Visioness (2 page)

“How about an ultimatum,
then?” she said. “A bargain?”

She felt her thought
tendrils snare on something: a mind, nearby. One of the members of the couple
in the bushes nearby had drifted off. Her mind began to fasten on to that sleeper,
quietly and gently, so as not to alert Therron. She tied the thoughts with a
knot, binding to the person’s dreams. It snapped into place, like a bolt in a
lock.

“I do not think you’re in a
position to bargain right now,” he retorted. His voice remained gentle.

“No. Not now.” And then she
tugged on the Dream Frequencies, pulling herself in. She felt Therron strike
just as quickly. He latched on, tying his skeins of thought around her own,
binding the pair together. It gave her a sensation of mental whiplash as if
someone had just tugged her bodily, restraining her. She had strength enough to
pull herself into the Frequencies though, and for now, that would have to do.

If he’ll listen, I can
bargain,
she thought.
I might not escape with my life, but I might be able to save
Charlotte’s.
Her existence in the Frequencies might not be permanent,
though, she knew. Pregnancy had made her skills as a Sturding shaky at best.
She had to use the time she had carefully.

In her dreams there was no
pain.

In the Frequencies she could
run.

PART ONE

Into the Nightmare

Adabelle stirred in her
sleep, for the dream was troubling.

Like so many nightmares
before, she was running. That monster was chasing her, the one that reeked of
cologne. He spoke commandingly, but she refused to stop and listen. She had to
run, had to keep running. There was no other way to escape this monster. To
turn and fight meant death at the tip of a knife.

“I can bargain,”
whispered those words. They
were haunting and terrified, and entirely devoid of hope.

She shook awake, sitting up
in bed. Sweat rolled down her face, tears soaked her eyes. It was not the first
time she had stirred at those words.

I can bargain,
they repeated. She did not
know how, but she knew they were her mother’s. Her voice. Her words.

She looked to the other bed,
to her sister. Charlotte seemed to have been woken by her screams. Again. She
stared at Adabelle, eyes wide. Sometimes there were flashes of that night—a
dark night, a cold park, a well-lit boulevard, and sometimes her mother’s
words, but very little else. Yet the younger one seemed untroubled by the
nightmares. In fact, she barely dreamed at all. Never, really.

“It was the nightmare again,
wasn’t it?” asked Charlotte.

Adabelle nodded, wiping the
sleep and tears from her eyes.

“Why don’t I ever have
them?” asked Charlotte.

“I don’t know,” Adabelle
said. “But you should count yourself lucky. I don’t think you should have to
see or hear it.” She paused. “But I think part of it might be the fact you
weren’t born yet. You were still in mama’s belly.”

“I know,” she replied, “but
how do you know it’s mama’s voice you’re hearing?”

Adabelle hesitated. “I
just…I just do.”

And that was that. That was
how it had always been, and how it would stay.

The pair of them got out of
bed, washed their faces at the basin. Adabelle used a hair band to hold her
hair out of her face, as it was only short and needed very little tending to.
Similarly, Charlotte’s hair was longer, so she chose to keep her hair in a
braid. They both dressed behind their own privacy screens into their day
clothes. Today, Adabelle wore her favourite blue skirt and a white blouse with
a coat—for it was somewhat chilly this day.

When Charlotte was ready,
too, she asked, “Are we going to see Aunty Marie today?”

“Yes,” Adabelle replied,
“but breakfast first.”

They went down to the
college dining rooms, where the usual buffet of toast and cereal sat on offer.
Coffee was there, too, but it was that disgusting instant stuff. Adabelle had a
theory that it wasn’t actually coffee beans—it was nowhere near strong
enough—so she’d save her coins for later when she could sneak one at work.

Mrs. Abeth met them at the
dining table, and sat beside them both while she ate her own cereal. She was a
kindly woman, with dark hair and green eyes and the plump of a motherly woman
grown into the comfort of ageing.

“Good morning, girls,” she
said. “How are you both today?”

“I’m good,” said Charlotte
brightly. Almost four years her junior, Adabelle could not help but notice how
alike they were in looks, even if Charlotte was quite a lot shorter. Whenever
she looked at Charlotte, she saw herself. She also wondered if she saw her
mother, given the close likeness. Some mistook the pair for twins, with their
same dark skin, dark hair and brown eyes. That height difference was enough to
throw most people off that theory, though.

