Proxy (The Dreams of Reality Book 1)

by Gareth Otton

  “Please, Tad. I’m begging you. What do you want me to say? You want me to admit I was wrong about Mark? Fine. I was. You were one-hundred percent right when you warned me away. Want me to take all the blame for us not speaking in five years? Fine. That was my fault too. I felt like you were making me chose between Mark and you, and I chose Mark. I threw away the best friend I ever had over a man who eventually killed me.”

  She moved up the sofa, grabbed his hand and squeezed hard. “I know I’ve fucked up. But please don’t hold it against me. I need you more than I’ve ever needed you in my life. Please. Help me.”

  He wasn’t sure if it was her touch, the tears filling her eyes or Jen waiting to step in if Tad chickened out, but he gave in.

  “Fine. I’ll do it. But remember, I tried to warn you.”

  “I know. Thank you. You’re a better friend than I’ve ever deserved.”

  She kissed him on the cheek to seal the deal. Now the decision had been made he realised it hadn’t really been his decision at all. It had been a foregone conclusion the moment he had seen her in his house.

  It sapped the last of his strength and he was finally done in. He looked and spoke to Jen, but his words were for everyone.

  “Come on. Bed time. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

  4

  Monday, 16th November 2015

  02:20

  Even Jen knew a losing battle when she saw one, and she went to bed. Tad turned off the lights as he followed, intending to accompany her to her room to say goodnight. A slammed door put an end to that idea.

  “I’ll check on her,” Miriam said before Tad could respond. Not for the first time he was glad she was one of his ghosts.

  He turned and headed into his own bedroom, too tired to be embarrassed at the state he left it in. It had been a long time since he hosted bedroom guests. His bed was a welcome sight and he stripped down for it. He'd already lost his t-shirt and was undoing his trousers when he thought of Maggie watching. He pushed aside his embarrassment. He was about to do the most intimate thing one person could do with another, near nudity wasn’t a big deal.

  Tad dropped his trousers in a pile and slid under the covers. He groaned in pleasure at being back in the comfort of his bed.

  “How does this work?” Maggie asked, fidgeting in the corner near the window, peeking behind the blinds, looking anywhere but at him.

  “In the future, you won’t need to come here. For now, just lie down and try to sleep.”

  “I don’t feel tired.”

  “You never will. But I do. I’ve been told a sleeping Proxy is like a beacon to spirits. Try to fall asleep and think of me. When I drift off, the rest should happen naturally.”

  She swallowed and nodded, taking one last look out the window before coming to join him. She slipped off her jeans revealing a lot of bare skin. He looked away. He didn’t need arousal making this more awkward for them both.

  “A little help?” Maggie asked as she struggled to lift the quilt.

  “Of course, sorry.”

  He lifted a corner and she slipped in, frowning as she settled against the pillow.

  “How come I could touch the clothes but not the quilt?”

  He smiled and shook his head, not ready for that conversation. “I’ll tell you in the morning. For now, I need sleep.”

  Her frown deepened, but she nodded. He didn't notice as he'd already closed his eyes.

  “I appreciate this. Considering everything that’s happened between us… well... Thanks.”

  “No problems,” Tad answered, his words slurred by drowsiness.

  Just as sleep claimed him, he felt a push against his mind. There were four touches, each a distinct flavour. His ghosts sought entry.

  His last act before he slipped into unconsciousness was granting permission.

  When Tad was four, he suffered a blow to the head which blinded him. He struggled with this disability until he was nine. Then he met Charles, and from that meeting gained a friend and his sight.

  Unlike with their knowledge and talents, physical attributes like increased strength and healing, only lasted so long as the ghost remained merged with him. Therefore, the miracle of his returned sight should only work while a ghost shared his head.

  He never discovered why his sight was different, he just feared the day his blindness returned.

  Maybe that was why in his dreams he was always blind.

  It was not true blindness. While he couldn’t see, in his dreams he possessed instinctive knowledge of his environment. He knew the placement of everything, could read facial expressions, and discern colours. If asked, the answers simply appeared in his mind.

  Tonight, as ever, when his sight left him he panicked. To get past that panic he reminded himself that Proxies are masters of their dreams, always in control.

  Tad released his anxiety with an outward breath and concentrated on where he was.

  As ever, his dream began in a circular room that normally held four exits. This night there were five. Behind each door was a mind. Walk through them and he would enter his own memories or the memories of his ghosts.

  Normally he could choose which door to walk through, but this night only two doors were unlocked. This was his first merging with Maggie, so he had expected this. In everything else he was in control, but on this first night he had no choice but to walk the pathways of Maggie’s memories and she the paths of his.

  Their two doors merged into one. The path they walked this night would wind through both of their memories.

  He hesitated as he collected his strength. It was his last chance to back out. Maggie would lose the benefit of using a Proxy, but his secrets would remain undiscovered.

  He decided to stay the course. Maggie needed him and as always, he would be there for her no matter the cost.

  The door opened at his touch and he stepped into the world beyond.

  There's no light.

