JEAN VICQUEMARE – Shakes his head. "I said *acknowledged* not 'demonstrated'." His lips bend briefly into a smile, but it does not reach his eyes. "Remember?"

RHETORIC - Nonsense. I stand by my between-the-lines reading.

REACTION SPEED - Hang on. Is that why he just said *You don't even remember ...*? Does he mean you don't even remember what you 'acknowledged'?

INLAND EMPIRE – Are you sure you want to know?

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "But I would love to 'show' you again – honestly – it's just that we don't have *all night*." The glitter of amusement leaves his eyes as he exhales. "And I still feel like shit."

EMPATHY – There's deep, deep melancholy in that admission.

PAIN THRESHOLD - A hollow ache, always hollow - hollow like hunger in the pit of your stomach. Has he been taking his pills regularly, do you think?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Sounds like he's up for a *quickie* though. You can still give it to him. Give it to him *good*.

EMPATHY - He *was* hoping to forget his sadness briefly with you.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - With you. *In* you. *On* you.

EMPATHY – You can still provide solace, affection. It's what he really needs.

INTERFACING - You cradle him in your arms, press your lips to his warm sweaty temple as you ask, "Been taking your pills, partner?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Huh?" He tenses again. "What are you, a fucking male nurse?" Shakes his head slowly from side to side, blinks aggressively, averts his eyes. "I cannot believe this shit."

YOU - "Have you been though - *regularly*?" You try to lighten the mood with a little bit of self-deprecation: "Because I'm the one who's *not* supposed to take shit ..."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Sighs. "Yeah ... No ... You know me, always the joker."

EMPATHY – Nothing works.

YOU – "I'll take that as a yes." Close your eyes, relax your grip, letting your arms slide down to his hips. "Good." You nod. "That's good."

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) – On the black insides of your eyelids, fireworks burst with every stroke of his fingers on your inner thigh.

EMPATHY – It's okay; he appreciates that you care.

PERCEPTION – It's like New Year's Eve in your head, but the smell of the polluted river intrudes.

YOU - Open your eyes, peer into the green-black dark of the park, try to think. Turn your eyes to Jean again. "What did you mean, a minute ago, when you said that I *don't even remember*? Can you help me?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Bites his lip again, then waves his free hand dismissively. "Nothing. It's just ... I can't – not your way. I can only give you an ironist's version of our history, not a romantic's."

RHETORIC – The implicit premise is that *you're* a 'romantic'.

LOGIC – Obviously.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – The hand on your inner thigh slides centimetre by centimetre up to the bulge divulged by your tailored lieutenant's pants - but he makes nothing of it, maddeningly.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - His track pants, even though they're loose-fitting, aren't exactly concealing much either. Go on, blow him, right here on this bench. Trust me, he won't object – he'll be too busy banging your tonsils.

ESPRIT DE CORPS – It's within the bounds of the law as long as you don't get caught, Law-Jaw. But if you do, then it's *public indecency* and *station calls*, and the whole forty-first would be fucked to death by bad press.

SUGGESTION – So don't even try to convince him. You won't.

DRENCHED BENCH – Speaking of, your partner did propose heading back to your hostel room for a *fuck*. I'm pretty sure that wouldn't require too much convincing. And it is getting steadily colder while he cools down after his work-out. Maybe call the night a day - at least till your squadmates arrive?

YOU - "I'm not sure what you're trying to say, Jean. But maybe we should return to the hostel? It's getting cold, and your t-shirt's damp."

INLAND EMPIRE – But your thigh is still warm where he touched it, a hand-print of body-heat like a brand.

AUTHORITY - You should *mark* him, too. He's *yours*.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "I'm trying to say that what will stand out to me is the contradictions, the limitations, the disparities. Where it was wrong, basically."

LOGIC - Call me an *ironist*, but I detect a contradiction: before, he said it was a *good* night.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Whereas you would remember, like, how I move against you in waves, how we become one swaying sea or some shit."

