One Must Hide

Regard

The words kept blurring. Try as she might to concentrate, Robin just couldn't focus her eyes. She struggled to read the top line for what must have been the twentieth time, but the print just smudged together, and she gave up with a groan, lowering her head onto her folded arms.

She could have fallen asleep there quite happily. That was the thought that made her lift her head off the desk. Dozing off in the library during the busy Thursday evening session was very bad form. Robin gazed at the books she had collected together, and then wearily picked up the whole heap and put it back on the trolley for re-filing. You're going to be spending your weekend in here, Robin.

Even that dismal prospect couldn't deaden the feeling of relief as she left the library for home. Robin had often wondered if the architect of the building had been charged with the task of designing the most grim, uninviting place possible to store York's books. The air was stuffy to the point of real discomfort and the fluorescent lights were too harsh and bright to be conducive to study. It was blessedly dim and near arctic cold outside. Robin took deep breaths of the bitter evening air, feeling it revive her sluggish brain. Thursdays were always long, and tackling the busiest day of the week on three hours of sleep had exacted a steep price. She couldn't remember much about her first two lectures, or the seminar that had followed them, and what she recalled most clearly from meeting with her tutor was being told to go to bed earlier.

Her memories of the previous night were nearly as hazy. Most of the details of the long wild ride eluded her grasp, as slippery as black ice. But the ones that remained were sharp and precise, as though seared indelibly on her mind: the pale streaks of merging streetlights; the smell of hot rubber and wet tarmac; the rain like stinging needles in her face; David's grin, savagely exultant, like her own. And his parting words, almost lost beneath the noise of his engine when he had dropped her home.”Same time tomorrow.”

Five or six hours to kill. The thought came unbidden, but it made Robin pause. Hours to kill, as though what she did in the time before David came for her again was irrelevant. She shook herself mentally. She still knew almost nothing about him: where he came from, what he did – who he was. He wasn't exactly forthcoming with information, and last night hadn't given Robin many opportunities to ask, but even there, she wondered. It was as if all her questions had dried up, becoming too trivial, too petty, to be worth asking. Enough just to be around him. But that thought, too, seemed to come from an unfamiliar place.

The kitchen at C-block heaved. Robin hesitated at the door, giving serious consideration to bypassing it entirely, but the smell of frying bacon made her aware that her stomach had been giving her polite reminders all day.

She pushed her way to the fridge, determined that she wouldn't be stopped. She remembered buying butter and ham earlier in the week. Judging by the crumbs, someone had been using the butter, but the ham was still in its sealed pack. Robin made herself a couple of sandwiches, spreading the butter thick – if she didn't use it, someone else would – and piling on all the ham. She stacked them on a plate while she waited for the kettle to boil. Then, tea in one hand and sandwiches in the other, she edged back towards the door. No one said a word, or even looked at her.

Jack was coming downstairs as Robin headed up to her room, and he seemed to look straight through her too. Although that, Robin thought, was about standard.

The disarray in her room was as she'd left it: bed unmade, clothes on the floor, damp towel in a heap by the washbasin. Robin put her plate and cup carefully on her desk. She picked up the towel, making a face at the clammy material. The radiator seemed to be a logical place for it. She folded it and put it there. She moved several articles of clothing into a pile with one foot, then lost interest. The tangled covers on her bed invited and repelled her in equal measure. She found herself looking at the sandwiches she'd made without feeling at all like eating them. Suddenly the everyday paraphernalia of her life seemed thoroughly depressing.

Robin opened the window and stuffed Ulysses into its usual space. Then she made herself eat. The ham wasn't bad, but the bread was dry and tasteless, and there was too much of it. She sat looking at what she'd left on the plate for a long time, and then, piece by piece, threw the crusts out of the window, into the shallows of the lake below. Ducks materialised out of nowhere to fight over the prize.

What's the matter with me?

She leaned her head back, and let the world blur.

