Night Shade (23 page)

‘Try me.’

He looks at me grimly. ‘Let me give you an example. After you left yesterday, a few of the more vocal Travellers demanded to know why the Mayor was keeping the mares captive.’

I brighten almost immediately. ‘And?’

‘And he did what he always does, he spun them a story. He told them that the mares were becoming dangerous, that they’d attacked Dr Miller without provocation and killed him.’ I gasp. Dante nods and continues. ‘He said he didn’t want to hurt them or kill them, but to keep everyone safe he was running a programme to capture them all so they didn’t hurt anyone else.’

‘And people believed that?’

‘Even if they didn’t, what’s the alternative? Challenge him? The Mayor knows who everyone is. He’s had people mapping out the Bubble for years. Goodness only knows who he’s found. If he knows which door your wife or husband is behind, he can see what they are dreaming, understand their deepest hopes and fears.’

‘So?’

‘What secrets do you keep, Zoe? What things are you trying to hide?’

I’m tempted to tell him that until Salib collapsed at my door, I was remarkably uncomplicated. Instead, however, I say quietly, ‘Ignorance is bliss.’

Dante agrees. ‘For most people, sadly, it is. And the Travellers know it. The only good thing is that the Mayor no longer has any mares he can send through those doors.’

I mull over his words. ‘So we need to turn the tide of public opinion against him. That way he can be kept away from the Bubble.’

‘We do but we can’t afford a civil war. The world can’t afford it. The Dreamlands are too important.’ He points to his right. ‘Your dreamer is just over there.’

I stop walking and look at him. ‘Thank you for your help.’

He gives me a crooked smile. ‘No problem. I’m not sure what you’re planning to do now, though. I don’t think there is a way out of this maze.’

I smile back. ‘He doesn’t need a way out, he just needs to be found.’

I stride forward and turn the corner. Dante was right: bang in the centre is the MailQuick deliveryman.

‘Hello,’ I say gently.

He doesn’t respond, unless you’d call throwing back his head and howling in anguish a response. I wince and move up next to him, taking his hands in mine. I squeeze them. ‘Hello,’ I repeat.

His eyes drop and, for the first time, he sees me. ‘You’re here to help me?’ he whispers.

‘Yes. I am.’

‘Zoe,’ Dante warns from behind, ‘he’s about to wake up.’

‘That’s okay,’ I tell him.

‘Wait. Before we all get yanked out of here, I need you to know I really am sorry about–’

He’s cut off in mid-sentence. I’m back in my bed, staring up at the ceiling and feeling oddly bereft.

Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.

Abraham Lincoln

––––––––

I
’m barely out of the shower and dressed when the doorbell rings. And rings and rings and rings. I jog down the stairs and start unbolting it. Before I’m done, I pause abruptly. ‘Look at you, Zoe,’ I whisper to myself, ‘you’re unlocking the door and not even worrying about it.’

I fling open the door, daring myself to not peek through the spyhole first. I’m not surprised to see Sergeant Rawlins standing there.

‘I’m not sure I’m supposed to talk to you without my solicitor present,’ I comment.

Her face is pale and there are blue shadows under her eyes. I guess she didn’t have a good night’s sleep. ‘We have decided not to continue with your questioning for now. You’re still a person of interest but–’

‘You don’t have any real evidence to tie me to anything,’ I finish as relief floods through me. ‘You do realise that’s because I haven’t done anything wrong?’

Rawlins ignores my words although, from the tension in her jawline, she’s still not convinced. Her eyes drift to my cheek, no doubt wondering about the scratches there. I hope they’re not too bad.  ‘Dr Pat called. She’s yet to write up her report but she was most insistent that you could not have committed any crime. She seems to believe you don’t have the mental capacity for it.’ Her voice is strained. ‘Her opinion was far less certain yesterday afternoon.’

I shrug amiably. ‘I guess she slept on it.’

Rawlins’ eyes narrow. ‘What exactly did you do?’

‘I didn’t do anything. I was here all night. I’m sure your patrol car can confirm that. You’re welcome to check my phone records if you wish. All I did,’ I pause, ‘was go to sleep.’

Rawlins’ reaction to my words is immediate and she jerks, confirming my suspicions. I give her a reassuring smile. ‘I know you dreamed of me. I know you remember.’

‘You planted the thought in my head,’ she hisses. ‘It was just my subconscious acting it out. It’s no different to watching a film and then dreaming about it.’

