The Dream Catcher Diaries

by Alexander Patrick

  The General smiled at the thought. Yet even as he stood with satisfaction seeping through him, the sound of police sirens warned him that they had already left it too late.

  He ran into the warehouse and gave the signal. From out of the darkness figures came running, darting from the building in all directions, fear giving them speed. The General raced forward down the path, across a wasteland of overturned cars and machinery, straight into a block of uniformed muscle.

  The world went black.

  ***********************

  If my father and his youngest son were freaks, his eldest son, Robert, could only be described as stunningly beautiful. When he walked into a restaurant, everyone would turn around and stare, the men with envy and the women with naked lust. He was movie-star beautiful. He moved with grace and his deep Edinburgh voice resonated. His smile was beguiling and he remained handsome into his old age. Right into his late sixties, young women fawned over him. Life’s troubles made his hair grow grey unexpectedly when he was thirty-one years old. His hair developed a white streak: it was a couple of centimetres thick, on the right hand side of his middle parting. It was wonderful. We all envied him his white streak; people paid a lot of money for that kind of thing. His new wife, Julie, was pretty annoyed about it. She thought he was much too good looking and hoped he would at least have had grey hair. It wouldn’t have made any difference if he had, he would still have been beautiful.

  Robert was dark: dark hair, dark eyes and clear olive skin; he was tall, muscular and perfect in every way. He was the product of the unhappy first marriage of my father. My father was probably, no definitely, the first person to fall in love with Robert.

  My father was twenty-three years old when he first met Sarah. He was establishing himself as a vet in Edinburgh and about to be married. Shortly after a one-night stand with Sarah, he received a visit from her and was informed that she was pregnant and that he was the father. For some reason, it never occurred to him to question her, and so they were married.

  There was no love in the relationship and no sex. Throughout their married life they both had unhappy love affairs with other people. He had nothing but contempt for her and she had nothing but hate for him. They lived in the same house, not as strangers – which would have been bad enough – but as bitter enemies. When Robert was born, my father took one look at him and vowed to love and protect him. When Sarah kindly informed him that she would be calling her new son Robert, after his real father, it did not shake that love and devotion.

  My father was not surprised to find that Robert was not his natural son. He looked nothing like him and he certainly didn’t have the freaky eyes. He was, as I say, beautiful. My father loved him and Sarah despised him. He was the reason my father suffered years of humiliation at the hands of a slightly deranged woman. He would not leave Robert. He knew that if it came to a divorce he would probably never see Robert again so he was prepared to suffer anything that Sarah threw at him in order to hold onto that precious burden.

  Sarah knew this. Her main joy in life was to give my father hell – and she did.

  She was, as I say, slightly deranged. Robert was terrified of her as a child and loathed her as an adult. He never forgave her for the things she did to our father, and if Robert could love with passion it is true to say that he could hate with equal passion. Years later, when she finally died and he was asked to attend her funeral, he said: ‘I can dance with joy here; I don’t need to do it on her grave.’ He meant it.

  To put the record straight, Sarah was charming and beautiful. She fell in love with a professor of mathematics called Robert. That was all she ever told anyone. When she was pregnant he had told her in precise mathematical terms to fuck off. What he failed to tell her was that he was, in fact, infertile, and when she had tried to claim his paternity he had known she had been unfaithful to him. It was to be many years before DNA tests eventually proved that Robert really was my father’s natural child.

  At the time, all Sarah knew was that her lover had rejected her. She was furious and, being catholic when it suited her, refused an abortion. She was too proud to be an unmarried mother so she married a man she hated: my father.

  To know Sarah was to despair. She had many love affairs, but most men shied away when they found out what she was really like: a drunk, a depressive, addicted to self-harm and kinky sex. She smoked constantly and swore in private. Her circle of friends was made up of dubious characters: other drunks and perverts; at least one was a notorious paedophile who openly lusted after Robert. And on top of this she was uneducated. This ignorance and being ‘common’ were her greatest sins according to my grandmother, who refused to speak to my father when she found out he had got a shop girl pregnant and had to marry her. She never met Sarah. She never came to the wedding or their house for his entire married life.