Eboracum, the city of York, wore its many centuries with such dignity and grandeur that no one ever had the heart to question its strange little idiosyncrasies. Visitors learned quickly that streets were gates, gates were bars, and bars were legion. Student wisdom advised that York had a pub for every day of the year, and without counting, Robin saw no reason to doubt it. There were certainly bars enough that students and locals need never mix.

But after midnight York lay dark and still and very cold, silenced by the prevalent eleven o'clock licences. There would still be teenagers trying to get into Silk's on Clifford Street, first years arriving by the cab-load at Toffs to load up on cheap vodka-and-Red Bull, and someone having a fight outside Ziggy's on Micklegate, but everywhere else had shut up for the night.

Robin wondered where David would take her as they cruised beneath the distinctive yellow-gold limestone walls of the city. She'd had her fill of York 's unholy triad of nightclubs in her first few weeks as a student. But asking him where they were going had only provoked one of those infuriating grins of his. Robin supposed she should have known better.

David turned his bike down an unmarked side alley and eased to a stop at the end of a long motorcycle rank. Robin climbed off, looking about surreptitiously to identify the street. The press of buildings on each side didn't help her much; nor did the cobbles underfoot. York boasted dozens of narrow alleys and cut-throughs, ranging in character from quaint to claustrophobic. This one definitely fitted into the latter category. She noticed how David glanced once down the line of motorbikes, as if to tally their owners. Then he looked at her with a smile. “They're expecting us.”

Robin resisted the obvious question. “Better not keep them waiting, then.”

David's eyes narrowed even as his grin broadened. “Better,” he said, though Robin wasn't sure if he was agreeing or approving.

A short flight of steps led from the pavement down to cellar level, and a single low black door, dull with age, and studded with rusty florin spikes. Robin followed David down. He raised his hand to the door, and when he pushed it open light blazed up from inside. Robin hesitated, blinking, in that startling pool of brilliance, feeling subtly and powerfully drawn to the light. But still she stood, until David spoke softly, his lips almost tickling her ear. “Ladies first.”

Robin stepped through the doorway, ducking her head instinctively, although there was clearance enough for one of her height. A narrow flight of wooden stairs, lit by the faint glow of a fluorescent tube, led to another door. She composed herself to bravado and started down them. Behind her, she could hear David, his footfalls quiet on the steps.

She placed her hand lightly on the plain door at the foot of the stair, and at once felt a vibration, almost a buzz, in the skin of her palm. It spread to her fingertips and down her arm as she stood there, and the rhythm of her own pulse quickened to match it, thudding almost painfully fast.

The door opened, and music crashed over her in waves. Dim light painted the room in muted tones of amber, gleamed dully off the optics behind the bar, barely illuminated the worn green baize of the pool table. A fog of cigarette smoke hung blue in the air, shrouding the farthest corners from view. Butt ends and bottle caps littered the scarred planks of the floor. Mick Jagger wailed from the jukebox.

A couple of big guys in boots and leathers turned their heads to stare at the newcomer. Robin felt their regard as an almost offensive pressure before they looked beyond her. Instantly both men looked back at their beers, visibly cowed.

Robin looked over her shoulder to see what had put them off. David stood there with eyes like ice, and the quality of his expression had changed. The smile on the face of the tiger.

The softest clink of chains made her turn back to the bar. Someone was approaching from the obscuring miasma of smoke. Robin almost took a step backwards, but David's mocking laugh stopped her. She lifted her head defiantly and squared her shoulders as not one, but three figures emerged from the smoke.

They came without speaking, fair and dark and fair, as oddly ageless as David, and as elusively familiar. There the similarities ended. On the left, the shortest by half a head paused, observing her with a thoughtful smirk, his head cocked to one side. He wore an improbably customised denim jacket, patched and embroidered, over fading jeans, and his curly hair hung long in a series of loose tails.

The one in the centre looked at her with eyes darker than the night and an unfathomable expression. He was handsome – or perhaps beautiful, as a black leopard is beautiful for its sleek sharp lines, its deadly stillness, its steel under silk. His jet-black hair flowed past his shoulders, and the chains on his leather jacket made no sound as he stood motionless in the haze.

