shadows under her eyes. It made her look older and gaunter. You need to get more sleep, Robin, she thought. No one should have to see you looking this shattered.

“I've had it with this.”

Paul's voice stopped Robin halfway through the door. She hesitated mid-stride, curiosity warring with courtesy.

Then David spoke. “Had it with what?”

Curiosity won. Robin drew back into the ladies' toilets to listen, letting the door swing almost shut.

“You know what,” Paul retorted.

There was a long pause. “Do you do it on purpose?” David asked at last, in a conversational tone.

“What?”

“Question everything I do.”

“When you don't bother to explain it to us, yeah.”

“You've had all the explanation you need.”

“Nice try.” Paul's voice dripped disgust.

“What else did you need me to spell out?”

Robin recognised that mocking tone of David's, but Paul didn't seem impressed. “How about what the hell you're doing?”

“What's best for the lost boys,” David replied.

“Yeah, well I think someone around here missed that memo.”

“That's consistent,” David said coolly. “Now you're defending her.”

“Not defending,” Paul insisted.

“What do you want?” David asked, pronouncing each word very deliberately.

Paul didn't reply. Robin could picture his expression, the obstinate, unfriendly frown that she'd seen too often.

David laughed very softly.

“Do you even know what you're playing with?” Paul demanded.

“So you're not blind after all.”

“Not stupid, either.”

“Just stubborn.”

“I've been burned before, David.”

It was David's turn to hesitate. Robin thought she'd have had a hard time answering the rawness in Paul's voice, too.

“It scares you, doesn't it?”

“No.” Paul's denial sounded reflexive.

“Maybe it should. Paul.” David's voice feigned kindness. “Take it easy.”

Paul said something under his breath that Robin felt certain was offensive. The angry rhythm of his footsteps made her step quickly back, letting the door close completely as he passed. She heard the rattle of his jewellery and the heavy thud of his boots as he descended the stairs in three bounds

A moment later David's softer footfalls traced the same path. Robin shrank back farther into the ladies' room. She really didn't want him to know that she'd been eavesdropping, even though the conversation had made almost no sense to her. She tried to piece it together. David had made a decision that affected them all, and Paul was objecting to it on the basis of – what? It didn't help that neither had mentioned the point of controversy. Now you're defending her, David had said. Robin wondered if that meant her. She couldn't think what it meant.

She waited for an interval, then slipped out, down the stairs, and back into the bar. If anything, the crush had increased in her absence. Robin looked for a clear route back across the room, in vain. She started to shove her way through the press, holding her breath against the stink of smoke and sweat that rivalled that of the average student crowd. Twice she had to dodge a flailing elbow, and once a carelessly-brandished cigarette. Thanks, boys, she thought. Bring a girl to a civilised place, why not.

An arm shot out in front of her. Robin recoiled barely in time to avoid walking into it.”Excuse me,” she said loudly, and made to duck. And then the owner of the arm stepped out in front of her, blocking her way.

“And where are you going?” he asked.

Robin eyed the big man carefully. He blended well with the bar's clientele – roughly-dressed, unshaven, tattooed; the sort of man you'd cross the street to shun – but she knew he wasn't a regular.

He grinned at her with bad teeth and little humour, and his avid gaze was almost a violation. “Little girl like you shouldn't be out on her own in a place like this.” He grabbed her arm and his clammy grasp was worse. “Why don't you stick with Vince?”

His touch made her skin crawl. “My boys are over there,” Robin threatened, trying to pull her arm back.

Vince made a show of looking over his shoulder. “I don't see them,” he said, turning back.

The fist that hammered into his face with an audible crunch sent blood and saliva spraying from his mouth.

“Look harder,” said Paul.

Vince released Robin's arm to clutch at his smashed face, spitting and swearing. He spat a bloody tooth into the palm of his hand, and looked up with uncomprehending rage as Paul moved in front of Robin. “You fucking broke my fucking mouth!”

“You want me to break something else?” Paul asked.

Vince lashed out, but Paul just moved aside and the blow went well wide. “Come on, Vinnie,” he invited. “I'm right here.”

