by Helen Harper
‘It’s time, Belinda,’ the florist shouts. ‘You’ve had your fun and now you need to face the consequences.’ Her Scottish brogue has been supplanted by an American twang.
‘I ain’t no lily-livered, yella whore,’ the other woman calls back. Her fingers twitch.
I wonder whether I should interrupt them. If this is like the other dreams, they won’t see or hear me but I might be able to distract them. I picture the dead puppy; the last thing I want is to see this pair blast each other into oblivion, even if they are not real.
‘You stole my hoss!’ the florist yells. ‘Draw!’
Before I can react, they both lunge for their weapons and fire. Dust rises from the ground as shots echo around the empty street. I cover my ears and duck. The noise seems to go on for an eternity.
When silence finally returns and I peek out to see what’s happening, Belinda is standing over the florist. I run up to her.
She nudges her fallen victim with her toe. ‘He’s a no-good hoss. He ain’t worth dying for. But dying’s what you’re doing.’
The florist chokes, blood gurgling up from her mouth. Her skin is the colour of chalk. ‘He’s all I got,’ she croaks. Her eyes roll back and, yet again, I feel myself being dragged violently away by a force I cannot control.
The final dream is the worst. I’m surrounded by thick fog that tastes sulphuric. I can hear someone – I assume it’s the MailQuick worker – calling out for help and stumbling around. No matter how hard I try, I can’t reach him. I search blindly, doing what I can to stay calm. The more he shouts, the more my panic grows. ‘Hold on!’ I cry hoarsely. ‘I’ll come and get you!’
It’s no good, of course; he doesn’t hear me and doesn’t stop. I start to run. My lungs burn and my eyes stream and sting. I don’t want to be here but I don’t think I can get out, not until the dream ends naturally or I find Mr MailQuick and pinch him. Bile rises in my throat as I realise how foolish it was to stumble into someone else’s head with no idea of what I might find there. The other two dreams had a surreal quality; this is different. Eventually I hunker down and hug my knees as tightly as I can, rocking for comfort.
And when I wake up, my clothes and my hair stink of the smothering mist. My cheeks are wet with tears. My limbs are stiff and painful and I am trembling. It’s the first time in any of these dreams that I’ve felt genuinely afraid. I’m already trapped in my house. I don’t want to be trapped in my own head too.
***
One of the more positive results of my condition – at least as far as today is concerned – is that I have a mountain of cards and leaflets from local doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists and trauma experts. Almost all of them have been donated by my mother but a few have been passed on by friends. I study them carefully before selecting one who lists sleep disorders as a speciality. Doctor Miller: I remember he made some home visits during the early days. At the time he struck me as efficient and capable, even if his therapy didn’t do me a scrap of good.
I phone him. ‘I’ve, er, been having trouble sleeping,’ I tell him once I’ve re-introduced myself and given him time to locate my sparse file.
‘Insomnia?’ he asks.
‘More like dreams. Um, bad dreams.’
‘Has this happened before?’
I wrap a strand of my hair round my little finger. ‘It’s only a recent thing.’
‘Then it’s good,’ he tells me confidently. ‘It means your mind is trying to heal itself. Our daily lives often manifest themselves through dreams. It’s a way for your subconscious to work through problems.’
‘There were bears. In one of the dreams, I mean. I was trying to feed them.’ It’s only a small white lie.
‘Were you succeeding?’ He sounds eager.
‘Um, yeah, I guess.’
‘That proves you’re starting to win. You’re learning to handle your problem. This is a fantastic step forward, Zoe.’
I murmur non-committally. ‘One of them killed a puppy.’
‘Oh.’ He pauses. ‘Do you like dogs?’
‘I do.’ I say it quietly. ‘There was another dream after that when I was lost in some kind of fog. I couldn’t get out no matter what I did. It was pretty frightening.’
‘Dreams often are.’ He lays on the reassurance. ‘But the best thing about them is that you’re safely wrapped up in your bed.’
‘The thing is that when I dream,’ I swallow hard, ‘it seems like I’m in control. That I’m aware of what’s going on.’
‘Ah, that’s interesting. Oneironautics.’
