YOU - Give a small smile. "Not the anodic beat to your cathodic one?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Huh. Yeah, what a surprise" - he closes his eyes and rubs his forehead - "one more thing that *doesn't* work for me."

RHETORIC - The clinical depression, that is.

PERCEPTION - You listen to the siren-like music fade over the river, and watch your partner retrieve his ledger from his blue RCM Carry-All, then cross the tiny hostel room to his black RCM lieutenant's jacket, which lies draped over a chair at the table.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "But case files don't write themselves, and I still need to transfer my notes from today, and go to bed before two so that I can rinse and repeat the same old shit tomorrow."

YOU - "What *does* work?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Nothing. That's the problem."

PAIN THRESHOLD - That sudden sinking sensation is your morale getting punched in the mouth.

EMPATHY - Don't be narcissistic. It's not about you; it's about him. Seven years of not a single treatment working - certainly not music. He's just recalled all that suffering.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Nothing permanent. Solving cases satisfies. I'm passionate about that."

CONCEPTUALIZATION - There is *one* permanent solution. You flirted with it hard when you sucked on your Villiers 9mm.

VOLITION - *No*, that is no solution; that is just the Cop-Out Cop copotype. Jean is the antithesis of that: he's a fighter. You could learn a lot from your partner.

YOU - "What else helps temporarily, then - apart from solving cases?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Stands there, notebook in one hand, ledger in the other, and inspects you for a long moment. "Oh, you want me to say *you*?" He drops the notebook and ledger onto the table, shifts his weight, and folds his arms. "Okay: *you* - when you're not drunk, or high, or" - he glances at your lips - "giving your *loaded sidearm* a motherfucking *blowjob* in a pawnshop."

REACTION SPEED - What the fuck was that?

RHETORIC - A passive-aggressive opener followed by a backhanded compliment.

HALF LIGHT - Wait, did he just read your mind?!

YOU - "Well, next time I get the urge to suck on my Villiers, I'll be sure to suck you off instead. Substitution. How about that?"

ENDURANCE - There *are* memories of that recorded in your body.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Now you're talking, baby.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - He sarcastically pretends to consider the question, then says, "You think this is a joke?"

EMPATHY - A *really* common symptom of depression is indecisiveness. He can't decide whether to forgive you or resent you, so he swings between compassion and hostility, tearing himself apart as much as you. It's unfortunate.

AUTHORITY - Enough dicking around. He's not your superior. You're equals. Establish your authority!

YOU - Stride closer. "I think this is you alternating between forgiving me and resenting me. You're going to *decide right now* which it is."

VOLITION - The air *clears* somehow. The air calms.

AUTHORITY - He considers apologizing, but his Authority won't allow it.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - He *will* apologize immediately, because *he knows* that unity in the ranks is *paramount* - especially now, but even more so *in May*.

INLAND EMPIRE - This isn't about blue souls and being bonded to him by an outfit; it's about blue hearts, deep, deep blue.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Takes a half-step back, unfolds his arms. "I'm gonna go with *forgiving you* right now. But I'm clinically depressed, Harry - sorry if I don't come across as head over heels sometimes. Sorry if watching you destroy yourself and everything we built -"

YOU - "Let's just finish up our daily write-ups."

VOLITION – That's right – you're a professional. And the morning is said to be wiser than the night. Or in your case, saner.

PERCEPTION - The cheap pine chair creaks under your weight as you return to your seat at the table. You pick up your Kind Green Ape pen, and examine all fifteen pages of your paperwork to see if you can fill in any more red boxes. Thin paper rustles under your searching fingers.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Takes the only other chair - across from yours.

PERCEPTION - The sound of a ballpoint clicking and then scribbling against a hard surface sends a pleasant tingle over your scalp and down the back of your neck.

BLUE BALLPOINT PEN – Jean transfers notes from his Posse notebook into a case file in preparation for filing.

SUGGESTION - Change the subject. Talk about work. His passion.

YOU - "The Skulls could be connected to the case. They're art vigilantes with ideological aero-graffiti as a modus operandi."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Harry," he sighs vocally, "picking up side-cases to solve the primary one is *your* thing. There's trying hard, and then there's trying *too hard*. The former is the good type of trying. The latter is the kind where you're insanely productive in bouts, take on a super-human weekly case-load," he points at you with his pen, "then take amphetamines to give yourself super-human energy and time to work on all those cases, and get your drink on at -"

YOU - "Touché. *But* I still have a hunch that the Skulls are somehow connected to the case."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "It's *all* connected - the shit is about to hit the proverbial fan. So we'll probably get to the Skulls. But with the whole squad, Harry. Not alone."

AUTHORITY - Is he *reprimanding* and *ordering* you again?