“And you, Adabelle?”

“I’m fine,” she replied
quietly. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately. Nightmares.”

Mrs. Abeth grimaced,
eyebrows tilting. “You poor girl. Same dream?”

“Always.”

“They’ll eventually go with
time,” Mrs. Abeth said comfortingly. Adabelle wasn’t entirely convinced,
though.

“I know,” Adabelle said,
“but I need my sleep. It’s not doing me any favours. I haven’t been able to
practice the violin the last few days, and whenever I don’t practice, I just
get into a bad mood.” She shook her head, anger coming through in her voice
now. “Sleepiness just makes me useless.”

Mrs. Abeth bit her lip. “Well
get what sleep you can when you can. Hate to deal with you in a bad mood.” She
laughed at this, and Adabelle did, too.

“I will.”

What she didn’t say was that
sleepiness led to her being a bit careless with her ability to Dream. Even now,
she struggled to keep the dream tendrils contained to the limitations of her
mind. She could feel the vestiges of Mrs. Abeth’s dreams from the night, though
most had faded and were now just swirling colours in her head. Yet still she
felt them. The buffer, the time it took to get out of the dreams fully, was
still present. She had to snap out of it and pull herself back to reality. She
didn’t wish to end up like Aunt Marie.

“Perhaps a visit to the Halls
of the Oen’Aerei might help, too,” Mrs. Abeth suggested. “They might have
something there to help.”

“I doubt it,” she replied,
not meaning to sound as bitter as she did. “The last time I was there, they
just wanted to sign me up as a Oen’Aerei there and then. Why would I want to
spend the rest of my life fighting off nightmares when I can barely contain my
own?”

“Who knows?” Mrs. Abeth
said. “You might find it helpful or therapeutic.” She smiled kindly, rising and
taking her bowl with her. “But what do I know?” She laughed again, louder this
time. “I’ll see you both later.”

Adabelle and Charlotte
finished their breakfast, putting their dirty plates with the others for the
cook to take away. While students headed off to their classes for the day, Adabelle
and Charlotte would be able to enjoy their day outside. Adabelle had already
promised Charlotte she’d take her to the park that day, and that they’d also
visit their Aunt. Adabelle did take classes at the university, though it was
mostly just violin.

The pair stepped out onto
the street, the University’s main entrance sitting on the corner of two
boulevards. They waited for the busy morning traffic to clear before crossing
the road, heading down the footpath to the nearest tram stop.

The pair arrived just in
time to find the red tramcar pull up, bell ringing all the while. With a flash
of their year tickets, they were welcomed on.

As usual there were no
seats, but the hospital was only a few streets down and the tram was really
just for the sake of saving Charlotte from complaining about her sore feet. The
pair got off at the stop beside the Seventh Bridge over the Odilla River, the
hospital only a block away now.

The pair walked down the
street, passing shops filled with glamorous clothing and furniture and home
wares, and all Adabelle could do was look in and stare. The pair weren’t poor,
quite the opposite, really. But until Adabelle was nineteen, she could not
access the full inheritance, only portions of it, divided up so as to have it
last till they were old enough to support themselves. She had work at the café,
and that helped let the money stretch, but they wouldn’t be living richly for
quite some time to come.

They arrived at the
hospital, a grand, three-floored sandstone building, with a grand copper dome
atop its main atrium and a statue of the founder built in bronze out front. The
bushes in the garden were plain, but well kept, and the clock tower atop chimed
the hour as the pair stepped through the tall archways to the main entry.

The hospital atrium looked
more like a mansion’s entry than a hospital. A chequered pattern of black and
white marble covered much of the floor, but for a border of red. Tall stone
pillars reached towards the high, domed roof, spreading out with vine-shaped
stone embellishments. Apparently, this place had once been a palace, and had
only been converted later on in its history. During one of the wars, Adabelle
supposed. Nurses ran about, rushed off their feet, while doctors came in and
out of doors off to the side—that was the only sign that this was a hospital at
all.

Adabelle and Charlotte
approached the front desk, where sat a kindly-looking woman dressed in hospital
reds. It was Cassie, a nurse who was nearly always on the front desk. She
turned away from the filing drawer, smiling as she saw a familiar face.