  Robert was born a beautiful baby. As a child he excelled; he was bright academically and athletically. He found school easy. He decided he wanted to be a vet at an early age and managed it with ease; he became top student in his year and won a scholarship to a major Canadian university. He married a beautiful Canadian called Maggie when he was twenty-one and was widowed by the age of twenty-five. Davey was two-and-a-half at the time. He came home with a son born perfect but damaged terribly in the same car crash that had killed Maggie.

  My mother was pregnant with me when Robert and Davey came home. She took one look at Davey and loved him. He crept onto her lap and placed his small hands on her large tummy. His mother had been seven months pregnant when she died. He knew he had found his place and he took advantage of it immediately. I had not yet been born and, already, I had been usurped.

  I could not compete with the beautiful child who looked so much like his father but who was also so vulnerable. The accident had left him partially sighted and almost completely deaf. From the moment he entered our house, he became the most important creature in it – for everyone, and that never changed. I was born into a family where Davey was supreme and I never questioned it.

  Davey dominated my young life. He was an exacting master and I never questioned his authority. He had learned to sign and lip read – so I had to learn, as well. He was being taught Braille in case his eyesight deteriorated – so I was taught, too. He expected it of me and, young though I was, I complied.

  When he was eight, he lost his sight and his hearing completely. He was supposed to be careful. The doctors had told us that a bang on the head could result in damage to his eyes or his ears. During his eighth birthday party, his new cousin, Paul, knocked me over and made me cry. Davey rushed to my defence. Davey had knocked me over enough times in the past but that was his right, nobody else’s. He attacked Paul in retaliation. Paul was older and much bigger. Overweight and solid, he carried plenty of power. He threw a punch and Davey went flying, hitting his head against the table as he did so. He was immediately unconscious. Blood trickled out of one ear: his good ear, the one that could still hear. He was rushed to hospital.

  Davey lost his sight and what remained of his hearing; I gained a burden. No one said anything; they didn’t have to. I knew it was my fault. The day that Davey lost his light and sound, the rest of us lost the sunshine from our lives. Robert gained his white streak and I swore I would never leave Davey’s side again, that I would be his eyes and his ears for the rest of my life.

  I let him down of course. I left him and became what I became, Matrix, Devil’s child, the Dream Catcher. I have many names. I have done many terrible things; blood stains my hands. I have taken the lives of many and smiled as I did so. I am the one many hate and others adore. I have been called a God and a Devil. Perhaps I am both. As I look back to that small, frightened child standing next to the unconscious Davey with blood trickling out of his ear, I think I knew that it would change me, that I would become a dark person, a wicked person, as a result. It was the day the light left all of our lives.

  Chapter 5

  The darkness was creeping in and with it c
ame silence; yet, I was strangely aware of what was happening to me and going on all around me. I sensed something was wrong: that the General, one of my closest friends, was in trouble. How I knew this I cannot say but I did and I felt the guilt – that old friend who had been with me since childhood.

  I knew also that we had stopped. Jazz, the man who had been driving the van, was leaning over me. ‘He’s bleeding,’ he was saying. His voice sounded far away and small, and yet still I sensed the desperation and the fear. He was sitting next to his God and his God was bleeding all over his van. ‘I know,’ he replied to something I couldn’t hear. ‘But this is Matrix, for fuck’s sake, and he’s dying! What do I do?’

  I wanted to tell him, to speak, but I couldn’t. He had one thing to do: obey the General. As if in response to the words I could not speak, Jazz sighed, ‘I must carry on. I must trust the General.’ He started the van again and we were moving.

