Forsaken Dreamscape (Nevermor) (6 page)

“Hm,
you seem a bit disturbed still,” Mary muttered as she came inside.  “You’re
seeing spooks again?”

For
a moment Wren wondered who she was speaking to – as if Wren was not the only
one there.  Mary did not usually try to make conversation with her.

She’s
talking about the story I told Witherspoon
.  Wren knew this, but she
couldn’t say anything beyond the jab.  Her thoughts once again returned to the
shadow.  Was it responsible for what had happened to Adele, and would it come
for her next?  She still wasn’t sure if those imps could even cross the veil,
but if one was here, it must have come for her.  She didn’t care to know what
it wanted.

I
haven’t been trying hard enough
, she thought suddenly with a cringe of
fear and self-loathing.  All this time, she had been sitting by passively,
waiting to be delivered.  Perhaps there was nothing that she could do on her
part – as she’d believed – but that was no excuse for how lax she’d been in her
effort.

I
need to try harder!

There
was, however, only one way for her to get out, and that was by seeing Nevermor
again.  She’d felt that there was nothing she could do to change that
misfortune, but standing there now, thinking of accusing eyes and extreme
measures, an idea came to her.

Wren
eyed the bottle as the nurse prepared a portion of the draught for her,
wondering for the first time what might happen if she took more than intended. 
Would it be enough to make her sleep so deeply that she dreamed?

This
thought had never come to her before.  She had never liked to take medicine,
but…

I
have to get out.

Mary
offered her a dose of the draught on a spoon and Wren took it onto her tongue,
swallowing the liquid down, drawing up her mouth at the bitter taste.  Mary put
the bottle back on the tray and corked it, no doubt preparing to leave with it
promptly.

I
have to distract her
,
Wren thought. 
It’s the only way I might get closer to the bottle
.

“Would
you straighten my bed, please, Mary?” Wren asked swiftly.  It was the only
thing she could think of.

Wren
wondered if the events of the night had any effect on how much Mary would trust
her now.  The nurse eyed her a moment, but shortly after, Wren saw a familiar
irritation in her eyes that was not any harsher than usual.

“Right,”
the woman relented with a sigh. “Step away, then; to the wall.”

Apparently,
there was no such thing as complete trust in this place.  Mary was not so
comfortable that she would let Wren stand close while she worked.  Though
disappointed, Wren would do as she was told, but moving to the wall would be
much too far from the bottle, whether the nurse turned her back or not.  If her
opportunity was ever, it was now.

Wren
stepped back and swung her arm out purposefully, nudging the top of the bottle
so that it rocked back and forth, then toppled over.  She didn’t have a plan,
thinking only now that she might be able to kick the bottle under the edge of
the bed, but to her misfortune, the bottle was not quite as sturdy as she’d
hoped.  The glass shattered against the stone floor, shards and tonic spreading
all over – a valuable potion, wasted.

Mary
was quick to act.

“Step
away!” she commanded, ushering Wren toward the wall.  “Sakes, what a mess! 
Look what you’ve done!”

Wren
did not have to look at it twice.  She knew what she had done.  She waited
quietly as Mary stooped to her knees and began to collect the shards in her
apron, as Wren silently hated herself for ruining her opportunity.  She’d never
been a resourceful girl.

As
if my time in Nevermor taught me nothing at all.

Mary
gathered the largest pieces and then stood, dumping them onto the top of the
cart.

“Wait
there and I’ll be back in just a moment to wipe up the rest,” she instructed,
pushing the cart toward the door.  She let herself out into the hall, leaving Wren
alone with the spill that was still spreading out through the cracks in the
stone blocks that paved the cell.

As
Wren stared down at it, desperation began to well up inside her.

It’s
spilled.  It’s ruined, yet still there.

I
need it,
she thought, regardless. 
I need to sleep.  I need dreams more than
anything!

