A Taste Of Night 1

I made the decision to go back, that's on me. I can't lay the responsibility for that on anyone, or anything else. A way out was available, I just didn't take it. I'm not sure I would now, crazy as that sounds, but then I know more. I was ignorant back then.

I knew nothing.

I am writing this so I can get my thinking clear about what happened that night in October. To remember it, as much as I can, and maybe even to relive it. Perhaps I might even be able to make sense of it. I think I need to do that, as best as I'm able, before I make any decision about what comes next.

It was a Friday night, Halloween. Of course that seems so appropriate now, looking back. How could it have been any other night, but, like I said, I knew nothing back then. The city centre was buzzing, I couldn't remember ever seeing it so full of life. Of course everyone was out in costume and it seemed everywhere you looked there was a mummy or a sexy witch. I noticed there were a shitload of superheroes wandering about; their drawn-in sixpacks failing to disguise the beer-guts straining beneath. Superhero costumes always seemed like cheating to me. I mean, seriously, what the fuck has Iron man got to do with Halloween? OK, I'll give you Batman, at least he gets the colour scheme right, but Superman can piss right off!

Autumn has always been my favourite season, I just love the colours and the lengthening nights. As nice as summertime drinking is, I've always preferred the feeling you get going out on the town just as the the night is closing in and the sky is on fire. I enjoy the smell of fallen leaves and the bright, clear light from the sun hanging low in the sky.

I shall miss it, I think.

I was in town to meet Scarlett and Jane, old friends from school. The aim of the night was to sample a few bars before heading to a local goth club Scarlett had suggested. It wasn't really Jane's scene but, what with Halloween and all that, we had persuaded her to give it a try. To be honest, it wasn't really my scene either, but once Scarlett had an idea in her head the easiest thing to do was simply go along with it and pick up the pieces afterwards. Both Scarlett and I were newly single and tonight we were going to join perpetual singleton Jane for a night out to remember. At least that was the plan. A successful plan too, as it turned out.

Scarlett, put simply, was a force of nature; a redheaded whirlwind of craziness you couldn't help but be swept up in, even when it landed you in trouble. I have nearly been arrested twice in my life and it's no coincidence that, on both occasions, Scarlett was present. This was a girl who had been cocky enough to openly flirt with the police officer who, at the time, was threatening to put her in handcuffs. A suggestion she had not found at all unpleasant. Meanwhile I had stood to one side, burning my way through the earth's crust with shame. To be fair to her, they had dated for a few months afterwards, before she inevitability grew bored and moved on. There was no doubt she was a bad influence, that had been obvious at school, and, at the time, my parents had tried to persuade me to look elsewhere for friendship. A hopeless cause. Once you were in Scarlett's gravitational pull it was impossible to resist. The simple fact was I liked her because she was a bad influence. Life was simply less fun without her. She was also one of the truest friends you could ever meet.

I still believe that, despite everything.

Next to Scarlett anyone would have looked quiet and reserved but Jane would have looked quiet and reserved next to a nun, at least until you got to know her. She was the studious one of the group, happier in small groups and calmer settings. She had short blonde hair and glasses, was pretty and clearly intelligent. When it came to men she claimed to have ridiculously high standards, meaning she rejected anyone that came close. Of course the real reason for this was down to how Jane saw herself. Her lack of confidence meant that she always questioned the genuineness of any man who showed an interest in her. Both Scarlett and I had set her up on dates with men, at least one of whom I knew for a fact was into her, but Jane had always found a reason why it was never going to work.

You would never have put her and Scarlett in the same room as each other and yet, as friends they made sense. One tethered the other to some semblance of reality; the other encouraged her friend to push against the envelope, just a little.