‘Are you sure?’ I watch her carefully. ‘I know you watch a lot of films.
Gone With the Wind? Alice in Wonderland? The Shining
?’

She recoils. ‘You work as a computer programmer. Have you hacked into my system? Is that how you know these things?’

I keep my tone calm. ‘Unless you keep an online dream diary, how would I know that you were dreaming of packing a large trunk and trying to move it?’

Rawlins hisses like a cornered cat. ‘Stay out of my fucking head!’ She backs away, runs to her car and slams the door shut before speeding off. I watch her go, gnawing at my lip. I didn’t want to freak her out, I just wanted her to realise that I had nothing to do with Salib or Miller’s deaths. I hope I’ve not made an enemy.

The phone rings. I close the door carefully, relocking it out of habit more than anything else, then grab the receiver before it stops. ‘Hello?’

‘Zoe! I was starting to wonder whether you were still with us,’ Jerry’s voice booms.

Guilt surges through me. ‘I’m sorry,’ I apologise hastily, ‘I’ve been, um, busy.’

‘I got your letter via MailQuick.’ Oh. ‘The thing is that there was nothing inside apart from a coupon for a weekend getaway in the Lake District.’

I wince. I should have thought that through a little more carefully.  I was more focused on the deliveryman rather than the contents of the letter I gave him. ‘I spotted it yesterday and wondered if it would be something you and your wife might be interested in. You’ve been sounding pretty tired lately.’ I force a laugh. ‘I guess that baby is keeping you up at night.’

‘Oh.’ He seems rather nonplussed. ‘That’s a kind thought. Thank you.’

My guilt increases. ‘No problem. Actually, speaking of holidays, I’m feeling a bit burned out myself. I wondered if I could take a break. I know there’s a big job coming up in a week or two and I want to be fresh.’

Jerry doesn’t answer immediately. ‘Hello?’ I ask tentatively.

‘Zoe, this is wonderful news!’ he finally gushes. ‘I have been trying to get you to go on holiday for quite some time.’

I nibble my lip. He has but I always declined in the past. What would I do on holiday? Watch morning television? I like peace and quiet and monotony but that would be a step too far, even for me. ‘Great. Although I’ve just realised,’ I add hurriedly, ‘that I didn’t keep a copy of that coupon for myself. Could you maybe photocopy it and send it back?’

‘I’ll scan and email it. You’ll have it in a jiffy.’

Damn it. That’s not going to work. I think a little bit more. ‘Actually, I was hoping you could use MailQuick to send it to me because, um, because...’ I’m hit by inspiration ‘...because I really like the guy who does the deliveries and I was hoping I could chat to him again.’

Jerry laughs heartily. ‘I’m thrilled to hear it! It’s about time you got yourself a nice fella. Maybe you should ask him for his phone number, though. If you keep this up it could get expensive.’

Embarrassed, I murmur agreement. I’m fortunate that Jerry’s a genuinely nice boss – even if he is somewhat gullible.

Once I’ve said my goodbyes and hung up, I grab my coat and bag. There’s a lot to accomplish today. I stroke the Chairman’s ears and dash out while he watches me, bemused. My neighbour from across the road – the offshore worker who spoke to the police about me – is putting his rubbish out. I wave exuberantly and grin. He blinks several times before giving me a hesitant wave. God, it feels good to be free from debilitating terror.

***

I
jog into the supermarket car park less than thirty minutes later. It’s still early so there are only a few cars, which suits me. As much as I’m suddenly enjoying the open, it’s easier knowing there aren’t a lot of people around.

Rather than head through the main doors, I skirt round the building to the back. The familiar delivery van is there but there’s no sign of the kid. I peer inside the supermarket and spot a harassed-looking man on the phone.

‘What do you mean you’re not coming in?’ I creep a little closer. ‘You can’t do this!’ he bawls. ‘You know we’re short-staffed!’

I watch him as he tilts his head, listening to the reply. There’s a loud sigh and he speaks again. ‘How much do you want?’ I smile. ‘I can’t go that high!’ He listens for a bit longer and pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Fine,’ he eventually snaps. ‘I’ll do what I can.’ He presses a button on his phone and stuffs it into his back pocket, then catches sight of me hovering. ‘What do you want? The bloody entrance is the other side!’

‘Sorry!’ I call out, twisting on my heel and leaving before he decides to take his frustration out on me. I walk away quickly, still grinning. I can’t be sure, of course, that the only reason the kid asked for a raise is because of what happened in his dream. I’m pretty certain, however, that it had something to do with it. It would be too much of a coincidence otherwise.