YOU - Add 'Skulls?' under *Tasks* in your ledger. Looking across the little pine table, you note sketches of the crime-scene in Jean's notebook, complete with labels and measurements. "Mind if I borrow your Description of Premises?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "What's mine is yours." Scribble, scribble. He does not look up.

RHETORIC - His signature skill must be something like Sir-Chasm or Snark-Chasm.

YOU - Smirk and lean across the table to lift the details from the labels and measurements of his blue ballpoint sketches.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - This shared information will allow you to complete the section of the case file preceding Description of Incident.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - The sketches are executed with skill. He draws sure lines that cross at the corners to capture forms, have different weights and thicknesses according to how much pressure his hand applied.

INLAND EMPIRE - Draws a poignant line down your bare back, tracing the ridges of your tingling spine with a fingertip. The window frames a blue night washed pale by sleet. Fingers slide into your hair like a boat cutting water. Your nerve endings dance, electrocuted.

LOGIC - It's confusing.

YOU - What is?

LOGIC - The way you feel, the way he left, the unknown timeframe of the relationship. You're missing key information - and we don't like that.

YOU - Tell me something I don't know.

SUGGESTION - Ask Jean to tell you.

YOU - Study the brooding man working across from you.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Still scribbling away, he says, "You want something more ...? What is it?"

YOU - "You said we had a good time before you maybe 'panicked a little' and left that morning."

SUGGESTION - Stop making it sound as though you're questioning a suspect.

YOU - Do your best to come up with a line that doesn't sound as though you're a cop, and say, "To my memory, it feels like the first time we had sex."

COMPOSURE - His posture tenses.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Stops writing and looks up.

YOU - "But that doesn't make sense, because -"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Because you have amnesia. There's no mystery, Harry." He drops his blue pen and looks away. "It's not the first time we fucked."

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] – An emotion moves through him, starts to surface. He visibly tries to clamp it down, contain it, but the feeling is bigger than his body.

PAIN THRESHOLD - Raw tenderness gleams in the stormy eyes as he forces himself to slowly meet yours again.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "It feels that way because it's the first time we fucked after ... acknowledging ... a serious commitment ..."

RHETORIC - *Demonstrated* is what I read between the lines. After you physically *demonstrated* a serious commitment after acknowledging it. *Wow.* That was *really hard* for him to say.

LOGIC - The solution! But it feels awful.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Shrugs as if it's nothing, though he's holding his breath, and a wary expectation overcasts his eyes.

VOLITION - He's hiding, because you pissed it all away, because he never foresaw having to discuss it with you under these circumstances.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Love is the drug, love is the drug, love is the drug that gives the *worst* hangover.

YOU - I don't even know what to ...

PAIN THRESHOLD – Because this is *beyond* the threshold. This is you nice and *numb* - a safety mechanism of both mind and body that keeps you relatively sane. You're welcome.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Anyway, it's getting late." He stands up, eyeing the two single beds grimly.

VISUAL CALCULUS - There is exactly one metre of space between them, and without even taking out the tape-measure you can see that your height, and Jean's too, is greater than the beds' length.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - They look like they were salvaged from a Revolutionary bomb shelter.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Just stands there, apparently still examining the sleep hardware.

INLAND EMPIRE - How long has it been since you last hugged?

YOU - Toss the Kind Green Ape onto the table, stand and stretch. "How long has it been since we last hugged, Jean?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Looks at your face, eyebrows raised.

PERCEPTION - Silence prickles like rough wool chafing sensitive skin.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "I honestly don't know."

YOU - Cross a great distance towards him on this tiny little stage of the hostel room.

INTERFACING - You step right in, and close your arms around his shoulders, and pull him to yourself. How does it feel?

PAIN THRESHOLD - Numb.

ENDURANCE - The length of your body recognizes the contours, planes, and depressions of his.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - You've mapped this beloved terrain with your muscle memory.

INTERFACING - Many a time.

INLAND EMPIRE - Welcome home.

COMPOSURE - But he isn't responding, and your very core starts to chill with mortification, and you feel your shoulders hunching to guard your vitals from the incoming rejection.

HALF LIGHT - No, no, no, not this again!

REACTION SPEED - Not so fast.

PERCEPTION - There's movement beneath your hands, inside the cotton shirt warmed by his body heat, as his muscles tense and slide exquisitely against the bones.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Wraps you up in his arms.

COMPOSURE - Sorry - my bad.

YOU - Shut your eyes, rest your head on his shoulder, breathe him in.

INLAND EMPIRE - The fold of a starched shirt collar brushes your ear.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Snort him up like a *drug*. You're both *hard* as fuck. Don't just sit on the opportunity to *party* - get *into* it and *dance*.

VOLITION - No.