  He tries to open his eyes, but they’re already open. He has forgotten he’s blind. How can life be so cruel as to make him forget every morning for five years?

  He goes through his morning routine, built over a long time with a lot of trial and error. Routine is his friend, it helps him cope. When the routine slips, problems form.

  Bathroom. Back to bedroom to dress. Breakfast. Morning small talk. Taken to school. Helped to class. Try to ignore the hurtful words of the sighted kids. Wish there was a blind school closer to home. The bell rings. Break time. He is escorted to a bench where he sits and waits while his helper visits the bathroom.

  He hears the sound of footsteps. Heavier than a child’s and different to those of the woman who helps him. No stones crunch or twigs crack beneath their feet, yet he hears the footsteps clearly.

  “Why do you sit alone, boy? Shouldn’t you be partaking in frivolities with the other children?”

  The voice is strange. The boy is reminded of a book read to him in class, a classic. It’s a deep voice and his words are hard to understand, but the boy can sense the friendliness.

  “I’m blind. I can’t play with the other kids.”

  “Nonsense. There’s plenty you can do. Never mind. Maybe I can keep you company.”

  The man sits on the bench and the boy is surprised. He can sense the man. He can’t see him but he knows he’s there. He can almost picture him, a man in his sixties with a receding hairline and bushy, grey eyebrows. His mutton chops, old-fashioned moustache and funny old suit makes him look like someone from a play.

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Thaddeus.”

  Again comes an amused snort. “Your parents mustn’t like you very much to call you that. I think I’ll call you Tad.”

  Tad likes that name. He thinks he likes the man.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Charles, my lad. Charles Dickens. Now don’t you go confusing me with that other Charles Dickens mind you. I’ve got nothing to do with that fame stealing—”

  “I don’t know
any other Charles Dickens.”

  He senses the man blink. “You don’t?” The man grins. “Well keep it that way. I’m the only Charles Dickens you need to know. You remember that and we’ll get on just fine.”

  “Thaddeus?”

  It’s the voice of his helper. He hasn’t heard her approach because he’s so interested in the conversation.

  “Who are you talking to?”

  “Charles Dickens. He’s a nice man. Do you know any other Charles Dickens, Mrs Hopewell?”

  “What? Charles Dickens? What are you talking about, Thaddeus?”

  “I was just chatting with Charles and—”

  Mrs Hopewell interrupts him and she sounds worried.

  “Thaddeus. There’s no one here. You’re talking to yourself.”

  They moved through the memories quickly, stopping at random. It had been a long time since Tad thought of the day he met Charles. That day changed his life and he should visit it more often.

  Maggie walked his memories beside him and he sensed her interest in that particular memory. It was the first memory that had drawn her interest. Maybe that was why they lingered so long.

  They couldn’t linger forever, and soon enough they were moving again, glancing at most memories but stopping longer at those that were most revealing.

  “You’re the boy that used to be blind.”

  She knows she’s not supposed to speak to him. They say he’s strange and she should stay clear. Typical. They tell her to stay away from the interesting ones. Everyone else is boring. No one else has been blind and learned to see again.

  The boy looks surprised that she’s talking to him. He nods and looks back to his book, expecting her to walk away. She feels sorry for him. He must be lonely.

  She sits down next to him and waits for him to look up.

  “What do you want?” he asks. He sounds nasty. She’s only ten, but she knows when people are being mean and she doesn’t like it.

  “You shouldn’t talk to people like that. My mum says if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t speak at all.”

  He looks up from his book. He’s angry.

  “Then what are you doing here? Going to sit in silence because you don’t want to say anything mean?”

  She realises he isn’t angry, he’s upset. He thinks she’s teasing him. The other kids do that, but she doesn’t like it. They tease her too. They say she’s fat.

  “I just wanted to talk to you.” He doesn't answer. She waits, then asks, “Why do you talk to yourself?”

  He sighs and looks back to his book. “I don’t know.”

  He’s lying. “Yes you do.”

  “I’m not talking to myself, okay? I am talking to my friend.”

  That’s strange. But he isn’t lying this time. She’s sure of it.

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “His name is Charles Dickens.”

  “Like the writer?”

  “No. Not like the writer… Okay Charles. I’m telling her. He says he’s nothing like the writer. He says that Charles was ten years younger than him and it's a travesty that he’s taken all the fame for their name.”

  “What does travesty mean?”

  The boy shakes his head. “I don’t know. Charles is always saying stuff like that. He gets mad when I don’t understand. He asks me what the world is coming to when I can’t even speak English.”

  “He sounds silly.”

  The boy smiles for the first time and he nods his head. “He is. But he’s nice too. He gave me a new nickname.”

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “Only my friends can know.”

  “I can be your friend.”

  He looks over her head and she follows his gaze. There’s nothing there.

  “Are you sure?” The boy asks, and she turns back to him. He’s not looking at her. “But what if she’s like the others?” There’s a pause. “No. I know that… Why not? You’re my friend. That’s enough… Why?… Oh, okay. Fine.”

  Finally he looks at her and says, “He calls me Tad.”

