Chapter Text
YOU: The first thing you learn, living with Kim, is that you don’t want to go back to your old apartment.
HALF LIGHT: You can’t.
INLAND EMPIRE: You will not make it out of there alive, brother.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: It is a swallow, a hole in the world created out of your memories.
VISUAL CALCULUS: Time flows backward here. Your present is so empty that the past rushes to fill it, choking you.
HALF LIGHT: Completely obliterating you.
RHETORIC: This is, potentially, an undiscovered branch of entroponetics. Something that bears further investigation.
SUGGESTION: Which you can’t do here, in the apartment on Perdition and Main, because if you do, you’ll fucking die.
PAIN THRESHOLD: And then your past will be unleashed on the world, unfocused and unfettered, a roaming wavelength of pain.
ENDURANCE: You have to stay alive to save everyone else.
VOLITION: You have made this inferno, and now you have to contain it.
PERDITION AND MAIN: The hole in the wall of your old apartment that you are currently staring at laughs at the thought of you containing anything.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: It’s making you dizzy.
PERCEPTION: Maybe that’s the smell - the sick-sweet smell of something decomposing.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: There’s a body here, somewhere.
LOGIC: It’s probably an animal.
HALF LIGHT: Could be a person, though.
VISUAL CALCULUS: The hole is approximately one meter by a half-meter, its drywall edges ragged and torn. It is poorly and incompletely covered by a crooked poster advertising the Caillou Circus, 14 July ’50.
INLAND EMPIRE: Do you know how many drunks and bums are to be found passed out in the stands after the show is over?
PERCEPTION: There is a clown on the poster. It leers at you, daring you to tear the poster off the wall, to confront the raw and ragged darkness just behind it.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: The stripped electrical wires. The gently rotting studs.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: With his bulging red nose and the dark painted circles around his eyes, this Pierre is your brother.
LE MAL PIERRE: That’s right, bucko. You’re a clown. You’ll always be a clown. That’s why you stole me from the light pole in front of The Deacon, isn’t it? To remind you that you’ll always be a fucking clown.
1) It’s true. I’ll always be a clown.
2) That’s not true. You don’t know me at all.
YOU: That’s not true. You don’t know me at all.
LE MAL PIERRE: Sure I do. Same greasy fucking hair. Same red nose. Same long face. Same stench of booze. You haven’t changed a bit from the last time I saw you.
YOU: I actually haven’t had a drink in six hours, so fuck you.
LE MAL PIERRE: It doesn’t matter, bucko. Your body’s half-alcohol by now anyway. How’s your stomach? Hard and swollen on the right hand side? That’s the liver. Or what’s left of it, anyway.
[-1 health]
LE MAL PIERRE: Why the long face? Here’s a joke. You’ll like this one. Man goes to the doctor, says, doc, I’m depressed. Nothing will cheer me up. I want to die. What can you recommend? Doc says, the great Pierre is in town, fantastic clown, go see him. He’ll make you forget all about it. You won’t want to die anymore.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: We know this one. The man’s the clown.
LE MAL PIERRE: Wrong. The man says, but doc, I’ve ruined my whole life. Drank myself into a stumbling gutter bum, the kind mothers pull their children away from on the street. Incoherent and half-crazy. I took a woman who loved me more than anything in the entire world and I turned it all to garbage. I scared off half a police force. I beat a man until he couldn’t walk. I killed three - wait - five people. You have been busy, bucko. Doc says, well, there’s only one thing left, and pulls out his service pistol. Hands it to the man. Sunset, parabellum, the doc says. War’s almost over.
[-1 morale]
INTERFACING: A hand on your shoulder.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Detective. Are you alright?”
YOU: You sway slightly.
KIM KITSURAGI: “You’ve been staring at that poster for some time.”
ENCYCLOPEDIA: Four minutes, he thinks. He’s a little concerned.
HALF LIGHT: Not at the poster. At the hole in the world under it.
YOU: “What kind of place is this?”
SUGGESTION: A haunted place.
KIM KITSURAGI: He doesn’t answer, looking around. A very sad place, he thinks. An awful place.
PERCEPTION: The living room is dim, with small high windows on the street. The couch is something that does not bear looking directly at. It stinks. There is a large stereo and speaker setup in the corner. Tapes litter the floor like refuse, their guts ribboning out in long tendrils, black and shiny. There is a lamp on the corner, which does not do much to illuminate the place.
SAVOIR FAIRE: The dimness hides most of the dirt and grime, but it can still be felt in the air.
VOLITION: This is the apartment of a man who no longer cares.
PERCEPTION: You can hear Judit and Jean in the kitchen.
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Dolores fucking Dei!”
DRAMA: That’s real revulsion there, brother.
KIM KITSURAGI: He glances at you, then the kitchen.
ENDURANCE: He looks tired.
PAIN THRESHOLD: There is a large dark bruise spreading down the side of his face.
1) Stay here. Ball yourself up on the couch and refuse to face reality.
2) Be a man. Go into the kitchen, and face what you’ve done.
3) Dive into the dark hallway leading, presumably, to your bedroom. There should be a bed in there, full of pillows to hide your face under.
-1 may not come back
YOU: You go into the kitchen, which is a small, yellowed, sticky thing. Peeling linoleum crackles under your shoes as you step in.
INTERFACING: You stick to the floor.
PERDITION AND MAIN: All the lights are on. Too many of them. This is the sort of kitchen that looks best with only one light on. But someone has come in here and turned them all on, all three of them. The light over the sink, the light over the table - which is piled with case files, plates of crusted food, and beer bottles that Judit is shoveling into a trash bag - and the light in the fridge, washing Jean Vicquemare with a pale blue light.
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “It’s a wonder he doesn’t have a disease.”
1) “Maybe I should get tested.”
2) “I do, asshole. It’s called alcoholism.”
3) “Yeah, well maybe if you had checked on me a little more often.”
4) “You’re right. I’m scum.”
5) “Hey, is there any beer in the fridge?”
YOU: “I do, asshole, it’s called alcoholism.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Ah, so you remember you’re an alcoholic, but nothing else. It makes perfect sense.”
KIM KITSURAGI: Next to you, Kim shifts, as if uncomfortable.
EMPATHY: Jean is hurt. Badly. Behind that disgust and anger is fear and pain. That you had slipped this far and he hadn’t known.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: You used to drink at his apartment, when you were still on drinking terms. Before November or so.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: The nurse’s night bar around the corner, not that you ever got lucky. Jean’s brown and quiet apartment, the near-infinite supply of whisky, soft jazz all night long.
COMPOSURE: Don’t look at their faces.
EMPATHY: You do. You see pity and disgust on all of their faces.
VISUAL CALCULUS: Even Kim’s.
SAVOIR FAIRE: You’re a rotten piece of shit. It’s no more than you deserve.
PERCEPTION: From behind you, a noise of disgust. A curse as someone makes the mistake of leaning on a counter.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: Officer Judit Minot.
PERCEPTION: An audible noise as she unsticks her hand. The noise is loud in the silence.
KIM KITSURAGI: Kim closes his eyes very briefly. A hot flush of shame rises in you. Your back prickles with sweat. Your aprmits.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: He’s seen worse.
LOGIC: Yes. In the course of his work. Condemned houses full of drug addicts. Paranoid murderers. Hoarders, often the elderly left over from the Revolution.
KIM KITSURAGI: He clears his throat and turns to you, his back to the others, as if shutting them out. “You can’t stay here, detective.”
YOU: Your eyes water without your permission.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Nancy boy.
YOU: “Where am I supposed to go, Kim?” It comes out as a cracked whisper.
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “He’s not staying with me.”
JUDIT MINOT: “I have children.”
SAVOIR FAIRE: See? Even mothers shy away from you. Come to think of it, we can think of one particular mother…
[-1 morale]
KIM KITSURAGI: He closes his eyes briefly, takes a breath, and opens them. He looks directly at you and says, “You can stay at my apartment.”
AUTHORITY: It’s not an offer. There’s no, if you want. It’s a command.
YOU: Your eyes water even further.
JEAN VICQUEMARE: He barks out a laugh. “Fuck,” he says. “Lieutenant, with all due respect…”
AUTHORITY: He trails off when Kim turns to look at him.
