The Dream Catcher Diaries

by Alexander Patrick

  ***********************

  Judith had had a stroke. It left her paralysed down her right side and speechless. We moved her downstairs into the bedroom that had once taken her husband and I looked after her. Andrew and Sonia were frequent visitors, so was Fraser Drummond. He came every week and prayed with her. At first, Sonia cooked; I still wouldn’t go into her kitchen.

  Over time I had come to resent the fact that she still didn’t trust me. I had lain in bed with her, made love to her, and yet she would not let me near her knives. I had so longed to help her with her cooking – simple things like cutting up the vegetables – but she had stubbornly refused me permission. Right to the end I felt unforgiven and now that she was helpless I couldn’t bring myself to disobey her. So Sonia came up every day and cooked and looked after us.

  Eventually, Andrew took me by the hand and led me into the kitchen. ‘I think she would want this,’ he said. He knew I had no choice. Sonia had other duties and responsibilities and, anyway, I didn’t want her around. So at last I entered her kitchen and I cooked her meals. I cooked delicate food to tempt an invalid.

  When Andrew came visiting one morning, he found me asleep on the floor by her bed. He immediately erected a small bed for me so that I need never leave her. I was terrified of leaving her alone. More than anything, I needed her to live.

  ***********************

  October 2037

  When she died, I howled and screamed. I pounded my fists on her bed and I spoke my first word. ‘No!’ I sobbed. I bent my head. ‘No!’ I whispered. Andrew said nothing. He had been proved right. I could speak after all. But he said nothing. He was too busy weeping.

  Part Two

  Bràithreachas

  Chapter 19

  They changed my name to Jamie Cameron. They changed everything: my birth details, my ID number, anything that could possibly link me to my previous life. I didn’t know it, but it was the start of the destruction of the man I had once been.

  I only spent a few hours in the holding pen; from what I understood, there were some who spent days, even weeks, there. The length of time depended on how soon they could find you a foster family. If you were severely disabled, it might take longer. I was there for less than a day. It was long enough to fill me with anger and despair; no one would listen to me. I asked for my medicine; I was told to wait. I told them I was about to be married; it seemed to make no difference. I was put through the system just like everyone else.

  It was the middle of the night when we left and the early hours of the morning when we arrived. I was blind, tired and confused. I still couldn’t understand why they hadn’t given me my medicine. I hadn’t realised then what they had done with it.

  I was half led, half dragged out of the van and across an uneven path. I could smell burning and fumes and I could hear babies crying and women shouting. We entered a lift; it smelt of urine. I was taken down a high-rise path; the wind blew across and chilled me. I was still wearing my black suit and tie and it was a cold morning.

  We came to an abrupt stop and my guide, who had not spoken a word despite my frequent questions and complaints, knocked on the door. I heard the door open and moved my head to try and catch a change of light. There was none; the inside was obviously as gloomy as the outside.

  ‘Package, as promised,’ said my guide.

  ‘Thanks.’ I was pushed in. ‘Keep the stick we won’t be needing it.’

  ‘No, wait!’ I cried.

  ‘He’s a talkative one,’ my guide volunteered. ‘He’s done nothing but complain.’

  ‘Soon change that.’

  I was led into the building. More smells came to meet me: cooking, grease, sweat, feet, stale odours and damp. The intermingling smells were overpowering for a blind man and disgusting. The place smelt of filth; it smelt of a place shut off from the world, a place where no one opened any windows.

  I was shoved into a chair. The push was so violent I almost fell out of it again. ‘I think there’s been some mistake,’ I said. ‘I need my medicine. It should be amongst my bags and I need to contact my family. I’m due to be married ...’ I moved my head to try to catch where people were in the room, and how many.

  ‘I have my telephone number in my pocket. If you could ring my brother, he’ll explain. Meanwhile, I need to take my medicine. He’s already mixed it and it doesn’t last very long once it’s been mixed ...’ again, I trailed off.

  ‘My, my, you do like to talk, don’t you!’ said a voice close to me.

