Tulpa

He tapped the key again and waited. The screen blinked at him. Still nothing. How long had it been now? A week? And the damn thing was still there. He pushed his glasses onto the top of his head and rubbed his eyes. He sighed. Then, for lack of any other ideas, he logged another email with support, and went to bed.

*** *** ***

"Something strange," said Elle, "is going on."

Joanne turned to look at her, taking her eyes off the road again.

"Strange how? Good strange, or bad strange?"

"Uh, neither. Just ... good, I guess. Fuckshitfuck, road, Jo,
road!"

Jo braked hard, just pulling them in by the red light. Several cars
shot past in front of them. Elle rolled her eyes. Jo started fiddling
with the CD changer. It was a hire car and she still wasn't used to it,
hence their cruise around the common. Every now and then one of them
would say 'check it out, ten o'clock' or 'hoo-hoo, three, three' and Jo
would lean on the horn whilst Elle shouted 'hey, cowboy, looking good!'
through her open window. They did it to ugly men as often as good
looking ones. Both of them felt they were redressing the karmic
balance.

"Good?" asked Jo, finally satisfied with her choice of CD.

"Yeh, I've started noticing little things. Like not getting killed
just then, or the other five times we've almost wiped out this
morning."

"I'm not used to the car, it's too powerful," muttered Jo, flicking on
the indicator and sliding down a side road, "if you could drive we
wouldn't have this problem." She turned the car into a space almost too
small and rolled them up onto the kerb. Elle opened the paper bag and
lifted out the burgers. They sat there for a while, listening to the
music and eating. In her head Elle was a daring policewoman on a
stake-out, in America, not in South London.

"And other things," she said eventually, "like how we met again. That
was strange, don't you think?"

Jo looked at her. "A bit, I guess," she conceded. She started eating
her fries as Elle went on.

"A bit? You'd been in London for how long?"

"A week?"

"And you were on the wrong branch of the Northern Line -"

"Yeh, I still do that sometimes -"

"In rush hour, and we hadn't seen each other for? seven years? Eight?
And we were in the same carriage. Don't you think that's
strange?"

Jo picked up her 7-Up and took a long drink. Elle was still looking at
her, waiting for her to say something. "Yes, it was a bit odd," she
said, eventually. "But it's good. It's been good to have a friend in
London from the start. I was worried it would be difficult. You
know."

"And then you moved in two streets away. That is odd, Jo. It's
strange."

"No it isn't, it's just coincidence"

"There's no such thing as coincidence."

"Whatever."

*** *** ***

Steve was in when she go home, and pleased to see her.

"Hey baby."

"Hey sugar. How's Jo?"

"Okay. Tried to get us killed a few times."

"Really?"

"Not on purpose. Rush hour traffic. I had a Burger King, sorry babe. I
didn't bring you any."

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna kiss you now though."

"Oh no?"

"Maybe a little."

They kissed for more than a little, until Elle was smiling too much to
carry on. "What's with you?" asked Steve, pulling away a little.

"Nothing. Everything's good. I was just talking with Jo about how weird
it all is."

"How weird all what is?"

"Everything being perfect. You being perfect. It's so difficult to
believe how far I've come since last year. I love my job. I made
friends in London. I found you."

"You deserve it," he said, leaning back in to her. She moved away,
sitting up.

"Seriously Steve, there's other stuff too. Like, the pedestrian
crossings always change in my favour. I'm always on the platform where
the tube doors open," she noticed he was laughing at her but she
ploughed on, "I always get a seat. I'm always the first to get served
at the bar. I never, I never ever lose anything any more. And other
things, Work giving me the rest of the week off just as Jo called to
ask me to check out the car and Becky wanted to go swimming..."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "You just remember those times Elle, that's
all. You just don't remember when things never quite work out."

"Trust you to be so pragmatic."

"It's just coincidence."

"There's no such thing as coincidence."

*** *** ***

He checked the computer again as soon as he woke up. His log-in still
worked. His account was still active. "Why. Won't. You. Delete?!" He
half shouted, banging his mouse down on the mat and overturning his
whiskey glass from the night before. He grabbed his notebook and
scribbled down "it's like taking an a overdose and waking up the next
morning." Despite himself, he smiled.

This was all because he hadn't upgraded his account, he guessed. If
tulpa.net had taken his money he'd be able to get rid of his online
persona no problem. He knew, somewhere secretly, that he did not have
to get rid of his journal before he did it, but he wanted everything just so. For lack of anything better to do he trawled the site, keeping up with his old favourites, reading the journals of people he would never meet. He considered leaving some comments to say goodbye, but he was running late as it was. He shut down the computer and navigated his way through the mess of the living room, slipping and almost falling on a takeaway menu.

For a second he caught himself resolving to tidy up when he got
back.

