The Dream Catcher Diaries

by Alexander Patrick

  **********************

  I was confined for the most part to two rooms. I was only ever brought out to the living area for visits from Mrs Woods, my social care worker, and for the ‘special guests’. I was the entertainment on those occasions and was always kept on a lead.

  Otherwise, I stayed in my two rooms. The one was my bedroom; it was where I did most of my ‘entertaining’. It consisted of a double bed, ropes, chains and a wide selection of ‘toys’. I sampled most, if not all, of these and others brought in by the clients. Anything was allowed, as long as it did no long-term damage. You would be surprised at how much pain you can inflict without causing permanent harm, at how close you can be taken to the edge of madness and still survive. I know I was. Sometimes the greatest pain caused the least visible marks. You only need think of water, for example. There was one client who enjoyed plunging my head in water until I nearly drowned. He always managed to bring me up just before I lost consciousness completely; he was amazingly skilled at it. I learned that he had had a few failures in his time. Electricity is another clever way to create maximum misery with least visible harm, as long as you gauge the current and the capacity of your victim. Simple things like rubber, leather, plastic bags and tubing can be effective at creating pain with someone with imagination – not to mention pillows, sellotape, cling film, cotton wool and elastic bands.

  I dreaded, above all else, being taken to the second room; I knew that in there lay my greatest nightmare: this was the wet room.

  First, it contained my bath. Every week I was plunged into a bath of cold water laced liberally with an antiseptic, which was designed to protect me from infection – I carried numerous and different wounds at any given time. It also contained a shower for daily washing; my breaking irons were kept on for the shower but taken off for the bath.

  The ‘toys’ in this room were very different and usually involved a great deal of blood letting – usually, though not exclusively, my blood. There was one occasion when one of my clients who enjoyed mutual blood letting got it very badly wrong and died in the middle of his exertions. I had to be pulled out bloodied but alive and Spider had to dispose of the body.

  This was little more than an inconvenience, since Spider had several ingenious ways of disposing of bodies – as I would one day find out.

  **********************

  ‘David, I wanted to say sorry.’

  That was unexpected. ‘Sorry? For what?’

  She hesitated. ‘For some of the things I said and some of the things I did. I know how much you loved her...’ She trailed off for a moment. I carried on drinking.

  ‘I’m sorry for what happened over that, you know, park thing.’ She sighed again. ‘We meant well, we never expected ...’

  ‘You and your boyfriend you mean?’ I stretched out and took the bottle. I knew she was watching me. I poured myself a liberal amount.

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  I remembered the park. I remembered the man in black standing in the shadows watching my tormenters, watching them push and shove, punch and kick – watching and doing nothing. I imagined him smiling, enjoying the entertainment. I remembered everything so I said nothing.

  ‘David?’ She waited. ‘We never see you in the kirk now. You’ve been missed.’

  I snorted.

  ‘And what do you mean by that?’ She had what she wanted. She had a reaction.

  ‘Fuck your church and fuck your parson!’

  ‘Why do you hate him so much? He’s a good man.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘You should come. It’s what Judith would have wanted.’

  ‘You have no idea.’ She really didn’t have any idea, and even as she stood over me, demanding my attention, I was reliving my brutal existence, my past – a past beyond her understanding.

  She was silent. She sat and watched me drink my whisky. ‘You’re living in a pig sty, you know?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. If you like I can come and clean for you.’

  ‘I haven’t got any money to pay you.’

  ‘Yes, you have. Judith left you plenty of money.’

  So, she knew about that. ‘I intend to spend it on other things,’ I said darkly. I knocked back my drink and reached forward.

  She grabbed the bottle before I could reach it. ‘On drink, you mean!’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘You can’t do this, it’s not right. It’s not what Judith would have wanted. I can’t bear to see her lovely house looking like this!’

  ‘Give me the bottle.’ I growled. I turned to her for the first time. She had no idea. She never did and as far as I was concerned she never would. She looked into my eyes and failed to see the blindness. Reluctantly, she gave me the bottle.

  ‘I’ll come and clean your house for nothing.’

  ‘I said no.’

  ‘I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Judith.’

  ‘Fuck Judith!’ I shouted. ‘And get the fuck out of here!’

  For once in her life she did what she was told; she left me – but she did come and clean my house. Every week she turned up with her cleaning equipment and cleaned the house from top to bottom. Except when I had my whore staying with me, then she stayed away. Tanya was the only person who could keep Sonia away.

  Chapter 21

  My daily routine moved me from one room to another. I had clients most nights. The lock was kept in most of the time, at first to keep me quiet and then, when that was no longer necessary, to remind me that they had the power to take away or inflict pain. The breaking irons were kept on at all times.

  I generally worked all night. Spider would feed me first, pour some alcohol down my throat and then apply the drugs. I was injected in my mouth, both arms, in my groin and bottom. I have to admit that there were some nights when I was so doped up I have no idea what was done to me except that it hurt. The injections themselves were piercingly painful and always accompanied by Amos whispering, ‘No pleasure without pain, Matrix.’

