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Alone. The streets of Whalley Range shimmering to a dark haze. Some few
streetlamps still functioning, most of them long dead. The warm clammy air
hung like a Sunday's curse over the town, full up with the smell of rain. It
sure was building up to a comedown. This was going to be the longest
Sunday of my life.
Let's do it!
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a tube of Vaz, looking up and down the
street, searching out a potential victim. I saw one some twelve cars away, a
nice bright Ford Transit,
parked half on, half off the pavement. I started to walk towards it, thinking;
come on you bastard, you Game Cat, give me some knowledge! Let me know how it
feels! I was seeking out a Vurt along the way, something to jump into,
featherless.
If I could just manage it. . .
By the second car along I was trying for Crash Master. Did no good. Couldn't
reach it.
Too high to reach, too black. By the fourth car I was trying for Jumpstarter.
No use. Too far to go.
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Shit to fuck! What was I doing?
I didn't have a license, or anything. Beetle had given me some lessons, during
which he'd cursed like a demon, grabbing at the wheel, and here I was, hoping
to pull a Taking Without
Owner's Consent.
I drew up close to the Transit.
I put my hand on the door handle and called up Baby Racer. Baby Racer was a
real low-
down theatre, a learner's Vurt. Should've gotten right on in there.
Easy.
Left ankle was twitching. Felt like the wound down there, seemed like miles
away, maybe it was opening, and I could feel the Vurt in my veins, the blood
in waves, chopping, just inches away from my fingertips.
Couldn't reach it. Tried hard. Just couldn't.
The waves were going out, back to the sea. I was left up dry, human dry, with
a beautiful blue and white Transit sitting right there on the curb and nothing
to show for it. Felt like the rain should start, and right now, and on me,
just on me.
That bad.
We had to carry the Beetle down the stairs, just like the old alien days, me
on one end, Mandy on the other. Mandy was on the feet. I kept dropping him of
course, or so Mandy kept telling me.
"What are you on, Scribble?" she asked.
"I'm on the head," I answered. "What are you on?"
"Very funny."
"Yeah. Fucking hilarious!" shouted the Beetle. "Just get me down easy."
Behind us were Twinkle and Karli. Behind them Tristan, carrying the body of
Suze, her long strands of hair falling free at last, from the lover's knot. He
had some bad things in his brain, you could see them moving, just behind the
eyes. I had to turn away from it, back to where the
Beetle was making a sad call, "Keep a fucking grip, you two! I am the wounded
warrior and I
deserve your respect."
"Beetle, actually I think you can walk now."
"The fuck I can walk! I'm a registered invalid."
"It's your shoulder, Bee. . ." I said, dropping him.
"Youch!"
". . . not your knees."
Beetle's head was resting awkwardly between two steps. "Actually, Scribb
darling," he said, looking up at me, with the light of his face falling into
shadow. "I'm feeling pretty bad.
Something's happening. My shoulder. . . shit. . ."
When I looked down into those black eyes, it felt just like the old feeling,
like I was being dragged into the darkness by him.
"You got a car for us, didn't you, Scribble?" he drawled out, on a whisper of
breath.
"Yeah. Sure," I lied. "Got a beauty."
Just that I couldn't get inside it, couldn't start it up, couldn't drive it.
Apart from that. . . the world is rosy.
I looked over to Tristan. Maybe I could ask him to drive? Then I saw the
weight he was carrying, the weight of lost love, and I gave him the miss on
that.
"Carry me, carry me," sang the Beetle. So we carried him. Those last few
steps, and then out the door, into the hot streets. The van was there, ten
cars away, just waiting.
"I can't see no van, Scribb," said the Beetle. We had laid him out on the
pavement, and the rest of the group were standing around, all of them looking
at me. As though I was the warrior.
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Shit, man, maybe I just can't handle this.
"You got somewhere for the Suze to lie?" asked Tristan. His face was dripping
sweat in the night, from the weight, from the tenderness.
"I got somewhere."
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