The Dream Catcher Diaries

by Alexander Patrick

  ***********************

  When Andrew heard about my meeting with the minister he was not too happy. ‘He’s a dangerous man to cross,’ he said.

  ‘He can’t hurt me,’ I replied.

  ‘He’s already tried. He’s been dedicating some of his sermons to you – trying to stir up trouble, incite some bad feeling in the village against you.’

  ‘What happened?’ I asked, suddenly curious.

  ‘Most of the congregation complained and he had to stop.’

  ‘Only most?’

  ‘Be grateful!’

  I laughed. ‘Oh, I am!’

  ‘He underestimated how popular you were.’

  I said nothing; my thoughts didn’t reflect my words; I was filled with a powerful sense of foreboding. I glanced out of the window. The sky looked stormy and the deep, angry lochs glared back at it; or were they afraid? I could never quite tell.

  ***********************

  Tanya claimed to be grateful to me for looking after Caitlin. I didn’t really care; having the child around was a joy, but one I was beginning to be concerned about.

  ‘Tanya, there may be a time when this is not a safe place to be,’ I said one day when she came visiting and Caitlin was in bed.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The Mackay brothers.’

  ‘Oh, them!’ She shook her head. ‘David, this is important. You know that people in our profession don’t live to a ripe old age.’

  ‘You may not have noticed,’ I said. ‘But I’ve retired.’

  ‘What you’re doing instead isn’t exactly guaranteeing you an old age pension!’

  ‘So, what are you suggesting?’

  ‘I don’t think either of us will see her as a woman; let’s make the most of her now.’

  ‘So, what’s going to happen?’

  ‘She’ll be safe. She has the nuns. They love her and she loves them.’

  ‘Will you ever tell her the truth?’

  She became mysterious. ‘Let’s just say I’ve made plans,’ she said.

  **********************

  I was wrong when I said I would never leave the house again. I did: three times with Whitey. He took me out and I did exactly what I was told. He made sure of that.

  For the first two visits we left together and, both times, he came home alone and Spider or Amos had to come and collect me from the local police station. It was done deliberately, of course.

  The first time, as we left the building, Whitey hissed in my ear, ‘Since you enjoy the police so much, we might as well pay them another visit.’

  We were down on the street with the other pimps when I was first arrested. I was taken to the police station, charged with soliciting and selling underage sex and then released – but not before three of the police officers there had fucked me.

  The second time, I was arrested for drug-trafficking. I spent two nights in prison that time and was the main entertainment for staff and prisoners alike. Both arrests were put on my record. I was formally charged and sentenced to three years. I then, miraculously escaped.

  The third visit was very different and had nothing to do with the police.

  Chapter 29

  August 2038

  That was the summer I decided to visit the doctor’s house. I had never been inside his house before. Whenever Judith had gone to visit, she had always made me sit outside. For some reason she never wanted me to go in. Sometimes I would sit fretting over what they might be doing in there. I was insanely jealous of him and she never did anything to allay my jealousy; if anything, she would encourage it.

  Now, as I limped slowly into his house, I knew why she had never let me in – and it had nothing to do with my being clumsy. She had wanted this private time with him and I was not part of it. Andrew lived in a house of intellect, curiosity and compassion. It spoke volumes about a man who kept an open mind about the world and the people in it. Such an open mind, in fact, that, although he rejected her God and everyone else’s, he still had books of religion on his shelves; the Bible, the Torah and the Koran could be seen nestling with the Book of Dharma. He was no fan of electronic books; like my own family, he preferred the written word on paper and his home was full of books.

  It was a fascinating and beguiling house, full of light, both literally and metaphorically. He had painted all his walls white and his furniture was made of light-coloured wood. Except for the books, it wasn’t cluttered. It showed an ordered mind, a man of science, a man who asked the questions.

  I would have been won over immediately to his mind had Judith allowed me in, but that was obviously something she had not wanted.

  He was delighted I had come to visit – even though I was unexpected. He rubbed his hands. ‘Sit down, David,’ he said. ‘I’ll get some whisky for you.’ He cleared a chair. ‘I’m sure I can rustle up some soup or something, or what about a game of chess?’