*** *** ***

Elle pushed her money into the chocolate machine on the platform and
waited. Nothing. She sighed. So much for everything working out. She
jiggled the coin return lever in vain, starting to get ever so slightly
annoyed. As the train pulled in she gave the machine a swift slap with
the palm of her hand, half expecting to hear a chocolate bar tumble
out. The doors slid open. "Dammit," she muttered, under her breath,
reflecting it was fate telling her to lose weight. She got on the
tube.

As the doors were beeping closed at Victoria a man pushed his way onto
the carriage, almost getting trapped in the process. He was sweating
and flustered, his glasses slipping from his nose. The carriage shifted
uncomfortably, sensing there was something not quite right about him.
Elle adopted the same vacant stare as everyone else without a book or a
newspaper to hide behind. He'd dropped down opposite her and she
couldn't shake the feeling he was staring at her. She wondered if maybe
she should jump out at Oxford Circus and wait for the next train and
then dismissed the idea as being paranoid and stupid. It seemed as
though it had been a long time since she'd felt this unsettled.
Accidentally, she caught his eye. He was staring at her. And then he
spoke:

"Elle?"

She blinked, wrongfooted.

"Ye-es? " she said, slowly.

"Your name is Elle, isn't it?"

Automatically, her hand shot up to cover the badge on her lapel, a
small enamel "L". Anyone could have guessed at that, she reassured
herself. She flashed him a tight smile.

"And you are?" she managed.

"My name's Chris," he said, standing up suddenly and swaying over her.
Panic beat in her breast. He was reaching out his hand to her. For lack
of anything else to do she shook it and he was suddenly sat beside her.
"Chris Slavinski. You don't know that though," he said. "You don't know
my name's Chris. My name is, uh, Firefrorefiddle."

He grinned at her, clearly waiting for recognition. She shook her head,
slowly. He smelled of drink and cheap cigarettes.

"Firefrore, what??"

"Fiddle. I read your journal, your weblog. We're both on tulpa.net.
Only I'm not. I'm deleting my account."

Elle shook her head again, "No, no. I haven't blogged in a long time. I
don't use tulpa any more. I've deleted my account too. And I'm sorry,
but I don't remember a Firefrorefiddle. Sorry."

He frowned at her. She was tricking him, that much was obvious.

"No, no you didn't. I just read about your cruise round the common last
night. You were out yesterday harassing men."

"How do you know that?" she hissed, angry and a touch embarrassed.
Other people in the carriage were taking an interest and pretending
they weren't.

"I read it. Last night. I was saying goodbye."

Elle made up her mind to definitely get out at the next station. She'd never had this much interaction with a crazy man on the tube before and
she was worried he might try to push her out or grab at her or similar.

"I didn't write it," she said, and turned her attention to an advert for cheap flights above the window opposite.

"No, you - you had Burger King. And today you're going out to go swimming with Becky. You met her on tulpa at the same time you met your boyfriend. You're all London bloggers. You meet up," he paused, biting down resentment, "you all meet up for drinks."

Elle stared at him. "We do, but we're not on tulpa any more. We've all deleted our accounts. You must be reading a Google cache or something?" she trailed off. The explanation had sounded more convincing in her head.

"No, I read it yesterday. You bought a swimming costume. You tried on the wrong size by accident and you were really pleased when you realised -"

"No!" she said, louder than she meant to. "No. How the fuck do you know that?" She wondered if she was having her first genuine encounter with a stalker. She detected a faint North West accent. Did he know her from home? From uni? Had he been following her? He didn't look familiar. He
didn't even look threatening. Just tired, and nervous.

"I read it," he said again, pathetically. "You wrote it."

Elle wondered if he would be put off if she began to pick her nose, or fiddle with her knickers. She'd heard that was a good way to put off
pervs on public transport.

"You're on my favourites list..." he said, finally, as if this was in
some way a reasonable explanation. The train was just pulling in now.
She tried to breathe normally, sensibly, holding her swimming bag on
her knees. She waited until the doors were about to close then leapt up
and shot out, not minding the gap. As she stumbled onto the platform,
she heard him shout behind her. "Wait! I need to ask you -" He was
hammering on the doors. For a dreadful second she thought he was about to pull the emergency cord, but then the train was pulling out and he was gone.

Elle sat down on a bench, breathing heavily. She leaned back against
the wall, wondering why the encounter had affected her so much. Her
heart was still hammering against her ribs. She dropped her head into
her hands and held her hair back. She felt sick. A man in a blue jacket
and hat stopped to ask her if she was alright, and she got to her feet
feeling guilty. "I'm fine," she smiled, "just a bit hot."

