Night Shade (24 page)

‘Of course, of course! Come back any time!’

I turn away. I’ll be giving the shop a wide berth in the future. I half walk, half stumble away. I’m not quite as confident and cured as I thought.

***

I
t’s some time before I’m calm enough to think rationally again and when I do, my fear increases. I realise that I really do have incredible power, power that could easily be misused. Yesterday I was almost thrown in a loony bin and charged with murder – but that was before I strolled into Dr Pat and Rawlins’ heads and solved my problems. What I did for the supermarket delivery kid encouraged him to ask for a higher salary. And, even without changing anything in either Margaret Thomson’s or Rebecca Taylor’s dreams, I’ve affected their lives. No wonder people are scared of the Mayor traipsing around their loved ones’ subconscious. Even if he can’t control what happens like I can, the knowledge he could gain is terrifying.

Keeping my head down, I count the paving stones as I walk to keep myself calm and focused. I don’t want to appear a raving lunatic when I reach my next destination: it’s simply too important.

When I turn down my mother’s street, I’m struck by how different it appears from the last time I was here. There used to be several trees lining the pavement but they have all gone now and I remember the bad storms from last winter and the newspaper reports of the damage they caused. No doubt the trees were casualties; unfortunately, the council hasn’t seen fit to replace them but have merely put tarmac over the gaps.

That’s not the only change. The woman at the corner, Giselle, told me the last time I saw her that she was trying desperately for a baby. Now there is a collection of bright, plastic toys in the little garden in front of her house. The older couple next to her have apparently retired because what used to be a mess of weeds and overgrown plants is now a manicured lawn and herb garden. I feel another surge of hatred for Salib and what he did to me. It’s like life has passed me by while I’ve been incarcerated. Things could have been so different.

There’s an unfamiliar car parked outside my mother’s house, a large gleaming black thing. A Mercedes. I pause, wondering whether it’s Henry McIntyre’s. I hope I’m not intruding on an illicit tête-à-tête. I force myself to stop freaking out. It probably belongs to one of her neighbours. It is still early in the morning and McIntyre will be either at work or with his wife. It wouldn’t make sense for him to visit my mother at this time. Besides, despite my raised eyebrows when we discussed him before, I believed my mother when she said they were only friends. She’s not the philandering type.

I resist the urge to peek through the car’s windows and move Rebecca’s bouquet to my other hand. At least I have something to present my mother with when she answers the door; it might help alleviate her shock in seeing me in the great outdoors. Taking a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders and stroll up the path. I want to show her that I really am alright and that I’m not as crazy as everyone thought.

I’m almost at the door when I hear voices inside. They’re muffled, but I can make out my mother. Her visitor is clearly male, although he’s less distinct. I wrinkle my nose. Despite the early hour, McIntyre must be here. For a moment, I’m frozen to the spot. Good grief; she really must be having an affair with him. Coming on the heels of my encounter with Margaret and Rebecca, this isn’t something I want to know about. And I don’t want the moment my mum realises I’ve overcome my agoraphobia to be spoiled by an awkward witness. So, instead of ringing the doorbell, I press myself against the wall where I can’t be seen. I realise it’s ridiculous – a grown woman playing hide-and-seek – but I want this just to be about my mum and me. It occurs to me that he must be on the verge of leaving, which means it’s possible that he spent the night. That’s information I definitely don’t need to know.

The door rattles as it opens. I hear someone step outside and my mother’s voice. ‘Well, it was lovely to meet you, Mr Malpeter. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.’

I frown. Not only is it not Henry McIntyre, there’s an edge of tension in her voice that I rarely hear – and it doesn’t sound like irritation at an unwanted salesman. Rather, it’s an emotion I’m very well versed in: my mother is scared.

‘Oh, that’s no problem at all, Mrs Lydon. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.’

I stop breathing. It’s the Mayor, here in real life. He’s found me. I press harder against the pebbledash, ignoring the pain on my skin. I didn’t bring the backpack with me; this time all I have to defend myself and my mother with is a bunch of stupid flowers. Margaret Thomson has already proved how useless they are as a weapon. I don’t even have a phone to call Rawlins and ask for help.

