Night Terrors

by Helen Harper

  I smile humourlessly. ‘Actually, no. I’m what’s known as a dreamweaver. I have the ability to change dreams. No one else can, which apparently makes me incredibly desirable.’ I think about what I’ve just said and backtrack slightly. ‘Not sexually, you understand.’

  Rawlins looks at me.

  I sigh. ‘My agoraphobia is a by-product of someone believing that keeping me safe and indoors and away from people was the best thing for me. I thought I was past it all, but I guess mental anguish lingers in the recesses of your subconscious. It isn’t as easy to recover from as you think.’

  ‘What do you mean that you can change dreams?’ she asks slowly.

  I rub my forehead. ‘In theory, I can manipulate your thoughts and feelings. I can drop in ideas that will affect what you do in your daily life. I can see into your soul and change it as I see fit.’

  I’m testing the bounds of Rawlins’ credulity here. ‘You can change me?’ she asks, disbelief colouring her tone.

  ‘And you would never know it.’ The corner of my mouth crooks up. ‘Creepy, right?’

  She stares at her empty miniature. ‘I think I need a bigger bottle.’

  ‘I did say in theory. I’m supposed to be able to do those things but I can’t. Ashley, the woman we’re looking for? The people who took her think that she’s the dreamweaver. They want to use her for…’ I pause. ‘I don’t even know what for but it’s definitely nothing good. If they find out she doesn’t have those powers, then they’ll probably kill her.’

  The blood drains from Rawlins’ face. ‘Murder? Seriously?’

  ‘Think about what you could do if you could go inside someone’s mind.’

  ‘You could stop them from committing a crime.’

  I nod. ‘Or you could encourage them to commit one when they normally wouldn’t.’

  Her skin pales even further. ‘You’re definitely the only person in the world who can do this?’ she demands. ‘You? Zoe Lydon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There’s no one else?’

  I can understand her fear. ‘Not as far as I know. There are others who can visit dreams but they can only observe.’

  Rawlins recoils. ‘So what you’re saying is that any time I sleep, someone could be watching what I’m dreaming?’

  ‘It’s unlikely. There are a lot of people in the world and very few who can visit dreams.’ I twist my fingers together and look down. ‘But essentially, yes. Someone could do that.’

  She looks sick. ‘And the sleep paralysis? Is that do with,’ she waves a hand around, ‘all this stuff?’

  ‘Yes.’ I’m not sure how far I can take her but I’ve told her so much, I feel I may as well go all in. I describe the Dreamlands and the Badlands. I even include the Department’s claim that the dreamweaver is responsible for what’s happening to everyone.

  Once I’m finished, Rawlins turns away. Maybe she can’t bear to look at me. I’m a freak; I was a freak when I couldn’t leave my house and now I’m an even bigger freak.

  I see her reflection in the rain-streaked window. Her expression is distant. ‘If you want me to go…’ I begin.

  ‘No.’

  I bite my lip. For what seems like an interminable length of time, she stays in that position. I grow increasingly uncomfortable. Maybe I should leave and give her some space to think it all over.

  ‘They were real, weren’t they?’ she murmurs finally. ‘My assaults.’

  Damn it all to hell. I’ve been so focused on my own problems that I’ve forgotten completely about hers. I curse myself again for being so self-absorbed. I’ve spent far too much time with just myself for company.

  ‘They were still dreams,’ I tell her quietly. ‘They didn’t happen in real life.’

  ‘But they’re not a figment of my imagination.’

  I swallow. ‘No.’ And then, even though it seems ineffective, ‘I’m sorry.’

  There’s a hard set to her mouth. I realise in that instant that Rawlins isn’t like me at all. She’s not going to let her fear control her, she’s stronger than that. ‘He’s not appeared in my dreams since you … since you stopped him. But there are a lot of other people experiencing the same thing.’

  I slump in defeat. ‘I tried. I’ve been going into dreams to stop what’s happening but there are thousands of people who are afflicted. Maybe hundreds of thousands. To stop every single dream is almost impossible.’

  She purses her lips. ‘Whose dream were you in just now?’