The tallest of the three, at least by merit of his wild mane of dark-blonde hair, stalked closer, watching her warily. His coat brushed the top of his knee-length boots, and an overabundance of rings and bracelets and chains jingled together as he moved. The hint of a shadow darkened the clean line of his jaw, and the hint of a frown his brow, and he circled her slowly, craning his neck to study her.

Robin raised her eyes boldly to meet his measuring stare, and then almost started when a black-gloved hand dropped lightly but with clear meaning onto her shoulder. She glanced at David. He wasn't smiling any more.

“Boys,” he said. “This is Robin.”

The tall blonde transferred his scrutiny to David, not quite hostile, but not really friendly either. There seemed to be a question in that look, but Robin couldn't read it. David's grip on her shoulder tightened. “Paul?”

Paul dragged his searching gaze back to Robin. It didn't bother her, but the open mistrust in those blue eyes did. What have I done? she wanted to ask, but she didn't dare speak. This must be another test of her nerve, like the bike ride last night.

At last, Paul nodded in something that might have been grudging acknowledgement. “Yeah.” He turned away.

The one with the curly fair hair shot a secretive smile at Paul's back. “Marko,” David told Robin.

“Hi, Robin,” Marko said, with barely concealed mirth in his voice.

Is he laughing at me? “Pleased to meet you, Marko,” she replied, keeping her tone carefully level.

“And this is Dwayne.”

“He doesn't say much,” Marko said helpfully.

“Still waters,” Robin suggested, looking up at David' impassive dark-haired friend. An ugly name for a handsome man. “Hello, Dwayne.”

“Robin,” he replied, after a moment.

David's hand squeezed her shoulder briefly and then was gone. “What you drinking, Robin?”

The commonplace question snapped Robin out of her fascination, and the grimy reality of the bar came to the fore again. Ordering a glass of wine would have been inappropriate, and possibly a health risk. She glanced at the fridges behind the bar. “Just a beer.”

David nodded to Marko. Then he took Robin's hand and drew her away from the bar, towards a table in the corner. The three people sitting there picked up their drinks and moved. Robin wondered what was going on. David didn't seem to be trying to impress her, but he obviously had some sort of reputation here.

They sat down, but David didn't release her hand. Robin decided not to say anything about it. Marko came over with two bottles of Becks and put them on the table. David dismissed him with a glance.

“Thank you.” Robin picked up her beer. Then, thinking better of it, she put it down again, and reached for David's. He watched with amusement but didn't comment. “So, what have you been telling your friends about me to make them look so suspicious?”

“Oh, they're not friends.” He looked sideways to where Dwayne, Marko, and Paul were standing by the bar, still watching. “They're just the boys.”

“You haven't answered my question,” Robin pointed out. “You're too good at that.”

David contemplated his Becks for a while. “They'll adjust,” he said.

“To what?”

“To you.” He leaned forwards. “And what are you doing here, Robin?”

She smiled and shook her head. “You brought me here, remember?”

“You came,” David corrected. “Do you make a habit of accepting invitations to strange places with strange people at strange times of the night?”

“Depends who's asking,” she countered.

“That's not an answer.”

Disconcerted by the question, Robin bought some thinking time by gulping her beer. David had an extremely good point. Robin had put more than a little faith in the integrity of someone she had only known a few nights. That sort of trust wasn't in her nature, yet as she looked at the table, where David still had a gentle grip on her hand, she couldn't feel it misplaced. “No,” she said at last. “I don't make a habit of it.”

“Then why are you here?”

Robin had answers, but none she wanted to voice. Because you fascinate me.Because I'm flattered by the attention. Because I'm tired of sitting alone in my room every night. “I'm not a bad judge of character,” she said instead. “My instincts are usually right. But you…I don't know what to think of you.”

David just looked at her.

“I get it,” Robin said suddenly, “this is where you go quiet to make me keep talking to fill the awkward silence. Not going to work this time.”