ENDURANCE: I don’t think you know what you’re getting into, Jean concludes in his head.
YOU: You look at Jean first, then Judit, who meets your eyes, then looks away. Finally, you bring your gaze to meet Kim’s. His eyes are dark. With all the kitchen lights on, you can make out every separate ring of brown in his eyes. His pupils, dark and deep.
PERDITION AND MAIN: The hole in the world in your apartment yawns behind you. Scratches its chest idly. Waits for you to turn around.
YOU: “Yeah, I - yeah. Thanks.” You nod, then gulp, then nod again.
PERDITION AND MAIN: Jean and Judit finish cleaning up a few things while Kim asks if there’s anything you want to take.
YOU: You don’t know. You don’t even know what’s here. This isn’t your apartment. It’s not your home.
HALF LIGHT: There’s something awful waiting for you in the bedroom.
YOU: “Maybe some clothes in the bedroom…” When Kim looks at you, expectantly, you say, “I can’t go in there, Kim.”
KIM KITSURAGI: Kim goes into the bedroom. You try to listen, over the sound of Jean bitching, and Judit throwing things away, but you can’t hear anything awful happening to him.
INLAND EMPIRE: That fate is yours and yours alone.
KIM KITSURAGI: Finally, Kim emerges with a small trash bag, presumably full of clothing. After ascertaining there’s nothing else you need in the apartment for the night, Kim drives you back to his apartment in the GRIH.
VISUAL CALCULUS: The city is entirely unfamiliar and strange.
1) To the south…
2) To the east….
3) To the west…
4) To the north….
SHIVERS: To the south, a spreading dark building with a high glass dome. A former silk mill. The streets around it are neat and orderly and straight. Something about this building fills you with a sense of dread.
1) To the south…
2) To the east….
3) To the west…
4) To the north….
SHIVERS: To the east, the endless moving parts of shipyards. Stack and stacks of shipping containers like children’s blocks. Some of them are almost certainly filled with illegal drugs.
YOU: Sounds great.
SHIVERS: Between you and them, a small block of city apartments, rising five stories in height. They are in an established neighborhood; a bit worn, but solidly built. There is a Frittte on the corner for all your late-night needs.
1) To the south…
2) To the east….
3) To the west…
4) To the north….
SHIVERS: To the west, the Valley of the Dogs. The high-walled grounds of the Revachol Rest, a facility for those with the Pale-disease, the one that eats away at your brain until there is nothing left but a hole. The disease is spread, among other ways, in the rotting material of brain matter. The dogs that roam around the walls are very often mad.
1) To the south…
2) To the east….
3) To the west…
4) To the north….
SHIVERS: To the north, the low gray fog of Martinaise, clinging tightly to the sea.
INLAND EMPIRE: Your only home.
KIM KITSURAGI: He takes you east, heading towards the loops of the 8/81 to take you up and over the small, narrow roads of Central Jamrock.
YOU: I wonder if I’ve been this way before.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: A handful of times.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: A few cross-precinct cases. Once, an RCM ball in Grand Couron.
SUGGESTION: I didn’t know the RCM had balls.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: You casually adjust yourself where you’re sitting.
YOU: Yup. Still there.
INLAND EMPIRE: For the most part, you stayed in Central Jamrock.
AUTHORITY: Where you belong.
YOU: You watch a strange world pass before your eyes. Endless rows of city blocks, of shambling, death-trap houses huddled under the highway.
PERCEPTION: The low gray skyline. The gold spires of Grand Couron, far off.
VISUAL CALCULUS: It could just be a trick of the light.
SHIVERS: Kim pulls up in front of his apartment building, which is a stolid square-ish building with few ornaments or frills. Five stories high, its beige facade hides, approximately, one hundred and seventy-one lives, each of them rich and varied and full of pain and love.
KIM KITSURAGI: He clears his throat beside you. You turn and look. “I don’t have any food in the apartment. There is a Samaran take out place there.” He points.
YOU: You follow him, taking a long time over the menu, although the photos makes your mouth water. You don’t know what you like. You’ve only had what Goracy had made at the Whirling-in-Rags once a day.
VISUAL CALCULUS: Mostly some variation of borscht.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: The remainder of the time, you had drank your nourishment.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Which may explain why you feel that you are about to fall over.
YOU: After the two of you order and receive your food, you hobble down the street and climb the five flights of steps to Kim’s apartment.
KIM’S APARTMENT: Inside, it is quiet and carpeted. A strange, musty smell from the bottom floors, indicating water comes in when it rains. The smell eases as you climb.
PERCEPTION: You can hear voices rising and falling as you pass them. The slam of a door, the running of children’s feet.
PAIN THRESHOLD: Your leg is killing you. Your heart is pounding hard against the bars of your chest.
KIM’S APARTMENT: The lieutenant unlocks the door slowly and leans on it with his shoulder to open it. You step inside. It’s dim, and neat, and orderly.
SAVOIR FAIRE: Kim neatly hangs up his keys, pulls his things out of his jacket pockets: notebook, pen, handkerchief, cigarettes. He strips off his gloves and puts them on the counter.
KIM KITSURAGI’S HANDS: The lieutenant’s hands are well-shaped, his nails neatly trimmed, fingers broad in the knuckles, indicative of slight arthritis in the winter. You can see the veins rising on the backs of his hands.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Your knees are weak. You have to hold onto to kitchen counter to keep yourself upright. This has nothing to do with the sight of the lieutenant’s ungloved hands.
KIM’S APARTMENT: Kim shows you around the apartment, briefly. It consists of a small kitchenette that opens onto the living room, which, he informs you, will be your bedroom. The couch is gray, and large enough, and there is a small televisual set, a stereo system, an end table with a lamp, and a chair. There is, in addition, a small bathroom - pale-green tiles and tub, and scrupulously clean - and Kim’s bedroom, which is clean, the bed made, with a sliding glass door opening onto a small balcony that overlooks a courtyard, which - after a quick meal eaten in silence - you retire to with Kim to smoke a cigarette.
THE BALCONY: The courtyard below features a neat brick path and a variety of small gardens, tending by those residents so inclined. A plane tree extends weakly towards the sky. It is dark by now, and the city lights and the lights of the bay glitter on the horizon.
KIM KITSURAGI: He smiles, suddenly. “I pay eighty reál a month for this balcony,” he says.
YOU: “It’s nice,” you say.
SAVOIR FAIRE: So unlike your own apartment.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes, I like it.” He turns to put his cigarette out, then looks at you. “I’m tired,” he says, bluntly.
ENDURANCE: He’d be swaying if he weren’t holding onto the railing right about now.
KIM KITSURAGI: “You can certainly stay up if you would like -”
YOU: “No,” you say, quickly. “No, I’m tired too.”
KIM KITSURAGI: He nods, once, as if in approval. “Then, detective, I am going to bed. We can talk more about our plans in the morning.”
HALF LIGHT: You have until the morning. Then, he’s going to kick you out.
YOU: You make the couch up as Kim brushes his teeth and indicates a spare toothbrush for your use. You use it, and worm your way onto the bed you have made as Kim goes into his own bedroom, then stops, leaving the door partway open.
PERCEPTION: If you lay just so, and crane your neck, you can just see into his room.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Detective,” he says, appearing in the doorway.
PERCEPTION: Flash of light from his glasses in the dark.
KIM KITSURAGI: “If you need something, let me know.”
YOU: It is suddenly hard to speak. “I will, Kim.”
KIM KITSURAGI: He looks at you a moment longer, then retreats. A moment later, the click of his light.
PERCEPTION: Darkness.
VISUAL CALCULUS: Not completely. The Frittte on the corner of the block has a tall neon sign that is angled just right to spill across the floor from the kitchen window.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: They’ve almost certainly got alcohol there. Kim’s not your keeper. You could walk out, get a drink, walk back….
FRITTTE LIGHT: Yeah, I got booze, you fuckin’ loser. You ever known a Frittte that didn’t have booze?
YOU: I’ve only ever been to one Frittte, so.
FRITTTE LIGHT: Great. A country bumpkin. Go back to the sticks, loser, because you can’t stay here. You really think he’s going to let you stay with him? Kim Kitsuragi? You’re here because he feels sorry for you. You’re here until he figures out how to get rid of you. And he’s not coming to your shitty fucking precinct, either.