  I tell her about the Bubble and what happened with Rebecca. Rawlins’ expression hardens further. ‘So not only can you see what people are dreaming, you can also manipulate their subconscious to show you images of their lives? Their memories?’

  She’s right. Almost everything that happened with Rebecca involved a memory: being taunted by school friends, meeting the love of her life, even being given drugs in her care home. Despite the surreal edge to what occurred, it wasn’t wish fulfilment or a deep-seated imagination that I experienced in her head, it was visions of her actual life. If I can replicate that with others, there’s no telling what information I could find out. I shiver. Right now I need this – but I really don’t want it.

  Rawlins straightens up, recognising my epiphany. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve discovered since meeting you it’s that nothing is impossible. You need to find out how to stop all those nightmares.’

  I nod. I might be no closer to working out how to keep the Badlands at bay, but I’m learning more about what I can do. If I can develop my skills sooner rather than later, we might just be in with a shot.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Human spirit is the ability to face the uncertainty of the future with curiosity and optimism. It is the belief that problems can be solved, differences resolved. It is a type of confidence. And it is fragile. It can be blackened by fear and superstition.

  Bernard Beckett

  At Rawlins’ insistence, we order in room service. I load up on carbohydrates; I’m going to need all the energy I can get. I feel antsy, my body fizzing with pent-up emotion. It’s going to a long wait until nightfall. I might be able to glean something from Powers but it’s Carter who I’m really after. I just hope that he’s not a night owl and decides to go to bed early.

  It’s helpful having Rawlins on hand. She’s quickly developed a rapport with the officers assigned to Ashley’s disappearance and they’re keeping her up to date with all the developments. The phone rings on and off throughout the afternoon. The crime scene guys have dusted Ashley’s flat for fingerprints and are running every one they’ve found through the national database. They’re checking the CCTV cameras but they’ve discovered nothing helpful so far. They’ve even already made a start on interviewing her friends and colleagues.

  I’m impressed at how quickly the police have sprung into action. The cynical part of me says that it’s because Ashley is a well-off woman whose disappearance could be important, but there’s no denying the evidence of violence left at the scene of the crime. Judging by the grim expression on Rawlins’ face every time she answers the phone, this is a case which deserves considerable attention.

  ‘Do you think she’ll be alright?’ I ask her softly, in between calls.

  Rawlins doesn’t whitewash her answer. ‘It’s difficult to say. She’ll be in a weakened state, especially if they’re using drugs to keep her awake. You really have no idea who they are in real life?’

  I shake my head. ‘Even if I asked around, it would be useless. These men have avoided my Dreamlands zone for years. No one knows who they are.’ I’ve described the faces of everyone I’ve seen; the police even sent someone round to our hotel room with a laptop filled with faces of known criminals for me to flick through. Naturally, I told them I’d seen her with various male ‘friends’ the last time I visited. Somehow, lying to the police is easier when I have Rawlins in tow. It was depressing to see how many photos were on the system – although that was nothing compared to the feeling when I reached the end of
the files and still hadn’t seen anyone who fit the bill. So far, we’re all drawing blanks.

  Rawlins is taking a shower when there’s a loud, insistent knock on the door. Assuming it’s another police officer, I answer nervously. I know they wouldn’t telephone if they found Ashley so by the time I open the door, my stomach is in knots.

  It’s not the police.

  Dante’s expression is thunderous. He pushes into the room, slams the door shut and glares. His silver eyes glow with a menace that makes me step back. This only serves to piss him off even more.

  I try not to react even though he’s so intimidating. ‘You really do enjoy appearing out of nowhere, don’t you?’

  He snarls.

  I sigh and push my hair out of my eyes. ‘I know what you’re thinking…’

  His face darkens even further. ‘Do you now?’

  ‘I wasn’t lying before when I told you I had a panic attack on the way to the airport. And it was really hard coming here.’ I swallow. ‘Really hard. But Ashley needs me.’

  For a moment, he looks dumbstruck. His jaw works as if he’s trying to formulate words. Then he grabs me by the arm and takes me to the nearest bed, pointing at me to sit down. Rather than argue, I do as he wishes. He releases me and starts to pace up and down the room.