He showed his teeth in a smile that, for once, didn't mock. “You know me too well.”

“I don't know you at all,” Robin pointed out.

“And that's what bothers you?” David asked. “That you can feel a connection to a stranger?”

“I didn't say anything about a connection,” she said quickly.

David ignored the demurral. “It happens all the time, Robin.”

“Not to me, it doesn't.”

“Then tell me why you're here.”

She couldn't.

“How do you like this place?” David asked.

Robin glanced around to take in the dark, low ceiling, the dirty floor, and the rough clientele. “It reminds me of Goodricke bar on a Tuesday.”

“It's a dive,” said David. “It's two o'clock in the morning. You're seventeen. And you're not even uneasy.”

He spoke with casual assurance, as if Robin's comfort level were something clearly visible. But he was right. Since sitting down Robin had relaxed, feeling entirely comfortable and confident despite the seamy environs of the bar. “I get the impression that no one here is interested in arguing with you,” she said.

David raised his eyebrows. “Then you trust me to keep you safe?”

“I didn't say anything about safe.”

A hint of that maddening smile started to twitch at the corner of David's mouth, and Robin suddenly found it too irksome to ignore. “What's so funny?”

David held up his hands, releasing Robin's, as if surrendering. “Don't you ever laugh at the world?”

“You're not laughing at the world,” Robin accused. “You're laughing at me.”

“I'm not laughing at you.”

“Stop smirking like that, then.”

David composed his features to calm, though his eyes still near glowed with amusement. “I'm sorry.”

“No you're not,” Robin said, but she couldn't help laughing as she raised her bottle to her lips. Despite the smoke and the beer and the time she felt clear-headed, sharp, alert. She felt like she could stay up all night. Tomorrow's lectures seemed a distant concern. And David's hand on top of hers had intrigued her, and more.

From where she was sitting, Robin saw Dwayne leave his place at the bar. David had his back to the room, but he looked up before his associate got there. “Thank you,” he said when Dwayne put a pack of cigarettes on the table. “Joining us?”

Dwayne inclined his head and pulled up another chair from the next table while David ripped the plastic wrapping off the cigarettes. “Robin?” he asked, offering her the box.

She shook her head. “I have enough vices,” she said, tapping the neck of the Becks bottle.

“You can never have too many vices,” said David. He offered the cigarettes to Dwayne, who accepted without comment, and then took one himself. He threw the pack into the middle of the table and reached into an inside pocket of his coat for a lighter. The flame flared briefly and then was gone. David passed the lighter to Dwayne, and took a long draw. “Vices are good for the soul,” he added.

Robin wondered what she should make of Dwayne's presence. David didn't seem concerned one way or the other. She looked back at the bar and found Paul staring at her again. He jerked his eyes angrily away, as if ashamed at being caught. She saw him say something to Marko, and a moment later the two of them left the bar for the pool table.

She turned her attention back to David. He was regarding his cigarette thoughtfully, apparently oblivious to the silent exchange. Then he looked up and smiled at her. “Anything you need, Robin? Anything we can get you?”

Robin noticed the barest hint of emphasis on we. “No. I'm fine.”

“Anything?”

If he had something specific in mind, Robin missed its meaning. She finished her beer and tipped the neck of the bottle towards him. “Another of these.”

She half expected him to call Marko over, but David stood up himself. “Whatever you want.”

Robin leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. “Is he always this random?”

“Not always,” said Dwayne, after a minute.

“Have you known him a long time?”

“Too long,” he said. “Or not long enough.”

“Oh, not you as well,” Robin said disgustedly. “With the cryptic remarks,” she clarified, when Dwayne gave her an inquiring look. He had the darkest eyes she'd ever seen, with hardly any definition between the colour of iris and pupil.

“Where are you from?” she asked, when he didn't offer any further explanation.

Dwayne turned his head to exhale. “Town called Santa Cruz .”

The name seemed familiar. “I think I've heard of it.”

