"Because they're crazy. They think it's going to bring them knowledge. It's like rites of passage, all that crap. All that Queen Hobart rubbish."

"What is Hobart?"

"Don't get involved, Scribb. Some crazy religion, that's all. They think Vurt's more than it is, you know? Like it's some higher way, or something. It's not. Vurt is just collective dreamings. That's all. Christ! Isn't that enough for them?"

Tristan went quiet again.

I let him be for a while, but something was nagging at me, something he'd said. "The Cat was taken into Vurt?" I asked. Tristan nodded. "But you said that you'd come down alone? If the Cat was swapped... he must have been swapped... that's how it works... exchange rates... there's no escaping..."

I think he knew what I was going for, but he took his time in answering.

"I came round in our living room. No, I wasn't alone."

I waited.

There was a woman beside me, well, a girl actually. Because this was years ago. She was embracing me so tightly, and I was doing the same to her, and we were shaking you know, from the trip. I was still feeling the pain, and I think she was feeling the same. The pain of being forced through, from the dream, to the world. It's painful. But her embrace was powerful, and I gave back the same. She was lovely. That was years ago. I..."

His voice faded, to silence. And then I got a memory, of a woman who had got right inside me. Who had known everything about me. Who had eyes of gold...

"This was Suze?" I said.

Tristan nodded.

Suze was a Vurt being! An alien, just like the Thing, but one thousand times more beautiful. "Didn't you try for a swapback?" I asked.

"I didn't want to."

"Why not?"

"This woman meant too much to me. More than my brother did. Can you see that, Scribble? Can you? Suze was the best piece of luck a man could ever wish for. And out of all that pain, we made a love. I vowed never to lose her. Not for one day"

I saw the strands of hair locking them together.

"I could not let her go. Just in case the Vurt claimed her back. Do you see that? Not for one second would she leave my sight. I thought it would work. I really thought it would..." There was a catch in his voice, and I kept my eyes on the road. I don't think he wanted me looking at him. But I could feel him pulling himself together, sitting up straight in the seat, hugging his little bag of hair, before speaking again; "It was the real world that got her."

I did look over then. Tristan was crying. "Oh God, Scribble! What am I going to do?" he broke down. "Suze..."

There are no words to add. You can't help that kind of pain. You can only make it worse. Or bury it.

We had left the trees behind, and the night opened up, into a black expanse of moorland. Even the skies were crying now, a dark fall of tears against the windscreen.

"This is the place," Tristan said.

It was a shallow grave. Because that was all that Tristan could manage, scraping away with his thin shovel, against the layers of dirt.

All around our circle, shadows were dancing.

The rain was turning the earth into mud, and Tristan was struggling. I'd tried to help, we all had, but Tristan had pushed us away.

We watched as he lowered Suze into the shallow grave. Then he opened the bag, and took out the thick tresses of his hair. He let them fall into the earth, so that they landed softly on her body. He took a small wooden box from the bag, and placed this also with the body.

Tristan mumbling his words of farewell, over the grave, the falling soil that he was shovelling back into the ground.

Ashes to ashes. Hair to hair.

The trio of dogs howled into the night, howling for the lost mistress.

All of us gathered around the grave, silent, our minds full up of want.

Tristan had the two grown up dogs on a double lead. I could see his fingers starting to slip.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

His fingers were loosening, one by one.

"I'm letting them go," Tristan answered.

"We may need them."

"No. No, not at all. We're doing this alone, Suze wants it like this."

"I'm keeping Karli," says Twinkle.

Tristan nodded.

So I'm watching the two dogs disappearing into the darkness. Twinkle comes up close to me, fingers tight on Karli's collar, pulling her back from the urge.

The young bitch was yelping, wanting release.

"Stay, good girl. Stay!" whispered Twinkle, but the dog wasn't taking it too well.

Tristan's shaved head was splattered with raindrops, but his eyes were dry, focused, tight. I could feel the need coming off him.

The bad need.

GUN STROKE (SUFFERING FROM)

The dancing crowd-crush could just fuck off.

That look on Dingo's face, when he realised.

Just fuck off you dancing fools, because I was there, with both hands around the grip, two sweaty hands; one finger, dry, on the trigger.

Dingo didn't even know yet. Didn't even know yet that a gun was pointing at him.

The Tushdog fans were dancing. I had squeezed my way amongst them, into the pit, close to the stage, covered in sweat and dogbreath. It was bad, but close enough to see his eyes as he sang, and that was all I wanted.

I just wanted to see his eyes as he saw me there.

Then he caught a glimpse of metal from the crowd.

You ever looked down the barrel of a gun? Into the dark fluttering that waits there, the bullet in the chamber waiting there, waiting for the flash of powder which will set it free, waiting there?

You ever been on the wrong end of a gun?

Feels like a tunnel is about to open up, and you're going to get sucked in, and there's nothing you can do about it. There's just nothing that you can do.

Dogmusic spluttering to a close. The Dingo hooked on the thing in my hands.

"You know what I'm after, Dingo?" I called.

The crowd were sensing me now, and they were moving back, forming a circle, scared, feeling the funk. Felt good!

Dingo Tush the superdog, the high barking king of dogpop. Well just take a look, loyal fans; see how he shakes now.

It felt good and bad to be doing this. Good because of the power trip, bad because of the betrayal, betrayal of a saviour.

Some bad things you've got to do, just to speed up the life, in the face of death.

"You know what I want," I said, louder this time.

Above Dingo's head a sad mirrorball spun, flinging out lines of light like a broken halo.

It was just gone five in the morning. Dingo Tush was playing an all-nighter at the Fleshpot, a lowlife dogtruckers' stopover, down by the canal side, storming through a rush of music; big hits, planet samples, cover versions; all done up in hardware beats. But now the music stops.

Now the music fucking stops, dogstar!

Dingo tried to move.

I held the gun steady but inside I was sweating heaven out from my pores, thinking, Shit! I've never fired a gun before. Please, Lord, don't let me hurt anybody!

"Don't move, dogman!" I screamed. "You know what I'm looking for."

Dingo's eyes were darting to and fro, looking for escape routes. And then he latched onto some movement out in the crowd, and his fangs broke through as he smiled.

I didn't dare risk even a sideways glance, but I guess someone had called the bouncers and now they were moving in. So it was comforting to find Tristan at my side, his shotgun primed and heavy, and then Twinkle moving up close, her little hands straining on Karli's lead. Karli was a brutal handsome devil by now, and she did us proud; a fine show of daggered teeth and foaming jaw slush. And then Mandy pushed through the crowd, leading the Beetle by the hand. His colours shone out, loud and proud from his spreading wound. It was the best light show the Fleshpotters had ever seen and they couldn't help but dance under its radiance.