And as for me, I came somewhere in the middle: nowhere near as wild as Scarlett but not as reserved as Jane. The one thing they had in common, which I lacked, was a sense of certitude. Whereas they had both, pretty early on, seized on what kind of people they wanted to be, and stuck with it, I had been a little more unsure. I had done the traveling thing, a year tending bars in Australia; the student thing, three different degree courses only one of which I successfully completed; and I was currently doing the adult, professional thing, having started work a few months earlier at a local solicitors. I used to have pretensions of artistry: writing, painting and even, for a summer, sculpture. None of which had stuck. Despite their differences in character, neither of them had settled, neither of them had compromised. Even Jane's reluctance to enter into a relationship stemmed from a reluctance on her part to settle. Something which could never have been said of me, and I envied them that.

My look had changed over years as well although, the night we met, I was dressed rather conservatively in a black blouse and dark jeans. My straight brown hair left loose to hang past my shoulders. I had even taken out my nose ring a few months before. Yet another concession I had made, or maybe surrender would have been a better word.

Jane was already waiting at the train station when I arrived. She wore a long dark coat buttoned up to the throat, and she was sat on a bench reading her phone. She noticed me as I approached and stood up smiling. We hugged briefly, her hair smelled of tea tree shampoo, a cold and crisp scent that seemed seasonably appropriate, before we sat down to wait for Scarlett's inevitably late arrival.

"So, are you ready?" I asked, as we made ourselves as comfortable as we could on the cold wooden bench. Jane shook her head ruefully:

"Not really. This is Scarlett's suggestion for a night out remember, expect the worst. We will probably be behind bars or on the TV news by midnight."

This made me laugh, Jane's dry sense of humour was not immediately apparent but, once you got past her outer shell, she was one of the wittiest people I knew.

"It's not too late to make a run for it you know. I could always tell her something came up at home." Jane shook her head.

"No good, she has made it clear no excuses will be accepted. Besides, I already bailed on the last few outings, it's becoming a habit. Just don't leave me alone me with her and we'll get through the night. I'm hoping she'll be distracted by this new guy of hers anyway. My idea is: she gets with him so we can escape out the back and go somewhere sane."

"Now that sounds like a plan. Wait until her attention is elsewhere and then escape through the toilet window. It's no crazier than what will happen if we can't escape. What do you know about this guy anyway? She has been pretty tight-lipped about him with me; that's not like her at all."

Jane shook her head. "Not much, he's European, older and she's madly in love, at least for this week."

"And he's a goth?"

"I'm not sure. It's certainly a goth/fetish club we're going to, God help us, but from what she tells me it's a special party without the usual crowd. Still, I expect the worst. Like I said, don't leave me with her." She was about to add something when she was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Why do I get the impression that you two wimps are already planning to ditch me tonight?" Scarlett, as ever, looked stunning. She was wearing a long black sleeveless dress with a corset like top, revealing a cleavage which, even as a friend, I struggled to take my eyes off. She was not wearing a coat, leaving her bare arms open to the autumn air in a way that made me feel cold just by looking at her. She wore her hair down in a wild cascade of red curls and, as usual, I was struck with a mixture of respect and envy. Sometimes it is hard to be friends with someone who seems to draw the light away from everyone else in the room.

Jane was the first to recover: "As if you'd let us." She said, and I could tell that she was thinking many of the same thoughts as me.

"Damn right!" Scarlett replied with a grin, "and that goes double for you Miss Librarian, you have backed out of too many this year as it is." Jane simply shrugged and smiled back at her and I was caught, not for the first time, by the thought that she may be a little in love with Scarlett. It would explain a few things.

"So you're alone?" I said as Scarlett joined us on the bench, "I was expecting to meet the new love of your week." Scarlett laughed and, digging out a hip-flask, offered it to us.

"So cynical so young; it really is quite tragic.".Taking the flask from her hand I unscrewed it and took a tentative sip. You were never really sure what Scarlett was offering, this time it was just spiced rum which burned its way deliciously down my throat. I took more. "Luc is going to meet us at the club." She said.

"That's disappointing."said Jane, "we were hoping for a chance to quiz him...and warn him, of course."