YOU – "But you said we had a *good* night."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "We *did*." He nods enthusiastically, and it seems sincere. "Then I left, and you started to lose your mind."

EMPATHY – And he can't help reading what happened later back into that night, tarnishing the memory.

YOU – Really?

EMPATHY - Could *you* help it?

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Studies your expression for cues as he asks, "Actually - how much *do* you remember from that night? It's hard to tell 'cause you mention things in fragments."

YOU – "Because my memories are broken." You wave up at your head. "Like Volta do Mar shards, fragmented aperçus."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Yeeeaaah." He rubs his goatee. "Sort of. But, like, without the insights."

YOU – "Nice, Vic. Thanks."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "You're a cop, not a philosopher." He wags a finger at you. "And stop fishing – I compliment you enough."

YOU – Flash a mirthless smile. "It's how things are in my head; I never said it was things *as* they are."

INLAND EMPIRE – Things as they are experienced in instant photos of captured glimpses, torn tape reels of things spoken, conversations overheard, sensual snippets. Incendiary sparks of smells and tastes in the black of the mind.

CONCEPTUALIZATION – I don't know … Volta do Mar is a psychological poetics. If your memory is broken, then how can it reflect a method imitating the creation process of poetry?

INLAND EMPIRE – Ignore that cool contemplator. Volta do Mar is kissing, under the covers in your sofa bed. Wet, smacking noises. Hands clutching, pulling bodies into each other beyond the boundaries of the physical. Brutal kissing. There's a rhythm to it, like dancing to the beat of an excited heart. Friction. Warmth. Outside your bay window, a rowdy gang of teenagers passes by well after curfew as sleet bleaches Perdition. Do you remember?

YOU – Blink away your inland empire, returning to the reality of the drenched bench, your partner's tired stare. "We were in bed, and a group of teenagers walked past outside, well after curfew ...?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Okay, okay! Now we're getting somewhere … You're getting *warmer*. Can you remember what you said?" He watches you with an expectant air.

ENDURANCE – The pressure's on. This is starting to feel like a headache just waiting to happen.

PAIN THRESHOLD – Like migraine aura.

YOU – Try to remember. I *need* to remember it. "C'mon, come *on*." (Hit yourself on the side of the head.)

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "*Fuck* are you doing?!"

INTERFACING – He snatches your wrist out of the air and forces your arm down before you can smack the heel of your hand to your temple again. As a precautionary measure, he grabs your other wrist too.

YOU – "I need to remember."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Oh, really?"

YOU - "Hitting my head worked once before, on the island –"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "You don't say? *Don't* answer that."

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) – He looks, if possible, even sadder. Why is that?

EMPATHY – [Godly: Success] Because he is, and this isn't an outcome of his usual hyper-focus on *le tragique quotidien*. Ever since he found out about how you *imagined* he'd left you the morning after, he's been rewinding that night like a tape, playing it back to study every wrong thing.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Easing the stress on your wrists, he looks you over, then glances back and forth from your eyes to your mouth. "Let's move on."

PERCEPTION - In the dark, he leans in. His face is so close now, you're breathing in each other's exhalations. Fingertips poised on your body, just barely touching, the slightest lightest points of pressure against your inside-out jacket.

VOLITION – He's a deliberate man – you're being dexterously handled. It's okay – you'll have your chance later.

PERCEPTION - He tilts his head, parts his lips. You mirror the moves, prolonging the exquisite moment before connection, commitment to the kiss, till you're dizzy with carbon dioxide and an exchange of pheromones like miracles. In the treetops above, a sudden flutter of wings.

INLAND EMPIRE – Wait. A bird's about to be released from a cage. Are you sure you want to recall this bit of historical trivia?

YOU – "Oh, yes!"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "'Oh, yes', what?"

