Visioness (12 page)

And now Larraine was gone.

She wondered whether
Charlotte would hate her now, for hiding so much. Whether she’d ever speak
again. She supposed she’d find out later that night when bedtime came around.
In all honesty, she wouldn’t blame her if Charlotte never spoke to her again.

She couldn’t be thinking
like this at the time. She had to think only of what lay ahead for herself. The
Halls of the Oen’Aerei. She had to go there. If not for herself, then for
Larraine.

Larraine is dead,
she thought, and the fact
suddenly sank in. Her face turned hot, her breath shallow. Suddenly a
weight—one that she felt deeply bound to her inner self—rushed up. Like bile
from her stomach, the weight ascended within her, a palpable force of sadness
and grief. It manifested itself bodily as a stomachache, her mouth drying out, and
her mind suddenly unable to see anything but Larraine’s own face. And then her
eyes saw nothing but her own tears, obscuring her view, creating a brilliant,
painful glare.

“You okay?” asked someone,
but Adabelle didn’t know who. Her breathing heaved in her chest, ragged and
heavy. She rushed from the dining room, through the halls, and to her
dormitory. Once inside, where she had some privacy, she collapsed onto her bed,
for as long as she could, till her pain was expelled and her throat too dry to
cry any more.

Mrs. Abeth came to visit
Adabelle this time around. She knocked on the door and announced herself before
entering her dormitory room. Adabelle lay on the bed when she entered, listless
and quiet, curled up with a pillow in her arms. She had spent most of the
afternoon there, unable to move or think for the weight of mourning that
pressed on her heart.

“I haven’t seen you all
day,” Mrs. Abeth said, as she crept in quietly, closing the door behind her
with a soft click.

“I haven’t wanted to be
seen,” Adabelle replied, rather flatly. She kept her eyes fixed on a dust speck
on the wall.

She felt the weight of Mrs.
Abeth sit down on the end of the bed, as the springs creaked beneath.

“Come now, you can’t go
about blaming yourself for this.”

“I can and I will,” Adabelle
retorted. “She’s dead because I wasn’t brave enough to act. She’s dead because
I hadn’t the heart to do what needed to be done. I didn’t want to go to the
halls of the Oen’Aerei because they frightened me.
Frightened!
She was
my cousin and I couldn’t even go and visit the Dreamers Guild because of my own
idiocy.”

“Not idiocy,” Mrs. Abeth
said, placing a comforting hand on Adabelle’s shoulder, patting softly. “Fears
are never idiocy. Some of them are irrational, but most of them have legitimacy
behind them. I’m terrified of spiders, because they’re venomous. You don’t like
the Oen’Aerei because of how it’s affected your family. It’s left your aunt
mad, your mother dead, and your father, being who he is, is associated with the
group by no small degree. So no, there’s no idiocy in your fear, and don’t you
even think for a second that there is.”

Adabelle looked up to Mrs.
Abeth, unable to hide the small, thankful smile that bubbled to the surface.  For
the first time that day, she loosened her hold on the pillow.

“So have you decided what
you’re going to do with what’s happened? Larraine’s funeral isn’t for a week.
The doctors are still checking to find out the cause of death. They haven’t
been able to find anything of use all day. The University has stayed in contact
with the hospital in order to know what we need to put on our records. Also,
we’ve had to get in contact with Larraine’s father.” She paused, biting her
lip. “It hasn’t been easy so far.”

“Why?” Adabelle asked.

“He hasn’t kept his records
up-to-date. We’re basically using skills normally reserved for detectives to find
her father. We’re getting
somewhere,
but it doesn’t look like we’ll be
able to find him too easily if we are to notify him of what’s happened. We
might have to rely on a newspaper obituary.”

Everything seemed to be
moving so quickly considering Larraine had only died that morning. She supposed
that since the circumstances around the death were so confusing, that a swift
response was the only way to act. To delay would only lead to fewer answers.

“But her father is
incredibly difficult to find, so for the time, we want to just focus on finding
out exactly what happened. Tomorrow the police will be visiting to interview
some of the students present at her death, and then in the next few days
they’ll interview you. I’m sorry, but they have to. Be thankful I was able to
get them to delay it a little. They wanted to interview you today. I told them
not to.”