  I turned my head. ‘I’m not sure ....’

  ‘Fuck, look at his eyes!’

  ‘He’s blind!’

  ‘Yeh, but look at the colour of those eyes!’

  ‘Bloody weird!’

  Two voices so far, both male, young with Northern accents.

  ‘Mother, come and look at this.’

  ‘Listen,’ I said.

  ‘Amos, can’t you shut him up? Can’t think with that yammering going on!’ a pause. ‘Oh my, we do have a strange one here now, don’t we?’ Her voice was thick with smoke; she was obviously a heavy smoker.

  ‘The punters will love him.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘They will when I’ve finished with him.’

  ‘Why, do you have something particular in mind?’

  ‘You bet!’

  I could hear things being moved around, lids opening and shutting, clanking sounds and the smell of – it smelt like a hospital and I couldn’t understand why – a strong pungent smell of antiseptic.

  I tried to stand up but was immediately pushed back. ‘As I said ...’ I began.

  My arms were pressed down onto the arms of the chair and manacles were placed around my wrists. At the same time manacles were placed around my legs and waist, securing me in place. ‘What are you doing?’ I shouted. A collar secured my neck to the back of the chair. ‘Let me go, you bastards!’

  ‘Tut tut, language,’ said the woman.

  Someone struck my face. ‘Never swear in front of Mother!’ he shouted. He struck me again.

  ‘Now, Spider, leave him be; I need a clean face.’

  ‘Just brand him!’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Brand me? What the fuck?’ I cried.

  A hand was swiftly placed under my chin and my mouth was forced open; something cold and metallic was shoved into it. The pain was immediate and intense. A thousand needles pierced the inside of my mouth; a thousand shots of pain surged through my gums and into my teeth. I screamed and writhed but that simply made it worse. For long moments I fought and then, at last, I stopped; I’d worked it out: the more I moved, the more it hurt. I was still, panting, confused, in agony.

  ‘He’s worked it out, already.’ said Spider.

  ‘Takes most of them a little longer,’ said Amos.

  ‘Amos, get him branded.’

  ‘In a moment, Mother; I’m thinking.’ He leaned in closer. ‘It’s called the lock. You think this hurts. Just you wait, this is nothing to what we’ve got planned for you and, yes, the more you move, the more it hurts. You stay still and it won’t hurt. I’ve coated the spikes with a medicine; can you smell it?’

  I nodded weakly and then stopped. Even that hurt.

  ‘It numbs the gums. It won’t hurt at all after a while – as long as you don’t move your mouth.’ He stroked my chin and my cheek. ‘Said we’d shut you up, didn’t we?’ He pressed something against my cheek. ‘We’re going to brand you. It will hurt like fuck – I can tell you that for a start – but you won’t scream, not with the lock in place. One of the reasons we use it; it means we can do exactly what we like with you and the neighbours won’t complain.’

  There were more sounds of metal clinking and the smell of burning. He pulled my head up.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Spider.

  ‘I’m going to brand him on the neck.’

  ‘Why the neck? It should be the face. That’s what we did to the others.’

  ‘Because,’ said Amos,
‘I have something rather special planned for this one and I don’t want to spoil it.’ I felt him move away slightly. ‘Okay, grab his head.’

  I was held down whilst Amos pressed a burning sheet of metal to my neck. Despite the lock I tried to scream. I couldn’t help it. I had never felt so much pain.

  Amos stood back and I was released.

  My head dropped forward and sobs racked my body.

  ‘Crying like a baby!’ mocked Mother.

  ‘He’s fucking wet himself,’ said Spider in disgust.

  ‘Doesn’t matter, we’ll be stripping him soon.’ Amos moved in close again. ‘We have some rather special clothes for you. Something you’re going to enjoy wearing,’ again he stroked my face, ‘something for your new role in life.’

  ‘Do you think he knows what he’s going to do for us?’ asked Mother.

  ‘Why not tell him?’ Amos was wiping the sweat from my face. He had pulled my head to one side and was cleaning around my right eye, cleaning the tears away.