I hear the Mayor’s heavy footsteps crunch along the path. I’m desperate to peer round and see what he’s doing and whether my mother is safe. I know it’s broad daylight but I wouldn’t put anything past the Mayor. Unfortunately, I dare not look in case I reveal myself.

‘Bye!’ I hear my mother call from inside the house.

There’s the sound of the front door closing and a moment of interminable silence, followed eventually by the beep of a car being unlocked. Maybe everything will be alright – except the Mayor is about to drive right past me. All he needs to do is glance to his left and he’ll see me.

Panic-stricken, I peel myself away from the safety of the wall just as the engine roars into life. I make it round the corner and into the back garden. Panting, I rush round to the back door and thump on it with my fist. There’s no answer so I thump again and again. When there’s no response, I push the handle down, edging inside just as something black and heavy flies towards my face. There’s a flash of pain while, curiously, my ears prickle again.

You trade in your reality for a role. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask.

Jim Morrison

––––––––

M
y head doesn’t hurt and, when I touch it gingerly with my fingertips, there’s no bump or tenderness. All the same, something doesn’t feel right. I can’t put my finger on it; I simply have a deep-seated feeling of wrongness. I also have no idea where I am.

It’s a tiny room with one door and one small window. There’s nothing else inside. My limbs are heavy and sluggish as I edge over to the window to peer out, and I’m shocked when I immediately recognise the Dreamlands’ vista. I rub my eyes and double-check. Not waking up in the forest as I normally do adds to my sense of unease.

I twist round, scanning the area as best I can. The window is so small that it’s difficult to get a proper look but I seem to be very high up. I stare down at the narrow streets below. Then I suddenly realise where I am – inside the fairy-tale castle at the edge of the town. No wonder I’m gazing down from such lofty heights.

I try the door; it’s locked. I tug at it several times but it doesn’t budge. Frowning, I step backwards.  Why won’t the damn thing open?

Worried about what’s happening in the real world with my mum, I look up at the ceiling, willing myself to wake up. There’s a strange pressure inside my head but nothing happens. I try again. The pressure increases but I’m still stuck in the same room.

My gut squirms. I need to get out of here but the window is too small – and too high – to crawl through. I shove my shoulder against the door and try again to break it open. When that doesn’t work, I kick it. I’m so focused on my desperate attempts to escape that I almost don’t hear the person on the other side.

‘Who’s there?’

I pause, suddenly afraid that this is another of the Mayor’s henchmen – or henchwomen. I cup my hand over my mouth and try to disguise my voice. ‘I’m trapped!’ I call back.

‘Are you a Traveller?’ The voice is cautious but I recognise it and relax.

‘Esme?’

‘Zoe?’

I exhale loudly. ‘Yes! Can you help me?’

‘Hold on.’

I’m not quite sure what she is going to do but when a key rattles in the lock and the door springs open, I’m filled with suspicion. I back away until I’m pressed against the far wall – which isn’t very far away at all.

Esme’s face is worried. ‘What happened to you?’

I keep my body stiff; I’ll rush her if I have to. ‘I’m guessing I’m in the castle,’ I say slowly. ‘But why do you have a key?’

She smiles sadly. ‘Because I’m the princess who’s trapped here.’ I narrow my eyes, confused. Esme shrugs. ‘One of many, anyway. What happened to you?’

I could tell her that I think my mother smashed a frying pan over my head but I’m not sure it’ll help. I murmur that I’m not sure. ‘Why did I wake up here?’

‘You’re not sleeping.’ She says it calmly but there’s an edge to her voice. ‘You’re unconscious. Or at least I think you are. That’s what happens to the other people who come here. I call them sleepers.’

I must still look disbelieving because she cocks her head. ‘Come on,’ she says, gesturing at the dark hallway. ‘I’ll show you.’

I’m not sure I trust her but as I can’t seem to wake myself up and can’t stay in this tiny room, I join her. Esme gives me a tight smile while I look around for an exit just in case I need it. For a fairy-tale castle, this place is bloody dingy.

‘I’m not going to hurt you, Zoe,’ she says softly.

‘Are you with the Mayor?’

Her expression doesn’t change. ‘I’m not with anyone.’ She points to a little staircase. ‘This way.’

I follow her, keeping my fists bunched up at my sides. The stairs wind down for quite some time before we reach the next floor.

