Night Shade (10 page)

‘Who’s not in control now?’ I ask shakily, trying to ignore the flutter of my heart deep in my chest.

Dante’s eyes rake my face and his mouth tightens. I feel myself being pulled away, despite my attempts to stay. When I open my eyes again, I’m lying in bed, my legs entwined with the duvet and a faint sheen of sweat on my brow.

I raise a hand to the throbbing heat on my neck. It sears me, even though the rest of my skin is covered in goosebumps. Half falling out of bed, I switch on the light and examine myself in the mirror.

‘A goddamn love bite,’ I say aloud in disgust. Then I brush the small bruise with my fingertips and bite my bottom lip.

* * *

I
flush the remaining pills down the toilet, watching them swirl away into sewer oblivion. The good doctor might have been able to explain away my previous side effects as sleepwalking but there’s no way I could give myself a love bite. I have no choice but to stop prevaricating and start believing. What I experience when I sleep is real. I’d known it deep down – I just hadn’t wanted it to be true.

Now all I have to do is to avoid touching anyone so I can stick to the Dreamlands and prevent myself from being taken into someone else’s dream. That should be easy for an agoraphobic like me. Besides, the Dreamlands aren’t so bad; at least there I have some semblance of control. As long as Dante isn’t around.

I tear through my work for the day in record time. I have to force myself to slow down when I’ve finished tidying up the coding on Jerry’s website – I don’t want him to think I’m getting sloppy. Once I’m done, I don’t immediately rush into my research. I take my time making a pot of tea, brewing it for exactly four minutes. I stand at the kitchen sink and stare outside as I sip, while the Chairman rolls around in the afternoon sun. I absorb all the details of the day. There’s a blackbird perched on the fence, greedily eyeing the grass for any sign of emerging worms. He’s a regular visitor and it’s good to see him return. My eyes travel the length of the small space. The shadows are starting to lengthen; the days are getting shorter. In the corner, just visible under a bush, is a sweet wrapper. I’d go out and pick it up except – well, you know.

I rinse my cup and leave it to drain then I slowly go back to my computer. The desire to move quickly is extraordinary; I haven’t felt like this in years and it sits uncomfortably with me so I make a point of re-checking my morning’s work yet again. Only when nothing more requires my attention do I turn to Google.

I start with the Dreamlands themselves.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I find nothing. I discover that the average person has five dreams a night, which makes me shudder. A lot of people seem to dream in black and white. The forest I keep ending up in may be covered in smothering darkness but everything else is in vivid technicolour.

My insides freeze when I read about Sudden Unexplained Nocturnal Death Syndrome. It’s not particularly common but it fits with what Dante told me happens when a Traveller, like me, is killed within a dream.

I click on one of the links at the bottom of the first article and am taken to a forum called Somnolence. There’s a picture of a plain white door and with a Post-it note with the number one scrawled on it. When I try to enter the site, however, it blocks me and asks for a password. I can’t think of any reason why a simple online forum would be so effectively shut off from the general public – unless it has something to do with the Dreamlands – so I spend several minutes trying to gain access. ‘Dreamlands’ doesn’t work; neither does ‘oneironautics’ nor ‘outlier’ nor ‘Traveller’. Nothing fits.

I tap my fingers on the edge of the keyboard. There’s no guarantee that this forum has anything to do with my experiences. It seems right though. I am bookmarking the page so I can return it to later when the phone jangles discordantly.

‘Zoe, it’s Doctor Miller here.’

The tension in my shoulders increases. I push myself away from the computer and take a deep breath. ‘Uh, hi.’

His voice is cheerful. ‘I wanted to check in with you and see how the pills were going. Any more sleepwalking?’

‘No,’ I answer. Technically, I’m not lying.

‘You did take the pills, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘And did you have any more lucid dreams?’

The Chairman pads in, sits next to me and starts washing himself. ‘No.’ I cross my fingers like a child.

‘Good. Good. Because if they don’t work, I can always increase the dosage. It’s no trouble to get another prescription delivered to you.’

‘I’m fine. The pills are fine.’

‘Excellent. Well, do call if you need more. I can come and visit if you’d prefer.’