  **********************

  December 2037

  Andrew came back. He found me still sitting slumped in my chair. I heard him come in; I didn’t bother to move; frankly, I was too drunk. He came up to me. ‘You know, David, if it wasn’t too much of a pun, I would say you were blind drunk.’

  I smiled weakly.

  He pulled me up and began taking off my jacket. I tried to resist but couldn’t quite manage it. I tried to tell him not to touch me, but I couldn’t manage that either.

  The jacket was off and soon discarded and he started eagerly on my jumper. Well, I had been undressed a few times in my life by men; he was certainly the most gentle. I wriggled and swore and protested. I called him all the insults I could remember, some in Gaelic; he still carried on.

  When I was sitting shivering in a light T-shirt, he began opening his bag. ‘So, David,’ he said. ‘Just how long have you been blind?’

  I thought for a moment. ‘Since I was fifteen,’ I managed to slur.

  ‘Well, the chances are that you know what I’m about to do to you.’ He held my arm. ‘This is going to make you very sleepy, but, when you wake up, you should be seeing the world a whole lot clearer.’ He stabbed my arm and I winced.

  ‘You found it then?’ I asked.

  ‘Found what?’

  ‘My medicine; those bastards threw it out the window.’

  ‘David, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I didn’t realise at first, but that’s what they did!’ I sounded indignant.

  ‘Well, then, yes, we found it; now, stand up, I’m going to take you to bed and tuck you in.’

  ‘You’ve been dying to do that.’

  ‘Sure I have, now come on.’

  He guided and steered and held me to my bed – well, Judith’s bed, the one she had died in. It had been changed and cleaned since then, but I still shuddered when he put me in it.

  I fell into an uneasy slumber. An
drew stayed with me, just as my brother had once done. He watched over me and cared for me. He had to administer a second dose and still he stayed. I think I must have talked or babbled because he knew things about me he shouldn’t have known. I must have talked.

  I thought he was my enemy, my rival in Judith’s affection, someone who despised me. None of that was true. I fought him, but, in the end, I gave in and he became my closest friend; no one could have a better one, especially given what lay in store – and it’s probably true to say that without him none of it would have happened.

  Chapter 22

  There is nothing heroic in endurance. At some point, you make the decision whether you wish to live or not; to survive or give up and die; a simple decision, a simple moment of truth; not heroic, just survival.

  I have to admit that most of the time I was both desperate for death and terrified that I might die. I longed for death but hated the idea that it would happen at the hands of some sadistic pervert, that Spider would trundle my mutilated body in a body bag and dump it somewhere. Why this should matter? I have no idea, but it did.

  I can say this much, though, my life was hell; it was a place where only madmen go, but it was a place that we all travelled to – those of us, that is, who bear the brand of the Twenty-six – and it is a place that we return to. For many of us, this is a nightmare that we have never left and can never leave. It is part of us, it defines us; it is our reality.

  **********************

  Christmas 2037

  Gradually I was coming back to life. I started going for walks and looking after myself, after all I had responsibilities: I had Hades to look after.

  The Christmas after Judith’s death, Andrew came to visit me. He had been away staying with his GP sister in England, but on the eve of Hogmanay he came to the house with whisky, brandy, some soup for me and pie for him.

  Throughout the meal Andrew chatted about his trip, the world and its news. I remained silent; I listened. I liked to hear him talk; his voice soothed me.

  When he had finished his meal he sat back with his whisky. ‘Have you heard the rumours about Sonia?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ I said without much interest. ‘Are they worth hearing?’

  ‘They say that Fraser Drummond has asked her to marry him.’

  ‘I won’t hold my breath for a wedding invitation.’

  ‘They say she turned him down.’

  ‘What, again?’ I shook my head. ‘That silly bitch! How many marriage proposals does it take?’

  He stared at me intently for a while. ‘She’s worth more than that.’

  ‘Maybe, but she’ll be lucky to get another proposal. She should have said yes to Duncan.’ I paused. ‘I hope she’s not blaming me this time.’

  He carried on staring at me. ‘I think you’re too hard on her,’ he said.

  ‘Whatever I feel for her, she more than returns in kind.’

  ‘She comes and cleans your house for you every week without you paying her anything.’

  ‘I didn’t ask her to come. She insisted. Do you think I like having her here?’

  ‘Oh, David!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t you see?’

  ‘What?’

  He shook his head in exasperation. We sat in silence for a while, and then he stood up and fetched the chessboard. ‘I’m going to teach you chess,’ he said with a smug smile.

  ‘Really, I’m not sure I’ll be any good at it,’ I said innocently.

  He started to arrange the pieces; then stopped. ‘How are your eyes? Can you see the pieces?’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ I replied dryly.

  He began talking me through the moves. He did it beautifully. He was clear, eloquent and concise. In a few minutes I was able to demonstrate that I had understood the rudiments of the game.

  ‘Now it’s a simple game on one level,’ he said. ‘You’ve learned the rules, but the secret is in how you then apply the rules. It’s a game of strategy and skill. Don’t be disheartened if you don’t win for a while. I’ve been playing for years.’