  I don’t know how long or how far we had travelled when the motorbikes arrived. Jazz swore constantly as bright, undimmed lights atop loud, snarling machines began to buzz around his van, like so many large, unwanted insects. Their lights were glaring and intrusive and the harsh, aggressive engines were making him nervous. He glanced across at me as he tried to avoid the bikes darting to and fro, in front, behind and around him, moving at speed and moving ever closer to his van. Slowly, he was being edged to the side of the road. The van swerved and swayed, and brakes made loud screeching noises as he desperately tried to maintain control. But there were just too many bikes closing in: dark, sinister shapes behind bright, shining lights that beamed into the van, blinding and dazzling him. He swore again; it didn’t stop them coming. They were descending on him and pushing him into the hedge along the road until, at last, he came to a shuddering stop.

  A child screamed and a woman tried to hush him – at least I think it was a woman. It was the child’s scream that really penetrated my thick fog; I felt the raw fear, the incomprehension, the dread.

  Jazz was gasping and sweating freely. He rubbed his brow and peered out. The noise of the motorbikes had calmed down, but their lights still dominated the interior of the van, throwing those dark shapes into greater shadow and exposing the victims in stark relief. I could feel the tension as we waited.

  Jazz took a deep breath and opened his window. One of the shapes on one of the bikes slowly dismounted and ambled across. He was followed by others who while keeping their distance were nevertheless a presence. It was a tall, broad shadow and it walked with arrogance and confidence. He was in control of the situation and he knew it.

  Jazz leaned out. ‘Evening, friend,’ he said, trying to sound casual.

  The shadow resolved itself into a mountain of a man and stood at Jazz’s window peering in. He wore an old German helmet from the Second World War of the last century; a thin, greasy ponytail hung down from underneath his helmet and down his back. He had small, dark, close-set eyes, thick lips and a squashed nose. His many chins were all unshaven, and when he smiled he showed neglected teeth. His hands were gloved in spiked black leather. In fact, he was dressed in the ubiquitous black leather all over and the legend Satan’s Child was sprawled across his chest. Jazz’s heart sank. He didn’t need this. ‘I have nothing you would want friend,’ he said. ‘We’re base substrata. We have nothing.’

  The biker was chewing something slowly in his mouth. He turned his head and spat on the ground and then turned back to Jazz. ‘You gave us quite a run,’ he commented laconically.

  ‘You scared me,’ admitted Jazz. What did he have to lose?

  ‘I don’t like it when pretty boys play hard to get.’

  ‘I’m not a ...’

  ‘You’re a discard; you’ve been fucked plenty. Don’t tell me you haven’t; I expect every pervert in the North has stuck his dick up your arse. I know about your lot; I’ve read the book.’

  Jazz said nothing. The cruel jibe hurt but it was not the first time it had been said and he doubted it would be the last.

  ‘You shouldn’t have tried to get away,’ continued the biker. ‘That was a mistake.’

  Jazz felt his hands shake but still said nothing. He closed his eyes as beads of sweat trickled down his face. He wanted his nightmare to end and he didn’t know how to end it. The biker was watching him intently. ‘I like the look of your woman. I expect she could do with a good screw from a real man.’

  ‘Please don’t ...’

  ‘Give me Matrix and we’ll leave you good people in peace.’

  Jazz stared at him. ‘I can’t ...’

  The biker leaned in through the window. ‘You’ve no choice. We’ll take him anyway. We can take him after we’ve all fucked your missus. You can watch and then we may play with the boy some. We all have different tastes, don’t we? Then we’ll take Matrix. Or we’ll take Matrix now, and you drive on back the way you came. You choose.’

  ‘Please, I have orders from the General ...’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck about the General. Give us Matrix!’

  Jazz knew he had no choice. He was hopelessly outnumbered: one paraplegic, a woman and a small child against an armed gang of Satan’s Children – but he couldn’t just give them Matrix. ‘What will you do to him?’ he asked in a small voice.