INLAND EMPIRE – You asked for it. Here it comes, a whole night in a heartbeat of sensory impressions, conversations, stamped into the grey matter of your brain like wax seals. Pardon me, like *Volta do Mar shards*:

He steps inside, removing his cap and gloves, unwinds a blue-grey scarf, and looks around at the candles burning: one on the coffee table, another on top of the wardrobe in the corner, on the books stacked on the fireplace mantel. There's no fire in the grate below, only ash.

What's with all the candles, partner?

You can't admit that your electricity got cut off again, so you reply, Romantic, right?

He says, Yeah, sort of, if you like churches. Then piles his scarf, gloves, and cap onto a chair.

You're also counting on the *romantic* lighting to help you conceal that you're high.

He stares at the dark fireplace, then at the sleet bleaching the night outside your bay window, and you see him suppress a shiver.

Perhaps, he says, we should start a fire? It's fucking freezing in here, Harry.

You grin, say you considered it, but then on second thought, figured it might get *too* hot for him with the fire you're going to make *in bed*.

He raises an eyebrow, his tired eyes light up. Oh? Looks like we have similar tasks to scratch off our To Do lists tonight. He nods at the window, remarks that you wouldn't want to give the whole of Perdition a free screening, so you should snuff the candles. What do you say? You say it's past curfew, and sleeting like fuck out there, but blow the little flames out one by one, smoking the air, inviting a blue mood in. He follows you with those eyes. Waits till you're done. Then dials up the drama, pinning you to the wall for frottage, deep kisses, dirty talk.

YOU – What does he say?

INLAND EMPIRE – Salty stuff, expressive.

He knows you love to spoon while he fucks you from behind, holding you close, jerking you off at the same time. But, *but*, he says, let's be *romantic*, let's fuck eye to eye, like Dolorian monks, slow and gentle, tight and warm. I wanna look into your eyes when I make. You. Come. Graphically describes lubing your asshole, hooking your ankles over his shoulders, propping your ass up onto his thighs ...

The point is, it's because of your comment on candlelight – how it's *romantic*. He says -

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "'Oh, yes' *what*, Harry?"

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Oh, for *fuck's* sake.

INLAND EMPIRE - … you lower your legs around his waist to feel his dick angle upwards inside you, rubbing against -

AUTHORITY – He's about to lose his patience. But so are you.

INLAND EMPIRE - … caress and tongue the soft underside of your knee before pushing it back to your chest to kiss you, fuck you deep. How does that sound, partner – *romantic*?

You know, it's rude to interrupt. Someone should give a lesson in etiquette to Skull Face, and that other guy.

YOU – Return to the drenched bench again, your exasperated partner, and try to ignore the cacophony of conversation in your posterior neocortex. "I blew out the candles. You whispered salty shit against my ear. Right?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "*That's* what you remember now? So, it's chronologically out of order." He sounds dismayed. "Okay then. Fine. Go back, or rather forward, to us in bed. Do you remember what you said? You proposed a thought experiment on *marriage* and *conflicts of interest*." His grey eyes stare into yours with the air of one waiting for something to *click*.

INLAND EMPIRE – Nothing clicks, because the whole world stops. This is going to be *so hard*, Harry.

After an eternity, Jean shrugs the bedcovers off down to his bare shoulders, then rests his weight on his elbows and stares down at you in the dark, assessing. This is Revachol, he says. No one is married anymore.

REACTION SPEED – Wait. D'you remember him repeating those words in the fishing village? Was he trying to *refresh your memory* even then?

INLAND EMPIRE – I *said* it's rude to interrupt.

Anyway, you smile bitterly, and say, I know. I have *some* experience in that department. And he scoffs, Yeah – with a welkin. And you ignore the quip and say, You know what, partner? *This* is Revachol: to be *indefinitely engaged*. So, humour me. What if we're engaged in this thought experiment? Like, fiancés.

He thinks for a moment. Look, he says, I'm pretty sure Jude already suspects we're, you know, together - hypothetically.

Here's a new one for the Thought Cabinet: Everybody Knows.

And you say, Really? Judit suspects we're a couple - hypothetically?

