somewhere or something he could readily identify with. Maybe the person he thought he'd seen.
The negativity increased. Not just on the outside, but drawing something from deep within him. From the past maybe. An exorcism. Would it be too much to ask that he was losing this vile female which haunted him?
The experience continued, was almost erotic verging on orgastic. Definitely irresistible now. Drifting along in the flow became that ultimate fulfilment he couldn't have denied himself if he'd wanted to. It provided all he needed, would ever need: complexity and bare simplicity. Alpha and omega.
Then the speed of the current picked up and he was moving faster than he could think. A man should try to break free so that he could weigh the odds before finally committing himself. But it wasn't the kind of option you could select then turn off if it didn't suit. This trip was for the duration, no rain-checks considered.
The rip-tide looped him out from the wall briefly. Then he was turning, streaming towards it. He saw the lesion coming at him, a large tear in a plastic curtain. As the energy dragged him through he grabbed at the flapping sides, could find nothing to hook his fingers around. Another second and he was being consumed.
Here was pain, an agony like nothing he had ever felt before. Crying out was futile because his screams weren't as loud as the pain. But he cried anyway.
He was still screaming, even after the pain had stopped. And he knew it had because he could hear himself. God, that was terrible, he thought. Yet part of him felt exhilarated. A decidedly female part.
He lay where he had fallen, stones pressing into his naked flesh, tasting grit. The light was now a soft peach glow, the surrounding air warm. Without even questioning how he knew, he thought: I'm through. I'm in the Canal.
Canal? A strange word. Why had it come to mind?
Rolling, he pushed up onto an elbow, peered at his new environment to find himself confronted by desolation - nothing but sand and stones. Behind him lay cool oblivion in the trip of a lifetime; here was warmth in a canal without water. Stark reality after the dream-like Void.
He was in a crater ringed by dunes. From the top of any he cared to choose he would be able to view the Canal and see that it was all the same. This kind of knowledge had nothing to do with memory. This was in-bred, instinctive.
Memories he'd had in the light were to do with civilisation - wild rages, heavy trips, screwing. Or at least being screwed: he couldn't recall ever screwing a woman, only being screwed as one! Despite being obnoxious to the man he had become, these thoughts were, nevertheless, memories of ordinary things, real people and places. But this barren wilderness....? He'd never been here before, or any desert come to that, so how did he know what it was like, what to expect? How could he know what was beyond the dunes? He couldn't know. But he did!
Struggling to his feet, his legs felt weak and trembling. The altitude produced nausea. Sweat prickled his body. He tottered, fell, attempted to right himself again. Then, he quit trying and crawled. He worked his way up the closest dune nursing a monster thirst, finally collapsed on the top, chest heaving.
Recovering sufficiently to raise his head, he looked out across the plain. More sand, acres of it. Then more dunes. No sign of water.
But there were people!
He saw three, walking alone as if unaware of the others. It seemed stupid: people were social animals, they needed companionship. They should be banding together, co-operating to find a way out of this bad trip.
If that was what this weird scenario was, he'd be only too glad to swear off drugs completely. He didn't need them. What he needed was someone to talk to. Someone to share his confusion, his fear.
Was he really afraid? You bet your sweet life he was! Especially since he'd just realised something. He'd just figured out why this trip was so different, so intense: the silly bitch, the person he used to be, must have OD'd.
She was most likely DEAD and she'd taken him with her!
5
Almost out of the Canal now, the woman whose memories were those of a man was wishing she could remember her name. It seemed important, as if she was about to meet someone: an insane notion, considering where she was - at the end of an empty pass gazing into.... the rest of it!
Ridiculous, but it was what she felt - the end of a pass! If she was at the end, there wouldn't be any more of it. There would be plains, or.... something else, anyway. But there was more. More pass and more dunes lining it on either side. So, in effect, she was in the middle.
In which case, why did she believe she was almost through? And where was the reception committee she somehow knew would be waiting? She couldn't see them. The entire area was deserted, but she was certain she would soon be meeting people. Crazy.
Crazier still, the name thing. She was stark naked, about to front complete strangers. That in itself should have worried the hell out of her, but she was more concerned that she couldn't remember her name! It was all that mattered - just her name.
The only one she could think of was Richard. She glanced down, brushed sand from a breast, slid a hand over her belly to her pubic area, touched a mound of crisp hair. If she said her name was Richard, they'd look at her and laugh.
Whoever they were.
A movement caught her eye. A man was approaching along the pass from the direction she had come. She wasn't worried that he might see her, not now. There had been a couple of them back in the desert, a man and a woman, both heading in the same direction towards the passes. Neither had taken the slightest notice of her, or each other.
She figured they were from the Void. Where else? But they didn't seem as alive as she herself felt. Maybe they weren't. Or conversely, maybe they were and she wasn't! Now, that was a thought.
This latest joker continued up to her then walked right past, staring straight ahead without even glancing at her. It was the closest she'd been to one of them. She hadn't tried to make contact before, didn't bother now. What was to say? Apart from being naked, she had nothing in common with them. Even their respective personal bubbles were different: they couldn't see beyond theirs and she was outside hers.
The man had reached the point where she'd hesitated because she hadn't been able to remember her name. He must have known his because he walked right on. Like over the line. She was sure she saw his foot disappear first. Then all of him had gone.
She stared along the pass. He should have been walking still, making his way towards the end. But, as she'd observed before, this was the end. The pass had finished, despite what her eyes told her. Pure illusion and he had become part of it. He had crossed the line, was on the far side. Probably saying his name.
How? Another membrane? It seemed logical in a crazy kind-of way: an invisible membrane. Maybe she had to walk through like she did the first time. But to where? Two names sprang to mind - Lonfay and Nova. Maybe they were places after all, and she was on her way to one. What if she didn't like it - could she start again, pick the other? She had a feeling the choice had already been made. Something to do with destiny. You paid your money and took your chance.
Like all the other suckers. Another one was coming along the pass. She simply stood watching. No need to hide: he wouldn't notice her. If he saw her at all he would take her for another sleep-walker.
An immature thought crossed her mind, mischievous. One hand went to her breasts, began caressing them. The other stroked down over her belly, slid inside a thigh. Her eyelashes fluttered, lips pouted. Hello, sailor. Then she tensed.
He'd stopped, seemed to be looking at her. Couldn't be, of course: the others hadn't. Maybe he'd just lost his direction momentarily. Even lemmings must do it sometime. She laughed to herself - an uncertain giggle to renew a confidence which didn't quite return in full.
The man had started up again, internal compass back on track. He walked awkwardly as if he was limping. As if the stones hurt his feet like they did hers. Every so often he