Wren
was hardly aware of her actions.  Before she had stopped herself, she was on
her hands and knees in front of the spill, lapping at the draught like an
animal.  She did not stop to consider the state of the floor, but took the
precious liquid onto her tongue as if it were the key to her existence.  She
drank as much as she could before she began to feel groggy from the previous
dose.  Her heart was pulsing too fast with panic and her head was spinning. 
She pulled herself up in enough time to collapse on the bed just before Mary
reentered the room with rags to wipe up the spill.

Wren
groaned a bit as her head swam.  Did the draught usually work so quickly? 
Maybe it was only because she was nervous and her heart was speeding, pulsing
the drug through her system.  She could feel Mary lifting her legs to maneuver
her fully onto the bed, but the woman seemed distant – in a world of water and
muffled sound.

“There
you are, Wren,” she heard the woman say unfeelingly with a grunt. “
Sleep the
sleep of angels, dear.
”

1

Black
over black, Wren was in a world without light or sound – the abyss of
unconsciousness.  When her vision finally cleared, she was peering down a stretch
of dark beach, but she was not coherent enough to question it.  She was
dreaming.

This
place seemed familiar and yet so different to her now.  The water was as dark
and thick as blood.  The sand was sharp black gravel.  Though the pointed edges
pricked her bare feet, she walked for a while, barely able to balance on her
own legs.

She
knew that she was searching for something, but it seemed like a fruitless
task.  She was alone here.  There was no eerie hum of a flute as she’d heard in
the past, only the wind whipping around her ears.  The roaring ocean waves were
the only things that were alive.  A rain of ash clouded her vision, and she
could not see the island for the haze.

Is
this death?
she wondered.  It was certainly not the world she had sought so desperately.

Moving
on, she was able to see a form in the distance, set off against the light of
the moon.  Someone was standing there, dressed all in black, and she was
certain that it was a boy.  She reached out for him – called his name.

“
Rifter?
” 
He didn’t move – didn’t seem to hear her at all.  She continued on, moving
closer, picking up her pace.  “
Rifter, please look at me!
”

The
dark figure shifted, finally hearing her plea.  When he turned to peer over his
shoulder, she saw only his eye, and it was enough to send her flailing
backward, stricken with fear.

Fire!

The
wicked amber eye saw her as well.  It pierced her – saw into the depth of her
soul.  Wren could not breathe, desiring nothing but to get away so that it
could not see her.

It's
HIM!  The Scourge!

With
a gasp that nearly choked her, Wren was jolted awake, her lungs heaving, her
heart in her throat.  There was a cold sheen of sweat on her skin, chilling her
as she fought the drowsiness from the medicine.  Her plan had worked and she
had dreamed, but now she struggled to stay awake.  She did not want to go back
there.

Was
what she'd seen real?  Had she been walking in Nevermor, or was it merely a
dream brought on by her memories?  She couldn't say, for she’d not had a dream
in so long that she’d forgotten what it was like.  There was no way to know,
but it left her feeling weak and horrible, nauseous.

That
was not the place I remembered.

No,
it could not have been Nevermor that she had seen, and she was anxious to
convince herself of that.  It was some misconstrued image projected by her own
mind.  Her dream was because of the asylum, because of what the doctor had said
to her, and because of Adele.  They had all ruined her once-precious dream.

Despite
how her heart was pounding so harshly within her, she supposed she should have
been glad.  Even though Nevermor did not look as she’d expected – though her
tormented mind had twisted it so – she might have been relieved that she’d
finally managed to dream after so long, yet all she could think of was that
fierce eye staring at her, burning into her soul.

She
laid there in the dark, detached, fearing what sort of trouble it would bring.

2

Deep
in the night, the barking of dogs jolted Wren out of her catatonia.  The hounds
in their pens outside were making a terrible fuss – growling and thrashing,
baying like wolves on the verge of a territorial war.  It was enough to pull
Wren from her bed on unsteady legs that took her to the window, where she could
peer through the bars and down to the yard below.