‘No,’ I squeak, my fingers tracing the tender bruise on my neck. ‘The pills are perfect.’ I laugh awkwardly. ‘They’re just the trick.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it. I’ll touch base with you again in a week or so.’

‘I can’t wait,’ I murmur, hanging up the phone.

The Chairman pauses in mid-lick and shoots me a look. I shrug at him in exasperation. ‘What? So I lied. People lie to their doctors all the time!’

He rises to his feet and snakes round my ankles, purring. I scratch his ears. ‘You’re right,’ I sigh. ‘Lying is stupid. I don’t know why I did it.’ I receive a meow in response. ‘Come on, then. How does some tuna grab you?’

Clearly I asked the right question because he bounds towards the kitchen. I follow him in, opening a tin and scooping some into his bowl. The strong fishy smell pervades the kitchen and I wrinkle my nose. I open a drawer to search for some cling film to keep the rest of the food fresh. As I pull out the roll, I see the jar of sugar cubes neatly tucked away towards the back. I keep them for emergencies. Sugar can help when I need to calm myself down.

I grin to myself. The cubes may help me with something else.

Our desires always disappoint us; for though we meet with something that gives us satisfaction, yet it never thoroughly answers our expectation.

Elbert Hubbard

––––––––

A
s expected, yet again I find myself in the forest. Why I keep waking up here, if waking is the right word, when there’s a bustling town somewhere to the north, I have no idea. It suits my plans for tonight, though. I take a few moments to cast around, half praying the dark figure of Dante will appear and half praying he won’t. Naturally the sugar isn’t for him. Not that he couldn’t do with some sweetening up.

When I’m certain I’m alone, I whistle softly. The sound is quickly swallowed by the dense cloud of trees and undergrowth.  I bend down, checking the ground. I’m no forest ranger but, from the broken twigs and slightly displaced leaves, I reckon I’ve been here before. I search around for a sharp stone while I continue to whistle and call out for Pegasus. As soon as I find one that’s suitable, I use it to make marks on several of the surrounding trees. I go for a sweeping Z. It makes me look more like Zorro than Zoe but at least the letter will stand out when I search for it in the future.

I’m just completing my fifth mark when I hear the familiar thunder of hooves. I turn around slowly, aware that Pegasus is not the only mare in this forest and that I need to be damn careful if I don’t want to end up inexplicably dead in my own bed. The second the mare appears, however, I know it’s her. She’s being as cautious as I am, edging up to me and snickering. I delve into my pocket and pull out the first of the sugar cubes. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I’m sure there’s a sudden light in her eyes. She blinks at me slowly and leans her head down towards my outstretched hand. I see the flash of her lethally sharp teeth as her mouth opens slightly and she takes a tentative sniff. Almost immediately she pulls back again, shaking her mane in surprise. Then she tries again. I know I should be afraid. From what Dante told me – and from what I saw with my own eyes – these mares are not to be underestimated. But I’m convinced that Pegasus and I have an understanding.

I keep my palm flat while her tongue darts forward and skilfully laps up the sugar. As soon as she has it in her mouth she moves away from me, chomping with what I could swear is equine delight. Without taking my eyes from her, I reach into my pocket and take out another cube.

This time she’s more daring. She prances forward girlishly although the way she grabs the sugar is anything but ladylike. I grin as she slaps her lips together and edges forward for more.

‘Last one,’ I tell her sternly. ‘Otherwise you’ll rot your teeth.’

She whinnies in response. From the way she takes her time over this third sugar cube, I’m sure she understands. She savours it, closing her eyes briefly as she enjoys the sweetness. She still gives me a wide-eyed pleading look when she’s finished, however, as she begs for another one.

I shake my head firmly. Pegasus harrumphs, her breath clouding the still night air. Then she gives a very loud hiccup, which I think startles her as much as it does me. I stretch my fingers out towards her mane, wondering if she’ll allow me to stroke her. I’ve obviously not quite done enough though because she leaps up, spins round and vanishes.

I watch her go, still smiling. Maybe next time.

When I’m sure she’s not coming back, I try to get my bearings. The forest is still disorientating but I think I know in which direction the town lies. I start weaving in and out of the trees. It’s possible Ashley has long since given up on me as a lost cause – after all, it is a few nights since she said she’d meet me down by the river – but I’m hoping I can seek her out.