VOLITION: You don’t have to listen to this guy, you know.
YOU: You shuffle, turning on your side, so your back is to the light, your face pressed into the couch.
PAIN THRESHOLD: Your shoulder hurts. Your leg hurts. Your back is beginning to hurt, and your head is beginning to pound.
YOU: You don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. Maybe, if you are very lucky, you will die in your sleep, and you won’t ever have to find out.
INLAND EMPIRE: And disappoint the Insulindian Phasmid?
SHIVERS: Out in the reeds, in a cold and briny night, a tall, slim creature stands, swaying along with the reeds, looking at the bright lights of the city, refracted to infinity in her strange eyes…
YOU: Your eyelids grow heavy…
≠≠
ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: You’re a parasite, Harry. You’ve latched on to the lieutenant and now you’re going to suck him dry, until he’s just an empty husk of what you used to admire about him….
YOU: No. I swear. I just couldn’t stay there tonight. That’s not my apartment.
ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: Oh, yes it is. You might not remember all those nights spent festering in that stinking shithole, but we do.
LIMBIC SYSTEM: It’s a good thing she never saw it. She’d loathe you even more.
ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: She left you, Harry. Now you know what happened. Do you feel better, knowing? You can never leave anything alone. All the begging and pleading and falling to your knees won’t get her back. Nothing will, Harry. You should just go back to that rathole where you belong, before you ruin this place, too…
YOU: You are back in the apartment on Perdition and Main. It is nighttime, dark, only a faint red glow around the edges of your vision that skitters away when you turn your head, trying to chase it. You’re in a long, dark hallway, endless. You are alone.
PERDITION AND MAIN: There is a noise before you in the long, black hallway, and you walk towards it, your hand on the wall to help guide you.
YOU: You’re blind. The wall is wet and unpleasant to touch, and you get closer and closer to the noise, which is a clawing, scraping kind of sound - something like a laugh - and you see -
PERDITION AND MAIN: A hole in the wall, so vast it swells to fill your vision, throbbing red. This is where the noise is coming from.
YOU: You lean closer, closer, closer, until your head is inside the hole - your hand braced on the crumbling drywall to the side of it - and you see -
PIERRE LE MAL: The body of a clown, stuffed inside the wall. Its neck cocked at an impossible angle, the rough livid imprints of a rope around its neck. It’s got the red nose, the raddled skin with visible pores - the leering, crooked grin -
YOU: It’s you, Harry. You’re in here, rotting, and you’ve been in here. How long have you been dead? Why has nobody found you?
PERDITION AND MAIN: It’s because no one’s been looking for you. No one cares. You are dead, and you’ve been dead for a very long time, and you will stay here inside this hole, rotting and leering at nothing. Forever.
≠≠
YOU: You wake in the morning to an unfamiliar place.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: Your third. The Whirling-in-Rags - the shack in the fishing village in Martinaise - and here.
PERCEPTION: A bright wash of light across a white linoleum floor. The sound of water running.
VISUAL CALCULUS: Rainfall?
SAVOIR FAIRE: A shower. It’s a thing people take.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Other people. We’re a font of pheromones, baby.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: It’s a wonder all the phasmids of Revachol haven’t swarmed you in the middle of the night and carried you off.
LOGIC: Or all the stray dogs.
SHIVERS: A spotted dog shuffles through the trash out back of the Frittte on the corner, hoping for a good sausage-bun.
YOU: You shift, groaning.
PAIN THRESHOLD: Your shoulder throbs, a heavy swollen ache.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Time for more drouamine!
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Time for the good shit. C’mon, I bet Kim has at least a Percolan or two in his medicine cabinet. He’s a cop. Cops get hurt. Hurt cops get prescribed Percolan.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: He does. Or did, rather. He had woken up in the middle of the night last night to the sound of your labored breathing coming from the living room.
PERCEPTION: Grunts and squeals. Like a pig to slaughter.
INLAND EMPIRE: A bad dream.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Your life is nothing but a bad dream. One day, you’ll wake up from it.
YOU: Into…?
ENCYCLOPEDIA: Sorry. We don’t know yet.
KIM KITSURAGI: He had thought of the Percolan in the cabinet and had gotten up quickly, palming the drugs and placing them in his pocket to dispose of the next day. He’d stared at himself in the mirror, the light off.
PAIN THRESHOLD: His head still hurt. The brief sleep seemed to have made it worse, not better.
PERCEPTION: The faint sodium lights bleeding into the bathroom. His face, shadowy and dark.
VISUAL CALCULUS: All too recognizable.
LOGIC: You’re in Kim’s apartment. You’d stayed the night, remember?
YOU: You remember. A heavy low sense of dread begins to well up somewhere inside of you.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: A mine of despair.
HALF LIGHT: Surely, he will kick you out today. Back to that fetid rat’s nest.
ENDURANCE: This was the last good sleep you will ever have in your life, funky-baby. Hope you enjoyed it.
YOU: You push yourself up slowly, to sitting.
PAIN THRESHOLD: Your shoulder hurts. Your leg hurts. Your back and neck hurt.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: You’re in a bad way, Harrister.
PERCEPTION: The sound of the water stops. The creak of the faucet, the pipes in the walls.
KIM KITSURAGI: Kim reaches for a towel. Glasses-less, blind, the world a wash of bright pale green.
YOU: When he comes out - barefoot - you are sitting, elbows on your knees, head in your hands.
KIM KITSURAGI: He stops in front of you.
PERCEPTION: Water still beaded on the tops of his bare feet.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Detective, how are you feeling?”
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Like shit.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You have not had a drink in nineteen hours.
YOU: You had snuck one down in the sea outside the bunker. You had taken your shoes off, tottering, leaning heavily on Kim’s shoulder to do so.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Your feet bare and pale like the bellies of dead fish, glimpsed through the clear and frigid water.
INLAND EMPIRE: Something just out of reach in the water, beckoning you on.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: The detective behind you on the shore, boots sinking into wet sand and rocks.
HALF LIGHT: Watching out for you.
YOU: You croak something now that might be a response to the lieutenant’s question.
KIM KITSURAGI: He kneels down before you, suddenly.
VISUAL CALCULUS: His face coming into your rage of vision.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Detective,” he says. “Are you in pain?”
EMPATHY: There is clear concern on his face.
KIM KITSURAGI: He rises, swiftly, and goes back into the bathroom.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Coming out with two tablets of drouamine, an antibiotic pill, and a glass of water.
KIM KITSURAGI: He watches you take them. “Perhaps a shower,” he suggests. “I’ll help you dress your wounds after.”
PERCEPTION: You shower with the lights off. Kim’s bathroom is bright with the morning sun, the shower still warm and humid from Kim’s own ablutions.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: It still smells like him in there.
YOU: After, you pull on a pair of threadbare briefs Kim had packed you from Perdition and Main.
SAVOIR FAIRE: Brother, if these are the best you have, you’d best get to Jamrock Shuffling.
KIM’S BEDROOM: At Kim’s direction, you lay down on his bed, which has been neatly made. You turn your head to the side while Kim gently probes at your wounds, making small noises through his teeth.
PAIN THRESHOLD: When it hurts, you turn your head into the pillow, breathing in.
PERCEPTION: The smell of Kim’s hair. Hair product. A cheap and piney aftershave.
HALF LIGHT: It calms you. Comforts you.
INTERFACING: Kim’s hands on you are firm and gentle, professional, as he re-wraps your wounds. When he gets to your shoulder, he puts one hand flat on your chest.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Breathe in. Out. In.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: You are alive. You are here, and now.
KIM KITSURAGI: He glances up at you. “Good,” he says. “That’s good.”
AUTHORITY: You’re doing well.
[+1 morale]
KIM KITSURAGI: Afterwards, he sends you back out into the living room, and after a few minutes, comes out of the bedroom, dressed in full RCM uniform.
SAVOIR FAIRE: Not his usual fare. He wants to impress.
YOU: Why?
SUGGESTION: He’s going to ask for something.
KIM KITSURAGI: “I need to go to my precinct to take care of a few things.” He studies you. “You are welcome to stay here, if you would like-”
VOLITION: You should not be alone right now.
