Nailed by the Heart (12 page)

Abruptly,
he sat up. He had heard a sound. It seemed to come from the caravan
wall just behind his head. He thought hard.

There
were no rooms on that side of the wall. The sound came from outside.

He
heard it again. A soft grating. Like something sliding across the
cobblestones.

Set
above his bed was the curtained window. All he had to do was kneel up
and look outside.

David
knelt up in bed. Then he lifted the curtain.

"Oh,
Chris ... I can't believe you're doing that to me. Uh ..."

He
felt her hands around his head pulling him to her tightly.

He
could smell her, taste her; his body felt alight. He wanted to hold
her so tightly that they fused into a single living being.

"That's
beautiful. Oh, harder ... Don't worry ... You're not hurting me-ah
... That's it. Mm-mer ... Harder ... Don't ... Oh, yes."

His
breath came in bursts, his heart a hard pumping engine. Yes. He felt
enormously powerful, a towering colossus above her, with the power to
make this woman cry out or chew her knuckles in ecstasy. She was his;
she would do anything.

She
panted words breathlessly. "Oh ... I love it, I love it. ...
You're breaking me. ... Oh, I'm breaking in two. ..."

The
pumping engine had taken over. He gripped her, feeling her sobbing
gasps hot on his throat. He wasn't in control. That engine inside of
him pounded on and on and on. Whatever happened now, it would have
nothing to do with him.

The
first thing David saw when he lifted the curtain was a face.

His
eyes widened.

Its
eyes widened.

He
opened his mouth.

It
opened its mouth too. It had big white teeth with a definite gap at
the front.

He
smiled. Then tapped the glass. The face smiled back.

"Ree-fleck-shun
... Ree-fleck-shun."

He
looked out into the courtyard which was flooded with cool moonlight.
It lit the skips that his dad would have to fill with rubble tomorrow
morning.

Through
the open gates he could see the waves all twinkling and foaming
across the causeway.

High
tide. Now the seafort had become a little island

once
more.

Tonight
the sea looked black in places. A bit like black cherry jelly.

Something
broke the surface of the water. Then immediately disappeared again.
He leaned forward, pressing his nose to the cold glass. Things were
moving about in the water. Maybe they were the seals his dad had told
him about. He stared hard, certain they would show themselves again.

"Chris
..." She breathed a deep, sobbing breath. "Don't stop,
don't stop."

Her
fingernails dug sharply into the back of his neck; her legs were
wrapped tightly around him, her heels forcing themselves into his
back in a series of spasms.

He
had never experienced love-making like this before. Her ferocious
passion only excited him more. Their bodies clashed together. She
held the two of them together, grinding at him. It was as if she were
making that desperate bid to force him so deeply into her body that
they would permanently merge into one-like two figures made from
moist clay, pressed together to be molded into a new form. He panted.
He kissed her violently; the salt on her breasts bit into his tongue.
There was no seafort now, no sea, no coast, no Manshead, no nation,
no world, no universe. Only the two of them, meshing together,
joining into a single pounding being. A huge heartbeat thundered in
his ears. Faster and faster.

Now
he was no longer conscious of moving his body. He did not own it. It
moved faster and faster, like a mechanical hammer, untiring; beating
out an ancient rhythm that was as old as life itself.

An
explosion was building in his body. She bit hungrily at his neck. An
unearthly sweet pain-he desired it; he wanted it to pierce his body
from head to toe. The explosion rose inside him.

She
panted. "Do it. Now ... Break me! Ah!"

David
looked out. There, slap bang in the middle of the causeway, was a-

He
jumped, startled. He'd not expected that. Shocked, he covered his
face with his hands. For a moment he thought of calling out. But
these days he was trying to be a brave boy.

Maybe
it was ... Maybe it was just a ...

Slowly,
so he could just peep through them, he opened his fingers, bit by
bit.

On
the causeway, just beyond the gates, standing as if it were a sunny
day in the park, was a man.

But
there was something odd about him.

He
did not move. He had a white face. A very, very white face which had
startled David.

And
the man with the white face stared at David in the window.

Just
then he had the strongest feeling that the man wanted David to go to
him. It was like being called by your mum or your dad-you just felt
you had to do it.

You
must.

But
David wasn't allowed out of the caravan at night on his own. Too
dangerous.

Too
scary.

All
alone in the dark.

But
the man wanted him.

The
man did not move. And now the waves were washing around his legs.

Wasn't
he wet?

But
David couldn't see his feet in the water.

A
little boat maybe? A raft?

He
felt alarmed.

He
had a feeling in his stomach. Like when he had the nasty dream about
the wormhole under his bed. This was nastier somehow.

And
the man was calling.

Calling
him down.

Time
to go, David.

Time
to see the man on the water.

His
sweat-soaked pajamas were sticking to his skin. They felt cold.

What
was he doing here?