There was something chilling in his offhand taunt, in the loose, easy way he held himself, in the cool and keen look in his eyes. Vince must have outweighed him by fifty pounds but Paul didn't appear to be concerned. He didn't even seem angry. When Vince tried to rush him, Paul sidestepped with fluid grace, and almost nonchalantly raised a knee into his midriff. The big man doubled over with a surprised grunt. Paul grabbed him by the back of the shirt and sent him headfirst into the wall with such force that plaster showered down from the point of impact. Vince dropped to the floor with a boneless thud and lay still.

A space had miraculously cleared during the altercation - Robin hesitated to call it a fight. A couple of guys on the fringes who looked like they might have taken Vince's part eased back into the crowd as Paul turned the limp body over with one foot. He studied Vince's broken and bleeding face critically. Then, dismissing the unconscious man, he draped a casual arm over Robin's shoulders and walked her away from the scene. “You need to stay out of trouble, girl.”

Robin wasn't certain what shocked her more – Paul's effortless trouncing of a much bigger man, or the fact that he'd done so on her behalf. She'd seen fights break out in here before, and no one ever paid much attention, but Paul seemed completely unmoved by the incident. “Didn't that hurt your hand?” she asked, despite herself.

“Nah.” He showed her his fist. The heavy ring on his middle finger made Robin wince. “Not just for decoration.”

“Good punch, though.”

Paul looked down, and as if suddenly remembering that he didn't like her, the frown began to settle on his brow, and he let his arm drop. “Yeah.”

“Trouble?” asked David as they approached the table at which he had joined Marko and Dwayne.

Paul shrugged and sat down. “You got my cigs, Marko?”

David looked up at Robin. “Living dangerously tonight.”

“Seems to be the way of things when I'm around you,” she said.

“You have no idea.” His eyes flared green. “Come and sit down.”

Robin obeyed, taking the seat between David and Dwayne. “So where've you been?”

“Did you miss me?”

“Why would I miss you with these three gentlemen for company?” Robin looked askance at the others. “Well. Men, anyway.”

“I had –”

“– something to take care of,” Robin pre-empted. “Yes, I know.”

“Oh-ho,” Marko laughed. “She's mouthy tonight.”

“David brings out the worst in me,” she said.

“Or the best,” said David.

It was a challenge and a compliment. Yes, I missed you, Robin admitted to herself, and as if in response to the unspoken thought, David's grin broke free.

“So Robin was telling us about her middle name,” said Marko.

Robin tried not to resent the interruption as David looked away from her. “Oh?”

“It means ‘wanderer',” Marko went on. “Yeah, and my name means ‘warlike'.” He grinned. “I like that.”

“More appropriate to Paul, all things considered,” Robin pointed out.

“What does Paul mean?” Marko asked.

“Ah….” Robin looked at the tallest of the boys, wondering what to say. She owed him a debt of gratitude, and she didn't want to offend him. “Well, Paul is…a diminutive,” she finished lamely.

Paul looked at her with darkening blue eyes. David started to laugh.

“It means ‘little one',” Robin said. “Don't take it personally.” She recognised the plaintive note in her own voice.

Marko snorted with laughter and ruffled Paul's long hair. “Never mind, bro.”

Paul dragged his accusatory stare off Robin. “Must've been some kind of mistake here,” he said, shoving Marko in the shoulder. “You're the little one.”

Robin was still cringing inside at the insult she hadn't meant to give when David cocked his head at her. “Well?”

“Well?” she echoed.

“What about me?”

“David?” She shook her head. “That's easy.”

“Be careful, Robin,” he cautioned her. “There's power in a name.”

“I'm always careful,” Robin replied, and then made a liar of herself. “'Beloved one'.”

David cut the engine and the growl of the big BMW motorcycle subsided. Robin knew she should get off, but she stole a few extra moments, closing her eyes.

“This is your stop,” said David.

“I know. I know.” Robin reluctantly climbed down off the seat and looked around wearily at the car park. “I'm just so sick of this place.”

