Night Shade (6 page)

‘Hey!’ I yell as it is swallowed up into the darkness again. ‘Your leg will get infected! Come back!’

Silence. I curse and dust off my palms against my T-shirt. ‘Infected,’ I scoff. ‘Zoe, it’s not real.’ I roll my eyes at myself. Out of all the weird dreams I’ve had so far, this is by far the strangest.

***

I
f I’m expecting the Chairman to show up or for me to wake up, I’m disappointed. I’m still in the dream forest and I’m still bloody cold. There’s not even a distant whinny from the departed unicorn. Unsure what to do, I start walking in the direction it disappeared in. Perhaps I’ll come across something else.

There’s no discernible path so I have to pick my way through, ducking under low-lying branches and making sure I don’t collide with trees that seem to spring up out of nowhere. I pay close attention to the ground in case there are any more traps.

I start to enjoy the walk, and start paying attention to the different plants I can see. Most of them seem like the ones you find in any countryside woodland. Occasionally, however, there’s one that appears mutated and different. For example, I spot a tiny snowdrop at the foot of an oak tree but, when I bend down to take a closer look, I see that the stamen inside is blood red. The shade is not dissimilar to the hooves of the unicorn.

I have no idea how much time has passed when I spot the glow of a fire ahead. I can smell the sweet smoke drifting towards me through the trees. I’m tempted to avoid the area altogether and continue with my quiet inspection of the flora but as this is the first break in the dream landscape, I feel compelled to check it out. I stride confidently towards the fire, slowing only when I get close and hear muffled voices.

There are two of them, both male, although the first one is more rough and gravelly. ‘The Mayor has his damn claws in everything,’ he complains.

‘You could challenge him.’

‘And risk all out civil war?’ There’s a derisive snort. ‘Hardly. Even if we succeeded, who would replace him? Certainly not me. Besides, almost everyone believes in the Mayor. There’s so much damned hero worship going on that he could murder someone in the middle of the damned square and people will still believe he’s a good guy.’

‘You need to do something. The Department is getting too powerful.’

My eyes widen. The Department? Whose dream am I in then? Is it the old man’s? How can he still be dreaming if he’s already passed away? I draw as close as I dare, realising I’m on the edge of a small clearing. I peer out from under a heavy leaf-lined branch.

The man nearest to me is sitting on a log. His clothes remind me of a cowboy’s: a blue plaid shirt, boots and worn jeans. He has a tanned and weathered face and I place him in his mid-forties. I study his companion. Until now, he’s had his back to me but he half-turns so his features are silhouetted against the flickering fire. There’s something dark and predatory about him that makes me shiver. He has long, dark hair which curls just above his shoulders and there’s an aquiline cast to his face. Even through the shadows falling against his cheek, I can make out a curving scar. He screams danger.

‘Well,’ says the cowboy, ‘you should think about it. I know a few others are working against him but they’re never going to get anywhere. You have a shot.’

‘Everyone hates me. He’s made sure of that.’

‘I don’t hate you. People will realise the truth about the Mayor sooner or later. But if it’s later...’ His voice trails off. ‘Think about it anyway. It’s time I was going. I have an early start tomorrow.’

‘Believe me,’ his dark friend growls, ‘it’s all I’ve been thinking about.’

The cowboy doffs an imaginary hat and glances up at the sky. I follow his gaze, seeing nothing more than black night. When I look down again, he’s vanished. I gasp as a steel grip encircles my wrist and drags me out. I try to pull away but the dark man who’s grabbed me is far too strong.

‘Who the hell are you?’ he demands. ‘Did the Mayor send you?’

‘I don’t know who that is!’

He shakes me. ‘Don’t play dumb.’

A sudden rush of anger possesses. ‘Dumb? You prick!’ Stupid dream man. I slam my free hand into his chest, briefly registering rock-hard muscle.

He narrows his grey eyes at me, glancing up and down my body. I feel oddly naked and vulnerable but I refuse to let him see it. ‘You’re an outlier,’ he says in disgust, releasing his grip.

I back away, rubbing my wrist. ‘No, I’m not. What’s that anyway?’

He sighs. ‘Just pinch yourself. You’ll wake up quickly enough.’

I pause. ‘You know this is a dream?’

‘As you do, so it seems.’ He steps backwards and eyes me speculatively. ‘Have you been here before?’