"Precisely why I've avoided getting you all together until now. I think this one's a keeper." My scepticism must have shown in my face because she added, looking directly at me: "He's different. Wait until you meet him, you'll see what I mean." The way she said this, so seriously, so unlike her, with not even a flicker of an ironic smile, I almost believed her.

Of course I know now that she was telling the truth. That, if anything, when she called him "different", she was understating. I know this now, but again, I am left with the question, had I known the truth about him, about all of them, would I have acted any differently? Or is the truth that even then, while I'm was sat drinking her rum, and trying not to stare at her cleavage, it was already too late?

We did not head straight for the nightclub; according to Scarlett it didn't open for a few hours and, in any case, there was lots of catching up to do. We headed straight to our usual pub where, over several glasses of cheap red wine, we told each other our news. In my case there was very little to tell. My last relationship, if you could even call it that, had been nearly four months before and my work was as repetitive as it was uninspiring. This was one area where I was, at least, envious of Jane. Her passion for her job at the museum was as obvious as it was baffling to Scarlett and me. As much as I tried to keep up with her there is only so many dates and names my mind can absorb without drifting. Scarlett was going through one her periods of "absolute freedom", or unemployment to the rest of us, although this hadn't seemed to put a crimp on her spending power as she insisted the first two bottles of wine were on her. I protested of course, but only a little.

Of course the real story of the night was Scarlett's new infatuation and, as the wine flowed, she began to share some details about him. They had met on line, Scarlett said. This came as a bit of a surprise as, up until now, Scarlett had always turned her nose up at digital dating. Direct debits and fucking were two separate things, she had told us on many occasions, and should never be mentioned in the same sentence. She was a little vague as to where exactly on the web they had crossed paths but she revealed that he was French, devastatingly handsome and "rich as fuck". As the wine began to take its effect I began to question her about the more intimate side of their relationship. Here, Scarlett betrayed the habit of a lifetime and changed the subject. This was so out of character as to be genuinely shocking. Whenever my own private life resembled a desert I could always live vicariously through her carnal adventures, and she was never shy about going into almost pornographic detail Not any more, it would seem. For the first time I genuinely considered the question about how serious she was about this new man in her life.

I could never have guessed.

It had fallen full dark outside when we finally left the pub. Jane and I were freezing even wrapped up as we were in our heavy winter coats. We could only gaze in wonder as Scarlett strode confidently out into the icy night in only her black dress. "I sometimes wonder if you're human at all." Whispered Jane. Scarlett gazed at her for a long time, her expression unreadable before breaking into a delighted peal of laughter.

"You know what they say," she said, "cold hands, warm heart."

"Just remember that when you start to go blue." Jane replied, threading her arms through Scarlett's and then my own. As we walked down the street she whispered: "Fucking hell Scarlet, forget cold hands. You're like a block of ice." Jane pulled Scarlett in tighter and, arm in arm, we walked down the moonlit street. The sky overhead was clear and crisp, and the moon looked so close you could almost reach up and tap it with your finger.

I had noticed Jane's use of a swear word. The wine was having its effect and she was beginning to loosen up. It was going to be a good night. I remember thinking that, as we made our way to the nightclub, to meet the man who had done what so many had tried to do but failed: the man who had stolen my best friend's heart.

The club lay on the very edge of the town centre and, unless you were going there specifically, there was no other reason to be there. It was surrounded on both sides by abandoned mills, their broken windows staring darkly out into the sparsely lit street. Behind the club the large, circular, skeletal frame of a gas tower loomed. A few years ago I had signed onto a photography course to try my hand at visual arts. I had come down to this end of town to take lots of gloomy, atmospheric photos of the run-down buildings and overgrown, abandoned car parks. I was never really sure of what point I was trying to make with them: some comment about urban decay probably, but I knew deep down that I wasn't saying anything blindingly original and my photography tutor appeared to agree. I dropped out after one term.

