Lost

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A series of six shorts charting a developing intimacy.

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MaIze

Contents

MaIze

Vince was frowning—a somewhat infrequent state of affairs. And for a change it wasn’t Howard’s fault; Howard wasn’t even in the flat. Once his ribs had healed he’d started going to jazzercise classes three times a week instead of just one. Vince was finding the results more and more appealing as the weeks went by…

The door slammed as Naboo arrived home, Bollo in tow. Vince grinned in welcome, then leaned forward as the shaman flopped on the settee.

“Hey Naboo? You know that potion you gave Howard? The one that got him into my dream?”

The shaman eyed him askance.

“Yeah…?”

“I was jus’ wonderin’… got any more of it?”

“Why?”

Vince suddenly found his fingernails to be intensely interesting.

“Jus’ thought… might be fun to see what Howard’s dreams are like…”

Naboo’s eyes widened in startlement. Vince, interested in something of Howard’s? What was the world coming to?

“Why’d you wanna do that? They’ll just be brown and boring, like ‘im.”

“I know, but… I jus’ wonder, that’s all. If he dreams about me.”

“Ah.” That was more like it—a Vince-centred request. The world hadn’t shifted on its axis after all. “I can make some more up.”

“Please?” Vince was bouncing very slightly in his seat, hands clasped together and eyes sparkling.

“OK, but just this once. And you’d better ask ‘im first if ‘e minds. I dont wanna be brought up on Invasion of Privacy charges by the Board.”

“What, the Board of Shamen cares about things like that?”

Naboo grinned.

“Not really. But it is polite to ask.”

Vince nodded.

“Awright.” He paused, watching as Naboo prepared the hookah, then, “Um… could you do it for tonight?”

Naboo sighed irritably and pushed himself to his feet.

“S’the only way I’m gonna get any peace, innit? Be back in a mo.”

Howard arrived back from the jazzercise class hot, tired and desperate for a bath. He was really not in the mood to listen to Vince’s wittering on about his latest Top Shop finds: he just wanted a quick soak and an early night. But for once Vince was restrained, and weirdly attentive, asking him how his day had gone, and even bringing him a cup of tea to drink while he soaked. Howard sipped the brew—not quite as much milk as he would have liked but he wasn’t going to complain, it was rare enough Vince made tea anyway—and lay back, eyes closing as he relaxed.

Then he frowned, eyes opening to find Vince sitting on the closed loo seat, watching him.

“Do you mind? I’m trying to have a bath here.”

“Did you know your hair looks like seaweed when it’s under water?”

Normally Howard would probably have retorted with some quip about the merman look being his style, but that brought up vaguely horrifying thoughts of Old Gregg. He scowled at his partner instead.

“I see your attempts to win people over are as subtle as ever.”

Vince grinned.

“But it looks… sorta cute.”

“Great. Thanks Vince.” Mentally he frowned at himself. Cute? Him? He sat up in the bath. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine.” He yawned. It didn’t look terribly convincing to Howard. “Think I’ll have an early night.”

Howard’s eyes widened.

“An early night? You? What’s wrong?”

“Nuffin’! Hey, sometimes I get tired too, y’know.”

“You must be losing your touch, little man. Fighting the crowds at Top Shop getting too much for you?”

“Somefin’ like that. See ya later, yeah?” He stood and loped out of the small room, closing the door carefully behind him. Howard watched him go with a faint sense of shock. What, no argument? No faked outrage? No banter? Whatever was the world coming to?

“Howard?” It was whispered, intended only to check if the maverick was asleep. There was no answer, and Vince quietly slipped out of his own bed, pulled the thermos from under his pillow, poured the contents into the cup that formed the lid, and drank the sparkling blue liquid down in one. Recapping the thermos, he moved quickly over to Howard’s bed and slid under the duvet, momentarily surprised but pleased when the sleeping maverick shifted over to make room for him, then laid a hand on his chest. It felt nice, Vince thought vaguely to himself as his world dissolved into infinite shades of green.

He was standing on mossy turf, soft, ankle deep and cool. In front of him was a hedge, a bit taller than Howard, he guessed, perfectly trimmed and very solid-looking. A little to his left was an opening—quite a wide one—which seemed to lead to a sort of corridor of green… There was something familiar-looking about it… Vince frowned, then his brow cleared. A maze! One made of hedges! Imagine that!

Something touched his shoulder, and he jumped. Swivelling round, eyes wide in alarm, he froze—then laughed delightedly and stroked the soft pink muzzle of the winged unicorn that stood behind him.

“Petal! What you doin’ here? I thought you died!”