He
looked around him. The seafort walls were like cliffs, shooting up
into the moonlit sky. Why was he standing in the courtyard in the
middle of the night? The cobbles felt cold and gritty under his bare
feet. The caravan lay behind him; the door swayed open in the breeze.
Why wasn't he back there nice and snug under his quilt?

Then
he remembered. That man had wanted to see him. That was all he knew.

The
man with the hard white face stared. He did not move.

Even
though David was frightened, something inside him wanted to go.

He
had something that David wanted. Just what, he didn't know. But he
wanted it so badly now.

He
wanted ...

Now
... Give it to me!

I
bought it. It is mine!

David
heard his own voice-demanding, demanding, demanding.

He
had nearly reached the gates. One swayed, creaking on its rusty
hinges. The breeze was fresher here, the hiss of the surf louder over
the causeway.

The
man's white face shone. It shone brighter than something reflecting
mere moonlight.

Would
David have to touch that smooth face? Now he could see dark patches
where the man's eyes should be.

I've
made the swap. I let my toys get washed away into the sea on purpose.
We had a deal. I don't have to give anymore. That's the rule, you
don't have to give anymore once you've made the deal. Spit on my
palm, shake hands.

Now
the face towered above him. Big and around and white and hard. Like
the man in the moon.

Too
soon, David. Too soon.

David
stepped out of the seafort and onto the causeway. A wave licked his
toes.

"If
we hear it again I'll go see what it is." Chris pulled his wife
close. Even though it was dark, somehow he knew she was smiling. She
kissed him on the chin.

"If
we don't ..."

"Then
it's the same again for you, my dear."

He
chuckled, feeling deliciously relaxed. The sheets were a tangle
beneath them but he couldn't care less.

"It's
nearly two. We'll have to sleep sometime."

"We
will ... Sometime." He ran his fingers down her spine. "Blast,"
she murmured. "Did you hear it?" "It'll be a seagull."

"Or
a seal. I don't want it raiding the dustbin. I'll just check."
She nipped the end of his nose with her teeth. She sat up in bed and
raised the curtain. Her sudden yell stabbed his ears. "David!"

Mark
Faust sat on the dunes, watching the seafort by moonlight.

Waves
rolled in over the beach in a soft roar. He'd watched them creep over
the raised causeway, turning the seafort into an island. The
seafort itself loomed against the moonlit sea like a beached
battleship. The breeze ruffled his hair and he shivered slightly,
feeling the hairs on his arms rising up on end one by one.

The
sight of the place always did that to him. He remembered the first
time he had seen the seafort. And he knew what lay just a few
hundred yards beyond it in ten fathoms of ocean.

Through
the seafort's big double gates he could make out the caravan that
the family lived in while they converted the stone heap into a hotel.
Jesus ... A hotel ...

He
shook his head.

As
he watched he heard a bang; a light shone from the window of the
caravan.

Swiftly,
he climbed to his feet. Two figures ran from the caravan toward the
gates.

Jesus,
one of the figures was as naked as the day they were born. They were
too far away for him to be certain, but he got the impression it was
the woman. She ran like an athlete across the stone cobbles-in her
bare feet.

Why
on earth? ...

Then
the American saw what she was running toward.

The
little kid. For some reason he stood ankle-deep in the surf on the
causeway. Like a little blond statue.

He
saw the boy's mother grab hold of him and clutch him to her bare
chest. She held him like that for a moment. The husband, wearing a
dressing gown, stood a little distance away. Mark saw that they were
speaking to one another-at first agitated; he could not tell what
they said. They soon appeared calmer. The little boy rubbed his eyes
as if he had woken from a deep sleep, yawning.

Then
all three returned to the caravan, the naked woman carrying her son.
The man shut the door. More lights came on behind curtains.

He
waited another ten minutes until it became clear that nothing else
was going to happen tonight, then he walked away into the dunes.

"David,
stop doing that while I'm driving. It's distracting."

"Okay."

David
didn't seem any the worse for wear after what had happened the night
before. Nor did he seem bothered by the experience. They had asked
him why he had left the caravan. "Just a little walk," he'd
replied. They had decided to leave it at that, although Chris still
wondered if moving away from his friends might have had a disturbing
effect on him. In future the caravan door would get locked at night
and the key put where David couldn't reach it.

"Where
we going, Mum?"

"I've
told you a hundred times. To Mr. Gateman's in the village. He's
invited us to a barbecue."

"Why?"

"Because
he's a cannibal, David. He's going to eat us for his supper."

"Chris,
you'll give him nightmares."

"Dad,
what's a sacrifice?"

Chris
had thought he was going to ask, "What's a cannibal?" The
question tripped him. "A sacrifice? What makes you ask that?"

"Enough."
Ruth raised her finger-both father and son knew it meant change the
subject. "We're going to have a good time tonight. David, you're
having a treat because you're stopping up late. Your dad's having a
treat because I'll drive home so that means he can drink beer and get
all squinty-eyed."