He just nodded, his expression unchanged. At least, Robin reflected, he wasn't laughing at her. “You really don't say much, do you?”

She thought he wouldn't dignify the tease with a response, but then he looked at her with a curious half-smile, and said, “There's no good way to answer a question like that, Robin.”

She laughed, but the softening of Dwayne's impassive front to reveal that quiet sense of humour made her momentarily wistful. Why can't more people have hidden depths?

“It's a start,” said David.

Robin almost jumped. She hadn't seen him coming back. “Where did you come from?”

“Keep up, Robin,” David said, in a jovial tone. He put three beers down on the table, then asked pleasantly, “Did you want to switch again, in case I'm trying to drug you?”

She looked at the Becks he'd put in front of her. “Are you trying to drug me?”

“Do you think I'd tell you if I were?”

Robin picked up the bottle, suddenly in too good a mood to spar with him for the sake of it. “All right, all right, I'll trust you. For now.”

“Only for now?” David mocked. “Is that all?”

She shook her head incredulously. “What else do you want from me? Blood?”

And instantly David and Dwayne both looked sharply at her, reacting as one, all traces of amusement erased, and their stares so penetrating as to freeze Robin into instinctive stillness.

At last David smiled. “Cheers,” he said, and the chink of glass as he tilted the neck of his beer bottle against Robin's broke the spell.

“Cheers,” she replied, feeling as if she'd just missed something important.”What did I say? You're laughing at me again, aren't you?”

Slowly, David shook his head. “No, Robin.” His voice was quite level.”Not this time. I promise.”

It snowed: a light dusting that would be gone by first light: silent, unseen, with no one to mark its passage. The fall had stopped by the time Robin left the bar, and the thin coat of white on the ground was already turning to slush underfoot as David escorted her home across James' quad.

They stopped outside C-block. Every window was dark. Someone had even remembered to turn off the kitchen lights. The uninviting brick building had represented liberty, for a time, and privacy, and freedom. Now it was only a place to exist.

“Same time tomorrow,” said David, his breath frosting in the bitter air.

“Tomorrow,” Robin agreed amiably. She wondered if she should invite him up. It was so hard to read his expectations. Better not. She'd had quite a few drinks over the course of the evening, and they were definitely leaning on her best judgement. Regretfully, she turned towards the door. “Night.”

“Robin.”

She turned back towards him. “I have to sleep sometimes, Da-”

But David put his bare hand to her face, and the reproach died on her lips. In the faint light Robin could no longer make out the colour of his eyes. He bent his head to her, and for a shocking moment she was sure that he would kiss her. She found her hands on his chest, and couldn't decide if she meant to pull him closer or push him away. She could feel the indecisive tension locking his muscles. For long moments the tableau held.

Then he let his hand slide away. He took a step back. His expression was indecipherable.

“Tomorrow,” he said, and stepped backwards again, then turned and stalked away.

Robin raised her hand to her own cheek where the touch of his fingers still burned against her snow-chilled skin. What was that?

As she turned her key in the Yale lock a gust of freezing air fair blew her through the door. Robin staggered and caught herself clumsily against the wall. Maybe she'd had more to drink than she really should have.

The stairs were hard work. She managed to get to the first landing without incident, but then she had to take a breather to let her vision stop swimming. She stared through the long window until the slush-covered quad came back into focus.

The tracks David and she had left were still clearly visible in the melting snow. But the prints that David's boots had made as he had departed stretched only halfway across the grass. Then they just stopped. Odd. Robin tried for several moments to puzzle it out, but the effort made her dizzy, and she gave it up as a bad job. She focused all her remaining energies back on the formidable challenge of climbing the stairs with legs that felt like wallpaper paste.

She didn't bother to turn the light on in her room. It would only depress her. She felt her way to her bed by touch, and collapsed down onto it, fully clothed. I should take off my boots. The thought never achieved sufficient urgency in her mind to be worth acting upon. But she was still exploring her face with her fingertips when she fell asleep.