“I did in youw dweam. But this is Howawd’s dweam. He can’t let me go.”

“Why not?”

“Maybe ‘cause you made me?”

“That’s a bit weird, innit?”

“Oh no. Howawd keeps evewything you evew gave him. Even the howwid bits.”

“I never gave ‘im anythin’ horrible! What you on about?”

The unicorn’s golden eyes regarded him solemnly.

“Memowies, Vince. All the howwid memowies.”

Vince would have objected, but the sudden recollections of biting into a precious record, of trading Howard in for a multi-coloured cape, of forcing him to play the prostitute, of constantly belittling and insulting him, played across his mind like a series of TV ads.

“Oh…”

The unicorn nodded.

“He fowgives you. Evewy time.”

Vince grimaced.

“I ‘ave been a bit of a tit, an’ I?”

The unicorn stayed silent, pointing towards the entrance to the maze, and Vince stepped forwards—only then thinking to glance down at himself. What he could see looked entirely normal, although the mirrorball suit was perhaps a little more shiny and sparkly than in real life, and felt light and luxuriously comfortable against his skin. He was mildly alarmed to notice he was barefoot though. But the moss underfoot felt… nice. A little tickly, but very nice, all the same. He touched his hair, relived to find it still pretty much the same as normal—perhaps a little longer, a little softer, a little silkier, and lacking the stiffness that came from the different chemicals he normally threw at it. His face was smooth and clean too, without makeup. Without his usual mask. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

But there was nothing he could do about it—this was, apparently, how Howard dreamed him. And the unicorn was huffing impatiently, prodding him towards the maze entrance…

The paths were wide, the light softly sunny, and the air smelt of quietly growing things. It was a little unnerving. But this was Howard. There could be nothing here to hurt him.

He hoped. He hadn’t been quite sure what to expect, but he was fairly sure it wasn’t this.

They followed the path’s twists and turns until they came to a square space, with three exits leading off in three different directions. In the centre of the square stood Howard…

Vince hurried forward, grinning, slowing to a halt as he realised the figure wasn’t moving. He turned to the unicorn.

“Wha’s wrong wiv ‘im?”

Petal sighed.

“It’s an owd Howawd. A Howawd that couwd have been.”

Frowning, Vince examined the figure. It was extraordinarily life-like, but obviously not alive. A waxwork, then. Or a statue. Howard looked younger, his face unlined, his expression… Vince studied it. Howard looked… eager, and excited. Glancing down, Vince was amused to see the figure dressed as Indiana Jones, even to the bullwhip coiled at the hip. It kind of suited him… Howard dreamed of being like Indie? A real heroic Man of Action? That was so sweet…

But the unicorn had said this was an old Howard, one that had never come to be.

That was sad. Vince brushed his fingers over the skin of Indie Howard’s face, distantly surprised to find it warm and almost alive. But there was no reaction from the figure, and reluctantly he stepped away, turning back to the unicorn.

“Which way now?”

Petal pointed with its horn…

They walked in silence. Vince had half-expected Howard’s dreamscape to be filled with the noise of jazz, but all he could hear was the occasional and very distant trill of birdsong, and the odd sough of the breeze through the maze. It should have been disconcerting: instead it was restful, peaceful…

There was another Howard at the next intersection of four paths. Vince grinned—he recognised this one, Howard the jazz musician, legs stretched wide, back arched, eyes tightly closed, head flung back and golden trumpet pointing skywards, caught in one sublime moment as he played his heart out to the crowds that should have been gathered at his feet…

Vince swallowed. He’d never loved anything with the sort of passion Howard felt for jazz. And Howard was talented, he knew that. It was so unfair he’d not been able to achieve the success he deserved.

Petal nudged him gently: Vince sighed and turned to follow the animal.

It was the same right the way through the maze: Howard the actor manqu�e, dressed as Hamlet; Howard the wildlife photographer, David Attenborough with a moustache; Howard the romantic poet, a moustachioed Lord Byron wielding a quill; Howard the novelist intent at his typewriter. And others that he’d never mentioned: Howard the oceanographer, swimming with orcas; Howard the Formula 1 racer, victorious grin on his face, cup at his feet and champagne spouting from the jereboam in his big, capable hands; pilot Howard, gazing into the distance with far-seeing eyes. It was a Boy’s Own parade of lost possibilities, failed hopes and dead and dying dreams…

Vince found himself walking more and more slowly as they approached the centre of the maze. The unicorn turned its head to gaze at him.

“What’s wong?”

“I… I think I’m scared. Don’t know if I want to go any further.”

“But you must! You must see Howawd’s heawt.”