  Mother stroked my hair as her son worked on me. First, he applied a thin red-hot knife that burnt into my skin, close to my right eye. He pressed the knife in deep. Then, he took a razor blade and started tearing at the flesh. Finally, he punctured my face with needles – it felt like thousands of needles all around my eye and down my cheek. I was gasping in agony and trying not to move my mouth. If I had not emptied my bowels before, I certainly did then. And all the time Mother stroked my hair, softly, gently caressing me, whispering in my ear as her son, my tormenter, stroked my face with his razor and needles.

  ‘You’re going to be staying with us for a while,’ she said. ‘You’re my new son and these are your new brothers. We’ll look after you, feed you, take care of you – as long as you do exactly what we say. You, my son, are here to give pleasure; that is your role in life now, simply to give others pleasure.’ Her lips touched my head and she kissed me. I could barely hear her through my torment.

  ‘You have nothing to worry about as long as you remember that much. Your body is ours now.’ Her lips were at my ear; she began to nibble it, biting into it, drawing blood. I barely noticed. Still she talked. ‘Imagine what it will feel like every day when you wake up, to know that you have in front of you one long moment of intense joy – a moment that will last for hours, for days.’ She paused. ‘There may be pain.’ I heard Spider laugh at this; he sounded miles away. ‘No pain without pleasure,’ she said.

  Amos stopped for a second and added. ‘No pleasure without pain.’ He laughed and continued piercing my flesh. It took a lifetime of pain before he eventually finished and put his tools away.

  He spun me round on my chair. ‘Mother, Spider,’ he shouted. ‘May I introduce Matrix?’

  There was a roar of mocking laughter.

  ‘Good!’ said Mother. ‘Now, can we get him dressed, please?’

  **********************

  ‘David?’

  I didn’t move.

  Someone touched my hand.

  I flinched. ‘Don’t touch me,’ I said.

  ‘David, look at me.’

  I still didn’t move.

  ‘David.’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  Andrew sat down next to me. ‘I know this is hard,’ he said. ‘But you’re not alone. You have friends, people who care for you. You must let us help you.’ He paused, waiting for a response. ‘I see you’ve found the bottle.’ There were two bottles on the table – one had whisky in it, the other had eye drops. I assumed he meant the eye drops. ‘That’s good, anyway. She would have wanted that.’

  ‘No, she wouldn’t; don’t lie to me or to yourself.’

  ‘I think deep down ...’

  ‘She never loved me.’

  ‘She loved you very much indeed.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘David, I’ve known Judith for most of my life. My wife was her best friend. Her husband was my best friend.’

  I turned to him. ‘I didn’t know you had a wife.’

  ‘Your eyes look terrible.’

  ‘They always look terrible – or haven’t you noticed?’

  He tried again. ‘I’ve known Judith a long time and she did love you. We all could see it, the way she looked at you, the way she treated you ...’

  ‘Like a dog, you mean?’

  ‘David, that’s not what I meant, no one thought ...’

  ‘They called me her puppy dog. She thought I was a fool; you don’t have to believe that, too.’

  She never thought you were a fool.’

  ‘A fool who might put a knife to her throat again.’

  ‘You’re twisting things; she never thought ...’

  ‘Which is why she never let me into her bloody kitchen!’ The bitterness and bile were all coming out now.

  ‘David, for God’s sake, she loved you! You have to believe that, and she would have told you so if she had not been such a stubborn woman. She loved you; you made a difference to her life. We all saw that. You made her young again.’

  I remained silent. He sat and waited. He was a patient man. ‘So, when are you throwing me out?’ I asked. ‘When are you telling the police about me?’

  ‘I am not throwing you out and I am not calling the police. What makes you think I would do such a thing?’

  ‘Because it’s what you were planning just before her first stroke.’

  And then the penny dropped. ‘You can understand Gaelic!’ he gasped. ‘But you’re a sas ... you’re English.’