The only person she knew that could write about her life in that much detail was Steve, but she was reluctant to believe he would betray her
like that. And anyway, she hadn't told him about the swimming costume. It had been her own private victory. The latest happy accident. She suddenly wanted to see Steve very much. He would know what to do. She resigned her self to missing swimming and stood up, leaning against the chocolate machine to find her balance. In the metal tray at the bottom there was the fruit 'n' nut she'd wanted so badly at the start of her journey. She glanced around to see if it belonged to anyone, and then sighed. It was hers. Everything was working out in her favour. She'd been right to think it was weird. She grabbed the chocolate bar and headed for the exit.

*** *** ***

Chris was shaken by meeting Elle. He read her journal almost every day,
he felt as though he knew her inside out. He knew all her fears and
hopes. He'd enjoyed watching her life turn from nothing into something
wonderful. It used to give him hope. He'd half expected the same thing
to happen to him. It all looked so effortless, the way she'd done it.
And thinking about it now, the way Becky's life had changed around too.
Almost everyone at tulpa had a happy story now. It hadn't been like
that when they'd started. Everyone had been miserable, needing a place
to put their pain.

He stepped from the train and turned to face the platform. Four minutes
to the next one. Now he knew that wouldn't happen to him. No-one
noticed he was stood over the yellow line.

*** *** ***

Elle was excited to visit Steve at work. It all seemed so glamourous, she'd never dared try to get in before. But the receptionist was
friendly and helpful and she was in the lift and on her way before she knew it. As the distance between her and the station grew she felt
calmer. It had been some crazy guy's lucky guesses, she decided. A regular Sherlock Holmes. He'd looked at her and worked out somehow she
was going swimming. The stuff about the costume could have happened to anyone. Steve had told her what it was called, when people did that. Cold reading. He was a faker, a guy doing party tricks for kicks, that was all. By the time she was pushing the door open to Steve's studio she'd almost convinced herself.

"Hey!" he said, pleased to see her. He got up from the drawing board
and hugged her. She stiffened. He'd never seen Elle really be angry
before, only playfight angry, the way lovers are sometimes. He glanced
at her, worried. "Alright?"

"Do you still use your tulpa account?" she asked, accusingly.

He shook his head, and in an instant she knew it was true.

"I haven't really used it since we met, babe" he smiled. "Why would I
need to? It had given me everything it could. More than I expected.
You. This job. The flat."

"I met a guy, a crazy guy on tube. He knew stuff about me. He said he'd
read it on tulpa."

Steve frowned. "Last time I looked tulpa.net was down. Not working.
Bandwidth exceeded or something." He moved over to his PC and tapped
the address into the navigation bar. "See?" he said, pointing at the
screen, " Error 504. Gateway timeout. It's been like that since just
after I left. I guess whoever ran it figured it wasn't cost effective
and just forgot about it."

"But the guy on the train said he was looking at it last night -"

"I thought you said the guy on the train was nuts?"

"He was, but, oh, I don't know."

Elle's mobile started to ring, the club classic ringtone that indicated
a girl friend. "Cock." she said, glancing at the display, "it's Becky.
I'm late." She pressed answer and waited for the tirade.

"I'm late," said Becky, "some nobber under a train at Warren
Street."

"Hey, don't worry, I'm late too. There was a nutter on the tube and he
freaked me out so I had to get off."

"Might be the same guy."

"Here's hoping" said Elle, and then immediately wished she
hadn't.

"You wanna do it tomorrow instead?"

"Yeh, good plan - listen, Becky, do you still use tulpa?"

"Nah, not any more. Got rid of it a while ago. Now I see you all in
real life I got sick of reading about the gossip before I got a chance
to hear it. It was too distracting, I never would have got that
promotion if I'd still been checking the site every two minutes. It was
addictive, huh? Why d'you ask?"

"That crazy guy was going on about it. He said his screen name was
Firefrore something. Fiddle. Firefrorefiddle. You remember him?"

"Rings a bell, but, nah. Why don't you google for it?"

"Will do, chick. Look, can we meet up Monday - same time?"

"Yup."

"Laters."

Elle rang off and turned to Steve. He was already tapping the screen
name into a search engine. It turned up nothing. A few message boards
about Eliot and an obscure academic text. No journals.

"Weird, huh?" he said, grinning. He knew Elle loved any sort of
mystery. And she did, but not when it was this close.

"I'd better go," she said, kissing him quickly on the cheek. She was
tripping down the stairs before he had a chance to reply.

Once she was outside she snuck into the first internet cafe she saw and tried to get into tulpa. Nothing. She searched for Firefrorefiddle on
several different search engines with no luck. She frowned. She wasn't sure why the crazy guy had bothered her so much. It had been something
in his face, his body language. The way he'd looked at her. As she walked back to the tube she wondered what it was he'd wanted to ask
her.

She realised she felt very tired.