Vince shivered, only then realising that it was much cooler here than it had been further out. He rubbed at his arms and turned back the way they’d come.

“Nah, think I’ll go back, thanks all the same.”

In less than a second the unicorn had leapt to block the path. It no longer looked cute.

“You awe hewe uninvited, wandewing the paths of youw pawtnews dweams. You awe not pewmitted to weturn until you have fouwnd his heawt.”

Vince cowered against the hedge, gazing up nervously at the golden animal.

“Petal?”

The unicorn nudged him with a horn that suddenly seemed very sharp indeed.

“Move.”

Vince moved…

He could hear the sound of waves on a shore. Frowning, he stepped through the last gap in the maze and came to a stumbling halt, staring disbelievingly, the unicorn at his back preventing him from acting on his first impulse—to turn and flee.

The dull, narrow expanse of grey, gravelly beach seemed to extend forever, bordering a sparkling turquoise sea, lacy silver waves rolling musically towards the land under a brilliant white sun. But they never quite reached it. A few feet out from the sunless shore, they slowed and stopped, turning dull and stagnant, lapping at the slime-encrusted rocks. And way off in the distance was a tiny figure, sitting alone.

“Howard?” Vince glanced at the unicorn for confirmation: the animal knelt and gestured to its back.

“We wiww wide.”

Vince obediently struggled up, settling himself between the great golden wings as the unicorn rose into the air: minutes later they’d reached the lonely figure and Vince was sliding to the rough gravel, wincing at the sharpness against his toes. Warily, he moved to stand beside Howard.

“Awright?”

“Hm?” Howard glanced up, and Vince bit his lip. He’d never seen such bleakness in anyone’s face. He sat down beside his friend, disregarding the spiky gravel, and laid a hand on Howard’s shoulder.

“‘Hey, small eyes. You awright?”

There was half a flash of recognition in the desolate brown eyes, a brief and half-hearted attempt at a smile, then Howard returned to watching the sparkling sunlit waves. Vince shivered—it was very cold here, with the warmth of the sun cut off a few feet away. Howard, dressed only in a ragged loin cloth, didn’t seem to feel it, although his skin was pimpled with gooseflesh and his nails were blue. Vince leaned against him, touching his arm, but there was no reaction.

“What you doin’ here, Howard?”

“Watching. He’ll leap again in a bit.”

Puzzled, Vince followed the direction of Howard’s stare—then gasped. In slow motion, flashing, twisting, the air around it seeming to turn to silver vapour, a figure leapt upwards from the sea.

It was impossibly beautiful. Its long, thick night-black hair had a deep, unearthly blue sheen and its eyes glowed like the dawn skies of spring. Its long, supple dolphin tail was almost silver, blending into the nacreous paleness of the skin of its human upper body. Its elaborate lacy fins were veined with gold. It laughed aloud as it flung elegant webbed hands to the sky in its joy.

It was himself, as Howard saw him.

Vince never cried. He was made of rainbows and sunshine and candyfloss, all the bright things of life. He had no need to cry. But glimpsing the unutterable hopelessness and loss and misery in Howard’s face as the maverick yearned for the mer-creature felt like a stab to the soul.

He swallowed hard, not knowing what to do. The unicorn huffed sadly against his shoulder.

“We must go back. Howawd wiww be waking up soon.”

“In a minute…” Vince shook Howard’s shoulder gently. The maverick turned to him, eyes empty, and Vince laid a hand against his cheek.

“Howard… tell Vince. Tell the selfish little ponce how you feel.”

Howard lowered his gaze.

“I can’t. He is everything I’m not. I don’t deserve him.”

“Howard!” But the unicorn was nudging him now, with more than a hint of very sharp horn against his neck.

“We must go.”

Vine leaned forward impulsively, pressing a rough kiss to the corner of Howard’s mouth. As the maverick eyed him, wide-eyed and startled, he grabbed the unicorn’s horn and allowed it to pull him upright.

“Tell ‘im, Howard! He won’t laugh, I promise.”

But Howard’s gaze had returned to the sea, and the unicorn wouldn’t let him delay any further.

Back in the bedroom Vince awoke suddenly, with no gentle transition from sleep to awareness. He was still in Howard’s bed, cuddled up to the man—and Howard was shifting restlessly, getting ready to wake up himself. For a second or two Vince debated staying where he was—but that would be a terrible shock to Howard. Not to mention he’d just invaded Howard’s very private dreams. He didn’t dare risk it.

He slid out of bed and back to his own, clutching the duvet tightly and staring unseeingly at the ceiling.

What was he supposed to do now?