‘Oneira... what?’
‘Oneironautics,’ he repeats. ‘Or rather, lucid dreaming. It’s more common than you’d think.’
I’m flabbergasted. ‘It exists?’
‘Of course! You’re aware you’re dreaming?’
‘Yes.’
‘Aware of your own identity?’
‘Yes.’
‘Aware you can make your own decisions within the dream?’
‘Yes.’
‘They are all classic signs. It’s all related to the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex. There have been numerous studies on it.’
I sink down into the chair. I hadn’t expected to have my condition explained to me. ‘It’s not real,’ I whisper. Then I think of the physical evidence afterwards and doubt returns. ‘What if I dreamt it was raining and I woke up with wet hair?’ I ask.
There’s a short pause. ‘Well, that is fascinating. Sleepwalking combined with lucid dreaming.’
‘You think ... you think I just sleepwalked?’
‘Well,’ he laughs, ‘what else could it be?’
What else indeed? Suddenly I feel like an idiot for thinking otherwise. ‘How do I stop it?’
‘Hm, that’s a different proposition. Dreams cannot be stopped per se. I can send you a prescription for something that might dull your senses, however, and prevent the lucidity from recurring.’
‘Please.’ I stare at my drawing, my eyes drifting from one scrawled line to another.
I snatch it off the wall and screw it up.
Chapter Seven
Security is mostly a superstition.
Helen Keller
Naturally, I take great pains this time not to touch the delivery person. The second I have the prescription in my sweaty palms, I slam the door shut and swallow the pills. I won’t deny I’m still nervous about what will happen when I sleep but I feel more at ease. Chemical mind control – you can’t beat it.
Except on those occasions when it doesn’t work.
I’m back in the damn Dreamlands forest. Surprisingly, however, I’m not upset or scared. If anything, I’m rather floaty. I reach out and scrape my fingertips across the cold bark of the trees on either side of me and hum. Then I sit down cross-legged. I hold up one hand in front of my face and wiggle my fingers. My vision blurs and I giggle.
There’s a soft whinny. A moment later, something damp nuzzles my neck.
‘Hello, my unicorn chum,’ I coo. I frown and deepen my voice. ‘I hereby christen you Pegasus. You may not have wings but I think I can fly enough for the pair of us.’
Pegasus huffs and nudges my arm. I ignore her and lie on my back, staring up at the leaves and branches. They stretch down towards me like spindly arms. Witch’s arms.
‘It’s not real,’ I say aloud. ‘None of this is real.’
Pegasus gives a high-pitched screech that could probably be heard for miles but I barely register it. I don’t even look up when her hooves clatter on the hard ground and she twists away, thundering into the trees behind.
‘What are you doing?’ It’s a male voice, and filled with derision.
I smile. ‘I’m dreaming of course. What are you doing?’
There’s a muttered curse and a hand grips my arm, pulling me to my feet. ‘Hey!’ I protest. ‘I was comfortable there!’
‘Until you freeze to death.’ I blink, trying to focus on the silver eyes. Dante. Why?
‘My duvet is warm and snuggly. I won’t freeze.
’
‘Your skin is like ice. And you certainly can freeze.’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘I don’t like you,’ I tell him. ‘You’re shtupid.’
He glowers. Again. ‘You’re drunk.’
‘No, I’m not.’ I wobble slightly and almost fall.
He grips me tighter. ‘Yes, you are.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Yes, you...’ He pauses and shakes his head. ‘This is ridiculous. Who are you?’
‘I told you.’ I sniff. ‘I’m Zoe. And I’m not drunk. I just took a few pills.’
He frowns. ‘What kind of pills?’
I yank my arms away from him and stumble. ‘Not telling. Now go away. I command you to leave.’
There’s a flicker of amusement in his face. He rocks back on his heels and folds his arms. I try not to notice how his T-shirt strains against his biceps. ‘You command me?’
‘Oneironautics,’ I say confidently. ‘That’s lucid dreaming.’
‘I know what oneironautics is.’
‘Well, I’m dreaming lucidly so I’m in control. And I’m telling you to leave.’
He licks his lips. ‘You still think this is just a dream?’