  The biker leaned in close. His breath stank of old food and his body stank of stale sweat, wet leather, cigarettes and beer. ‘You know what we’ll do. We’ll kill him and you may be sure it’ll be slow. Do you want to watch?’

  ‘No!’ screamed Jazz. Yet even as he cried out, the passenger door was flung open and I was dragged out. I felt the rain drive down on me as I was pulled roughly outside, passed across from one violent hand to another, and into an army of leather-clad bikers. Jazz cried out again as the door was slammed shut and the seat was left empty. ‘No!’ he screamed again. But he was screaming at nothing. The biker at his window was no longer there. Jazz peered out into the searing lights trying to see beyond to the gloom. In a light-blind haze he saw the shadowy figures carry me into their midst and then he watched me disappear. Almost at the same time the roar of the engines vibrated, the smoke from the exhausts filled the air and the bikers were gone.

  There was silence and night and no Matrix; just a lonely van on a lonely road in a dark night.

  ***********************

  When Robert returned from Canada he was a broken man. He could barely deal with the loss of a much-loved wife; having to cope with a child traumatised and deaf was beyond him. He was twenty-five years old and had thought he had so much to live for. He was successful as a vet, his beautiful wife was pregnant with a daughter and our father had promised he would move to Canada and join him. Everything was perfect until that car crash, that pointless journey in the driving rain that changed everything for everyone.

  Robert struggled with Davey. He did what he could but most of the burden fell on my mother. Instead he drowned his sorrows in work and alcohol. In the end, it was the latter that caused him the most trouble because he chose as his two drinking companions a gay couple who were close to my parents.

  Daniel Cohen was a vet who worked in the same practice as my father. He and Robert had been electronic friends for years and, when Robert came home, he was a natural confidant. His partner, Ian Richardson, was a close friend of my mother’s. He was a landscape gardener, and if it was possible for a gay man half my mother’s age to be in love with her, then he was. He adored her.

  Robert fell in with them, spending his evenings getting drunk and collapsing in their spare bedroom. They were the best possible friends anyone could have. They knew how to listen (a rare skill), they knew how to empathise and they knew how to get drunk – and they did all three with Robert.

  The downside for Robert was that at some point he did recover from the loss of his wife and started looking at women again, but by that time everyone assumed he was gay. The only women who approached him were those wishing to discuss problems with their love lives. But this was not all, if a woman did finally real
ise he was straight, she was then confronted with Davey and the sure knowledge that a deaf child – and possibly a deafblind child – would always come first. Robert – the perfect, beautiful Robert – did not find a woman until Julie came into his life.

  Julie had handsome grey eyes, but beyond that she was – it has to be said – a plain woman. She was pale, prim and plump. But she was different from the other women: she did not run away from Davey. In fact, it was because of Davey that she met Robert. She taught deafblind children how to hand sign and Davey was in her class.

  I cannot truly say that Robert was ever in love with Julie. But he was desperately lonely and so he chased her with the enthusiasm and vigour of the most ardent lover. She was reluctantly in love with him. She didn’t want to be. She was scared of his good looks and charm. She was convinced he would be unfaithful. Men that handsome do not remain faithful to one woman. In fact, in the end, it was Julie who was unfaithful. Even if he had wanted to, Robert simply never had the time. He was obsessed with one thing: Davey.

  The marriage was a failure in every sense. We all watched as this woman, who claimed to love him, destroyed him – his confidence, his sense of wellbeing and his sense of who he was. Slowly, over the years, he changed, becoming a shadow, a thin pretence of the Robert we had all known. It was heartbreaking, particularly for my father who could only watch.

  Robert bought a house with my parents, a large house overlooking the bay, with room for everyone to have private space and communal time when needed. It meant my mother continued to be Davey’s mother. The house was bought after Davey had lost his sight but before Robert and Julie married. Julie married in the belief that she could pack Davey off to a home and remove Robert from the house into a smaller, more intimate arrangement for the two of them. She failed on both counts and never forgave any of us for that.