David climbed off his bike, looking around at the dark buildings of James. Robin wondered if he found them as depressing as she did. Probably not. He didn't have to live there.

“Come on,” he said.

He put a friendly arm around her shoulders, as he did when Robin had been matching beers with him, except that tonight she hadn't. The effects of the wine from earlier had already worn off. Robin felt awake and alert. David had seen her drinking Coke in the bar; he'd even commented on it. There was no need for him to steady her.

She put an arm around his waist. He looked down at her, neither smiling nor laughing, and then tightened his grip, pulling her closer in to his side. Robin glanced at her feet to hide from him the grin of relief and triumph that she could feel curving her mouth. The quad suddenly seemed less dismal. She wished it were bigger. David didn't seem to be in a hurry, but it still took far too short a time to cross the grass to C-block.

Robin turned to face him squarely, letting go with reluctance. “My stop,” she said ruefully.

“For now,” he agreed, and while Robin tried to work out what that was supposed to mean, he bent his head and kissed her.

Afterwards Robin wondered how something could be at once so new and so familiar. The electric thrill of it was beyond her experience, yet she recognised the softness of his kiss; the taste of his mouth was flight and freedom, yet she knew it was the seal on a compact; he was a mystery, yet this laid him open to her. She clenched her fingers into the unyielding muscle of his back, and he brushed the side of her face with feather-gentle fingertips, and the world could never be quite the same again.

He released her. Robin caught her breath, easing her grip on his shoulders. He looked shaken, but satisfied, and his eyes seemed suddenly very dark. He stroked back an errant lock of her hair. “Marko'll drop your car back.”

It was about the last thing she'd expected him to say, but it brought her back down to earth with a jolt. “Shit. Marko still has my keys.”

“It's not a problem, Robin.”

“But my house key's on that ring. I don't have a spare.”

David turned abruptly to the door. He stretched out a hand, barely brushing the handle with his fingertips. The door swung gently open.

“Looks like it wasn't locked,” he said.

“But that's….”

He smiled at her. “Good night, Robin.”

Robin let her hands fall to her sides. “Tomorrow?” she asked uncertainly.

David's green-blue eyes locked with hers. The breeze stirred the long strands of hair at the back of his neck. “We'll see.”

The ambiguity came as a blow. Robin scanned his face for an explanation, hurt to the quick.

“Good night,” he said again, and with no further word turned and started back across the quad.

Robin stared after him. Did he expect her to call him back? Run after him? She resolved to do neither. She went inside, feeling increasingly disgruntled. He had kissed her. What had he expected her to do? Slap him? She couldn't think of a worse or more unexpected way for an otherwise excellent night to have ended.

She stomped up the stairs to her room, torn between anger and affront. And fear. What if David never came back? What if he just walked out of her life? What would she had to live for then?

“Maybe I'd actually get some work done,” she said savagely as she shoved open the door of her room. She threw the notepad from her pocket onto her desk, and irritably pulled off her coat, dropping it in a corner, too aggravated to hang it up. Then she slumped into her chair, dropping her head into her hands. “Damn it, David! What the hell are you doing?”

And that roused the memory of something David had said in his conversation with Paul. What's best for the lost boys.

Robin raised her head. Lost boys. She'd seen that term written down. The reading list for her children's literature course had surfaced earlier in the week. It was probably on that. She pushed a few pieces of paper around on her desk, and a folded sheet fell on the floor. Robin leaned down to pick it up, recognising the Cult SOC flyer Chris had given her last week.

Her eyes froze halfway down.

Friday, 21 st November 1997 – THE LOST BOYS (Kiefer Sutherland, Jason Patric, Jami Gertz) – Seminal style-over-substance vampire flick from director Joel Schumacher (before he killed the Batman franchise), chock-full of ‘80s teen idols, cheesy one-liners, and one of the best movie soundtracks ever. Sleep all day – Party all night – Never grow old – Never die – It's fun to be a vampire.

There was a picture. It was tiny, an inch square; scanned badly, reduced in size, and distorted by the photocopier.

Robin couldn't breathe. She knew that face.

David.