  She sticks out her hand. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Maggie.”

  Maggie's parents don’t like her hanging out with Tad even though he’s been her friend for three years. She’s snuck out to see him so many times she’s an expert, once more is hardly an issue.

  Her big news can't wait. She had her first kiss that morning. It was weird and she doesn’t know what all the fuss is about, but she needs to tell Tad. She shares everything with him.

  She gets to his house and goes around the back. He won’t be inside. His mum and dad still think he’s talking to himself. He pretends to be normal around them. It's hard. She's the only one he can be himself around. She likes that. It’s why they’re best friends.

  She doesn’t call before climbing up to the tree house. She already knows he’s there, and she sees him as soon as her head clears the floor level.

  “Hey Tad. You’d never guess what I did today…”

  She pauses. He’s laying on the floor, his skin is pale, and he has dark rings around his eyes. He’s always been skinny, but now he looks like he’s sunk in on himself.

  She gasps and runs over, kneeling beside him and grabbing his hand.

  “Oh my God, what happened?”

  “Ghost,” he whispers. She barely hears him. His fingers are cold and she wonders if he'll die. “Charles says I’ll be fine. I just need to catch my breath.”

  “What happened?”

  “A bad ghost. At the school. I nearly… it nearly.” He shakes his head and says, “Had to fight… destroy it. It touched me. Charles said it was feeding off my life.”

  “Oh my God. Are you okay? Should I call—”

  “No. I’ll be fine.” He squeezes her hand and tries to smile. “Just glad you’re here. What did you want to tell me?”

  “What?”

  “When you came in—”

  “Oh that. It's nothing.”

  “It sounded important. What was it?”

  He’s sounding better already. Maybe she overreacted. Some of her excitement returns.

  “You’d never guess what I did today?”

  He smiles. “What?”

  “I kissed Johnny Walbeck.”

  He stops smiling. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at her and he’s so still he might have died.

  “Tad? What is it? What’s wrong?”

  He turns away and shakes his head. “Nothing. Just tired. I think I want to be alone. I’ll see you tomorrow at school, okay?”

  She doesn’t understand. “Are you sure? Maybe I should get someone—”

  “No. I have Charles. I’ll be fine.”

  Great. He has his imaginary friend. Sometimes she believes Charles is real. Other times…

  She shakes her head and tries to not think about it. Tad is her best friend and if he says Charles is real, he’s real.

  She doesn’t like leaving him alone with just a ghost and says as much.

  “I don’t mind. Honestly. I’ll be fine. Why don’t you go find Johnny, hang around with him."

  "What?"

  He shakes his head.

  "Never mind. Just go. I'll be fine."

  She goes. She doesn't like it and stops on the way out to look back one last time. It looks like he's in pain. He's crying. But he's whispering too. He's talking to Charles.

  She leaves. She'll see what he's like in the morning.

  Tad paid close attention to Maggie as they moved through the memories. Seeing how she remembered that night left him amazed at how oblivious she was to his feelings.

  She was a girl then, now as woman he could tell she'd noticed a pattern. Reliving their time together as children was more revealing as adults. She stole glances at him when not studying the memories. He did his best to ignore it.

  They traveled through a thousand other memories, each one further confirming her suspicions. It was every bit as painful as Tad thought it would be.

  He dreaded the rest of th
e night.

  "I can't believe you fucking did this," Maggie screams. Tad cringes from her anger but doesn't back down. She needs to know.

  "He's a dirty cop. Tony followed him and—"

  "The dead teenage pervert followed my boyfriend to… what exactly? No. Fuck it. I don't want to know. You've gone too far."

  Maybe he has but he won't apologise. He's been looking out for her since he was nine. That's thirteen years too long to give up now. If she stays with Mark, she'll end up hurt.

  Deep down he feels a familiar monster stirring. He ignores it and tells himself he’s not jealous. After suffering through Maggie seeing other boys, he’s learned to live with it.

  No. This time it's serious.

  "Maggie. Trust me. This guy is involved in—"

  She hits him.

  It’s the first time she's ever done it and it surprises both of them. She looks at her hand in shock before looking at his face. There are tears in her eyes and her lip trembles.

  "Fuck you, Tad. I thought you were better than this. I thought you were my friend. But if you try this hard to make me unhappy, then you really must hate me."

  She gets up to leave. He tries to stop her but she's having none of it.

  "Mags. Don't go," he shouts after her. "I don't hate you…” Before he can finish the door slams in his face. "I love you."

  He sighs and slumps onto the sofa. Has he gone too far? No. She'll get over it like she always does. She'll ring later when she's calmed down.

  He knows he's lying to himself. He can see it in Tony and Charles’ expressions.

  "Shit," he says. "What now?"

  The night was a bad one.

  They explored countless memories, and neither escaped unscathed.

  Maggie had viewed thirteen years of friendship from a new perspective. He could tell how uncomfortable she was and felt justified for keeping his secret.

  Of course for him it had been just as bad. He finally had the answer to a question he'd asked a billion times.

  Was there ever a time when Maggie was attracted to him?