Jeff Noon - Vurt

"Wait! Game Cat! What's happening?"

"It's all yours, Scribble. It's your show."

There was a noise coming from beyond the door.

"Game Cat!!!"

He'd vanished.

Oh Christ! What was that?

There was a light shining under the bedroom door, and I knew that I'd turned all the lights out before following Desdemona to bed. It was a green and violet light, and I could smell saffron in the air as drifts of smoke found their way in through cracks.

I turned to wake Desdemona.

She had slipped away from me, unseen.

I was alone. Everything was slipping away; the room, the world, the love.

I was in a Vurt, haunted.

That terrible sadness.

Takshaka exploded through the door, a great rush of colours and mists, writhing around the room, even as the room started to fade and I was pulling out…

Come on! Do it!

Couldn't find the way out.

King Snake wove his long body around the room, almost like he was showing off. His head was three feet across, with a cruel mouth split by two spear-like fangs. There was a knowing look in his unblinking eyes, like he was laughing at me. And something else there; something that stirred a bad memory for me; I knew that look! From the real world - Come on, you bastard! Let me out of here!

I was working the jerkout switch but getting nowhere, stuck between worlds, knowing in my mind exactly what I was, even whilst my body clung to the Vurt.

And somebody calling my name…

Takshaka opened his mouth wide to show off the bloated poison sac at the back of his throat.

"Scribble!" That voice.

Help me. Voice, help me. Takshaka closed his mouth slightly until I could see his eyes again and catch the look that was there - Shadowcop!

"Scribble! Come out! Please!" The voice calling to me. Twinkle's voice!

King of the Snakes soaring down at me - Do it now, do the jerkout! Do it!

"Scriiiii - Intense wrenching somewhere in the body and I was - - iiiiiible!"

– falling onto the settee as though from miles away.

Shaking, shaking. Twinkle was shaking me. "Scribble? Stop it!"

"What? Huh! Christ! Hurts -"

"I've got you now. Calm down!" Twinkle holding me tight as I held on to the real world, like it was my mother, holding me back from the dream.

Tapewormer.

It was all just Tapewormer. All the kisses and caresses of Desdemona, they were all just false dreams, a poor boy's dreams.

Desdemona was still captured and this was reality.

I was stretched out full length on an old settee, in a rented room in Whalley Range, and Karli the robobitch was licking my face, and Twinkle was bending over me. "Are you alright, Mister Scribble?" she asked.

Couldn't answer. Didn't know if I was or not.

She forced something into my hands. "It's from the Beetle. He can't use it any more. Not with his bad arm."

I bought my hand up to my face. The Beetle's gun in my hand.

"He says to tell you… happy birthday."

Beetle had given me this?

"And from me," Twinkle said, slowly, like it was hard work. And then I remembered hitting her.

"I'm sorry for hitting you, Twink. Stuff was getting to me."

"I can see that." And she could. Girl was growing.

I weighted the gun in my palm, feeling its power. Opened it up, saw three bullets left there. Mine to use. This time, I won't drop you in panic or fear.

In my other hand, a silver feather lay waiting. Sniffing General. Doorgod. Key to the Cat.

"Scribble! You brought back a Silver!" cried Twinkle. "Well done!"

Well done?

Well then… yes… well done, well fucking done! I was coming through!

It's all yours, Scribble. It's your show. Let Sirius guide you. And I knew exactly what he meant. The dog star.

I'm coming after you, all my lost ones.

Midnight. Closedown. Stepping out of the house, locking the door behind me. 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.

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.