K Jeter - Noir

When November finally closed her eyes-it made more sense to get as much rest as she could, before they booted her out of the hospital-she saw again, without dreaming, the burning End Zone Hotel. This time, she realized something about it that she’d missed before.

That’s where he is , thought November. One way or another-the burning hotel was where McNihil was at. Whether the hotel even existed or not; it didn’t matter. That was why she’d dreamed about the hotel, seen it burning as it had been long ago, caught in that fiery moment. Maybe , she thought, when he paid my bill, he bought my dreams as well …

Not dreams, but visions. She knew that now. With her eyes closed, she could feel the distant heat on her face. And was afraid…

But not for herself.

TERRITORY THAT MOST PEOPLE ARE ABANDONING INSIDE THEIR HEADS OR THE GIRL ON THE BED OF FLAMES

You pretty much expected I’d be here, didn’t you?”

McNihil looked at the Adder clome. Then nodded. “Yeah,” admitted McNihil. “I pretty much did.” To himself he thought, There’s no getting rid of some things .

The two of them stood in the shabby corridor of the End Zone Hotel lined with numbered doors. For a few moments, when he’d first found himself here, McNihil had thought he might’ve been back at the cubapt building where he’d gone to see a corpse, a long time ago, in another world. That world, that building, had been transformed by the black-and-white vision in his eyes into something more or less like this one: a place of numbered doors and deep shadows, the cobwebbed lights overhead barely able to cut through the optical gloom. Which was made even worse in this case by the black smoke leaking out from beneath the doors and rolling across the threadbare carpeting, then spilling down the stairs at the end of the hallway. Traces of the smoke rose into the dense air, stinging McNihil’s eyes and gathering at the back of his throat, thick enough to choke him. He could barely discern the image of the other man, the clome from the Snake Medicine™ clinic, standing in front of him; the clome’s voice, soft and insinuating, had identified him more than anything else.

“But then…” The Adder clome spread his hands and looked about the smoke-filled corridor-“this is the kind of place that I’m always at. In some deep, fundamental sense.”

“Big words.” The air in the building had been baked dry by the mounting flames; McNihil could feel his lungs shriveling as the heat seeped inside him.

“They’re true, though.” The Adder clome tilted his head, studying McNihil’s reactions. “Do you remember the name of this place? From when you were here before-out in the other world, the world that isn’t just memories that’ve been kissed into your head.”

“Sure.” That much was a real memory for him; it had actually happened. “The End Zone Hotel has always been a real charming place.” McNihil coughed and wiped his stinging eyes. “I had a lot of fun there. Believe me. So how could I forget?”

“You should’ve learned to,” said the Adder clome. “It would’ve made it easier for you all along. And easier for us as well. Your head’s so packed with things-real things, plus all that stuff that those messed-up eyes of yours make you see-that it was hard for us to find room in there, to put the things that we wanted you to remember. That you need to remember. Even if they didn’t happen to you-” The Adder clome stopped and scratched his chin, as though momentarily confused. “Wait a minute. I’m not sure I’m getting that across right. Well, I suppose it doesn’t really matter.” He brightened. “If you remember it happening-if you remember all this-” Both his hands gestured toward the narrowly spaced walls, barely visible behind the smoke. “Then it’s just the same as if it happened. Or is happening. Or will happen. You see, that’s one of the big breakthroughs we’ve made on this side. We’ve eliminated the notion of sequence as it applies to experience. No past, no present, just the eternal now. As in the sexual act itself.” He sounded pleased with himself, as though personally responsible. “It’s like doing away with gravity. All kinds of things are possible here.”

“That’s exactly what I’d be worried about.” McNihil’s throat felt raw from the smoke. “Maybe it’s not a good idea to let some people’s imaginations run free.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The Adder clome acknowledged the personal remark with a shrug. “There’s less to be concerned about than you might think. Even over on this side, there’s limits. Anarchy-even the anarchy of the senses-runs eventually into a certain wall.”

“Which is?”

“You’d know, if you were in the same business I am.” With a tilt of his head, the Adder clome regarded his visitor with amusement. “Come on.” One hand reached out and took McNihil’s arm. “I’ll show you around, and you’ll see what I mean.”

McNihil shook his head. “I don’t have time for that. I came here to do a job.”

“ Au contraire . You have plenty of time. Or enough, at least. Since we don’t deal in real time here-memory never does-nobody has any more time than you do.” One of the Adder clome’s eyebrows raised. “So it really doesn’t matter, does it?”

McNihil let himself be tugged toward one of the hallway’s numbered doors. The brass digits couldn’t be read through the curtain of gray smoke that rose up from the doorsill, though the heat blistering the paint had turned the metal into dully glowing insignia. The Adder clome pushed the door open and stepped back, giving a partial, inviting bow. McNihil hesitated a moment- Relax , he told himself, it’s only memories , not even real ones ( You’re sure? asked another part inside his head)-then stepped through the narrow doorway.

“You see?” The Adder clome’s voice came from behind him. “Nothing to worry about. This could be anyplace. It doesn’t have to be the End Zone Hotel-that’s just a convenient metaphor we’ve decided to adopt. Just for you; a personal touch.”

The ragged carpet was in flames beneath McNihil’s feet. Smoke billowed up along his legs, swathing his abdomen and chest, its subtle rising force collecting under his chin. The hotel room was small enough that he could have spread his arms and put his hands flat against wallpaper writhing as though with fiery salamanders. An old-fashioned wooden bureau sagged and buckled as the flames leapt from drawer to drawer; the mirror hinged at the top looked like a bevel-edged slice of the sun’s heart, but only for a moment. The glass’s silver backing darkened and cracked, then shattered bomblike, mixing brighter slivers with the bits of broken window already scattered across the floor.

McNihil had raised one arm, the back of his hand shielding his eyes. Just as before, his flesh might as well have been altered to some redly translucent substance; he could see the room and its fire-lit, smoke-clotted contents as well or even better than if his eyes had been wide open. As an experiment, he took his forearm away from his face and reached out to the nearest wall, closing his fist upon the lapping flames. Rivulets of fire squeezed between his knuckles; McNihil felt the heat at the center of his palm, etching the lines written in the skin as though with a honed needle. The bloodless pain ran up his arm and burst inside his skull, the glare rendering him without sight for a moment. When he could see again, his hand was still clenched, undamaged and trembling, in the flames.

“Burns,” said the Adder clome, “but is not consumed.” He nodded toward McNihil’s fist against the wall. “That’s the territory you’re in. That’s the territory you’re part of-or at least your memories, the ones we gave you. And besides…” His smile showed, Cheshire-cat-like, through the smoke and quick tongues of flame that moved between him and McNihil. “It’s such a good metaphor, isn’t it? All dreams and memories are metaphors at last, mere functions of language. Even without words-they still just exist in your head, in one of those little silent rooms you keep the key to.”