SUGGESTION - I agree with Crown-Head. Slow and steady - regain his trust.

PERCEPTION - The arms around you ease their tension, and facial hair scrapes against the stubble on your face, as the body pressed to yours draws back. A hand holds your jaw as another slips under your jacket and grabs at your shirt. A thumb drags down across your lips, clinging to the lower one that a tongue tastes and a mouth sucks on as it moves against yours. There's a shock of cold fingers on your skin. At the touch and push and slide of your tongues, one of you groans as if in pain. Your heart flips. The mouth retreats. As awareness of your body returns, you feel the skin of your lips stinging, and your hands, which you find under Jean's shirt, shake.

COMPOSURE - OH MY GOD. Oh my God.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Stands against you, breathing through his mouth as he regains his Composure. Taking hold of your wrists, he gently removes your hold on him. Then, fingering stray strands of black hair back from his face, he takes a step back, licks his lips and says, "Good night, Harry."

VOLITION - It is a good night.

YOU - Wait, are you sure I didn't fuck up just now?

VOLITION - I'm certain.

EMPATHY - It's complex. Conflicting emotions are playing tug-of-war with him. He worries that he's taking advantage of you, because of the amnesia; he's also scared of being hurt again.

CONCEPTUALIZATION – This is real art. Only the cause of the pain can truly alleviate it. All else is mere comfort and field dressings.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Who's gonna alleviate my *blue balls*?

VOLITION - Petulant teenager.

YOU - I don't want to hurt him.

PAIN THRESHOLD – 'It's a fine line between pleasure and pain.' This feels *good*.

YOU – Shudder involuntarily.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Breakfast here is at six-thirty. It's a forty-five-minute drive back to Central Jamrock. I wanna - We should get the evidence analyzed as soon as possible."

AUTHORITY - Did you catch that subtle pronoun shift? You're back in black, *leading* together again, detective.

LIMBIC SYSTEM - How are all those tasks coming along? Completed any yet?

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN – Nah, it's cool, man. Ignorance is bliss.

LIMBIC SYSTEM - 'But we all know there is a law, and that law, it is love.'

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - 'And we all know there's a war coming, *coming from above*.'

LIMBIC SYSTEM - But you're still hiding all away, Harry. And so is he, in his bouquet bursting with blue forget-me-nots.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Myosotis sylvatica - royal indigo - are ideal to fill beddings.

YOU - Not you *now*. Just shut up and let me sleep.

INLAND EMPIRE - Blue petals in bed.

RHETORIC - That's not what Book-Head meant.

INLAND EMPIRE - It's my interpretation. Remember-me.

BED - You roll onto your left side, then your right, then open your eyes, and lie flat upon your back, gazing up at the gloomy ceiling.

YOU - Brain cells are lit.

CEILING - Ideas start to hit. Your eyes *are* open and gleaming with thoughts of the day's events. Is it any wonder why you can't sleep?

YOU - I guess not. Try to see him.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) – Seconds slip away in glowing white stripes on the black dial of his wristwatch, letting you know you'll need to wake up three hours from now. It's too dark to discern other details - this isn't Central Jamrock with its inflammation of electric light.

YOU - Three hours?!

INLAND EMPIRE -You stand guard behind him as he stares down at his wristwatch while checking a young girl's pulse. A few metres down the alley, a door opens, belching out steam and a kitchenhand who glances at you nervously while dumping bags of organic waste into a trash container.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - A dry voice in the dark asks, "Can't sleep?"

INLAND EMPIRE - You felt eyes on you, knew he was awake.

YOU - "Not for lack of trying. I was thinking about forget-me-nots."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Gives a little groan. "Fucking politics again."

REACTION SPEED - He said *again*.

YOU - "Not the symbol, just the flower. It has a nice name. And then I thought about a bed of petals – a literal bed, not a flower bed."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "I get it."

YOU - "You said *again*. When did I mention politics before?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Wasn't you."

LOGIC - Could be important. Make a mental note.

YOU - "What's your favourite blue thing?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "You."

REACTION SPEED - He didn't skip a beat. He did not skip a beat.

DRAMA - He *meant* it.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Sweet dreams, Harry."

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - Bedclothes hiss as he shifts his so-called sleeping position.

CEILING - Why are you smiling at me like that?

PERCEPTION - The edges soften. Then your eyelids close.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - Light, merciful sleep.

VOLITION - And your mind *keeps healing*, neuroplasticity kneaded and moulded by the deft fingers of recent events as well as recent remembrances.

LIMBIC SYSTEM - Beep-beep-beep-beep, Harry. Alarm time!

VOLITION – Go.

THE LEDGER - You leave the paint samples with forensics, then commence your search for the shoemaker. It would be a lot easier with even one radio-computer, but you don't have one.