‘No,’ I say sarcastically. ‘I think I’m in a real forest with a real man. That I just closed my eyes and...’ I snap my fingers, ‘...poof! I’m here. I’m crazy,’ I say confidentially, ‘but I’m not that crazy. My doctor said so.’
‘Your doctor, whoever he is, doesn’t have a bloody clue.’ He leans towards me. ‘How many times have you been here, Zoe?’
I hold up my fingers. They blur and I waggle them. Unfortunately, the movement just makes them blur even more so I drop my hand. ‘Three times, Dante.’
‘How do you know my name?’
‘Bron told me. He’s very good-looking,’ I slur. ‘But he’s not real either.’
Dante scowls. ‘I can assure you,’ he says tightly, ‘he’s as real as you are.’
I squeeze my eyes shut and count to ten. When I open them again, he’s still there. The amusement in his face deepens.
‘You’re still here.’ My disappointment is clear.
‘Yes.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘That’s because this is real.’
‘This is a dream. Dreams aren’t real.’
He snorts. ‘Of course they are. Especially if you’re a Traveller.’
‘I’m not a traveller. I don’t go anywhere.’ At his sceptical glance, I protest, ‘It’s true. I really don’t.’
‘It’s not like getting on a plane,’ he says derisively. ‘It’s your mind.’
‘I really am crazy,’ I say mournfully.
He watches me steadily and I get the oddest sensation that he’s looking right into my soul. ‘No,’ he says finally, ‘you’re not. You’re just one of the few who can tap into their subconscious. What doesn’t make sense is why it’s not happened before.’
‘I think,’ I declare, ‘that what doesn’t make sense is why you used to work for the Mayor.’
Dante stiffens. ‘Who told you that?’
I shrug. ‘Does it matter?’ From far in the distance there’s a whinny. I brighten. ‘Pegasus!’ I turn to go in search of my unicorn friend. Anything’s better than Dante’s knowing sneer.
He pulls me back against his chest. ‘Don’t be an idiot.’
‘That unicorn is friendlier than you are,’ I mutter.
‘It’s not a damned unicorn. It’s a mare.’
I try to pull away. ‘Mares don’t have horns.’
‘Not a mare as in a horse. A mare as in a night mare.’
‘Now who’s the crazy one?’
He sighs. ‘I’ll prove it. Come on.’ He releases me and takes a few steps before looking back. ‘Follow,’ he snaps.
I want to tell him to sod off but curiosity gets the better of me so I trail after him. Unfortunately, he’s far more used to the forest than I am and soon he’s pulled away. I quicken my step, struggling to keep up. Dante’s muscular form is swallowed up by the darkness so I have to listen for his footfalls but he pads as quietly as a cat and soon I can’t hear him.
I focus on the ground. There’s a trail in the dry bracken, not much more than a few snapped twigs but enough for me to follow. I’m so focused on my feet, however, that I don’t notice when he’s stopped and I collide with his hard body. He frowns angrily and I only just manage not to stick my tongue out at him.
‘There’s nothing here,’ I tell him defiantly as I sway from side to side and look around.
‘Wait.’
I hiccup in response.
‘Whatever those damn pills were,’ he growls, ‘you shouldn’t take them.’
I agree. My stomach is roiling nauseously and I’m tired of my blurry vision. But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right so I merely harrumph.
‘I’m serious,’ he says. ‘It’s dangerous to be out here in the forest and not in full possession of all your faculties.’
‘It’s only a bloody dream.’
‘Shhh.’
I open my mouth to make a sarky response but a sudden moan stops me. I grab hold of Dante’s arm. ‘What the hell is that?’
‘I told you to be quiet.’
‘Stop treating me like a child,’ I hiss.
‘Stop acting like one. It’s an outlier. They’re heading this way and there’s a mare tracking them. You need to stay silent and out of sight.’
Something about the tone of his voice makes me do as he says. I peer into the darkness, trying to pierce the dark shadows. Then I stumble. Dante stiffens in annoyance and pulls me towards him again.
‘You’re still freezing,’ he mutters. He wraps his arms round me and I feel a shiver of delicious warmth. Then the figure appears.