It takes time, partly because I keep stopping to mark trees with my little Zs, and I’m sure I’ve wandered off in the wrong direction, when suddenly I stumble out of the trees into the same sudden bright sunlight as I experienced before. I turn round and gaze at the forest behind me. It’s like standing on a wall between shadow and light. At one side it’s pitch black, like a midnight grave in a long-forgotten cemetery. At the other side, where I am now, it’s a warm sunny day. I shake my head at the difference between the two. Then, wary that the time before I wake up again is probably limited, I get going.

Rather than heading down the street Bron took me along, I cross the cobbled square. Like last time, there are a lot of people around. I don’t want to appear unfriendly but I don’t want to get distracted so I keep my head down and stride forward, stopping only when I hear the burble of running water. It’s not the river, it’s a pretty fountain. I gaze at it in surprise. The water dances with colour, first orange, then green, then translucent blue. I can’t see any lights which might account for the rainbow effect.

I glance upwards at the statue set into the centre, jerking backwards in surprise as I register what it is. The stern visage of a man frowns down at me. His stone head is bald but a bold moustache covers his upper lip. Springing out from his back are two vast wings which stretch across the waters below. My mouth goes dry. I recognise that he’s been sculpted as an angel, but if I were a lot younger I might have thought he was the birdman. The very birdman about whom my mother said I used to have night terrors.

I stare at the statue. Have I been here before and I don’t remember? I thought it was the old man’s electric shock that enabled me to enter all these dreams – but maybe I was wrong. I remain where I am for some time, forgetting about Ashley as I think of potential scenarios.

A movement at the corner of my vision brings me back to earth. It’s Bron. He doesn’t see me and – unwilling to engage in conversation before I’ve caught up with Ashley – I move so I’m blocked by the statue. I needn’t have bothered; he glances around surreptitiously, but he doesn’t look in my direction. Instead he ducks his head and darts inside an ugly grey building which towers over all the others.

I wonder what the building is for and why Bron is sneaking inside it. It definitely doesn’t fit with the other pretty cottages. I shrug: it’s none of my business what he does with his time.

I give the winged man one last, long backward glance before I leave. When I finally drop my gaze, I realise someone is watching me.  A dark figure, arms folded, and leaning against the door on the far end of the square – Dante.  I stare at him for a moment.  Then I shrug and give him a little wave.  His mouth flickers into a smile that’s so brief I wonder whether I’ve imagined it.  He raises his hand back.  I wonder whether he noticed my antics in dodging Bron.  I don’t suppose it really matters.  It didn’t particularly seem as if they were besties or anything.  I force myself to turn my back on him.  It’s Ashley who I’m looking for, I remind myself.

Obviously, I don’t know exactly where the river is but it’s neither behind me, where the forest is, nor to my left near the little pub. I head in a diagonal direction, swinging through various narrow streets. What on earth are all these buildings used for if people like me only come here when they are sleeping? It’s not as if they actually live here.

My guess pays off and soon I spy a gap in the houses up ahead and the unmistakable glitter of sunlight on water. The river is more mundane than I expected. It’s fairly wide, stretching several metres across to what appears to be a cemetery. Mist obscures both ends, which is irritating in terms of learning more about this strange place but helpful in terms of finding Ashley.

I spot her almost immediately. She’s sitting on the riverbank, her feet dangling in the water. There’s a large creature opposite her, standing still in the lazy current. It doesn’t appear to be doing anything other than swishing its tail and blinking languidly. There’s something around its neck, which I presume is a collar until I get closer and see it’s actually a bow tie. I crane my neck forward to get a closer look. How odd.

‘I thought Bron had made a mistake and you were an outlier after all,’ Ashley calls out.

I turn my attention away from the strange animal and focus on her. ‘Er, sorry. I keep ending up in the forest so I’ve not made it here the past few nights.’ I’m not sure why I don’t simply tell her the truth; maybe I’m trying to avoid complicated explanations. Or perhaps it’s my instinct kicking in, warning me not to give away too much to someone who is, essentially, a stranger. This was a damn sight easier when I could pretend I was only dreaming.