Vurt

DAY 24

"Tough shit."

AN END TO FASTING

"You know where the Slithy Tove is?"

"Sure. It's just over the hill. We passed it."

"That's where Barnie works. You remember Barnie?" Twinkle nodded. "He'll help you. Go there. Through the trees. Keep to the darkest roads you can find."

"Mister Scribble..."

Her young face was wet from the trip.

"You're on your own now, kid," I said.

"What about you, Scribble? What are you going to do?"

"Some things."

"Keep the faith."

"That's right Keep the faith. Go on now."

Twinkle set off, into the dark morning, through the breath of trees. She looked back just the once.

"Keep going," I called.

Keep going.

I pulled off one shoulder strap, and then the other, until the Thing was loose. I lowered him to the ground.

His dead eyes looking up at me.

I think they were his eyes.

Thing was dead, for sure. Two holes in his back where the bullets had lodged. But that's not good enough. I had the Curious feather out of my pocket, and I was forcing it into his mouth, if that was his mouth? Any orifice would do. Pounding and pounding on his chest. "Come on! Come on!" Working the feather some more, deep enough for Lazarus, so why not the Thing. Bringing my fists down on his chest... thinking about the Beetle and Mandy and how I'd lost them for nothing... bringing my fists... bringing my fists down... again and again. . .

Nothing.

It brings nothing.

His dead eyes.

I have lost you, my alien... and all that goes with you.

I pulled the feather out. Then picked his body up, carried it to the lake's edge.

I lowered him into the waters.

The Thing floated for a moment, until the water had soaked through to every vessel. Then he sank away. Beneath the waves.

It's over.

I looked back to where the Asian kids were packing up their gear. The rain was letting up some, and the road seemed miles away, like I was free and safe for a while.

Don't believe it. We're neither free nor safe, until we've earned it.

I walked over to a clump of trees, found the place there, amongst the flowers and the insects, where Desdemona and I used to lie down, hidden by the leaves, to take our pleasures. The lake glimpsed between shadows and branches; flickers of yellow coming off the feather.

Time to go.

But where? You've got nothing to give, Scribble, what's the point?

I put the feather to the very edge of my bottom lip.

Pulled it away again, trembling, unsure.

So long we have travelled for this.

Feather back in.

Deep this time.

Felt the glitters there; a curious shade of yellow.

Desdemona calling.

In my last moments of reality I pulled out the feather and placed it in my pocket. The Curious Yellow coming on...

Desdemona, somewhere...

An end to fasting.

CURIOUS HOUSE

My face bathed in a yellow light

"Looking good, Stephen."

"Cheers."

"You've done well. You should feel proud."

"I know that. But I can't help feeling down."

"Don't say that. You got through."

I moved the razor across my cheek, revealing an area of skin, and then wiped the foam onto a fla

"I've haven't got what she wanted. Don't you know how that feels?" "Don't I just?"

I wet the razor in the sink. The water looked dirty.

"I really wanted to please her, you know?"

"I know."

"She had her heart set on that bag."

"It's doesn't matter, Stephen. Believe me. She'll have a good birthday anyway."

"You know what Des is like."

"Believe me. No one knows better."

I looked deep into the eyes staring back at me. Yellow eyes.

"See what I mean?"

The neon tube above the mirror cast a yellow gloom over my face. The light seemed almost thick, and my hand had to push gently through the air, as I brought the razor back up. It was my father's open razor, the one sharpened on the leather strop hanging up beside the sink. He hated me using it. But what the hell? It wasn't every day that your sister gets to be sixteen. I was taking her out tonight. I wanted to look good. Especially because...

"I should've moved on that bag --"

"Stephen!"

I was talking to myself in the bathroom mirror. Calling myself by name.

"As soon as Des spotted it, I should've got the money out there and then. Oh no. Not me. I wanted to surprise her with it."

"So you let that guy steal it off you. Big deal."

"It's not just that --"

"You got her something nice instead?"

"No. I --"

"You didn't get her anything?"

"No. There's nothing else she would -- shit!"

I'd taken a nick out of my face. Blood fell into the water, swirling. I reached for a tissue and when I looked into the mirror to stop the flow it was my father's face that I dabbed at -

Oh my god! I was...

"You know I forbid the use of that blade."

I was... I was...

"It is a man's blade." "Father... I am sorry."

What was this? Where was I? This feeling? What is it... think... think!

"Give me the blade, Stephen."

"Please..."

This isn't real! Nobody calls me Stephen any more.

"Must I punish you again?"

"No..."

I'm getting the Haunting!

"Father!" He was swinging the blade...

This isn't real. I'm in a Vurt. Jerk out!

The razor coming for my face.

Jesus Christ! Jerk out, you dumb fucking -

"Looking good, Stephen."

"Cheers."

"So you got Desdemona nothing, eh?"

"Don't remind me."

I was looping my best tie into a Windsor knot. My father had shown me this, when I was seven years old.

"Wouldn't have done any good anyway. She'll never be yours."

"Look --"

The knot was all wrong.

"Sorry, Stephen. My fault."

"Yeah. Stop putting me off."

I was standing in my bedroom, talking to myself in the wardrobe mirror. I pulled the knot loose to start again. There was a small shaving nick in my left cheek. The square of tissue paper

- stuck to the cut by a film of dried blood -- wasn't the best thing to have on your face, the day of your sister's birthday. But that's okay. It would be healed in a minute or so. I was waiting for Desdemona to get back from college. We were going out that night, celebrating, and I had my best suit on, all washed and pressed. Now I just had to get this knot right. And the weak lemony glow from the bedside lamp wasn't helping any. It made my eyes look kind of yellow. "She's going to be real angry, Stephen." "I don't think that's -- shit!" The knot was all crooked. I pulled it loose again. "Having trouble? Here let me --" "I don't want help! And stop calling me Stephen!" "It is the name I gave you, boy." "My name is --"

Wait...

"You will damned well use it." My father had taken the two ends of the tie in his big work-scarred hands. "How many times must I teach you the Windsor?"

It wasn't me in the mirror! My father...

"Father..."

"It is a man's knot."

He crossed the tie, wide end over narrow, through the loop, down, around and behind, up to the right. Wide end down through the loop, crossed at right angles over the narrow, pushed through the loop one last time and finished by slipping the wide end through the knot in front. He tightened the finished Windsor, pulling it gently, until the knot was right up against my throat.

This isn't real!

"There. Perfect. Simple. Elegant!"

He pulled the knot tight. Tight! Pulling down on each end of the tie until my throat was closing and the breath leaving me. My hands coming up, but so weak I -