And he's like, Are you a cop? Perhaps *everyone* in C-Wing suspects – well, except for Chester, but only because he overthinks things. My point is that no one who matters cares. So quit worrying.

YOU – I remember, I remember the rest! I remember *everything*.

INLAND EMPIRE – Congratulations. Don't let me interrupt ...

YOU - Why aren't we, then? Why aren't we non-hypothetically engaged?

JEAN VICQUEMARE - ...

YOU - Marry me.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT – The words jolt him like a missing step on a familiar staircase.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – God … You're fucking *high* right now, aren't you? You're high. You *promised*, and it's been, what, not even two weeks?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – He's making you nervous under the drug buzz. This isn't really going as planned. Abort, man – don't kill the thrill.

YOU – I'm serious, Vic. *This* is Revachol - let's do it. I mean it. Why does everything have to be *so hard*?

JEAN VICQUEMARE – You're *high*, you dink, of course you *mean it*.

YOU – I'm not asking you because I'm high, *you dink*; I got high so I could ask you.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Oh, well, if you got high so you could ask, then I guess it's –. Oh ... Hold up, Harry. You, like, *premeditated* this conversation?

YOU – *Yes*.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – …

EMPATHY – He's overwhelmed, conflicted.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Look ... Harry ... You can still recover, if you just fucking *try your best*. But I've been this way for too long – since before we met. I'm a broken man. You don't want me, not like that - believe me.

YOU - I do. I *love* you. I love *all* of your pieces.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - …

YOU – And what we love, we fucking are, so ...

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Two depressed fucks. Where's the contrast?

YOU – Stop holding back. C'mon, Jean. Let's not fuck around. Let's take it to the next level.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Where's my ring?

RHETORIC – That there was extreme sarcasm, served extra dry.

EMPATHY - It's a reflex. Ignore it. It's impossible for him not to be deeply moved by your declaration.

YOU – We'll seal it with a kiss.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - It's not a fucking love letter.

YOU – Kiss me.

SUGGESTION – Usually, I'd advise against trying to order him around, but that was –

AUTHORITY – Good.

YOU - Wet your lips, part them in invitation.

INTERFACING – He traces your lips with his thumb, dragging it across before dipping it into the wet warmth within. You suck on it, swirl your tongue around the rough pad and hard nail, drawing a pained sound deep out of him. Sensual ecstasy. Breathing unevenly, he holds your hairy jaw, stares into your eyes.

INLAND EMPIRE – Déjà vu. He's been reminding you, all along ...

INTERFACING - Finally, *finally*, with his thumb still resting on the corner of your parted lips, he tilts his head a little, slips his tongue in over yours, and sucks on your mouth like a slow motion movie star. Your toes curl.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) – I don't mean to interrupt The Kiss, but you can hear the *ungodly*, and for some strange reason *horrifying*, whine of a Coupris Kineema's engine echoing down to the park from the north. Why are you scared of Lieutenant Kitsuragi's motor-carriage? What did it ever do to you?

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Is sitting quite still on the bench beside you, studying your face.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – You've got that freshly fucked look.

YOU – "You kissed me."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Nods, in a strangely tender way. "I know."

AUTHORITY - You can feel your cheeks turning red under his stare. Just stare right back, and we'll see who blinks first.

VOLITION – Chin up – notice that this feels calming? Like when you exchange ideas with him on a case.

COMPOSURE [Impossible: Failure] – You break eye contact, look away to the north.

AUTHORITY – That is the equivalent of blinking first, loser.

VOLITION – Losing a childish staring match doesn't mean you're a loser.

YOU - Point your chin in the direction of the hostel. "But that's Kim's motor carriage - we need to head back." Your voice sounds strange, distant – as if you're hearing it through a long tunnel.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "I heard it."

SUGGESTION - Whoa. You're sensitive, remember? Communicate.