Beneath
a new moon, the night was black as pitch.  Wren could not see anything that
might have disturbed the dogs, but she could hear their continual din.

What
has gotten them so upset?
she wondered sleepily, still a bit drunk from the
overdose.

Something
had disturbed
the dogs, but perhaps it was nothing to worry about.  It might have been a
stray cat that had managed to get itself inside the walls.  Even if there was
an intruder in the courtyard, she knew she was safe in the ward.  There was no
need for her to fear anything of that nature.

She
was about to turn away, back to her bed to ponder her dream for the rest of the
night, when a horrible chirping cacophony began to spiral down the hallway,
flowing in and out of the cells then looping back again.  Wren froze in her
step, pushing back her tangled curls as if it would make her hearing sharper. 
Something had disturbed the birds in the aviary, which was much closer than the
dogs.  Wren stood there, fearing to breathe.

It’s
closer…  What is happening?

Gradually,
the cells of the female ward came to life.  Inmates began to scream and cry,
most for sheer bewilderment.  Wren was likewise lost in confusion, but just as
quickly, a thought settled in which lifted her heart.  Instead of fear, she was
filled with hope and relief.  There was only one possibility in her mind: the
thing she’d been waiting for all this time.

Rifter! 
He’s finally come for me!

She’d
managed to dream and he had seen her, despite whatever else had. 
That eye
… 
But it didn’t matter.  He was here!  He’d come to take her home!

In
spite of the terrible sounds around her – the orderlies and nurses shouting to
each other, the screams of the other patients as they scratched at the walls –
Wren had a hopeful smile on her mouth as she approached the door.  She knew
that at any moment, the way would open and Rifter would sweep in to deliver
her.  She was on the verge of tears, desperate as she was for it – but stopped
short when a quick movement within the stone room caught her eye.

She
became still, her pleasant thoughts gone.  Peering around, she saw no more
movement, but she knew she had seen something – and she knew exactly what it
had been.  It was the quick dash of an unknown shadow.

The
shadow mimic…  It’s here!

Feeling
a cool patch of air drift over her, Wren glimpsed the foreign shadow as it
darted across the wall.  She turned swiftly, trying to catch sight of it, but
it was gone again in an instant, disappearing into another shadow.

She
was shaken, especially knowing that it had attacked Adele, disturbed further by
the noises from the ward outside, but there was nowhere else for her to go.

Don’t
be afraid
,
she coached herself, but her heart was insisting otherwise. 
Be firm.

“I
know you are there,” she called finally, gathering her bravery.  Shadows did
not have physical ears, but she knew they were capable of understanding.  “Come
out.  Whose shadow are you?”

Shadows
– or these imps called mimics – were fickle creatures, and certainly capable of
violence when unattached.  She could not tell if this one had shape or not, but
she remembered that Adele had said it had been in the form of a boy.

A
boy…?  Rifter?
 
Had it been him all along?

When
the shadow finally revealed itself again, long enough for her to see it zip by,
it retreated to the wall behind her.  She turned to see it waiting there beside
her own shadow, unhidden and boldly displayed.  Finally able to have a good
look at it, she could only stare.  It did not belong to anyone she recognized.

The
black-as-night shadow stood next to her own, arms at its sides, fists
clenched.  The shape of the body was tall, broad across the chest, and
certainly not belonging to anyone in the female ward.  The head was hidden by
the form of a wide hood, and she could not recognize him.  All she knew was
that it could not have been Rifter.  The body was too developed, almost that of
a man rather than a boy.  Rifter had sworn never to age.  He had been the same
for a hundred years, according to him.

Who
could it be?

“Did
you come from Nevermor?” she asked carefully, praying that he would attempt to
give her a sign.  “Someone sent you after me, didn’t they?”

As
Wren watched, only now second-guessing herself in her attempt to be civil – the
shadow opened its eyes, two holes that gave way to light in the mimic's face. 
What was it thinking?  Wren considered this and the shadow came to attention,
snapping its head up.  In a quick movement, it had reached toward its boot and
pulled something into its hand.  She watched as the object was lifted for her
to see, and she was left examining the dark outline of a short dagger.