“Morning Adabelle,
Charlotte,” she said. “Here to see your aunt?”

“Yes, thanks, just signing
in.” Adabelle scribbled on the book, signing her younger sister in for her,
too. “See you again later.”

She went down the hallway to
the left, the path to her aunt’s room now as familiar as the roads of the city
itself. The staircases lined with brilliant artworks were so recognisable that
Adabelle payed no attention to them at all. She’d examined each one carefully already,
during times when it was too dangerous to visit her aunt, or when waiting for
the doctors to finish their examinations.

Given Aunt Marie’s permanent
patient status, she had her own room in the western wing of the hospital. Not
only was the private room due to her illness, but also given her tendency to do
things while sleeping. For a period of time they had put her in a room with
another woman, but at some point during the night, she had attacked the woman.
Both had emerged unharmed, but in case she was to ever act poorly, they put her
in her own room.

The door was locked when
they arrived—it wasn’t always—but they had their own key, and so entering the
room was no complicated matter. During times when their aunt was in an unruly
state, a padlock could be placed over the door to ensure everyone’s safety.
Charlotte grabbed hold of Adabelle’s arm before she could open the door.

“It’s not going to be like
last time?” Charlotte asked. “When she accidentally hit me.”

“Not at all,” Adabelle
replied, “and besides, she’s probably still sedated from the drugs. Now come
along.”

She placed a hand behind her
little sister’s head, pushing her softly into the room.

The hospital room wasn’t
very big, just large enough for the bed, the bedside drawers, and a window—though
the window was entirely sealed. That happened after the first time Aunt Marie
thought she could fly and took it upon herself to leap out of the window.

“Hello, Aunt Marie,” said
Adabelle. As usual, her aunt’s eyes were open wide, yet their glazed-over, distant
stare revealed that she saw nothing. She wore only a nightie, but she was well
cared for here. She occasionally had her episodes where she refused bathing, or
a dentist visit, or dressing, but she was mostly compliant with the nurses’
wishes.

“Hello,” Charlotte said, the
quiver in her voice suggesting a fear she seemed unable to hide. Being unable
to dream since birth had led to a few quirks in her little sister, the biggest
being an unusual fear of Aunt Marie. She seemed hesitant to have any interaction
to the woman, and suffered headaches regularly around her when kept in close
proximity for long periods of time. Adabelle blamed on the girl worrying
herself sick, yet Charlotte seemed certain it was something else, though what
she could never explain.

Aunt Marie didn’t speak,
instead keeping her gaze transfixed on the ceiling and the dreams she surely
saw playing out there. Adabelle’s mind, so well trained to the frequency of the
dreams, could barely control itself as it reached out and embraced those dreams
she saw. There were hundreds of them, thousands, all playing out before her,
the woman experiencing none of them fully, yet all of them at once. The buffer
sickness was a cruel one, indeed. She could never enter her mind fully, though,
like she could with others. It was like it was full already, too heavily
stuffed with rampant thoughts to allow even a wandering mind.

As Adabelle reached out to
each of these dreams, she was somehow able to repress some of them, or tug them
away from the woman. It seemed, whenever Adabelle and Charlotte were around,
the dreams that would usually cause Aunt Marie the most pain would subside, or
disappear, or at the very least, pull themselves to fore for Adabelle to strike
away from the woman. It was like they appeared before her, just visible in her
mind’s eyes if she squinted, and from there she could unweave the dreams. Like
the dutiful Dreamer she was, she pulled the nightmares away, keeping the
horrors at bay, while Charlotte took a seat across the room. Adabelle’s own
mind began to ache with the strain. That was one of the side effects of the
buffer sickness: others suffered, too. That was another reason for Aunt Marie’s
own private room. She would only trouble the other patients were she allowed to
let her thoughts run free.

Adabelle hated her power,
sometimes hated her family for passing on the gift to her and not Charlotte,
but when duty called, she acted.

She would
never
join
the Oen’Aerei, though. Ever.

Dealing with Aunt’s Marie’s
dreams was different to regular Dreaming that she did on occasion. Whereas most
Dreaming would require the Dreamer to mentally enter the Frequencies, Aunt
Marie’s dreams projected themselves out from her mind—another side effect of
the Buffer Sickness, apparently.