Once she was home she fell asleep on the sofa and dreamed of her old life, before Steve, before London. She was running, running away. She
was in trouble. When Steve came home and woke her up she was confused and breathless. He held her close as she cried. She spent the whole night in uncomfortable wakefulness, scared to sleep. She couldn't shake the notion that maybe this was the dream, this perfect easy life, and her nightmares were reality. Steve slept next to her, soundly.

*** *** ***

Chris woke up slowly, feeling groggy. He could hear the children, his
children, playing in the other room. His wife looked at him,
concerned.

"Okay?"

He shook his muzzy head. "Yeh. Yeh, I'm great - must have had a bad
dream or -" he frowned, "you really are beautiful, you know
that?"

She smiled her easy smile and went out of the room to say something to
the children. He could smell breakfast frying. His belly growled. He
glanced at himself in the mirror and rubbed a hand through his hair. He
felt a little off-kilter, slightly hungover. But he hadn't been
drinking, not for a long time. He blinked a couple of times and took a
sip of water from the glass beside the bed. "I feel like," he thought,
"I feel like I've taken an overdose? " The thought slipped away from
him. He grabbed at his notepad and tried to pin it down but he couldn't
quite hold onto the words. When he looked at it later, he saw all he'd
written was 'pills' and 'backwards'.

*** *** ***

Elle was waiting for Steve to wake up.

"Chris Slavinski," she said, triumphantly.

"Huh?"

"The crazy guy. His real name was Chris Slavinski."

"That's great honey. Real good."

"Think we can find him?"

"What? No. How? What?"

Steve was never at his best before midday, but Elle was bouncing on her
knees. She was excited. In the cold morning light she saw her fears for
what they really were, silly fancies skittering off under the
bed.

"He had a question for me - I want to know what it was."

"Why?"

"I don't know - completeness? He unsettled me. It's up to him to
resettle me. I didn't sleep at all last night."

"Okay. Okay. We'll go to the cafe on the corner and see if we can find
anything online. In a minute. Okay?"

Steve got up and struggled into his clothes, catching a little of
Elle's enthusiasm despite himself. Too often they wasted Saturday
mornings laying in bed.

They ordered continental breakfasts in the caf? and shared a computer.
Elle chewed a croissant thoughtfully as Steve typed.

"There!" he said, just as she took a swig of orange juice. "Chris
Slavinski. That your guy?" He leaned into the screen, squinting. "Says
he writes, uh, short stories. Lives in North London. There's a
picture."

"Huh," said Elle, leaning in for a closer look. Pastry fell onto the keyboard. The picture had been through a grainy filter, but it did look
a little like the guy from the tube. Neater and more professional, but definitely similar. Maybe he'd been having a bad day yesterday.

"There's a phone number," Steve started to say, but Elle was already tapping it into her mobile. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to call him," she grinned. "What? He wanted to ask me a question. Now I want to answer it. He caught me in the wrong place
yesterday, that's all."

Steve shook his head. He started to ask what would happen if it was the wrong guy, or if he did turn out to be crazy, but Elle was shushing him
and pushing her way towards the toilets to hear better.

*** *** ***

"Slavinksi residence?"

"Oh," said Elle. She'd been certain Chris Slavinski would be a
bachelor. "Uh, is Chris there?"

"Hold on," said the woman and Elle listened as she whispered something
to her husband.

"Hello?" said Chris, cautiously. He still felt odd and wasn't in the mood for taking unsolicited phone calls.

"Chris? We met on the tube yesterday. It's Elle."
There was a silence. Then Chris said "I didn't take the tube yesterday."

Elle pursed her lips. It was the same person, she was sure of it. She recognized the North West accent behind the phone voice. Maybe he was pretending because his wife was there. She pressed on. "You had a question for me. You wanted to ask me something. You said you'd been reading my journal at tulpa.net."

She heard him catch his breath.

"Who is it?" his wife whispered, gently.

He put his hand over the receiver, although Elle could still hear him quite clearly. "Don't know, some crazy girl. Must have got our number
from the web page. I should change that really. You can't be too careful on the internet."

He lifted his hand and said to Elle, "I don't use tulpa any more, I deleted my account a while ago, before my second daughter was born." He caught sight of himself in the hall mirror and frowned. It was as though someone else had spoken.

"No," said Elle slowly, "you told me yesterday you were about to delete your account. You knew things about me. Things that had only just happened."

"I'm sorry, I don't know you," he said, sounding uncertain, "we've never met."

Elle glanced at her reflection. She didn't know what else to do. She gave Chris Slavinski her email address, spelling it out carefully, but
she didn't really believe he was writing it down.

She wondered if She'd made him feel this awkward yesterday on the train. Was he trying to punish her for it? She was glad to ring off.

Steve was waiting outside the toilets for her.

"What happened?"

"I don't know," she lied. "He wasn't there."