But there had always been something about the area though, I had always thought so, even if I couldn't capture it on film. And what ever it was, there was more to it than just the cliched fascination with old and abandoned buildings. Clearly I hadn't been the only one to think this, and it had surprised nobody when "Lilith's" had opened; a nightclub designed to appeal to the pale faced and dark clothed, and which had set up in the only intact building in the area: a renovated 19th century church complete with gothic style tower that rose up high above the surrounding buildings, even the empty frame of the gas tower.

The church was made of rough stone, darkened to black through age. I'm sure the owners could have paid to have the stone power-cleaned but I imagine the grimy look was part of the appeal when they bought the place. The main part of its front was taken up with a large stained glass window although the details of the images were hard to see in the gloom. It was clear that the party had already started and flashes of light could be seen striking out through the grimy coloured glass. I could hear music sounding from deep within the building although it didn't sound like the heavy death metal tunes I had half been expecting and dreading, this sounded almost orchestral. I'll admit I was more than a little intrigued.

Disappointingly we weren't able to access the building through the impressive double doors at the front of the building. Instead Scarlett led us down the side of the building where some stone steps led downwards. I remember thinking that it was typical that, to get into a goth nightclub, you would need to enter via the crypt. The creepy atmosphere was slightly undercut by the high tech security camera that watched us approach the heavy metal doors at the bottom of the stairs. I was surprised there wasn't a queue and it occurred to me that Scarlett may have mixed up her nights.

If she had got it wrong she showed no sign of it. She pressed the intercom by the side of the door and waited for a response, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. This should have been the next warning sign of course. She was nervous. This never happened: not when she was introducing new boyfriends, not when she was the focus of attention; shit, not even when she was being bundled into the back of a police car. She was never nervous, or at least never showed it. But here she was fidgeting and hopping about like she needed the toilet. I remember thinking that this new relationship must be serious and I decided to keep any piss-taking to a minimum to try and make a good impression if this guy meant so much to her.

Of course, looking back, I know it wasn't nerves. Excitement or outright fear perhaps, but nothing so mild as a slight case of nerves.

No-one answered the intercom. Instead, after a moment, we heard the faint whirr of the CCTV camera lifting up its head to fix us more fully with its black stare. There then followed a even longer pause before the door released with a click that seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet stillness of the night. Next to me, Scarlett let out a long low breath that I hadn't even realized she'd been holding. Reaching out I put my hand on her back, reassuring her, letting her know it was all going to be all right.

Seriously, it's almost funny when you think about it.

The door opened and we stepped into a dark corridor lit by a multitude of tiny lights fitted into the black painted walls. It gave the impression, as the door swung shut behind us, that we were walking through a starscape. All very disco and not at all what I had been expecting.

He was waiting for us at the top of a small flight of carpeted stairs. Three things struck me almost immediately: he was tall, thin and very bald. He was dressed in a black suit that made him look like nothing less than an undertaker. I would have never have put him in the same room as Scarlett let alone the same bed, although there was no denying the almost fierce desire on her face as she hurried up the stairs to be folded up in his long arms. As they kissed I could not avoid making eye contact with Jane, the same question clearly occurring to both of us: what the actual fuck?

Scarlett stepped back and, for a long moment, gazed into her lover's eyes. He seemed to study her, waiting for something, and it was only when she nodded her head, agreeing to an unspoken question, that he turned his attention on us and I finally got what all the fuss was about.

I could not have guessed his age. He might have been of a similar age to Scarlett, or old enough to be her father. His face was free of wrinkles and his blue eyes were alive with a kind of electric energy that, for a moment, left me lost for words when he looked at me. He moved with a dancer's grace as he came to meet us, nimbly running down the steps, his hand extended. Instinctively I held out my hand from him to take. He brought it to his lips for a kiss that I would have found painfully awkward had anyone else tried it. He kept his eyes fixed on mine while he did it and, I swear, I actually caught my breath. I could still feel the aftereffects of the cool press of his lips on my skin even as he turned his attention to a somewhat bemused and wide-eyed Jane. There was something almost feral about him, I could sense it even then, something dangerous. And I could see how Scarlett would be drawn to that at least.