  ‘I didn’t think you were lying,’ he grinds out.

  Oh. ‘It’s just you look so angry,’ I say. ‘I thought…’

  He interrupts me again. ‘I trust you,’ he says, frustrated. ‘Don’t you get that? At least, I trust that you’re not lying. How long are you going to punish me for thinking you were working for the Mayor?’

  I hadn’t been doing that at all. ‘Dante,’ I say carefully. ‘You were the one working for the Mayor.’

  ‘A long time before we ever met!’

  ‘And I don’t hold it against you.’

  He grinds to a halt. ‘The Department has taken Ashley?’

  I nod. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because they think she’s the dreamweaver?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you come running to where they are in real life and place yourself in serious danger. I trust you not to lie, Zoe, but I can’t trust you with your own safety! For someone who’s spent years living in fear, you have no regard for your own wellbeing! I’m taking you home right now. I’ve got a car waiting outside.’

  ‘Dante…’

  ‘Get your stuff.’

  I stand up. ‘No. I’m going to find Ashley.’

  ‘Bron and Rob can…’

  I fold my arms. ‘Bron and Rob can’t do what I can,’ I say flatly. ‘I’m her best chance.’

  ‘You’re an idiot,’ he dismisses. ‘Although it’s probably just as well. I’m having my doubts about Bron. He seems to be getting very cosy with Kevin.’

  I stiffen. ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing.’

  I scan his face. ‘What happened?’

  ‘This isn’t the time to talk about it. Come on. Stop messing around and come with me.’

  His insistence is annoying. ‘I told you, I’m staying here. Besides, it’s not as if I’m here on my own,’ I say, just as the shower turns off.

  Dante jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom. His dark skin turns pale and his shoulders drop slightly. ‘You’ve got company.’

  ‘It’s not what you think.’

  He doesn’t seem to hear me. For a fleeting moment, he looks boyish and vulnerable. I reach out to touch him but he jerks away. He gazes at me for one long moment then turns.

  ‘Dante, stop!’

  He’s already at the door.

  I curse, just as Rawlins emerges from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. ‘What’s going on here?’ she demands. ‘I heard shouting.’

  Dante freezes in his tracks. As soon as she catches sight of him, she freezes too. The pair of them stare at each other as if they can’t decide whether to attack or run. Fight or flight – I can relate to that. In these two, though, it’s almost comical.

  ‘Sergeant Rawlins, meet Dante the tracker. Dante meet Sergeant Rawlins.’ They still don’t move. I roll my eyes. ‘Relax. We’re the good guys.’

  ‘We’ve met.’

  I nod. They must have crossed paths when Dante came to help release me from my temporary incarceration after Miller’s death.

  ‘Zoe,’ Rawlins says slowly, ‘did you tell him we were here?’

  I pause. ‘No.’ I frown at Dante. ‘How did you find us so quickly?’

  He continues to stare at Rawlins with narrow-eyed suspicion.

  ‘Dante?’ I prod, trying to quash the nerves I suddenly feel.

  Without taking his eyes away from her, he holds up his palms and makes a show of reaching into his jacket. Rawlins tenses in alarm but I wave her back, trying to indicate that he can be trusted. I hope.

  He takes out his wallet, flips it open and slides out a pristine white card. He passes it to Rawlins and she studies it.

  ‘What?’ I ask. ‘What’s on it?’

  She holds the card up in my direction. ‘Your boyfriend’s a bounty hunter.’

  Dante flashes a huge smile so quickly that I think I may have imagined it.

  ‘He’s not my boyf…’ I stop. ‘Wait. Bounty hunter?’ He shrugs. ‘I thought you were a lawyer?’

  ‘I can practise if I wish. I have all the paperwork and I sat all the exams. I just find it … dull.’

  ‘But a bounty hunter?’ I splutter. ‘Since when were we in a Hollywood movie?’

  He throws me a droll look. Now that Rawlins is here, he’s all relaxed smiles and disarming charm. ‘I admit it’s not like the US,’ he says. ‘But it’s a similar concept. And to answer your original question, Bron told me you were coming to Manchester. It was a simple matter to call up hotels near Ashley’s apartment and find out where you were.’