YOU: “No! No, I’ll go with you.”
KIM KITSURAGI: A flutter of approval at the corner of his mouth. “Very well.”
57TH PRECINCT: The 57th precinct is very different from your short glimpse at your own precinct. It is in a large warehouse building down on the harbor, which reminds you a bit of Martinaise. Dark choppy sea. Large shipping containers, moving all the wonders of the world.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Occasionally, Kim permits himself to stop on his way into or out of the precinct to watch them work. As a little treat.
57TH PRECINCT: Kim spends a few hours deep in the precinct, filing report after report, catching up on current cases, reporting to various levels of supervisors.
YOU: And you, once word gets around of who you are, spend a few hours getting approached by officers introducing themselves to you, trying to shake your hand.
DRAMA: Or to stare. Here to watch the freak show, baby.
SAVOIR FAIRE: You get the sense that you don’t quite live up to who they thought you would be.
INLAND EMPIRE: A common problem for you lately, I’m afraid.
YOU: You try to ignore the whispers by Jamrock shuffling a three-day old newspaper from a nearby desk. You read the incomprehensible headlines and try not to panic about how Kim is definitely going to make you go back to Perdition and Main today.
KIM KITSURAGI: It’s sometime after lunch with Kim comes out from deep in the bowels of Precinct 57, scanning the room.
VISUAL CALCULUS: For you.
YOU: You stand up, nearly falling over with the sudden movement after sitting so long on your bad leg.
ENDURANCE: He looks tired. The harsh light in the precinct brings out the deep brown tones of his bruise.
KIM KITSURAGI: But his face softens when he sees you. “Ah,” he says. “Detective. I hope they treated you alright here.”
57TH PRECINCT: The other officers stare at the two of you, leaning into whispers, as you pass.
KIM KITSURAGI: Kim takes the two of you out to lunch, where he sits in silence, clearly thinking about something, as you eat.
LOGIC: How he’s going to break the news to you that you have to go back. That he’ll check on you in a week, or two, probably.
VOLITION: And he will. He’s a diligent boy. And diligent boys always remember the crazy, alcoholic burdens of temporary partners, out of a sense of duty.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Here’s an idea. Drag the day out. Don’t let it end. As soon as it ends, it’s over. You’re done.
YOU: You suggest a walk around the GRIH, tell Kim you want to stretch your bad leg. He studies you sharply, but when you grin at him, and shoot him your fingers guns, he seems to mentally shrug, and gets up from the table.
ENDURANCE: You walk for hours, slowly, as Kim takes you around the GRIH.
PAIN THRESHOLD: Your leg hurts. It’s been hours, Harry. What are you doing? Please, just face the inevitable. Give up.
VOLITION: No. We keep going. We can’t go back to that place.
PERCEPTION: It’s late afternoon, almost evening. You’re sweating inside your jacket despite the cold. The street lights are going to come on soon, the horizon a deep blue.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: The color of a bruise.
HALF LGIHT: I can’t go back to that apartment.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Find a bar and drink until morning. You’ve done it before. It hasn’t failed you yet.
YOU: And in the morning?
VOLITION: That’s a problem for another day.
KIM KITSURAGI: He comes to a stop beneath a sodium light. “Detective, I think we have walked enough, no?” he says, sharply.
HALF LIGHT: This is it. It’s coming.
YOU: You half-turn away.
VISUAL CALCULUS: You don’t want to see what’s coming.
KIM KITSURAGI: “You’re limping,” he says now, softer. He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I think it is too late to go back to your apartment today.”
YOU: Your throat is so tight. You make a strange wheezing noise when you try to speak.
KIM KITSURAGI: His eyes sharpen. He takes off his right glove, then puts the back of his hand to your forehead.
INTERFACING: His hand is cool.
SAVOIR FAIRE: He keeps taking his gloves off around you.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Where will it stop?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Maybe soon you’ll get to see him naked.
INLAND EMPIRE: You will. You’ll surprise him in the shower once. You’ll see him changing no fewer than four times, sneaking peeks in the fogged and scratched mirrors in the precinct locker room. And -
KIM KITSURAGI: “You’re feverish,” he says.
ENDURANCE: That brain of yours is gently cooking in your skull.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Like a poached egg.
HALF LIGHT: This is how you’ll die. Raving and foaming and thrashing. Lost in dreams, til the end.
YOU: “Is that bad?”
KIM KITSURAGI: “It’s to be expected. We shouldn’t have done so much.”
EMPATHY: I shouldn’t have dragged you around, he thinks.
ENDURANCE: He’s tired, too. Look at the set of his jaw, the lines around his eyes.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Come on. Let’s go home.”
RHETORIC: Home??
LOGIC: He means his home. Not yours. Don’t get excited.
YOU: You get back in the Kineema and let Kim drive you back to his apartment. You lean your head against the cool window on the way back, and Kim doesn’t even say anything about the greasy smudges you must be leaving on it.
KIM’S APARTMENT: You take your antibiotics, and your drouamine, wincing as they scrape down your dry throat. Kim sighs, looking in the fridge.
KIM KITSURAGI: “I really have no groceries,” he says, and digs out the leftovers from last night. You swap this time, for variety, and eat them.
ENDURANCE: Afterwards, you nap on the sofa, upright, dozing on and off as Kim moves around the apartment. He sits beside you, blocking the light -
PAIN THRESHOLD: A relief to your tired eyes.
YOU: You peek slightly, eyes opening.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: The light haloed behind his head.
YOU: You let your eyes fall closed again, heavy and gritty.
PERCEPTION: You hear the rustle of paper as Kim separates out the crossword - the scratch of his pen - particularly long pauses when he’s thinking over a clue.
YOU: You fall asleep during one of these pauses.
KIM KITSURAGI: You wake to Kim’s hand on your shoulder. “Harry,” he says. “You shouldn’t sleep all night in this position.”
YOU: You open your eyes, slowly.
ENDURANCE: You feel refreshed.
SAVOIR FAIRE: Kim has changed into a pair of sweatpants and a soft, loose shirt. HIs feet are bare.
LOGIC: It’s late at night.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Bedtime.
PERCEPTION: You can see the red Frittte light coming in the kitchen window. Your two ghostly reflections in the dark glass.
KIM KITSURAGI: He checks your forehead again. “Better,” he says. “How do you feel?”
YOU: “Better,” you say.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Good,” he says, and stands. He raises a pack of Astras in your direction, and heads off towards his bedroom.
YOU: You follow him, stumbling a little when you try to stand, out onto the balcony.
THE BALCONY: It’s cold out there.
SHIVERS: It is a cold night in March. There is snow in the air, a sharp, crystal thing. The sodium lights glitter in the dark, as if crystallizing.
KIM KITSURAGI: He lights his cigarette, then yours. He leans against the railing and looks, meditatively, down into the city.
YOU: What’s he thinking?
EMPATHY: We don’t know. We’re still kind of tired.
YOU: You feel alone, suddenly, a great rising swell in your chest. Heavy on your shoulders, pushing you down. Enough to send you spinning down over the railing, if you let go.
YOU: “Kim, what do you think happens when we die?”
KIM KITSURAGI: He’s alarmed. “Why do you ask?” He glances at your hands, which are gripping the railing tightly.
INTERFACING: You force yourself to let go of the railing.
YOU: “Just curious. There’s so much I don’t know.”
KIM KITSURAGI: He smiles then, something quick, just the corner of his mouth. He ashes his cigarette over the railing. “Detective, I don’t think anyone knows. Those who say they do are lying.” He turns and looks at you, consideringly. “What do you want it to be?”
1) “Nothing.”
2) “A return to everything we’ve lost.”
3) “Something new. Something different-”
4) “The Whirling-in-Rags.”
YOU: “The Whirling-in-Rags.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “You aren’t serious…?” His eyebrows are raised. A smile lurks around the corner of his mouth.
RHETORIC: Guess not, asshole.
SUGGESTION: It was familiar. There was a bed for you, of sorts. And disco music. What else could you ask for?
HALF LIGHT: It’s more than you deserve.
KIM KITSURAGI: He clears his throat. “Ah. I apologize.”
1) “Nothing.”
2) “A return to everything we’ve lost.”