‘No,’ I answer warily. ‘Where is here?’

His body relaxes. ‘Never mind,’ he dismisses. ‘You don’t belong here so toddle off back to where you came from. Give yourself a pinch and you’ll wake up safe in your bed. You’ll forget any of this ever happened.’

I fold my arms and glare at him. I really don’t like him. ‘Actually,’ I announce, ‘I think I might stick around here for a while.’

He circles round me. ‘If you don’t do it, I’ll have to do it for you.’

‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ I hiss.

‘You’re quite spikey, aren’t you?’

I don’t like the way this is going at all. I’m just about to march away when he lunges towards me, nipping the skin on my arm between his finger and his thumb.

‘Ouch! That hurt!’

He stares at me. ‘You’re still here.’

‘Well, of course I’m still here. You can’t make me leave.’ Actually I have no idea whether that’s true or not, but it sounds good. This guy is starting to really piss me off. Three nights, three dreams and three men and none of them have been anyone I’d want to dream about. ‘In fact,’ I begin, ‘you can go and...’

He spins round before I can finish my sentence, thrusting me behind him.

‘What are you doing?’ His shoulders are broad and when I try to move to the side, he pushes me back again.

‘Be quiet,’ he hisses.

‘No, I will not damn well be quiet. You can’t tell me what to do! You probably don’t even exist.’

‘Fine. It’s not like it’ll really hurt you anyway.’

‘What won’t really hurt me?’

He steps to the side and I see what he’s talking about. Standing at the far edge of the clearing and watching us with her shining yellow eyes, is the unicorn.

‘You came back!’ I turn to the man. ‘Do you have any water? She’s been hurt.’ He looks at me, stunned. I roll my eyes. ‘Never mind.’ I walk towards the waiting unicorn. ‘How’s your leg? Does it still hurt?’

The unicorn whinnies in response. I crouch down to check the wound. It’s stopped bleeding and doesn’t seem as deep as I thought. I reach up and pat her muzzle. ‘Good girl.’

‘Who are you?’ the man says.

I ignore him, keeping my attention on the animal. Her coat is remarkably soft.

‘Who,’ he repeats through gritted teeth, ‘are you?’

I turn my head round and give him a brilliant smile. ‘I’m Zoe, of course.’ I cock my head. ‘Do you hear that?’

He takes a step forward and the unicorn growls. I wouldn’t have thought a horse-like creature would be capable of that kind of sound.

The noise gets louder. ‘It’s like ringing.’ I frown.

The man opens his mouth to speak but then I’m back in my bed, blinking up at the ceiling while the phone shrieks next to me.

My eyes are bleary but my skin is tingling all over. I shake myself, trying to regain consciousness, and grab hold of the receiver. ‘Hello,’ I mumble.

‘It’s Rawlins,’ the policewoman says. ‘How did you know?’

I rub my eyes, completely confused. ‘How did I know what?’

‘About the letters.’

For a moment, I don’t have the faintest idea what she’s referring to. Then I sit bolt upright. ‘The postman. You checked him out. I thought you were too busy.’

‘I had a spare half an hour.’ Her voice is gruff. ‘Tell me how you knew.’

‘He was hoarding mail?’

‘He was. We found boxes of it in a room in his home. He must have been at it for years.’

I think quickly. ‘Some of my letters went missing. Ones that I should have received. And there were a few things he said. He looked scared when you came round the other day.’

‘When?’

‘For the statement. You passed him on the path.’

‘I didn’t really notice him,’ she says, half to herself.

‘Well,’ I prevaricate, ‘I just put two and two together. I’m glad I didn’t waste your time.’

‘We’ll probably need you to make another statement.’

‘No problem.’ The Chairman jumps up onto the bed and I scratch his ears. That jogs my memory and I reach up to where I tucked the blade of grass behind my ear. There’s nothing there. Of course not. I might be able to tap into other’s unconscious selves but what I experience are still just dreams They’re not real.

‘You’re having a busy week, Ms Lydon,’ Rawlins comments.

I raise my eyebrows to myself in mild amusement. She really has no idea just how busy it’s been.

Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?

Alfred Lord Tennyson

––––––––

I
t may be the weekend but, given the events of the last few days and my self-absorption, I feel compelled to catch up on work after Rawlins and Hartman leave. My neighbours must think I’m a criminal considering how many times they’ve been round in the past couple of days.