  He says it casually, like it’s no big deal. I stalk over and punch him in the arm. He frowns at me. ‘What was that for?’

  ‘I’m agoraphobic!’ I yell. ‘I freak out at the idea that anyone can find me! It was hard enough for me to come down here in the first place. Then you say that you can waltz off a plane and locate me in Manchester five minutes later? Is that supposed to make me feel good?’

  He jabs a finger at his chest. He’s wearing a black T-shirt which moulds perfectly to his chest. Damn it. Why did I have to notice that? ‘One of the good guys, remember?’

  I mutter a curse.

  ‘Besides, it goes to show,’ he says with an arch look at Rawlins, ‘that you shouldn’t be here.’

  Rawlins is taken aback. ‘Is he your babysitter?’

  ‘He likes to think he is,’ I say nastily. ‘He’s worried about the Department.’

  Dante stiffens. I wave a hand. ‘She knows all about it.’

  ‘Are you a Traveller?’

  Rawlins shakes her head. There’s a gleam of amusement on her face. ‘No.’

  He glances at me. ‘You told her about…’

  ‘It’s a long story. But yes, she knows everything. The Dreamlands, the Department…’

  He glares at Rawlins. ‘And you let Zoe come here?’ he demands. ‘Knowing the danger it puts her in?’

  ‘She’s an adult,’ Rawlins says.

  I put my hands on my hips. ‘She doesn’t like being spoken about as if she’s not here. It’s a done deal, Dante. And I didn’t drag myself down here to go back with my tail between my legs. I’m going to find Ashley.’ I glance at Rawlins. ‘We’re going to find Ashley. No one else can do it, Dante.’

  ‘And if the Department finds you?’ he enquires, a dangerous edge to his tone.

  ‘Then we’ll deal with it. But,’ I muster all the confidence I can, ‘it won’t.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because we can’t afford for them to find me. Once Ashley is safe, I have to go the Badlands and sort them out too.’

  The corner of his mouth lifts. ‘Sort them out? You sound like a schoolteacher.’

  I glower at him.
‘What’s happening with the Badlands is more dangerous than what the Department is doing. And it might be my fault.’

  ‘Not possible,’ he says dismissively. He gazes at me, emotion dancing in his eyes. ‘See?’ he says gently. ‘You are brave.’

  ‘Patronising, much?’ I growl, although his words make my heart jump.

  Dante just grins.

  Rawlins coughs. ‘I’ll leave you two to it. I need some clothes.’ She scoops up a pile from a nearby chair and disappears back into the bathroom.

  ‘She called me your boyfriend,’ he says, once the door is closed.

  ‘Her detective skills require some work.’

  ‘Your mother did too.’

  ‘She called you my beau,’ I correct. ‘Not my boyfriend.’

  He takes a step towards me. ‘Which would you prefer?’

  I lick my lips. ‘I…’

  Dante dips his head and his lips brush against mine. ‘Don’t forget that you like me,’ he breathes. ‘I’m really glad you’re safe.’

  Inexplicably nervous, I pull back.

  ‘You’re a lot more confident in the Dreamlands,’ he tells me. ‘If you’d rather go there, I’m sure we can come to an agreement.’

  I’m not sure what possesses me to do it. Perhaps it’s his observation that I’m a different person when I’m dreaming; perhaps it’s his musky scent that’s taking over my senses. Either way, I simply grab hold of his shirt and pull him towards me.

  It’s not the first time we’ve kissed but it’s the first time we’ve done it for real in the real world. My head swims. His body is hard against mine and, as I coil against him, I feel the thud of his heartbeat. We explore each other’s mouths, his hands running down my back and coming to rest just above the base of my spine. He squeezes and I hiss involuntarily in pain, despite the delirium that’s attacking the rest of me.

  Dante draws back immediately. ‘You’re still hurt.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  He reaches out, tucking a loose curl of hair behind my ear. My mouth is dry; my hands are shaking. I tuck them behind my back but he tugs gently, bringing them forward again. He looks straight into my eyes.