‘You were pretty noisy,’ Esme says. ‘It’s rare to hear anything when someone arrives here. Sometimes it takes me ages to find them.’

‘Other people apparate here?’

Her mouth twists. ‘Not exactly.’ She motions at a set of grand double doors. ‘Here, I’ll show you.’

I keep back while she pushes them open, revealing a vast space. It’s similar to the ballroom from Rebecca’s dream except that it’s very dark, with heavy curtains across the windows. There are hundreds of lumps on the floor. Puzzled, I step inside after Esme. That’s when I realise that the lumps are people of all shapes and ages.

‘Be careful not to touch them,’ she warns. ‘I’m not sure what it does to them in the real world but it’s better to be safe than sorry. There was one time when I...’ Her voice drifts off. ‘It’s just better not to touch them,’ she finishes. She casts a sweeping look around the room, as if checking that nothing’s been disturbed since she was here last. There’s tenderness in her gaze and I realise that whoever these strange people are, somehow Esme feels responsible for them.

Feeling like I’ve entered a bizarre refugee holding area, I tiptoe ahead, almost shrieking aloud when something brushes against my cheek. My heart pounds as I leap backwards. It takes me a moment to realise it was only a cobweb.

Esme looks guilty. ‘I know. When I first came here I used to clean up and make sure everything was spick and span.’ She shrugs. ‘After a while, there didn’t seem to be much point. Hardly anyone comes here anyway.’

‘Who are those people?’ I ask nervously, keeping my distance from her. Did she do this to them?

‘They’re like me,’ she says softly. ‘And now you. Although if you’re lucky, your condition is only temporary.’

In the far corner, there’s a grunt as one of the figures stirs. I jump. ‘What was that?’

Esme peers into the gloom. ‘Bob, I think.’ She smiles faintly. ‘Of course, that’s not his real name but I feel like I’ve come to know them all so to make things more ... normal, I’ve named them.’ She points at the huddled shape of a young girl. ‘She’s Pixie. Next to her is Al. Then Max and Tory and Lisa.’ She laughs awkwardly. ‘It’s stupid, I know, but they need some dignity. Nobody cares for them apart from me so it helps if I give them names.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Esme turns and looks at me. ‘They’re unconscious,’ she says quietly.

‘I can see that.’

‘No, I mean, they’re unconscious in the real world. Some come and go and spend very little time here but the majority stay for months. There are a few who’ve been here for years. They wake up sometimes and stumble around a bit, then they just go back to sleep.’

‘You mean you...’

She nods. ‘I was in a car crash. At least, that’s what I remember. It was about eighteen years ago, give or take. I’ve been here ever since.’

I stare at her. ‘You never leave the Dreamlands?’

‘No. Persistent vegetative state. Maybe. And not here of course. I’m just thankful my family haven’t turned off the machines that keep me alive.’

I look at the people in the room in a new light. ‘So all these people–’

‘Yes. You’re in Sleeping Beauty’s castle, after all.’

I swallow the painful lump in my throat. ‘That’s awful.’

‘It could be worse.’

Frankly, I can’t see how. A sick feeling rises up in my stomach. ‘Does that mean I’m in a coma too?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Probably not?’ I try not to screech. The Mayor aside, I enjoy my dream jaunts but I don’t want to leave behind the real world forever. Just how strong
is
my mother? Involuntarily, I touch my skull again where she whacked me. I hope she’s not freaking out too much.

Esme smiles. ‘You’ll be fine.’

‘I’d better be,’ I mutter. ‘Sorry, that’s not fair on you.’

‘It’s okay. I’m kind of used to it.’

I hear something and glance from side to side but see nothing new. I shove my hands in my pockets. ‘I should thank you,’ I say. ‘For helping me get out of that room. And for the information about the mares.’

‘I’m glad you managed to free them.’

‘I thought you weren’t on anyone’s side?’

Esme shrugs. ‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s all about survival. Mine and theirs,’ she says, gesturing at the sleepers. ‘I’ve had one foot in my grave for almost two decades. I live every day with the threat of having my plug pulled. If someone decides to do that, then there’s not a damned thing I can do about it. And there’ll be no one left to look after this lot. So while I might not agree with the Mayor’s methods, I’m not about to go up against him myself. Life is too precious. Even this life.’