3) “Something new. Something different-”
4) “The Whirling-in-Rags.”
YOU: “Nothing. I want nothing.”
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Are you sure? It’ll be nothing for a very long time, kiddo. Forever.
SUGGESTION: You were almost there, remember? You were so close.
HALF LIGHT: You know, if you jump this railing right now, you might get the chance to find out.
YOU: You lean over the railing to look -
INTERFACING: Kim’s hand grabs the back of your jacket, his grip hard enough to pull your shirt tight across your chest.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Detective,” he says, shortly. “What are you doing?”
HALF LIGHT: There’s real fear in his voice.
YOU: “I’m just looking.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Of course,” he says. “Just looking.” He smokes with his other hand, watching you.
INTERFACING: He is still holding onto you.
VISUAL CALCULUS: Five stories down. Probably break your spine at best. Drive your feet up through your skull at worst.
YOU: You ease back on your heels. Kim’s grip loosens, but doesn’t release. “I’m fine, Kim. I’m not going to jump or anything. I probably can’t even jump the railing with my shoulder.”
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: You definitely could. Don’t knock yourself.
SUGGESTION: Easy. Don’t make him regret taking you into his home.
1) “Kim, why are you letting me stay?”
2) “Kim, you shouldn’t let me stay. I’ll just trash your place like I did the Whirling-in-Rags.”
3) “Kim, please don’t make me go home.”
4) “I can be out of here as soon as you tell me.” [Shoot him with your finger guns, to show the idea doesn’t bother you at all.]
5) “Kim, I don’t know if I can go back there.”
SAVOIR FAIRE: Your finger guns jam on you.
DRAMA: This boiadeiro’s been betrayed.
VISUAL CALCULUS: You can’t seem to aim them through your eyesight, which is suddenly swimming, refracting the sodium lights into a sunset.
YOU: “I can go, Kim.” You’re whispering. Cracked.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Go where, detective?”
YOU: “Back to-” you point, vaguely, at the direction of Central Jamrock. “My apartment.”
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: The corners of your mouth are downturned. You turn away, snuffling a little, pretending to adjust your cigarette, but really wiping the snot off your nose.
COMPOSURE: Nice. I think he bought it.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Harry,” he says, sharply.
PERCEPTION: A footstep behind you.
HALF LIGHT: He’s close. Get out. Nowhere to go.
INTERFACING: A hand on your shoulder. Firm. Almost tight.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Do you think I’m kicking you out? Or do you not want to stay?” He pulls away, takes a half-step back. He’s surveying you. Something almost uncertain in his eyebrows.
AUTHORITY: You do not like to see Kim Kitsuragi uncertain.
COMPOSURE: You did this to him.
[-1 morale]
KIM KITSURAGI: “If I have overstepped-”
INLAND EMPIRE: He wants you to stay.
YOU: “Kim, you can’t mean you actually want me to live with you. I mean, you saw my room at the Whirling-”
KIM KITSURAGI: “You can’t go back there, detective. Not like - this.”
ENDURANCE: You’ll get an infection, he thinks.
YOU: “But you said earlier it was too late to go back to my apartment today.”
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Even the words stick in your craw like a piece of rotting flesh. You’re going to choke on it. You take an extra suck on your cigarette and then you do cough, the smoke burning your raw throat.
KIM KITSURAGI: Something flashes over his face. Understanding. “Khm. I apologize for causing you distress. That was - unclear of me. I meant we could get some things - clothes, perhaps. Case files.”
ESPRIT DE CORPS: The lieutenant can’t imagine wanting anything else.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Things to make you more comfortable. I thought we could begin cleaning up, perhaps - but not yet,” he says, hastily, in response to the look on your face.
ENDURANCE: The idea of cleaning out your rooms is insurmountable.
KIM KITSURAGI: “I’ll help you.” His hand on your shoulder again. “Detective - so I am being clear - I do not want you to leave.”
YOU: You look up, slowly, and meet his eyes. His eyes are very dark and close, his entire attention fixed on you.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Alright?”
AUTHORITY: You can’t look away. You couldn’t leave if you wanted to.
YOU: You nod, wiping your nose with your sleeve.
KIM KITSURAGI: A small smile. “Good,” he says. “Now, let’s go in,” he says, gently.
PERCEPTION: When you turn to go back into Kim’s apartment, you can see his bed, ghost-gray, neatly and stiffly made.
YOU: You go to your own bed on the couch, shuffling down into your nest of blankets, which still smell clean and a little musty.
ENDURANCE: You sleep even better than the night before.
≠≠
PERDITION AND MAIN: It’s two days later when you go back to the apartment.
RHETORIC: Your apartment.
KIM KITSURAGI: Kim comes with you, armed with a crate full of garbage bags, gloves, and cleaning products.
LOGIC: He’s not convinced you have any, sire.
INTERFACING: Quite frankly, neither are we.
YOU: You stand at the top of the steps leading down to the basement apartment. The cold dark pit at the bottom breathes heavily up at you.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Your ankles and shins are cold.
1) “Kim - this is a bad idea. We should go.”
2) “I don’t need anything from there. I mean, I woke up in Martinaise with nothing, and I was fine.”
3) “Well. No time like the present, huh?”
YOU: “Kim - this is a bad idea. We should go.”
KIM KITSURAGI: He turns to you. The wind ruffles his thinning hair back from his forehead. “Why do you say that, detective?”
ENCYCLOPEDIA: He knows why.
HALF LIGHT: He knows you’re scared.
EMPATHY: He wants to talk you through it.
1) “Kim - this is a bad idea. We should go.”
2) “I don’t need anything from there. I mean, I woke up in Martinaise with nothing, and I was fine.”
3) “Well. No time like the present, huh?”
YOU: “I don’t need anything from there. I mean, I woke up in Martinaise with nothing, and I was fine.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Detective, you woke up with one set of clothes and part of your RCM uniform - after we found it on top of the harbor,” he adds.
SAVOIR FAIRE: And those pants smelled like you pissed yourself in them, he thinks.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Funny story, actually -
KIM KITSURAGI: “Surely there are other - things - you want from your apartment?”
SAVOIR FAIRE: Kim’s own apartment is spartan and clean. He has a few personal possessions, such as a model aerostatic, a model Kineema, and a few back issues of Speed Freaks magazine. A small collection of paperbacks and maintenance manuals. There is also a photograph of himself and a young man, both of them in RCM uniforms, that you had found snooping through his stack of case files marked DOM ‘51 while he was in the shower.
YOU: You, on the other hand, are a man who likes things.
INLAND EMPIRE: Not these things. They don’t belong to you.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Think of it as Jamrock-shuffling through the belongings of someone who won’t actually care what you take, because he doesn’t exist anymore. Maybe you’ll find something good in there.
1) “Kim - this is a bad idea. We should go.”
2) “I don’t need anything from there. I mean, I woke up in Martinaise with nothing, and I was fine.”
3) “Well. No time like the present, huh?”
YOU: “Well. No time like the present, huh?” You try to grin. The Expression falters and dies on your face.
KIM KITSURAGI: He nods at you, encouragingly.
ENDURANCE: There’s nothing for it.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: You being to walk down the steps.Your knees feel like gelatin, but not the fun kind. They feel like you’re going to fall down these steps, crack your head, and die.
HALF LIGHT: Gets you out of going back into this apartment.
SUGGESTION: Not a bad idea, kid.
HAND EYE COORDINATION: You have to hold onto the railing on the way down. You can feel Kim behind you as you descend.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: He’s got your back.
INTERFACING: Your hand shakes as you line up the key in the lock. The gouged wood around the lock suggests this is not your first fumbling entry.
YOU: I’m sorry.
PERDITION AND MAIN: The apartment is silent.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Because it’s dead, Harry. You killed it.
SHIVERS: This building has stood here for thirty-two years -
HALF LIGHT: And you killed it. Like you kill everything.
[-1 morale]
YOU: The door opens.
PERDITION AND MAIN: Darkness yawns before you.
PERCEPTION: It’s silent and dark. The dead animal smell gets stronger, overwhelming.
YOU: You don’t move.
KIM KITSURAGI: You feel a gentle push at the small of your back. “Go on, detective,” Kim says. “I’m right behind you.”
