"I've haven't got what she wanted. Don't you know how that feels?"
"Don't I just?"
I wet the razor in the sink. The water looked dirty.
"I really wanted to please her, you know?"
"I know."
"She had her heart set on that bag."
"It's doesn't matter, Stephen. Believe me. She'll have a good birthday anyway."
"You know what Des is like."
"Believe me. No one knows better."
I looked deep into the eyes staring back at me. Yellow eyes.
"See what I mean?"
The neon tube above the mirror cast a yellow gloom over my face. The light seemed almost thick, and my hand had to push gently through the air, as I brought the razor back up. It was my father's open razor, the one sharpened on the leather strop hanging up beside the sink. He hated me using it. But what the hell? It wasn't every day that your sister gets to be sixteen. I was taking her out tonight. I wanted to look good. Especially because…
"I should've moved on that bag -"
"Stephen!"
I was talking to myself in the bathroom mirror. Calling myself by name.
"As soon as Des spotted it, I should've got the money out there and then. Oh no. Not me. I wanted to surprise her with it."
"So you let that guy steal it off you. Big deal."
"It's not just that -"
"You got her something nice instead?"
"No. I -"
"You didn't get her anything?"
"No. There's nothing else she would - shit!"
I'd taken a nick out of my face. Blood fell into the water, swirling. I reached for a tissue and when I looked into the mirror to stop the flow it was my father's face that I dabbed at - Oh my god! I was…
"You know I forbid the use of that blade."
I was… I was…
"It is a man's blade."
"Father… I am sorry."
What was this? Where was I? This feeling? What is it… think… think!
"Give me the blade, Stephen."
"Please…"
This isn't real! Nobody calls me Stephen any more.
"Must I punish you again?"
"No…"
I'm getting the Haunting!
"Father!"
He was swinging the blade…
This isn't real. I'm in a Vurt. Jerk out!
The razor coming for my face.
Jesus Christ! Jerk out, you dumb fucking -
"Looking good, Stephen."
"Cheers."
"So you got Desdemona nothing, eh?"
"Don't remind me."
I was looping my best tie into a Windsor knot. My father had shown me this, when I was seven years old.
"Wouldn't have done any good anyway. She'll never be yours."
"Look -"
The knot was all wrong.
"Sorry, Stephen. My fault."
"Yeah. Stop putting me off."
I was standing in my bedroom, talking to myself in the wardrobe mirror. I pulled the knot loose to start again. There was a small shaving nick in my left cheek. The square of tissue paper - stuck to the cut by a film of dried blood - wasn't the best thing to have on your face, the day of your sister's birthday. But that's okay. It would be healed in a minute or so. I was waiting for Desdemona to get back from college. We were going out that night, celebrating, and I had my best suit on, all washed and pressed. Now I just had to get this knot right. And the weak lemony glow from the bedside lamp wasn't helping any. It made my eyes look kind of yellow.
"She's going to be real angry, Stephen."
"I don't think that's - shit!"
The knot was all crooked. I pulled it loose again.
"Having trouble? Here let me -"
"I don't want help! And stop calling me Stephen!"
"It is the name I gave you, boy."
"My name is -"
Wait…
"You will damned well use it."
My father had taken the two ends of the tie in his big work-scarred hands.
"How many times must I teach you the Windsor?"
It wasn't me in the mirror! My father…
"Father…"
"It is a man's knot."
He crossed the tie, wide end over narrow, through the loop, down, around and behind, up to the right. Wide end down through the loop, crossed at right angles over the narrow, pushed through the loop one last time and finished by slipping the wide end through the knot in front. He tightened the finished Windsor, pulling it gently, until the knot was right up against my throat.
This isn't real!
"There. Perfect. Simple. Elegant!"
He pulled the knot tight. Tight! Pulling down on each end of the tie until my throat was closing and the breath leaving me. My hands coming up, but so weak I - The Haunting!
"Even a fool could manage it!"
All my air was used up. Bursts of light behind my eyes. Pain. The fierce glare in my father's eyes. This is Vurt!
"But not my boy, evidently."
Darkness, and the end of pain beckoning.
Jerk out! Come on! Work it!
The pain dying away as I lost the will to -
"Oh Christ!"
I was shivering amongst the trees, down by the lakeside. The leaves were rustling from the gathering wind. I couldn't stop shaking.
Made it.
Made a way out of there.
A shadow falling across the moon.
Christ, that was bad. And no sign of Desdemona.
Shaking, shaking…
Breathing in gulps of air. Again. Again. My lungs aching, and my throat, and a sharp pain on my cheek from the razor's edge.
And then letting out the air, in a long passage.
Something coming between the moon and the trees.
Found a way out somehow.
Except that you can't jerkout of a Yellow.
The leaves shaking as something moved amongst them.
So what was…
"I have found you, Stephen."
My father pushing the branches aside, the glint of light on the razor in his hand.
I'm still in the Vurt!
"I won't have any child of mine out after ten."
Father stepping forward, blocking the moon's light completely, until there was only darkness. And the blade…
Get out of here!
His hand around my neck -
"Looking good, Scribble."
"Looking good yourself, birthday girl."
"You taking me out tonight?"
"Bet on it, Des."
"Where?"
"Platt Fields."
"Platt Fields? I was maybe expecting a meal. Then a club. I feel like dancing."
"I know. But there's a little clump of trees there, side of the lake. It's private and cosy, and we could… well, you know…"
"Scribble! You're disgusting!"
"It's you that makes me like this."
She pushed me backwards, onto the bed. Then she jumped on top of me, and started to really tickle me, just where I can't stand it.
"Des!"
"I'm not going to some dingy park. I'm going dancing!"
"You've got to."
"What do you mean, got to? Who says got to? Hey! -"
I manage to get a grip on her body, and then kind of throw her over, but gently, until I was on top of her, and she was smiling beneath me. "We've got to go there, Des. Don't ask why. I just know we've got to go."
"Why should I?"
"It's important."
She went quiet then.
Her bedroom was a warm glow of yellow, the last rays of the sun coming through the drawn curtains. Her eyes were too much for me, too full of life.
I lowered myself down, until our bodies were touching all over, and my lips were on hers.
"Careful, Scribb."
"Why?"
"You'll crease your best suit."
"It's all for you, Desdemona. All for you."
We kissed some more.
"You got me a present, Scribb?"
"I tried to."
"Scribble!"
"I tried to get that bag you wanted. Well, I did get it. But…"
"Don't tell me, you lost it?"
"It was -"
"I hate you."
"It was stolen, Des. This guy on the bus. I was bringing it back home. I was going to wrap it and everything. But this guy just snatched it away from me, ran down the stairs, jumped off just as the bus was moving from the stop. I didn't know what to do."
"You know what this means?"
"I know."
"It means we can't go to Platt Fields."
"I know. Why is that?"
"I don't know. Crazy, isn't it?"
"I'm sorry, Des."