Someone Else's Dream (20 page)

“Leave it,”

Donna couldn’t, she carefully lowered her leg and got to her phone, where she read the message.

‘There was a big bang on my window and when I looked there was a umbrella there, with what looks like cum, all over it’.

“I gotta go, babe, Carla needs me, sorry. Get your head down here, I’ll be back,” she told Kelvin.

She could see the disappointment written all over his face. “At least, untie me first,” he begged.

Donna did as she was asked and got dressed and made her way to Carla’s in her car. She mumbled to herself that Darren was going to get one hell of a thrashing.
I was about to have my fifth orgasm, damnit.

*              *              *

The journey home from Porthcawl to Doncaster was a long and arduous trek for both Marcia and Matt, but was uneventful. Matt had not mentioned the previous night’s comments and seemed oblivious to anything he may have said. They made two stops at the services and small-talked during the journey, Marcia spent some time exchanging texts with Smithy. The trip took five hours and they arrived home at around six on Sunday night. Matt carried Marcia’s bags into her place, kissed her on the cheek and thanked her for a good weekend.

Marcia was in a much better place than she had been for a long time. Smithy was going to try and visit her the following weekend. She had told him he could stop at hers and since she only had one bedroom, she knew it would be inevitable they would have sex. She just hoped Smithy did not think she was easy in any way. The truth was she was lusting after him, she longed to make passionate love with him. She hoped she would be able to get another weekend off work.

It was after eight by the time she’d showered and settled down for the evening in front of the tele. She was doing the morning shift at the pub and although it wasn’t an early start, the journey had taken it out of her and she wanted to get to bed. Besides which, she reasoned, it would be another day closer to the Friday when she would be seeing that one special man from Porthcawl. She was dozing when her phone beeped, but wide awake immediately, she rushed to pick it up, hoping it was a text from Smithy. She hadn’t heard from him for at least an hour, but a cold shiver ran down her spine when she read the text.

‘Dinner’

In a panic she threw the phone beside her on the sofa she was sitting on, not quite believing the word she had just read. She just sat staring at the phone as if it was cursed, she could feel herself shaking and a taste of acid welled up inside her mouth. She rushed out to the kitchen to get herself a glass of milk and she swore she could feel herself sweating even though the room was relatively cool and she only wore light pyjamas. She sat back down on the sofa, before realising she had not even noticed who the text was from.

Maybe it’s not from Matt, maybe it’s an innocent text from someone!

She slowly picked up the ‘cursed’ phone and opened the message; the name at the top said ‘Matt’. Confusion, along with grief overcame her, she felt she had to reply and she chose her words carefully; retyping misspelt words, as her fingers shook.

‘I’m sorry Matt, I’m not available for dinner anymore. I thought that was clear between us and we were just friends’

She pressed send, hoping beyond all hope that it was sent as a joke and not a funny one at that. She knew he would respond. It didn’t take him long.

‘Don’t you realise I can have dinner anytime I choose’

“The bastard,” she said aloud, “Who does he think he is.”

Her fear had now grown into anger. She felt she could not let him treat her like this, she had to end it, and end it now. In a rage, she texted him back.

‘This restaurant is closed for business, now fuck off’

She hit send with furious intent. She wasn’t going to let him ruin her life, she waited for a reply, but one didn’t come, which she was thankful for. She got herself off to bed, hoping that the message was loud and clear and she wouldn’t be hearing from him again, but as she drifted off into a restless sleep, she had an inkling, this wouldn’t be the last of Matt Connor.

*              *              *

Matt laughed out loud as he sat in his kitchen reading the text from Marcia. He couldn’t believe the audacity of that girl, telling him to ‘fuck off’, after all that he’d done for her. He didn’t even want ‘dinner’;
wouldn’t touch that bitch with a barge pole,
he told himself, but he needed to make it clear where she stood. She was his property now.

His laugh quickly grew to a snarl.
After everything
I’ve done for her, the ungrateful fucking cow.

He sat in his living room looking into space for a while, his thoughts drifting in and out of the both worlds he was now living in. one world where he was kind and caring, the gentle person that sometimes come naturally to him. The world in which the medicine that he used to take was designed to keep him in. The gentle side of Matt Conner still existed but sometimes lay comatose. The other world he was drifting into was more macabre, where the damaged side of Matt Conner was allowed to re-surface and the demons inside him set themselves free to wreak havoc. To some extent Matt Conner understood both those worlds, and had the presence of mind to control each one. It was when both of those worlds emerged together would cause turmoil. It was then he struggled to control the mayhem that he could trigger. Jekyll and Hyde were living nicely together in his head at that moment, and that was fine to him.

He opened up his laptop and browsed through the novel he was writing before logging on to face book. He clicked on Carla Reid’s profile, at that moment he was oblivious of his attempt to contact her by leaving a semen stained umbrella outside her door. All he wanted to remember was the time he spent on the beach and sitting on the rocks. The moments he felt inspired to write. That place and the fact that the beautiful author Carla Reid was only moments away had enthused him, he had felt a bond with her and the town that she lived in. So much so that he had to return, sooner rather than later.

He studied her profile, it didn’t tell him much, just the one photo of her and links to her novels. He clicked on send message, which opened up messenger. He stared at the blank page for a while before typing in the words.

‘Hi. I have just returned from a weekend in Porthcawl, I must say what a wonderful place you live, it certainly inspired me to write. Sitting on those wonderful beached were motivation enough, no wonder you right such amazing novels. I intend visiting the place again on Tuesday and I was wondering if you fancied meeting for a coffee and to share some of your writing experiences. I do understand that you probably have loads of requests of this nature and fully understand should you not respond.’