“Thank you,” Adabelle said.

“It’s the least I can do.”

For a time, there was mostly
silence between the pair. It was Mrs. Abeth who broke it.

“Have you decided what
you’re going to do with your sister?”

“Well I’ll have to tell her,
won’t I? But I have to visit the Oen’Aerei halls first. I have to be certain.”

She knew the truth
doubtlessly now. Her father had spoken through Larraine, and attacked her. Her
father wanted her scared, or dead, though she knew not why. What purpose could
she pose to her father? What was so important that he’d kill so freely? But she
still needed to go to the halls. She didn’t know why, but going there served a
purpose and a meaning. Perhaps it would satiate the guilt she held over
Larraine’s death, at her own hatred of herself for the fear she’d held over the
place. Perhaps after she went there she would finally know something with
certainty.

“And when will you go
there?” asked Mrs. Abeth.

“Tomorrow,” Adabelle
replied. “No use delaying it. I need to go now. If the police come they’ll just
have to wait. I need to do this.” In her head, she added,
for me and for
Larraine.

“Can I ask a favour of you?”
asked Adabelle.

“Of course you can?”

“I want you to speak to
Charlotte, if you can. Tell her I’ll talk to her about everything tomorrow
after my visit to the Oen’Aerei. After that, she’ll know everything I know. But
don’t tell her of Therron yet. I just need her to know that answers are coming
soon enough. That should make it easier for me.”

“I’d be happy to do that for
you. And I will not tell her any more than what you wish me to tell her.”

“Thank you,” Adabelle said.
“And if Therron is really out, I need to decide what I’m going to do. With
Larraine gone, he’ll choose another mind to haunt. I need protection of some
kind.”

“I should be able to
organise something. I’ll speak with the Oen’Aerei tonight when I inform them of
your visit, see if there’s any way to repress the desire to dream. Failing
that, the Guild of Dreamless might have something.”

Again, Adabelle thanked Mrs.
Abeth, quietly humbled by this woman’s grace.

“Until then, though, I
suggest you try and avoid Dreaming, in either capacity. Now is not the time for
you to get caught up in anything. You know the signs, you know how to recognise
them. In fact, as an idea, maybe go and see Professor Oakley about it. He might
be able to help.”

Adabelle nodded, glancing at
the time. “Well in that case, I might head there now and catch him before he
leaves his office.”

“Good afternoon, Adabelle,”
Mrs. Abeth said. “Stay safe.”

“I will,” she replied, and
left.

She walked brusquely down
the halls of the University, towards the courtyard where Berne Oakley’s office
sat. She caught him just before he left for the day—to which she inwardly let
out a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry, professor, I
know you’re just about to leave for the day, but Mrs. Abeth sent me down with a
special request.”

“What power does the
caretaker have over this place?” replied the professor. He was known for
staying for his allotted time, but no further.

Not very much, really,
she thought, realising now
how silly the statement was. “I know, but I have to ask if you have anything
that will repress Dreaming?”

“I do have some Slugleaf tea
somewhere in there,” the professor replied, indicating over his shoulder with a
careless thumb, “but not enough for you.”

“What?” asked Adabelle.

“Well the tea works entirely
on the idea that the more potent it’s brewed, the more you’ll find dreaming
difficult. And you, miss, are a very powerful Dreamer indeed. I’m really quite
surprised you’re not a Sturding. But that aside, it’s far too expensive for me
to just give out, and you’d use most of what’s left in one night. If you go to
the Chemist on Vanves Avenue you can get some for yourself, but it’s past five
o’clock, so good luck getting it now.” He smiled rudely, and pushed past her

Adabelle had any number of
curses run through her head, directed at the rude professor, but she kept them
all to herself. Barely.

“You know my cousin died
because of a dream,” Adabelle called out to the professor, as he walked swiftly
away. He stopped, not turning around, books gripped tightly to his chest. “She
was killed by a Dream.” She almost hated the callousness with which she spoke. “If
I die tonight, all because you wanted to leave at five o’clock, do you really
think you’d want to live with the guilt you felt at that?”