YOU - You know who has one? The Doomed Commercial Area in Martinaise.

THE LEDGER - Yeah. Big help for it and you. Anyway, it takes forensics three days to get back to you with results - like your unit, they're understaffed and overworked.

In the meantime, you talk JV into paying a visit to the original Next World Mural in Grand Couron, hoping it'll jog more memories, or give you a fresh perspective on the new case, or something.

You go there on horseback, which improves JV's mood a little. It's a sunny yet cold spring day – a crocodile sun, or a toothy sun, someone once called days like that. It's a good idea; it's a bad idea.

You and your partner dismount in the blue shadow of the eight-story tenement and look around. It's even colder in the shadows.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – But your partner's tired eyes are not studying the tired mural, or the tired street. They're studying you.

EMPATHY – Last time you were here, you were drunk, high as a kite, and disorderly. Your emotions were no longer under your control; a cocktail of chemicals had taken over.

INLAND EMPIRE - This mundane moment is a hinge upon which the future of Revachol swings.

YOU – What are you on about? It's not that important. *I'm* not that important.

INLAND EMPIRE – How can you be so certain? *Can* you be sure?

YOU - Look at the mural.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - Two larger-than-life silhouettes of a man and a woman kiss. The white text stencilled into their forms hasn't changed: TRUE LOVE IS POSSIBLE ONLY IN THE NEXT WORLD - FOR NEW PEOPLE. IT IS TOO LATE FOR US. WREAK HAVOC ON THE MIDDLE CLASS.

INLAND EMPIRE - You're so intoxicated, you see double, triple. The horrible, mocking white words float on a roiling sea of black before your eyes. Your stagger closer, blinking hard to clear your vision. Your eyes stream. You're a detective, and detectives are supposed to inspect crime scenes and gather evidence. You look all the way up to the top of the building, where the stupid couple's lips lock. The pavement under your soles feels like the deck of a rolling ship. How did they get up there to paint this fucking thing? With scaffolding? Or did they fucking *abseil*? This thought whirls your head with vertigo. Your guts with nausea. Your upper body lurches forward. You grab your knees to stop yourself from planting your face into the pavement, and vomit orange between your green snakeskin shoes.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Good job, vomiting on the crime scene. I mean it - at least now you'll be more sober.

YOU – I'm not drunk. *You* make me sick. And even if I were, Harrier De Bois drunk is still a better detective than Jean-Heron Vicquemare sober.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Yeah, yeah, maybe *Harry* is - but not you, shitkid. You're a stupid fucking -

INLAND EMPIRE – *cough* What happens next is not for polite society.

YOU - How can it possibly get *worse*?

VOLITION – Just say no to this, Harry. Just no. You're not that man anymore.

YOU – No. It *wasn't* me.

VOLITION – Oh? Who was it, then?

YOU - Horripilate, even though no gust of wind blows through your jacket.

SHIVERS – It is a cold day, and you are standing in the blue shadow of an eight-story building, but your cold is internal – as if you're coming down with something. You shiver, and the city shivers with you.

YOU - Clench your teeth and shake off the shivers.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Lights a cigarette, and squints at you while blowing out a cloud of smoke.

YOU - Gaze at your partner, wondering why the fuck he puts up with your shit.

EMPATHY - He is *extremely* loyal - doubly so because you are doubly bonded.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "You're remembering it."

RHETORIC – A succinct statement.

YOU – Nod, feeling queasy.

JEAN'S HORSE - Stamps a hoof against the road, and whinnies.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Strokes the length of the horse's face, and murmurs something. The horse twitches an ear, then snorts, giving you a dirty look from under its RCM helmet.

Your own horse doesn't care.

LOGIC – It isn't giving you *a dirty look* – you're imagining it.

YOU – "Jean ..."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Assesses you with a swift sharp once-over. "*Officer*".

ESPRIT DE CORPS – Be professional out here, he thinks.

HALF LIGHT – Fucking eyes on you, all the time, everywhere.

SUGGESTION – Don't apologize. Don't try to explain away your past behaviour. For God's sake, don't try to justify it.

VOLITION – Actions, not words, define a man, detective.

YOU – Draw a breath to speak.

RHETORIC – This had better be good, Harry.

YOU – "Satellite Officer Vicquemare, you are the most loyal creature that I have ever met."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Fuck you. Let's get coffee." He sniffs. "I'm fucking freezing."

EMPATHY – It touched him.

THE LEDGER – Anyway, it transpires that the paint used for the new mural and the aero-graffito *is* the same industrial paint used by Belles Lettres for the original mural. So you and JV decide to pay them a second visit – but not before JV is summoned to 10-22 the captain.

HALF LIGHT – Without you.