YOU – I don't know what to say.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Gets up and paces back over to the broken swing, agitated. Then folds his arms and just stands there with his head bowed, staring grimly at the ground.

SUGGESTION - Say what you feel.

EMPATHY - You don't have to say it with words. In fact, it'll be much better if you don't.

RHETORIC - I agree. Sometimes you sound like a brute no matter how hard I try.

YOU - I do – *still*?

RHETORIC - Less and less, admittedly, now that you've stopped drinking yourself stupid.

INTERFACING – What if your hands were your feelings?

YOU – Cross the forgotten playground to your partner.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - You can't hear the infernal engine of the Kineema anymore. Just the rustle of your footsteps in the wet weeds, the rolling drumbeat in your ears, the heavy muffling silence.

INTERFACING – In a rear bear hug, you wrap your arms around Jean's, tight enough to constrict blood flow.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Does not react.

YOU - Bury your face in the warm space between his shoulder and neck.

PAIN THRESHOLD – It hurts your blue heart.

ESPRIT DE CORPS – Your blue soul, too.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Feels like marble against you, like an effigy of an athletic god. Then his brain reminds him that he has lungs, and he draws a deep breath in before whooshing it out again. Mumbles: "So, now we're just going to stand here ...?"

YOU – His neck muffles your words: "I've quit the drink, the drugs. But you never left my veins. And you're the last taste in my mouth before I fall asleep."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Relaxes in your rear bear hug.

YOU – Tighten your hold even more, lean your cheek against the side of his, close your eyes.

INLAND EMPIRE – Where did all that tension in him go? Into you, down through your feet, earthed in the strata of secret tunnels and catacombs and history below? Humans are like layered landscapes.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Revacholians are like Revachol. In limbo. Indefinitely engaged.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Ten months. If you can stay clean for -"

YOU – Open your eyes. "I know, I know. And it's eight or something now. Anyway, I've stopped counting because I'm not going to slip up again – not ever."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Sighs. "Don't forget to turn your jacket outside-in."

YOU – Release him, start pulling off your inside-out jacket, looking around as you do so to make sure you're still alone.

INLAND EMPIRE – You know, this crooked wood is on the river, so it's liminal – a meeting place.

CONCEPTUALIZATION – Like a shore, or a stair. And you've met and moved from one part of your relationship to another.

YOU – "So, we walked in here as partners, and we're walking out as …?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Partners." He gives your shoulder a quick squeeze, a rub. Slides his cool, contemplative hand across the back of your neck. "You and I are partners. *How's that for a thought experiment*?"

RHETORIC – How many times has he repeated that *équivoque* since returning to you in Martinaise?

YOU – "In every sense of the word. I get it – you've been refreshing my memory all along."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Exactly."

EMPATHY – It could just be from your temporary surge of serotonin, but the silence in the park no longer feels oppressive. The air is lighter. The night, brighter.

VOLITION – And you also have his key. I told you you've got this.

THE FORKS – Although most of the hostel has disappeared into the dark, there's a window of lemon light, behind which an older woman with impossibly blonde hair sits and smokes, lost in thought. Below, the entrance to reception glows coldly modern. You aren't fully aware of this yet, but the warmer light is drawing you and your partner ever closer towards solving the next phase of the investigation as you walk in step up the wet road.

YOU – How do you know?

THE FORKS – Because I see and hear what *all* my guests are up to.

YOU – Why is it so?

THE FORKS – That's for *you* to find out.

Inside, the bleary-eyed manager sits on a high stool behind the counter, leaning her chin on her left hand as she scrawls two new patrons into the ledger with a whispering pencil: Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi, and Patrol Officer Judit Minot, who have requested the room adjacent to yours for one night.

While the man in the orange bomber pays, the patrol officer stands facing the glass entrance door, and wonders whether she should have hired a sitter to care for her two children and half a husband instead of relying on him to look after them. Spotting you and your partner approaching on the other side of the glass, she moves to open the door, greeting you both fondly.