  We began our game.

  After I had won the first two games he sat back and looked at me. ‘You’ve played it before.’

  I looked sheepish. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You bastard!’

  I smiled. ‘I used to play with my brother,’ I said.

  It was the first time I had mentioned a family and he perked up. ‘Tell me about him,’ he said eagerly.

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s the past. It’s gone. I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘You should talk about it; it’s good to talk.’

  ‘I don’t need to talk.’

  ‘It’ll help you. It’ll help me understand you.’

  ‘Read my memoirs then.’

  ‘David!’

  ‘No, Andrew! He’s dead!’

  ‘Your brother?’

  ‘No.’ I picked the king up and stared at it. ‘No, the person who played chess with him; he’s the one who’s dead.’

  **********************

  At the beginning of my torment, once when the lock was taken off, I pleaded to be released. Spider responded by kicks and thumps until I mentioned my money.

  I had some money in my bank account, left to me by my grandparents. A deal was struck. I would be released from my entertainment duties if I paid over my money.

  Because Amos wanted cash it involved several trips to a local ATM, where I pulled out the maximum allowed. It took two weeks to extract my life’s savings before Spider and Amos put me to work again. I was playing for time. I was convinced that my brother would rescue me; I need only survive until that time. I had worked out how long it would take to empty my account; that seemed ample time for a rescue attempt.

  As the days passed, with each trip to the bank I started to lose hope. I still believed I would be saved but I was terrified it would be too late. I had already experienced enough to dread being put back to work. I knew that, if I was ever going to escape, I needed to do it soon. Once my money had gone I would never leave the house again.

  The two weeks were almost up before I made my escape bid. I had waited as long as I could have and there still was no sign of my brother. I decided to put my plan into action.

  Chapter 23

  February 2038

  There was no doubt I was getting stronger. I thought of Judith constantly, but I could do it now without tears or recrimination – most of the time.

  Once, I was sorting through my clothes when a small package fell out of one of the pockets. It was my ‘just in case’ money. I stared at it for a long moment and then broke down in tears. I remembered that anxious man who was terrified of being turned out, rejected and despised once more, and how I had stolen from the woman I had loved more than myself. I wanted so much to take her in my arms now and beg her forgiveness for putting that knife to her throat and for taking her money.

  I lived in a house full of memories of her and our shared time together, brief though it had been, and I lived with my nightmares; they would never leave me and I had no warm body next to me to help them go away.

  I was not always alone. Andrew was a welcome visitor, Sonia a less welcome one. She came every week, as she had promised, to clean. She was amazingly diligent.

  Usually, I left the house when she came; it seemed to suit us both. One day I was feeling tired; I had had a bad night of bad, bad dreams. She came around me, trying to clean around my legs. I ignored her. I was working on my computer. It was an old machine; Judith had been old fashioned in her tastes. Although it had some audio capability, I was reluctant to use it with Sonia buzzing around and, in any case, it worked better on vision, which was something of a problem for me. I sat squinting at the screen, finding it hard to see what I needed to see.

  Impatiently, Sonia grabbed my strapped-up leg to move me; it hurt.

  ‘You bitch!’ I shouted. I was convinced she had done it deliberately.
/>   She stopped abruptly and went pale at the violence in my voice.

  ‘I didn’t mean to ...’

  I turned around to glare at her. She stared into my yellow eyes and I saw her fear. I was immediately filled with remorse. The pain had taken me to another place; somewhere Sonia had no reason to be – somewhere she didn’t deserve to be, anymore than she deserved my anger. ‘Just don’t touch me,’ I said, more softly this time.

  She carried on staring at me. ‘Why won’t you let anyone touch you?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t like to be touched,’ I said, turning back to the screen with a frown. I had been touched more than I could bear; now I had a choice, now I could be left alone with only my thoughts to touch me – to abuse me and to hurt me.

  **********************

  The trip to the bank meant that I had to wear normal clothes over my irons; this included a scarf to hide my metal collar, gloves and sunglasses.

  Amos was always at great pains, though, to allow everyone to see my Fabian mark. I soon realised that we lived in a multi-ethnic neighbourhood. I was spat at on a number of occasions.

  Each time, I was led carefully along the wind-swept corridor to the lift or walked down some stairs if the lift was not working. The stairs were positioned outside our front door. I was able to work out that we lived on the twelfth floor. I counted the number of steps to each landmark. Landmarks included roads we had to cross, anything different in the feel of the land – grass over concrete, for example – any distinctive smells or sounds. I knew we walked past a florist, an Indian restaurant and a music shop of some sort. I was alert to anything that would allow me to negotiate blind.

  Then the golden opportunity came that was to lead to my escape.

  We had placed my card in the slot. Amos had taken my glove off and was about to position my palm over the reader when I heard footsteps echoing. It was late at night and quiet. The sound of the thudding feet told me that someone heavy was coming out of the building next to the bank – someone male and big. A voice addressed us. I felt Amos start at the sound.