YOU: You walk forward to your death, dragging your shoes slowly. The smell encompasses you, dark and stale. Ahead, you can make out the faint pale heaps of monsters hulking, waiting for you -
KIM KITSURAGI: He leans past you, arm brushing your shoulder, and flicks on the light inside the door. A weak yellow bulb comes on slowly, shedding some light on things.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: The hulking monsters are just your furniture, piled with your clothes. That’s all.
HALF LIGHT: No. The monsters are still here. Just deeper in the apartment.
KIM KITSURAGI: “I’m going to track down the source of that smell,” Kim says, removing his leather gloves and pulling on a pair of vinyl ones. “Do you think you’ll be alright tackling the kitchen?" He nods encouragingly.
AUTHORITY: You nod.
KIM KITSURAGI: Kim nods.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: You nod.
KIM KITSURAGI: He seems to realize what’s happening and stops nodding. “Well - I will only be a few meters away. Call out out if you need something.”
YOU: You nod at Kim’s retreating back.
PERCEPTION: He is accompanied by the rustle of a plastic trash bag and the shuffle of nylon, accompanying him into the dark gloom that is your hallway as it swallows him whole.
HALF LIGHT You are alone.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: You are in a mausoleum lit only by a weak yellow bulb. Somewhere it is daytime, but not here. Not in this necropolis.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Aha!” He says.
PERCEPTION: The snap and rustle of a trash bag.
SHIVERS: A dead rat lies half-under a rotting mattress in a man’s bedroom. The rat had lived in the walls of this apartment building for a year and a half. She had a bad paw from a trap set two apartments above this one, by people who actively worked to solve their problems. You and the rat had been partners for awhile, ships passing in the night.
YOU: I’m sorry.
DEAD RAT: Death comes to all living things.
PERCEPTION: The stink of the tomb envelops you.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Your stomach turns over, very slowly, like a great sea beast. You feel yourself start to salivate.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Do these windows open?”
VISUAL CALCULUS: His voice comes from a long way off.
AUTHORITY: Answer the man.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: How should you know? You don’t live here. This isn’t your home.
KIM KITSURAGI: “I think some fresh air would-” the remainder of his sentence is muffled by the sound of a casement creaking open in the bedroom.
YOU: You turn your attention to the kitchen table.
VISUAL CALCULUS: There is a pile of mail on the kitchen table stretching back months, from the looks of it. Roughly sorted into piles: junk mail, advertisements for cheap insurance for a body that is rotting, and auto care for a motor carriage you no longer possess.
HALF LIGHT: Bills. Large, red, overdue stamps on the postcards. Water, electric, sewer.
DRAMA: The REVACHOL HOUSE catalog, which promises you eight tapes for only one centime.
RHETORIC: An absolute steal. Quickly, bratan, sign up for more!
VISUAL CALCULUS: There are also a few lumpy brown-paper packages that are probably tapes.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Or drugs. Could be drugs.
LOGIC: REVACHOL HOUSE is where most of your music collection has come from.
YOU: I have tapes? I should try to find those.
INLAND EMPIRE: Maybe you shouldn’t. You should just leave. Leave the bills, leave the tapes, turn around and walk out. Keep walking until you’re clear of this place, until you don’t feel its cold shadow falling on you.
VISUAL CALCULUS: There are no postcards from Mirova.
SUGGESTION: Did you think there would be?
INLAND EMPIRE: I don’t know. Maybe.
PERDITION AND MAIN: You go into the living room, lured by the siren promise of disco music. There are a few hatboxes on the floor - thin wood painted white - with their lids off, tapes spilling out of them, some in their cases, some not.
PERCEPTION: Most of them have their guts ribboning out, like roadkill.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Like a dog in the road, hit by a drunken RCM officer.
PERCEPTION: You become aware of the soft whisper of songs in wavering, choked-off words. -die behind the levers - one says.
DRAMA: -made for me and you - another says.
INLAND EMPIRE: -and nobody cares - one says, all alone and lonely on a dark summer night, late.
late enough the air is cool coming through the window. You’re drinking, head on your hand, staring out the casement, thinking about what it might have been like if things were different.
PERCEPTION; You can almost hear music playing when you half turn your head.
ENDURANCE: That’ll be the DTs.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: The DTs, or delirium tremens, are a side effect of alcohol withdrawal, and include shaking, seizures, hallucinations - visual and aural - and, occasionally, death.
PAIN THRESHOLD: You are a seasoned veteran of the stormy DTs.
YOU: You haven’t had a drink since Martinaise - unless you count the mouthwash, which you really don’t - but you think Kim will kick you out if you drink, so you’re cold turkeying it.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: It’s bad.
PAIN THRESHOLD: It’s really bad.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Brother. You should have a drink. Just a teensy little one.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Detective?” Kim says sharply above you.
YOU: You are on the floor, cradling the cassette tapes to your chest. You look up slowly - Kim’s boots - Kim’s pants - Kim’s jacket -
PERCEPTION: He’s been calling your name for some time from the bedroom.
YOU: Oh? Where were you when he started, then?
EMPATHY: He’s concerned.
KIM KITSURAGI: "Detective, are you alright?”
1) “Why does everything I touch turn to shit, Kim?”
2) “Look at them. Look at what I did.” [Hold mangled tapes out to Kim.]
3) [Hold the tapes out to Kim.] “Look, Kim, someone broke in and murdered my tapes!”
4) “I’m fine. I just need to-” [Get up and flee to the bathroom.]
YOU: You hold the tapes out to Kim. “Look, Kim, someone broke in and murdered my tapes!”
KIM KITSURAGI: His mouth twitches. “A real crime.”
EMPATHY: He must see something in your face, because he crouches down beside you and tugs a tape out of your grasp. “Vendredi Night,” he reads out. “A disco classic. I remember this being very popular in ’31.”
SAVOIR FAIRE: ’31, before the last death spasm of disco, although no one knew, not yet.
SHIVERS: The nights still alive with music and lights and young, living bodies. Hope for Revachol. In the back alley behind an extremely underground club a young man - in a leather jacket still a little big in the shoulders - kisses another man up against a wall, so desperate he’s shaking, teeth bright and sharp -
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Yow. Where are we getting this from?
SHIVERS: And you, Harry, young, back when your body was still a delight and not yet a torment, dancing with a beautiful young blonde -
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Maybe the two of you passed each other in the night?
1) “Why does everything I touch turn to shit, Kim?”
2) “Look at them. Look at what I did.” [Hold mangled tapes out to Kim.]
3) [Hold the tapes out to Kim.] “Look, Kim, someone broke in and murdered my tapes!”
4) “I’m fine. I just need to-” [Get up and flee to the bathroom.]
YOU: You get up and flee to the bathroom, which is tiny, and dark, and dank. The faint sour smell of old puke and piss overwhelms you, despite the open window. There is black mold growing in the corners of the shower, and pink mold spreading across the bottom of the tub. You slump down on the toilet.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: This feels…comfortable. Familiar.
INLAND EMPIRE: You have spent many a night here. Radio playing in another room, your stomach roiling and heaving. Waiting to die.
TOILET TANK: Psst. Hey. You there.
YOU: No. I don’t want to hear anymore.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You’re going to want to check this one out, Harry.
VOLITION: Or you could…not. Call for Kim. Or just leave. Leave the bathroom.
PERCEPTION: The toilet tank rattles, the clank of porcelain over your head.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: The toilet tank of Damocles.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: Damocles was a man cursed to live out his days with a sword poised over his head, always waiting for the inevitable death.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Like your next heart attack.
PAIN THRESHOLD: Or a lover, always just about to leave.
YOU: You get up, reaching for the lid of the toilet tank.
HAND-EYE COORDINATION: Careful - careful -
PERCEPTION: Kim might hear you.
YOU: You open it and fish around inside it, stopping when you feel a plastic baggie.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff. Baronapaze. It’s a mood stabilizer and a minor hallucinogen all in one.
RHETORIC: Is there anything science can’t do?
ENCYCLOPEDIA: A class one narcotic, brought in by the Graadians and sold under various street names.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s a rocking good time.
YOU: You dry the baggie off on your pants and shove it into your pocket. The only towel in the bathroom is stiff and hard, so you dry your hand off on your pants and step out.