It’s little more than a hop, skip and a jump to the florist’s. I’m nervous about this so I spend some time examining the buckets of flowers outside before I go in. The sign outside the shop is pretty – Thomson and Taylor. It’s in old-fashioned type with carefully painted ivy joining the two names. My brain creaks into action. Isn’t ivy symbolic of friendship and trust?

It’s clear from the moment I enter that neither friendship nor trust are in evidence. The atmosphere is distinctly frosty. There are two women, both of them from my two dreams. I receive polite smiles from them but their body language tells a very different story.

‘It’s Ms Lydon, isn’t it?’ the first woman asks. ‘I recognise you from last week.’

Her colleague’s mouth widens until I’m afraid her face will crack. ‘I recognise you from yesterday. Zoe, right?’

I glance from one to the other. It’s worse than I thought. I know they’re going to end up shooting the messenger but it’s better than them shooting each other, even if only subconsciously. ‘Hi.’ I clear my throat. ‘I want to thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful.’

They both beam. ‘We have some lilies fresh in this morning. Perhaps you’d like some of those?’

‘Oh, Margaret, she’s not a lily kind of person. You’d prefer something with more soul, wouldn’t you? I’m thinking daisies and daffodils. It’s the perfect time of year for a bit of spring.’

Before this degenerates further, I speak up. ‘It’s not flowers that I’m here for. It’s, uh,’ I look at Margaret’s hand, bare of any rings, ‘your boyfriend.’

Her brow furrows. ‘You mean Alan? My fiancé?’

‘Uh, sorry, yes, your fiancé.’

‘Here we go,’ the other woman mutters. ‘If he’s not given you a ring, are you really engaged?’

There’s malevolent spite in Margaret’s eyes. ‘We’re waiting until we can afford one.’ She pastes another smile on her face and gazes at me. ‘How do you know him?’

I throw the dice. ‘You’re Margaret Thomson? And you’re....’

‘Rebecca Taylor,’ her colleague finishes.

I nod and meet Margaret’s eyes. ‘I saw him a few days ago. Your fiancé, I mean. He was with another woman.’ I smooth my hands over my skirt. ‘Trying to kiss her.’

Her expression grows pale. ‘Who the hell are you? Did she put you up to this?’

I look at Rebecca. She’s watching me with a knowing expression in her eyes. Certain I’ve read the situation accurately, I feel a surge of confidence. ‘He’s not any good for you, Margaret. Deep down you know you can’t trust him. Instead of worrying about what other women are doing with him, you should worry about what he’s doing.’

Rebecca swallows. ‘I’ve been trying to tell you this,’ she whispers.

Margaret throws up her hands. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here but you can get the hell out of my shop.’

‘Our shop,’ Rebecca interjects. ‘And listen to her, she’s right. I’m not going after him, Mags. He’s going after me. And obviously other women too.’

‘Think about who you really trust,’ I say quietly. ‘Whether it’s your friend and business partner or your fiancé.’

Margaret starts shrieking. ‘Get out of here! Get out, get out, get out!’ She grabs a rose off the counter and flings it at me. Fortunately, it’s not particularly aerodynamic so I dodge it easily.

I bow my head. ‘Just think about it.’ Then I walk out, the bell above the door jangling incongruously as I leave.

Once in the fresh air, I rub my forehead with a shaky hand. That really wasn’t much fun but I couldn’t think of another way to approach the situation. As with Rawlins, I pray that I’ve not made things worse or read the clues wrongly.

I’m halfway down the street when someone grabs my arm. It’s so unexpected that I immediately feel terror rise inside me. I spin round, hands up to defend myself.

‘Sorry,’ Rebecca says, stepping back ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted to say thanks. I’ve been trying to get her to listen to me for ages and she wouldn’t.’ She shrugs sadly. ‘I guess love is blind. But now that someone else has said something ... well, it was very brave of you. I’m sorry she threw a flower at you.’

I smile weakly. ‘It could have been a lot worse.’ My breath is coming in shallow gulps and it’s hard to get the words out.

Rebecca herself is so wound up that she barely notices. ‘Here,’ she says, thrusting a bouquet in my direction, ‘take this. It’s not much but I wanted to make sure you knew how much I appreciated what you’ve just done.’

Reluctantly I take it from her. ‘Thanks.’ I lick my lips, wishing she’d just given me a paper bag instead. ‘I should go.’