  ‘I was born in the same hospital as my father, just thirty miles from here. You were probably born in the same place.’

  ‘But your voice?’

  ‘My mother was English, and that’s where I lived.’

  ‘David, whatever was said then no longer applies. Whatever we do will be with your permission, and, as for this house, it’s yours. Judith made it very clear to me a long time ago that should anything happen to her you would inherit everything. There’s plenty of money and the house is yours. It’s in my name since you have no IDC, but you need only ask and I will give you whatever you want, whenever you want.’

  I was quiet for a moment. ‘Whatever; whenever?’ I asked.

  ‘Aye, that’s what I said.’

  ‘Okay.’ I sat up straighter and beckoned him in close. He leaned close to my ear and I whispered. ‘Get the fuck out of my life, you bastard.’ I sat back again and helped myself to some more whisky; after all, I had money now – I could afford it.

  I used the whisky to mask the grief, the memories, the nightmares that never left me, but it made no difference; I still returned to that place, that dark hole in my mind.

  **********************

  Even now I can feel how they felt: the collar, the belt and the manacles around my arms and legs. Even now I can remember the pain they inflicted, the constant pain. It never left me; it was my companion. Mother had been keen to dress me and she supervised the dressing herself. She ensured her sons were not too soft or cautious. She believed in the importance of a tight fit.

  And so they dressed me in the breaking irons.

  I was rarely to take them off.

  The breaking irons.

  A metal band around my waist, on my arms manacles that reached up to my elbows, and around my legs that stretched from ankles to knees, and around my neck that wrapped around and held me tight. They could be used in many ways. They could be connected in many ways. Metal straps on the front from the collar to the waistband could be tightened and shortened to hold you in a permanent crouching position. Similar straps to the back could hold you rigid and unbending.

  It all depended on the client.

  They were designed to break the spirit. They weren’t just ordinary metal bands. They were spiked. Every time I moved the spikes bit into my flesh. They held me fast with their unforgiving grip and the thought was always there.

  They would never go away.

  I tried not to move. I lay as still as I could.

  Even breathing was painful.


  But in the end the breaking irons were designed to break the person and for that ... they were perfect.

  Chapter 20

  November 2037

  I stumbled around that house. It had become an unmanageable mess; I couldn’t find anything I wanted, especially as I was now completely blind. I had fought the fog creeping in from the moment of Judith’s first stroke. But when she died I no longer cared. When her spirit left her body I had cried out in my anguish – and so my sight went with her. The same thing had happened when my father had died, but here I had no hope of recovery. The medicine I needed did not exist here in this remote community. I had gone blind and it must be permanent. There was no kind brother to administer the needle, take me by the hand to my bed and sit with me as I passed through my blindness. No kindness, not any more. Kindness had left the world and me behind.

  Andrew did exactly what I asked; he stayed away and left me to my self-pity. The same could not be said of the dreaded Sonia.

  One morning I was sitting slumped in my chair; my leg was sprawled out awkwardly. I was in my own nightmare, again – wanting the heartache to go away, wanting it all to end – knowing that all too soon it would. Someone was banging on my door. I ignored it. The banging persisted and then it stopped as suddenly as it began. A moment’s silence and I heard the front door being opened. Footsteps. I leaned forward and poured myself another glass of whisky. I heard a sigh. I recognised that sigh. I may not have been able to see who it was but I knew the sound of her footsteps. I recognised her smell and I certainly knew that sigh.

  ‘Why don’t you answer your door?’

  ‘No need to; you come in anyway.’

  Sonia moved forward and, quick as a cat, I grabbed her wrist. ‘Oh, no, you don’t!’

  She pulled back. ‘You’re drinking too much!’

  I slumped back again and took another sip of my drink. I stared into the night, into my night.

  ‘David?’

  I said nothing. I heard her pull a chair over and sit down next to me. ‘This place is a pig sty!’ she complained. Silence. ‘David?’ She waited, but I sat drinking, wanting her to go away, to leave me alone to my dark thoughts and my secret place.