Take care

Lots of love

Matt xxx

He hit send without hesitation and smiled at himself as if he had accomplished something significant. He got onto the Porthcawl website. It wasn’t going to be a caravan on some grotty website this time, he told himself as he looked for hotels. With a three night stay safely booked, he got himself off to bed and soon fell fast asleep. His dreams came fast, he dreamt of his daughter Aimee who was crying once again. He dreamt of his ex-wife Hayleigh, she was crying and seemed upset over something. Then he dreamt of Carla Reid and his body shifted uncontrollably as he did so, he was dreaming that he was stood at the end of her bed as she slept, only she wasn’t really sleeping, her eyes were flicking heavily in the rem stage, her mouth trying to form a scream as her whole body shook with convulsions. For in his dream he was watching Carla Reid through her sleep paralysis, he was crying uncontrollably as he watched her tortured soul.

* * *

The Danum was not the poshest hotel in the Doncaster area, but it had afforded him a bed and given him the time for reflection. He needed to find somewhere more significant to stay, whilst Hayleigh got over her tantrum, because to Dale Simpson that’s all it was, ‘ a tantrum’ she would soon come crawling back, he would help to make her understand what made him do what he did regarding the decimation of the grave. Besides it was all that idiots faul
t
. Crazy Cavan had messed up big time. He paid the bill of his hotel. Stuck his holdall in the back of his 4x4 and drove to the Nag’s Head pub in Barnsley.

He pulled into the car park of the Nag’s head with a determination and vigour of a man who was about to claim what was rightly his. It was still early but it came as no surprise to see Crazy Cavan at the bar drinking a pint of bitter. Cavan’s eyes widened when he saw Dale, it was certainly the last person he expected to see walk into his local. He watched the solicitor walk with purpose to the bar until he stood beside him,
this will be interesting!
He thought.

“Can I have a word please?” Dale suggested in his usual authoritive tone. Cavan asked for a top up of his beer and the barman obliged. Dale refused the offer of a drink, to which the barman told him,

“If you aint drinking you aint stopping,”

Dale produced a ten pound note from his wallet and slung it on the bar, Cavan noticed the barman’s face turn to fury at this gesture and it was only the intervention of Cavan that prevented the situation escalating. Dale stood there nonplussed, probably under estimating the situation he had just got himself in.

“Come into my office,” Cavan exclaimed and took a seat at a table at the back of the bar. Dale followed and they sat down facing each other. Dale produced an envelope from his inside pocket and laid it on the table in front of Cavan. Cavan looked at it with interest.

“There’s two grand there and another three when the jobs done, and this time don’t mess it up,” Dale told Cavan. Cavan did not take the envelope, he left it laying on the table, and curiosity was getting the better of him.

“What’s the job?” he simply asked, the reply was instant.

“I don’t care how you do it but you have to convince Hayleigh that it was her ex-husband who paid you to desecrate the grave, and that you only told her it was me to extort money from me, she hates him enough to believe you, there’s another three if you convince her, I want to be back in my house tonight, sleeping beside the woman I’m going to marry.”

“Yep she’s quite a dish,” commented Cavan. Dale ignored the remark and pushed the envelope closer to Cavan. Cavan still did not take it.

“Five grand to fuck up yet another life just to cover your sorry shit.” Cavan told him.

“Money talks,” he replied,

“Sure does, just don’t be late with the other three, you know what happened last time,” threatened Cavan. Dale stood up and leant forward to within inches of Cavan’s face,

“Your small fry, I could have you washed up by tomorrow if I wished, you get the three grand when I’m in my bed.” Dale turned and left as Cavan pocketed the money.

If you’re that big a hitter then why are you coming to me?
Cavan thought, he let out a snigger,

“Drinks all round,” he shouted to the bar man.

“There’s only you here.” Came the reply.

Dale left to go to his office, he knew Cavan was not the cleverest of guys, but he was his only hope, all he wanted was to put doubt in his mind.

Meanwhile Cavan stood back at the bar, refusing the offer of a drink from the barman, he took out his phone and search his contacts, it was answered on the second ring.

“Mr Cavan, I was not expecting to hear from you so soon,” Hayleigh said into the phone.

“I need to speak to you urgently, there’s been an interesting development,” he told her.

* * *

Matt Conner woke up at the crack of dawn, the summer sunshine shining brightly through the window of the room he slept in. he hadn’t had a particularly good sleep and as he sat naked on the end of his bed he recalled the dreams he had during the night, they were vivid as if he was still dreaming them. The dream about his daughter saddened him and he let his mind wander to when she was alive and they were watching the horses, then his mind roamed to his most haunting dream, the dream with the author in it and he was watching her laboured body as she slept. It sent a chill down his spine as he sat on his bed. He could only come to one conclusion,
these are not my dreams, and they do not belong to me!

He walked into the bathroom, admired his nakedness in the mirror, checking things were okay with his ‘buddy’ he was satisfied and soon showered to walk on down the stairs to meet the day. He paid particular attention to the photographs of Aimee that adorned the walls. He apologised to her for having to bring her back to life in order for him to achieve his goal. A single tear dropped onto his cheek as he took the last step and touched the last photograph. He prayed Aimee would understand for she was the one person he would never let down, the only person.

He made himself a pot of coffee and cornflakes and loaded his laptop, he opened the document titled the stalker and began typing away, and the trip to Porthcawl had given him inspiration after all as the words flowed across the page. He spent hours typing and drinking coffee, he wanted to get a lot done so he could show Carla Reid.