KIM KITSURAGI: Kim sticks his head out of the bedroom. “You have quite the wardrobe, detective.”
HALF LIGHT: Don’t go in there.
VOLITION: You have to eventually. Go on. Go in. The detective will be there with you…
YOU: You go into the bedroom, which is lit by the high windows over the bed. Already, shadows stretch from the corners of the room, threatening to swallow you whole.
VISUAL CALCULUS: The light is best in here mid-day. Weekends, you’d lay here drinking for hours watching the yellow sun light up the dust motes.
NECROTIC BEDROOM: The smell of sadness and stale bodily fluids and spilled alcohol. Heaps of musty clothing. A wardrobe overflowing with clothes that are half-familiar and strange.
PAIN THRESHOLD: Don’t look into there.
NECROTIC BEDROOM: A partially-stripped and badly stained mattress, half-sagging onto the floor. On it, a zebra-skin throw rug, pulled up onto the bed as a blanket.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Head included.
VISUAL CALCULUS: Amber-colored glass eyes stare at you as you approach it out of long, thick eyelashes.
YOU: You cautiously reach out and touch is, petting it between the ears.
INLAND EMPIRE: You used to wrap it around yourself, the head over your head, skin pulled snugly around you, when you had a particularly bad day. You called it going safari.
LE ZEBRA: Bonjour et bienvenue, mon ami!
YOU: Hello.
LE ZEBRA: I must admit, mon ami, I did not think to see you again when you left the last time. Such a whirlwind. You did not even take the time to say farewell to your old friend le zebra as you always did.
YOU: I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.
LE ZEBRA: It’s not a problem. I understand haste. I myself was le fastest zebra on the safari, until the day I spotted the most beautiful woman. I chased her for many kilometers, for hours, for days. Finally, she wearied, and laid down in the setting sun. Overcome by her beauty, I went over to lay my head in her lap, and before I knew it, I was captured. It was treachery, mon ami.
YOU: And then?
LE ZEBRA: You do not want to know and then. But it is not all bad. Afterwards, I travelled all of Elysium a century before I found you. Did you know, in the west, there is a land made entirely of flames, where the ground is so hot it turns to metal?
YOU: I did not know that.
LE ZEBRA: It is true. Do not feel badly about not knowing. I am, after all, more than a century older than yourself. These glass eyes have given me much penetrating wisdom. Speaking of penetrating. Did you know a beautiful princess in Co Hoi gave her maidenhead on me?
1) No, I, uh, didn’t know that.
2) Funny thing is, I lost my memory, so maybe you could tell me again…?
3) I don’t know anything.
4) Did I ever…?
YOU: Did I ever…
LE ZEBRA: No. You have been alone since I have known you. I have travelled all of Elysium, through six dozen regimes and every isola, and of all of these, you are the loneliest man I have ever met. Did you know that?
1) No, I, uh, didn’t know that.
2) Funny thing is, I lost my memory, so maybe you could tell me again…?
3) I don’t know anything.
4) Did I ever…?
YOU: No, I, uh, didn’t know that.
LE ZEBRA: But maybe today that will change!! Who is this fine young man beside you?
YOU: That’s Kim.
LE ZEBRA: Kim. He has glass eyes like mine. I like Kim. But what is he thinking? I cannot tell. Perhaps I am getting rusty. All alone in this gray and dark apartment where things die…
YOU: You turn to Kim, who is staring at le zebra with a strange expression.
SAVOIR FAIRE: You’re still petting it slowly.
1) “It’s called going safari, Kim.”
2) “Did you know le zebra has travelled all of Elysium, through six dozen regimes and every isola?”
3) “So, this is going to sound crazy, but I think this rug wants us to have fuck on it.”
YOU: “It’s called going safari, Kim.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Ah. Of course. Would you like to, ah, take it with you?”
LE ZEBRA: Yes, I like this Kim very much. But not yet, mon ami. I am still needed here.
YOU: But I don’t want to leave you here all alone.
LE ZEBRA: I am not alone. There are the rats, and they circle up to listen to my stories every night in the glow of the sodium lights. It is not a bad life, to be so worshipped. No. Leave me here. I am still needed here.
1) “Not yet. Le zebra says it’s not yet time, and I trust him.”
2) “No, I need you. I can’t do this without you.” [Ignore le zebra]
3) “Do you think it’s going to clash with your decor?”
SAVOIR FAIRE: Impossible. It could only improve his decor.
1) “Not yet. Le zebra says it’s not yet time, and I trust him.”
2) “No, I need you. I can’t do this without you.” [Ignore le zebra]
3) “Do you think it’s going to clash with your decor?”
YOU: “Not yet. Le zebra says it’s not yet time, and I trust him.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Very well. Would you like to pick some clothes out?” He looks at the sky through the window. “It is getting late, and I was hoping to stop by the 57th precinct. There is something I need to handle.”
ESPRIT DE CORPS: Even on his days off, the lieutenant is always attentive to work.
YOU: You drift over to the wardrobe.
KIM KITSURAGI: Kim clears his throat. “I do not believe any of those are yours.”
SAVOIR FAIRE: You see, peeking through the slats of the wardrobe, pastel fabrics.
PAIN THRESHOLD: You reach out and rub one between your two fingers, and feel a sense of loss.
VISUAL CALCULUS: Women’s clothes.
1) "Kim, I think they’re…hers.”
2) “They could be mine.”
3) Close the wardrobe. This is bad.
YOU: “They could be mine.”
KIM KITSURAGI: His eyebrows raise, slightly.
VISUAL CALCULUS: He’s picturing something.
COMPOSURE: His ears flush.
KIM KITSURAGI: He turns away. “Khm. They are not your size, detective.”
VISUAL CALCULUS: He’s already checked.
1) "Kim, I think they’re…hers.”
2) “They could be mine.”
3) Close the wardrobe. This is bad.
YOU: “Kim, I think they’re…hers.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes, I think so. Detective - I believe it is only women’s clothes in that wardrobe. Your belongings appear to be elsewhere.” He gestures around the room, where clothes are heaped on the bed, on what might be a chair, on the floor.
1) "Kim, I think they’re…hers.”
2) “They could be mine.”
3) Close the wardrobe. This is bad.
PAIN THRESHOLD: Good thinking, brother. You are not ready for this.
YOU: When will I be?
ENDURANCE: Maybe never.
YOU: You go around for now picking clothes up off the floor.
KIM KITSURAGI: “If you find you can’t live here, detective, I am sure we can clean it up enough for you to move out. I am sure we can find you a new apartment with fewer associations.”
ENDURANCE: And fewer dead animals, he thinks.
HALF LIGHT: Did you hear that? You can’t stay with him. He’s kicking you out.
LOGIC: He wants you gone.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You’re cramping his style. Who knows how much dick he could be getting if you weren’t around, like a great big hairy slug on his couch?
SUGGESTION: How many men do you think Kim’s fucked on that couch?
ENCYCLOPEDIA: That particular couch? Two.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Play your cards right, maybe you could make it three?
LOGIC: No, you can’t, because Kim’s kicking you out. He’ll help you clean the mold out of the shower and throw away the rotten food in the kitchen, but then as soon as your leg clears up, he’ll drop you back off here. “Keep in touch, detective," he’ll say out of the Kineema, and sure, he’ll answer the phone at first. They always do. Until you call too many times drunk and sobbing, unintelligible and howling like an animal in pain, at three in the morning, and then he will stop answering. He will just wake up, his heart pounding, listening to it ring, and his concern will turn to disgust, and resentment, and anger.
[-1 morale]
YOU: You sit down on the bed, suddenly.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Detective? Are you alright?”
LE ZEBRA: Come here, mon ami. Rest your hand on my head and let me comfort you. Surely it is not so bad…? This Kim will not do this to you…?
INLAND EMPIRE: Do it. Go safari.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Harry?” His hand is on your shoulder. You look up. The afternoon light coming in the windows washes his face, highlighting dust and fingerprints on his glasses.
SAVOIR FAIRE: Even the perfect Kim Kitsuragi has flaws.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Impossible. It’s your disgusting apartment that’s done it to him. You’re ruining him, Harrister.
1) “Is it true, Kim? Am I ruining you?”