I gape. It’s an older man, wearing a pair of fraying boxer shorts decorated with red love hearts. ‘He’s wearing underwear,’ I whisper. ‘He’s not cold.’
‘Because he’s not here like we are,’ Dante breathes in my ear. ‘Now be quiet and watch.’
I force myself to relax. Normally, if I were in such close contact with someone I didn’t know, I’d be hyperventilating and close to passing out. Instead, I find I’m enjoying the sensation of Dante’s skin against mine. Obviously it’s because he’s just a figment of my imagination.
I focus on the scantily clad man in front of us. Whoever he is, he doesn’t look very happy. He moans again. ‘Help!’
Without thinking, I pull away from Dante. He lets out a smothered curse and grabs me back.
‘Let me go! He needs help.’
‘He’s fine.’
‘But–’
Dante clamps a hand round my mouth. ‘I told you to be quiet.’
There’s a familiar clatter of hooves to our left, followed by a harsh whinny. Dante pulls me further back until the man is only just visible through the blanket of darkness. He spins one way then another, his hands clawing at the air. Another whinny follows and the unicorn – or rather the mare, if Dante is to be believed – appears. Her white teeth flash dangerously.
I realise that this isn’t Pegasus: there’s a scar across this animal’s muzzle and she looks slightly taller. She still has bright-red hooves, though.
The man moans again and the mare’s eyes narrow. She snorts and a cloud of misty breath erupts from her nostrils. She pulls back her ears and I realise that she’s about to charge. I jerk against Dante but he holds me fast.
‘He’ll be fine,’ he murmurs. ‘He’s an outlier.’
Except I still don’t understand what that means. All I’m aware of is the mare is staring threateningly at the vulnerable guy. She paws at the ground, making a scraping sound like nails down a blackboard. Then, without warning, she leaps forward.
I struggle against Dante’s arms. It’s no good, though; I can’t move. In front of my horrified gaze, the man throws up his arms and screams. A heartbeat later both he and the mare have vanished and I’m free. I rush forward, but there’s no sign of either of them, other than a f
ew broken twigs.
I spin round. ‘What happened? Where did they go? We need to find him!’
Dante watches me with an annoyingly calm expression. ‘They’ve gone. She’s stalked him into his own dreams. Your efforts to save him are commendable but pointless.’
‘But...’
‘He’s an outlier.’
‘You keep saying that,’ I spit. ‘But I don’t understand what it means.’
‘He’s not really here.’
I gesture frantically around the small clearing. ‘Obviously! He’s gone and she’s gone after him!’
‘You need to calm down.’
I jab him in the chest. ‘You need to explain what’s going on.’
‘He wasn’t really here,’ Dante repeats. ‘He wandered in by accident and now he’s wandered out again. He’ll have a nightmare and it’ll be bad but the chances are he won’t even remember it. He’ll wake up safe and sound.’
‘We still could have helped him!’
‘No, we couldn’t because we’re not outliers.’ He holds up a palm to forestall another of my protests. ‘He’s not aware of where he is or who he is. To him this is just a dream.’
‘Of course it’s a dream!’
‘You remember being here. You’re in control of your actions. You have awareness.’
I put my hands on my hips. ‘So?’
‘Awareness is everything. If you’re aware of what’s happening, aware of being hurt or,’ he glances towards the spot where the mare and the man disappeared, ‘being killed, then your mind can’t take the consequences. What happens to you or me in this world happens in real life also. It’s not like that for outliers.’
I stare at him uncomprehendingly. Dante sighs. ‘If you’d intervened, or if the mare had seen you, you’d be attacked. But for you it would be real.’
I think about my damp hair and the cut on my cheek. ‘So I’d be hurt?’
‘You’d be dead. Mares don’t maim. They kill.’
‘Pegasus didn’t maim or kill me.’
Dante’s expression turns flinty. ‘You can’t name them like pets. And I don’t know why that happened. I’ve never seen a mare act docile before.’
‘You mean,’ I point out, ‘you’ve never seen a mare act docile with you before.’ I look at him smugly. ‘Perhaps they just don’t like you.’
