It was dark, cold and wet when I pulled my bike into the parking lot. The pub was shut, eleven pm closing time long past. The glasses cleaned, the bar wiped and the rabble sent home, the pub would have been still and silent for three or four hours by now. My headlight glistened on the wet tarmac as I pulled up in front of the several hundred year old building, the yellow light splashing across the red brick and old oak beams of the front wall. The studded wooden door was highlighted in stark relief for a moment, then I switched off the bike's lights.
The pub stood in the wan orange glow from the streetlamp at the entrance to the car park. The same orange glow painted a silhouette of my machine and myself across the bricks. The windows stared out at me like the dead, black eyes of a shark. I killed the engine and the sudden silence swelled, deafening for a moment. Then everything was still.
I stayed sitting on the bike, staring at the pub. The chill and the damp was cutting through my leathers. My toes and fingers were numb from the cold. English winter nights, harsh and unforgiving. Especially to the motorcyclist.
There was a beer garden around the side of the pub. I knew it extended behind the building too, wooden tables and benches. There was a swingset around the back and a rusted old climbing frame. Beyond the garden was all forest, oak, birch, pine. Most of it was bare of leaves now, stark branches like witches fingers etched against a dull, orangey overcast sky, silhouette against not quite dark. The real darkness was between the trees, pitch and foreboding. The stuff of nightmares.
Behind me the road ran darkly wet from east to west and beyond the road was more of the same horror forest, home to unknown ghouls and monsters. In the summertime, on a warmer, clearer night, the woods would seem much less terrifying. It was the dripping, cold, absolute blackness that spawned demons in the mind.
I took off my crash helmet and hung it on the handlebar, the cold stinging my cheeks as the warmth of the helmet vanished like smoke in a strong wind. I pulled off my damp gloves and stuffed them into the hanging helmet, my numb fingers clumsy and unreal. I clenched my hands like claws, trying to pump some blood back into the frozen digits. My joints cracked and popped, the movement painful with lack of blood.
Slowly, carefully, I stepped off the bike, wary of chilled knees giving way beneath me, and stuffed my hands into the waistband of my trousers. I winced as my icy fingers pressed into the warmth of my belly, but the heat was delicious. Standing there, shivering, I stared at the pub.
There was no sound but the occasional drip of the raindrops falling from the eaves into puddles. The rain had stopped for the time being, but everything was soaked. A freezing mist hung at ground level, swirling slowly like dancing dragons in the glassy stillness.
My fingers began to burn as the heat of my body helped the blood back through capillaries frozen shut. I stood and stared at the sleeping pub. So still it seemed almost comatose.
Looking up I could see a faint silvery glow through the wintry clouds as the moon sailed her way across the sky. Barely more than a slight variation in the shade of the overcast sky, I knew it was a full moon there, drifting directly above the pub.
I gently leaned my weight to one side then the other, softly pumping my feet against the soles of my boots. My feet felt spongy and heavy, the damp and chill clinging to my boots like a blanket. Without taking my eyes off the pub I slowly crouched down, my knees stiff, protesting against the movement. As I stood up again my knees popped and burned slightly, loosening a little. I repeated the movement, my eyes narrowing at the discomfort.
The pub was fairly small, little bigger than the average cottage seen in this part of the country, although it was two storeys. It had a heavy thatched roof and several chimney stacks, each topped with squat, rounded pots. There was a porch over the front door, thatched above, red tiles on the floor. The tiles were scalloped by centuries of thirsty boots.
'You came.'
I turned slowly at the sound of the voice. The quiet, slightly surprised sounding voice. My face betrayed my discomfort and annoyance. 'Of course.'
She smiled, her hands thrust deep into the pockets of a sheepskin coat, a scarf piling up on her shoulders, her hair dark and heavy over the scarf. 'Hmm.'
'Why now? Why here?'
She smiled again at my questions. That smile, so beautiful, beguiling. A small part of a far greater beauty. A dangerous beauty. Even in the thick coat and scarf she was graceful and alluring. 'Why not?' she countered.
'Lovely night you chose for it.'
The smile turned slightly, became a chiding, amused expression. 'You will choose these mundane, harsh forms of transport.' She thrust her chin towards my parked bike.
'There's nothing mundane about it. It's a natural exhilaration you could never understand.'
She laughed softly. 'A natural exhilaration? To be frozen and soaked?'
I shook my head gently. 'Not nearly as frozen as your icy heart. And at least I'll thaw soon.'
Her eyes widened slightly. 'Meee-ow!'
We stood staring at each other for some time, our eyes locked. Her expression was soft where I knew mine was hard, but hadn't that always been the way? She was the soft one, the relaxed one and I was always the hard one. The Granite Man she had called me. I could see a certain lust in her eyes and I knew she could see the same thing in mine. We could never keep a secret from each other and our passion was anything but a secret in the first place. We had been electric, a primal force. We had set worlds on fire. Now we stood here, in the wet and the cold and the dark, staring at each other.
Chill minutes ticked by as we stared. The engine of my bike clicked and pinged occasionally, the metal cooling and contracting. My hands were warming in my waistband but my feet were still numb. I could almost feel her dry warmth. She stood breathing deeply and slowly, her breath softly clouding in two streams from her nostrils.
'Well?' she said eventually.
I said nothing. Just watched, though I loosened my hands slightly in the waistband of my trousers. She slowly removed her slender, pale hands from her voluminous pockets. Fragile looking hands that could crush souls.
Her hands rose to her throat and dug gently under the scarf. She pulled out the large crystal on its leather necklace that always hung against her skin. I'll never forget the image of it resting heavy and glittering at the top of her smooth cleavage. She looked down at it for a moment, turning it slowly between her fingers. It seemed to glow.
After a moment she looked up again, coy, peering at me from under dark lashes. 'A kiss for old time's sake?' I let out a derisive laugh. She shrugged. 'Can't blame a girl for asking.'
'You're no girl.'
She smiled that debilitating smile again. 'Am I a woman then?' Her voice was deliberately husky, mocking. I didn't answer her.
She took a deep breath, set her feet apart a little. I took my hands from my waistband and let them hang loosely at my sides. She stared at me, toying with the crystal, gently chewing at her lower lip, as if in thought. Calculating would be a better description. But, god, it was sensual. She was seduction embodied and she knew it. But she would never seduce me again and she knew that too.
I began breathing deeply, my breath fueling the fire at the center of my being. I let the fire there rise, used my breath to calm and still my mind, enhance my senses. My energy began to circulate. The Chinese call it Qi, the Indians call it Prana. But it's really power. Soft or hard, healing or harming, pure, unfettered power. If you learn to control it. I directed my energy around my body, loosening my muscles, warming my limbs. My vision and hearing sharpened, preternatural clarity.
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