YOU – Look down into her brown eyes, and wonder whether she really ever bothered to even consider whether you and Jean are more than blue-souled crime-fighting bros.

JUDIT MINOT – Frowns up at you a little, takes a half step back. "Uh, something the matter, Harry?"

YOU – "What? Oh, no, nothing …" You wave off her question.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Looks at you, says, "He's regaining his memory, Jude. That's all."

INLAND EMPIRE – 'That's all'?!

RHETORIC – Deliberate understatement. *That's all*.

JUDIT MINOT – "*Really*? That's great! What did you remember just now?"

YOU – "Khm …" Nod at Jean. "What a patient partner I have."

JUDIT MINOT – Scans him, then you, then him again. Gives a slight smirk.

DRAMA – Methinkssss, she definitely suspectsss, my liege. Act obliviousss.

INLAND EMPIRE – You feel a little awkward, a little proud.

KIM KITSURAGI – "Good evening, detectives." The nylon of his jacket susurrates as he steps closer, stifling a yawn with his fist. You hear him unzipping it to return his wallet to an inner pocket.

YOU – Does Kim suspect?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – No. Kim knows.

YOU – Oh. Okay. Makes sense.

KIM KITSURAGI - Narrows his eyes at you. "Is it *all* returning?" Another loud *zip*. "Or are you remembering little bits and pieces here and there – like in Martinaise?"

YOU – Glance at Jean, who is staring over Judit's head at the eavesdropping hostel manager in the background, then look back at Kim. "This is probably going to sound strange, but I think it started sort of flooding back after my old ledger broke. That's weird, right?"

JUDIT MINOT – Looks at Jean.

YOU - "And it's coming back more intact, too."

KIM KITSURAGI – Gives a small smile. "That does sound *a little* weird."

INLAND EMPIRE – The Ledger of *Oblivion*. What's your new ledger's name?

YOU – The Ledger.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "But we should discuss this and other matters in our room, okay? Let's go."

AUTHORITY – Your partner's authority is such that he simply strides off, in his charcoal track pants and dark teal t-shirt, confident that all will follow.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – His authority is sexy.

AUTHORITY - It's how you *used* to be; it would be most honourable to remember how.

YOU – How can I remember a state of being?

AUTHORITY – I don't know. Study the photo on your badge? It's old enough.

YOU – Look down at the upside-down portrait on the blue identification card clipped to your pocket.

BADGE: LTN-2JFR DU BOIS – This guy is rather good-looking, clean-shaven and with a nice haircut.

YOU – *I'm* clean-shaven.

AUTHORITY – A haircut – that's what you need to complete your projection of command.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT – *Agreed*.

DRAMA – If I might interject with a touch of advice, sire? Play the part till you become it – it's surely thy partner's tactic.

VOLITION – Master Thespian is right – it's about belief not memory. It's a state of mind. Believe in yourself.

SUGGESTION – Well, I think you're already magnetic and *bewitching* enough – Lieutenant Kitsuragi's transfer to the forty-first is proof positive. Your partner looks the part on the outside, but on the inside …? You're the opposite. But it's up to you, of course.

YOU – So which one of you is right?

VOLITION – I'm never compromised.

JUDIT MINOT – Looks back at you over her blue shoulder, pauses in mid-step. "Harry, are you coming?"

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - On the stair, you hear Jean say to himself, "Of course he is."

YOU – Shoo her away with a dismissive hand gesture. "Be right there."

THE FORKS MANAGER – Frowns at you over the top of her black plastic glasses.

SUGGESTION – You could perhaps practise on her?

AUTHORITY – Yes, go forth, flash your badge, and *commandeer* one of those Daily Special blackboards outside the cafeteria, closed till breakfast – as well as a duster and some chalk. In fact, get her to wipe it down for you first.

YOU – What for?

AUTHORITY – Is this not the forward base for this part of your operation? You *need* a blackboard for your room – it'll help your squadmates think together, connecting the evidence of two cases into a stereo-investigation that everyone can look at, contribute to, analyse.