“A
knife?” she asked, feeling that she had gone pale.  “You've come to–”

…
to
kill me
.  She remembered the cuts on Adele.  Had the mimic confused one
girl for the other when they’d been chasing it down the halls, or had it
attacked Adele for simple enjoyment before now turning to her?

The
shadow did not respond to her inquiries – did not wait for her to react.  It
charged forward at Wren, coming away from the wall as a corporeal shape – a
figure of pure darkness.  It wanted her blood, and she knew that it was more
than capable of taking it.

Frantically,
she began to think up a way to escape, but the cell was tiny.  She did not know
which way to go.

Making
a swift decision, she darted into a corner as the shadow rushed by her.  She
could feel its coolness against her skin, and yet it made sweat rise on her
flesh.  She couldn't think of anything except getting away, but she knew in the
back of her mind that she could not escape it.  She had no idea of how to fight
it off.  She had tried once to fight off a similar being and had failed
miserably.

In
a frantic rush, she went to the door, even though she knew there was no handle
on this side.  She put her hands to the bars of the window and gave it a vicious
tug, but as she had known, it was locked.

“Help! 
Someone help me! 
Please!
” she screamed, beating against the door, but
that did no good.  Her voice only blended with the shrieks of the other inmates
in the halls.

The
mimic was not fazed by her plea.  It only backed off enough to raise the
silhouette of the dagger, lashing out in a swipe that she had barely seen, and
crossed her forearm with the blade.

Wren
cried out in surprise as blood emerged from the gash in her flesh.  Pain
bloomed like a flower, pulsing over her skin.  She flinched and gripped her
wounded arm, looking up at the shadow, which tilted its head coyly at her as it
watched the blood rise.  It did not repent.  It raised the knife again.

Why? 
What will it gain?

Wren
threw herself out of the way and fell back onto the bed, forgetting the
discomfort.

This
can’t be the way it ends!
  But there was nothing for her to do.

Shielding
herself from another blow with her arms over her head, she was surprised when
no more attacks fell on her.  She winced, waiting, and yet she was not stabbed
or otherwise cut open.  Laying there, vulnerable, she dared to open her eyes –

The
shadow was nowhere to be seen.  It was not in her vision, yet it could have
been
anywhere
.  It could have slipped inside another shadow as small as
a crack in the wall.

Or
maybe it has finally happened
, she thought suddenly. 
Maybe I have
finally slipped into madness like the rest of them.  This shadow…  Perhaps it
was never there at all.

Her
head was spinning, but she tried to focus on that possibility.  Had she
imagined the uprising?  The shadow?  Outside her room, there was still chaos. 
She had not imagined that part of it.  The disturbance in the asylum was real.

She
pulled herself off the creaking mattress and moved toward the cell door to peer
out – and just before she had reached it, there was a click as the lock was
released and the door swung open.

On
the other side, an inmate that she wasn’t sure she recognized – a laughing,
frizzy-haired young woman – dashed away and moved to the cell across the
hallway to begin working with the lock there, and Wren could see that it was
not only her cage that had been unfastened.

There
were women of varying ages, some clothed and some naked, dashing about in the
hallway.  Their cells had been opened and they were running free.  Wren was not
sure what this meant.  Was she supposed to flee or stay in the cell?  Coupled
with the murderous shadow mimic, she was not sure what to think of this jail
break.  She had once been much better at making these sorts of choices, but it
was harder now.  As long as she had been locked up here, she wasn’t sure if she
could leave on her own.

Sometimes
one has to take risks
,
she told herself.

Taking
a deep breath, she rushed out the door, into the chaos.  There were birds and
inmates dashing about.  Orderlies had already grabbed a few of the women,
trying to put them back in cells.  Now that Wren had gotten out, she did not
intend to go back.  She couldn’t afford to stay locked in with a mimic.