2) “It’s fine. I can move back right now. I’ll do it tonight.” [Smile, bravely.]
3) “Kim, please don’t make me leave. Even going safari won’t save me.”
4) “I’m fine, Kim. Just got a little tired.”
YOU: “I’m fine, Kim. Just got a little tired. My leg.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Of course.” He looks worried.
ENDURANCE: I should’ve known better, he thinks.
YOU: You shift and something crinkles in your pocket.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You’re not fine yet. But you will be!
YOU: “I should go back to your apartment. You go on to the 57th without me.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Are you sure? I’ll drive you back.”
YOU: You wait until Kim drops you off with your bag of clothes outside his apartment. He watches you wave at him in the rearview mirror until you are out of sight.
SHIVERS: He turns up the radio - Speedfreaks FM - and relaxes his shoulders a few centimeters.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: The detective truly trusts you.
DRAMA: The bigger fool he.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You’re free!
YOU: You stash the bag of clothes inside the door to the apartment building and pull the pills out of your pocket. You look at them closely. They are yellow and gritty and scrape your throat as you dry-swallow one.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You know what would go with this? A vodka from the kiosk on the corner over there. Go on. You have a few reál in your pocket. I bet it’s just enough….
PAIN THRESHOLD: The vodka burns your throat and gullet.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Feels good.
SAVOIR. FAIRE: You’re back, baby. What you should do is walk down to the harbor and sit on the quay. Watch the boats come in, watch the edge of the Pale you can just see, where it all ends…
YOU: It’s late when you stumble up the steps to Kim’s apartment. You’ve been trying to find it for awhile.
VISUAL CALCULUS: Every building looks the same. Smooth and beige and rectangular, neat little rows of windows.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Fuck. Would it fucking kill them to have some differentiation around here?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Especially with that throbbing gray haze pulsing around them. It’s hard to focus your eyes.
SHIVERS: The streets are all the same - long and gray and foggy. It’s late, dark, mist coming from the sea.
YOU: You’re shivering in the thin satin shirt you’d gone out in that morning.
SAVOIR FAIRE: You really wish you had a nice warm zebra skin to wrap around yourself right now.
EMPATHY: Kim’s probably worried about you.
HALF LIGHT: Kim’s not worried about you, you piece of shit.
LOGIC: Now he’ll definitely want to kick you out. He’ll let you stay the night - he’s not a monster - but in the morning you’ll be gone. You can be back in the old haunt by nightfall.
HALF LIGHT: Just in time for the lights to go out.
VOLITION: You crawl up the flights of steps slowly, on all fours, like le zebra. It’s easier.
YOU: Finally, you can’t crawl anymore. You’re at the very top of the world. Everything looks the same up here, every door massive, rows of them reaching on into eternity.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Behind each, the Pale. You will never come back from this one.
YOU: Which one’s Kim's?
LOGIC: You could call his name until he comes running.
COMPOSURE: And make trouble for him with his neighbors? He won’t thank you for that one.
ENDURANCE: You can just stay out here all night. At least it’s dry.
SHIVERS: This door, right here. The faint glow underneath, the sound of the radio turned very low, as if to hear someone approaching.
YOU: You crawl to it. You can’t go in.
EMPATHY: He’s worried about you. He will be relieved if you knock.
HALF LIGHT: You’re a burden he’s glad to be rid of. He’s hoping you’re face down in a gutter, or fallen into L’Esperance.
YOU: You slump down against the door, your back to it.
INLAND EMPIRE: The warmth oozes into you from it. You’re safe here.
YOU: You doze…
PERCEPTION: At one point a groan like a wounded beast wakes you up. There are footsteps behind you. You don’t know where you are - an endless hallway - rows of rooms - the Whirling has really gotten bigger on you - maybe this is a dream -
REACTION SPEED: You should probably move -
INTERFACING: Too late -
YOU: The world drops out from under you.
VISUAL CALCULUS: You are on your back at Kim Kitsuragi’s feet.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Interesting…
LOGIC: You were passed out against a door. The door that Kim Kitsuragi just opened.
KIM KTISURAGI: “Harry!”
CONCEPTUALIZATION: The light above him looks like a halo…
YOU: “Don’t worry about me, Kim. I’ll sleep out here where I belong.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Absolutely not.” He crouches down, pulls you to your feet, and drags you inside.
YOU: You stand, swaying, as Kim holds onto your shoulders and looks you over.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Are you going to vomit? Do not lie to me.”
YOU: “No.”
DRAMA: You neglect to tell him you have probably already done this.
SHIVERS: The alley out back of le Chien. The street and doorstop out front of le Chien. The river bank, down on la rue d’hiver.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Good,” he says, and pushes you gently - one arm around you, into -
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: His bedroom?? Alright, Kim!
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: When he pushes you to the edge of the bed, though, your knees give out on you, and you sit down abruptly.
AUTHORITY: This seems to be what he wants, because he picks up on your feet, pulling off your shoes, and pushes you into -
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: His bed??
KIM KITSURAGI: “Are you going to die if you go to sleep?”
YOU: “I don’t think so.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Good. Then go to sleep, Harry.”
YOU: “M’sorry, Kim.” Your eyes are already drifting closed as he sighs, and goes out on the balcony, leaving the door half-open.
PERCEPTION: The hiss and click of his lighter. The smell of cigarette smoke.
LOGIC: He’s been waiting for this cigarette until you got back.
VOLITION: You could learn a little something from that.
YOU: You shuffle, slowly, so you can turn to face Kim. It takes a very long time until you curl around, looking at Kim’s back, where he leans on the railing.
VISUAL CALCULUS: Your vision is split - the glass door reflecting the bed, a dark lump in it - the open door showing darkness, the glow of Kim’s cigarette.
KIM KITSURAGI: “My transfer was approved,” he says quietly.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: That was what he was going to the 57th precinct for. Not to get away from you. He wanted to make certain of it before he told you. He didn’t want to get your hopes up.
SUGGESTION: He was looking forward to telling you, when he got back. But he had come home and the lights had been out and the apartment silent.
HALF LIGHT: You’re scum, Harry.
1) “Congratulations, Kim.”
2) “I’m scum, Kim.”
3) “They can take it back, right?”
YOU: “Congratulations, Kim.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Thank you,” he says.
COMPOSURE: There is real joy in his voice, and pride, too.
ENDURANCE: He has been working a very long time towards a move like this.
1) “Congratulations, Kim.”
2) “I’m scum, Kim.”
3) “They can take it back, right?”
YOU: “They can take it back, right?” Your voice is the hoarse croak of a carrion bird.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Excuse me?”
YOU: “You don’t want to be around me. I’m scum, Kim. You should stay where you are. I’ll, I’ll move out, I’ll-”
KIM KITSURAGI: He puts his cigarette out rapidly, takes a few steps forward into the room.
PERCEPTION: He is awash in light, and very close.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Harry!” He says, sharply. “Do you want to move out?”
YOU: You shake your head.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Well, I don’t want you to move out either.” He’s breathing hard, his eyes dark and bright, as if he’s startled by what he’s saying.
You: “Oh."
KIM KITSURAGI: “And I would like to join the 41st precinct.” Then he pauses. “When you had suggested it in Martinaise, I had thought - I don’t mean to intrude, of course-” he says, stiffly.
YOU: “Kim, are you kidding? It would be the best thing that ever happened to me.” Your voice is hoarse.
KIM KITSURAGI: He pauses a moment, then comes over and sits on the bed.
INTERFACING: His hip against your gut.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: He puts a hand on your shoulder. “Harry, I do not want you to leave. I would very much like you to stay. With me.” His ears flush. “I have lived alone for twenty-six years. I never thought I would enjoy living with someone else. But - I have to admit, it is never dull.” He flashes you a smile.
DRAMA: Which means he likes living with you, but he won’t say it.
PAIN THRESHOLD: Okay, but your back? Does not like living with Kim.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Shut the fuck up, pussy. We’re going to live with Kim.
KIM KITSURAGI: He clears his throat. “Now, it is well past time for bed, yes?” His finger taps your shoulder, then he squeezes. “Goodnight, detective.”
YOU: “Goodnight, Kim,” you say.
INLAND EMPIRE: You don’t have any nightmares that night.