He glanced to the courtyard,
where students were now staring. Some were studying, others just socialising,
but all of them stared.

“Could you live knowing you
were the reason behind something so horrible? Knowing you saw me the day
before, and refused me the one thing that could have saved me? You can feel it,
can’t you? The guilt pressing down on you, the weight pushing upon your
soul…suffocating you. Could you live with yourself after that?”

The professor turned around
fully, expression partly angry, partly guilty. Good. She’d gotten to him.

“Fine,” he spat, marching
back to his door.

“Thank you,” Adabelle said
sweetly.

He dropped his books at the
door to unlock his office. He grumbled the whole time while he searched,
eventually emerging with a small tub of tealeaves.

“It’s not that expensive, but
it will take a lot to affect you. Three spoons with hot water an hour before
bed, and that should be enough. There’s probably enough there for two days so
you will have to get some from the chemist on Vanves Avenue, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Now,” he finished, slamming
his door shut, “I must be off. Good evening.”

He trudged away, leaving
Adabelle with the tub.

That night, the entire
dormitory was alive with whispers of what had happened earlier that day, and
Adabelle was quick to escape it. She went straight to her bedroom after dinner,
having already had a cup of Slugleaf tea.

Charlotte wasn’t anywhere to
be seen. She wasn’t at dinner and she wasn’t in the room, leaving Adabelle to
believe Mrs. Abeth was probably talking to her, or that she was with some of
her own friends.

An apparent side-effect of
the tea was to make one drowsy, so it wasn’t long before Adabelle curled up in
bed, warm from the tea, and fell to sleep.

She stirred only once when
she heard Charlotte arrive for the night, but by morning she would forget it.
As surely as Professor Oakley had said, the tea seemed to bring nothing with it
but darkness. No dreams, no stirring; just blissful, safe silence.

When she woke, she found
that Charlotte had already left for the day. She didn’t know whether the girl
had any classes, but she was gone. Adabelle skipped breakfast, already feeling
sick about having to visit the Oen’Aerei that day, and chose instead to
practice violin.
The Dreamer’s Lullaby,
when she finally came around to
play it, carried a dark gravity about it, like its importance went beyond the
song. It was so much a part of her life now, and she needed to know it. She
needed to hear every note of it, and know it perfectly, so if she ever faced
it, she could meet it with lucidity.

Yet with the stresses of the
day before her, she found herself frustrated. She neglected notes, screeched
with the bow, missed putting her fingers in the correct patterns. She read the
music as she normally would, but she couldn’t focus enough to produce a
coherent song. It all went wrong. Angry with herself over it, she put the
violin away under her bed in its case, and left it there till she could
concentrate enough to play anything aside from squealing ditties.

A letter slipped under her
door drew her attention. She picked it up. It was from Mrs. Abeth.

Adabelle,

You can visit the Oen’Aerei
any time after you receive this letter. They’re expecting you so all you have
to do is ring at the gate and they’ll let you in. Good luck, and I hope you
find the answers you need.

Best wishes,

Mrs. Abeth.

It was good to see someone looking
out for her. She crumpled the letter up in her fist, throwing it to the waste
paper basket. She then washed, dressed, and left for the Halls of the
Oen’Aerei.

The tram ride there was not
a particularly easy. Her own mind kept attempting to betray her to turning
back, to leaping off the tram at the next stop. But none of those thoughts,
playing with her fear of the Dreamers, influenced her choice. She eventually
found a seat once some other passengers had gotten off, which helped with her
jitters. Once settled down, she was able to focus more on the matters at hand,
and think of Larraine, and whom she was doing this for. She had already decided
to visit Aunt Marie after the visit to the halls. She was sure someone had
already informed her Aunt of her daughter’s death, but she needed to talk,
herself, for her conscience’s sake, and to ease her troubled mind.

The tram arrived at the
bridge that spanned the channel to the House of the Oen’Aerei, its bell ringing
once to alert passengers of the stop. That single chime echoed for an eternity.
Adabelle rose, somewhat hesitantly, and stepped off the tram with shaking legs
and sweaty palms.

What are you doing,
Adabelle?
she thought to herself. She took a deep breath in, settling herself down,
before taking her first, difficult step towards the Hall.