CONCEPTUALIZATION– Drawing straight chalky lines, like a dot-to-dot, to form a constellation of evidence.

INLAND EMPIRE - A dark green blackboard washes up before your mind's eye. On it is your mind-map for the case. It needs to connect to everybody else's.

SUGGESTION – Be charmingly disarming. You're good at that. And it'll wash off some of life's grime, allowing the rather-good-looking old you to show through.

YOU – "Excuse me, ma'am …" Step over to the reception counter.

THE FORKS MANAGER – "Officer?"

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) – You are distracted by the tea set decals on her squoval acrylic fingernails.

COMPOSURE – Very manicured fingernails. Here is a woman who knows the importance of appearances.

YOU – "Nice nails."

THE FORKS MANAGER – "Oh." Her pencilled eyebrows flick up above her glasses. "Nice of you to say."

YOU – "Yeah, they're pretty. Is the tea theme meant to be a kind of extension of the hospitality of the Forks?"

THE FORKS MANAGER – "I, uh, well … I hadn't thought of it like that. I just like tea, you see … But now that you mention it, yes, I suppose it is." She folds her hands one over the other, fingers fanned, all ten fingernails and tea things on proud display.

YOU - Nod and give the palest ghost of The Expression. Then look over at the blackboards standing at attention on either side of the closed cafeteria entrance. "Can I borrow your blackboard, and some chalk? It'd really help me and my colleagues –"

PERCEPTION (HEARING) – You are interrupted by a thudding through the ceiling, a foot stamping a sonic pattern on the floor above. Hang on. What the fuck kind of knock is that, anyway? It's like a secret code or some shit.

INLAND EMPIRE – Actually, don't ask me how I know this, but that's exactly what it is: a secret knock.

YOU – Wait, *wait*. Do I *know* this weirdass knock from somewhere?

THE FORKS MANAGER – Gazes up at the ceiling as a flake of white paint falls off, fluttering between you to the counter. "Oh, bother. It's the guest in room three" – she glances down, reading a name off the ledger – "Mrs Rupert. She *insisted *on paying for 'room service' even after I explained that we're a hostel not a hotel, and this is her way of ordering it, if you can believe."

YOU – "Seriously?"

THE FORKS MANAGER – "Afraid so. People from across the river must live in a different world." She looks like she's about to add another observation about East Revacholians to this one, but then stops herself, and breathes out. "Anyway, feel free to take the Daily Specials board, officer – they'll be different tomorrow."

YOU – "Thanks. That's one strange knock though."

THE FORKS MANAGER – "Yes – I pointed this out, too. She said it's a 'special knock' that 'hardly anyone remembers anymore'." She squints, thinking. "Designed by entrepreneurs, or a bank?" Shrugs, drums her acrylic nails against the ledger. "I don't know. Anyway, it's almost curfew … I'd better go see where the fire's at."

ENCYCLOPEDIA – Oh! *Oh*. Holy shit, Harry. She means the *Milton 32-8* knock, created through data sonification, and based on the time series data of the world's most profitable bank during its prosperous years in the Dirty Thirties. The peak points were turned into the rhythm that makes up the knock you just heard. Weirdass indeed.

YOU – How the *fuck* do I know this?

INLAND EMPIRE – It's an ill omen from another life – that's how.

In another life, where you let yourself get dragged to the Académie des Arts, way east of the river. Some sort of convention …? No, wait. Exhibition. That's it. You attend an exhibition together, pretend to give a shit about the so-called art.

One guy in eye-catching motorbike boots has painted giant vaginas that you mistake for flowers, much to his amusement. Anyway, he's the loser son of so-and-so. An ultra. Brags about knowing the knock as he demonstrates it against the wall, making the flowers tremble. It's how you knew that Old Blonde, I beg your pardon, Mrs Rupert up in room three was a teacher. She was *there*, Harry.

VOLITION – Ding, ding, ding!