Hartman spent most of the visit eyeing me suspiciously and I knew he was desperate to ask me how I knew his pet name. I kept my attention on Rawlins, however, and my answers were short and to the point – even if not entirely truthful. I wasn’t concerned about having the two police officers inside my home nor was I bothered about being evasive when I answered their questions.

For the first time I can remember, my mind keeps drifting away from the bytes and numbers on the screen to what’s going on inside my head whenever I fall asleep.  If my lack of fear is a cause for celebration, my lack of focus is disturbing. Of course, that may be because my feet and legs are stinging from cuts and scratches. Every so often I stop and marvel at them. How is it even possible?

I’m so distracted that I completely forget my mother is due to visit. When the doorbell rings, I half leap out of my chair. My heart thuds. But a few seconds later I feel calmer. I purse my lips and walk to the door, unbolting it.

‘Afternoon, Zoe!’ She bustles in, reaching over to hug me.

I draw away before she can succeed. I’d made a point earlier of shaking Rawlins’ hand when she left. Having decided that last night had nothing to do with the Chairman after all – and with no desire to return to the wood – there was little choice but to touch someone and gain entrance to their head instead. However, I most definitely do not want to see what’s rattling inside my mother’s brain; that would be an extraordinary invasion of privacy.

I apologise when she looks hurt. ‘I think I’m coming down with a cold. There’s no point in you catching it too.’

She frowns at me. ‘How on earth can you catch the cold? You never go anywhere to come in contact with germs.’

I shrug. ‘Maybe the Chairman brought the virus in. Or the police.’

She is staring at me. I suddenly realise she has no idea what happened with the old man and quickly I tell her, attempting to play the incident down. Considering he died in my hallway, however, that’s almost impossible.

‘And they still don’t know who he was?’

I shake my head. ‘Nope.’

‘Zoe, that’s awful! Why did it happen to you of all people?’

That’s what I’d like to know. I glance away awkwardly. ‘Bad luck, I guess,’ I mumble.

‘Your neighbours should have called me. I’ve told them all several times–’

‘Mother!’ I’m aghast. ‘I’m not a child.’

She throws me a look. ‘And what would you do in my position?’

I grumble under my breath and change the subject. There’s no point arguing against the stony face and stalwart heart of a mother hen. ‘How was bridge?’

‘The Joneses were cheating.’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘Of course.’

I brew a pot of tea while she explains in great detail. Normally, I’d hang on every word but my mind keeps wandering back to the forest and the strange dark man with more muscles than manners.

‘Zoe, are you listening?’ she asks finally.

‘Yes!’ A beat later, I’m contrite. ‘No. Sorry.’

My mother sighs, reaching out to ruffle my hair. I pull away just in time and exasperation crosses her face. I offer her a tight smile. ‘Mum, when I was little, did I have many bad dreams?’

She freezes, her mug halfway to her mouth. ‘Why? Have you been having nightmares?’

I make a quick denial but still force the issue. ‘Did I?’

‘There were a few.’ She picks at her nail polish. My mother takes great pride in her appearance. She only starts destroying her manicure when she’s feeling stressed. ‘But lots of children have night terrors. And they went away eventually.’

‘Night terrors?’

She sighs. ‘When you were about four or five, there was a period of about six months when you woke up screaming every night.’

I swallow. ‘Really? I don’t remember at all.’

‘You were very young. It’s not surprising.’

‘Did I...?’ I pause, choosing my words carefully. ‘Did I ever say what I’d been dreaming about?’

‘Do we have to talk about this now? It was all a very long time ago, darling.’

‘Please. I’m just curious.’ I have a feeling my face betrays my desperation.

‘A birdman with a moustache.’

‘Birdman?’

‘That’s what you used to say. Now, where’s that cat of yours?’ She stands up.

I ignore her attempts to change the subject. ‘How did the dreams stop?’

‘They just did. You got older. You no longer needed a night light.’ Her eyes shift and I know she’s being as evasive with me as I was with the police.

‘Mum...’

‘Goodness! Is that the time? I must be off.’ She scoops up her belongings and makes a beeline for the door, scrambling to unfasten the locks. Her fingers fumble and she curses.

‘I’ll do it.’ I move past her. Unfortunately, as I do my arm brushes past hers and I flinch. Bugger it.