  He didn’t ask me why I’d come. It struck me then that I was not the only lonely man in the village. I slumped in his chair with a groan. He looked at me with sudden concern. ‘Leg playing you up?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Of course!’ I growled.

  ‘Tanya not with you?’ A tactful question.

  ‘Aye, she’s looking after my daughter.’

  He grunted. He didn’t believe that Caitlin was my daughter, but he kept up the pretence. I was leaning forward staring at his chessboard whilst he bustled about. A large glass of whisky was placed next to my hand. He tapped my hand and placed it on the glass. ‘Don’t knock it over!’ he ordered. I smiled. He had touched me and neither of us had flinched. He carried on bustling. I didn’t move. I was still staring at his chessboard.

  A cup of soup was placed next to me. I stared at it, suspiciously. ‘Is it hot?’ I asked.

  ‘Try it and see,’ he said impatiently.

  ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘The lock took away my taste buds and the ability to distinguish temperature.’

  It was the first time I had spoken about the lock since he had brought it to my house the previous spring. He had pushed me at the time, but, seeing my reluctance, had given up. I knew he wanted to talk to me, but I had not been ready to talk – until now. Hastily, he darted across the room to a tall white cupboard, brought out the small wooden box containing the lock and placed it next to us on the table. Then he sat down on the other side of the chessboard gazing at me. He picked up his glass of whisky and clutched it next to him; he hardly seemed aware of it. He waited for me to speak again.

  ‘Have you spoken to your sister again – since we spoke – about the girl, I mean?’

  ‘She tried to make a fuss,’ he said, ‘went to a senior police officer only last week, in fact. She wasn’t getting anywhere. She put in a formal complaint, you know. She told them she’d given it some thought and didn’t agree with the death certificate. She was concerned that no one noticed that thing,’ he pointed at the box, ‘in the girl’s mouth.’ He shook his head. ‘That didn’t come to anything, either. The girl’s body has long been disposed of.’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘But, don’t worry, I know my sister. She won’t let this one rest. It stinks of some kind of cover up. Someone has slipped up badly here and if anyone can find out ...’

  ‘Would you do me a favour?’ I interrupted.

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Tell her to back off.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tell her to drop it.’

  ‘You don’t know my sister; she’s got the bit between her teeth ...’

  ‘If she doesn’t, she’s a dead sister,’ I said quickly.

  He paused, uncertainly. ‘David, I hope you’re not threatening ...’ I felt his sense of betrayal.

  ‘I would have thought you knew me better than that,’ I said.

  ‘I thought so too,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not threatening her, but Fabian might.’

  His look hardened. ‘Is it the same thing?’ he asked.

  ‘You tell me.’

  There was a lo
ng silence. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’ he said.

  ‘They won’t want her poking around. They may choose to silence her. I’m not sure yet, but if she continues to ask questions her life may be in danger.’

  ‘There seems to be a lot of mights and maybes,’ he said.

  ‘It’s what I believe.’

  ‘You know these people well?’

  ‘Intimately.’

  ‘Are you still in touch with them? Are you still working with them?’

  ‘What do you think, Andrew?’ I held up my hands. I wasn’t wearing my gloves or armbands. He could see my tattoos, the swastika and hate logo, the scarred wrists and arms. He could see my neck with its pattern of scars and Fabian sign.

  He frowned in concentration and then paled. ‘It’s not a tattoo of allegiance,’ he said. ‘It’s a brand!’

  ‘I thought I was the only one,’ I said. ‘Then you bring me this.’ I pointed at the wooden box.

  ‘She was a victim of Fabian,’ he said. He seemed to be exploring the thought as he spoke. ‘Like you.’ He was trying to work it out, just as I had done. I wondered whether he would come to the same conclusions. I decided to find out. I watched and waited. ‘Are you from Newcastle, as well?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m from Manchester.’

  He frowned. He had not expected that. ‘So, this has happened in two different cities. That’s some coincidence.’ He continued to think; he was looking for a link and he found it. ‘Were you sectioned?’ I didn’t have to answer. ‘Aye, you were! Your eyes!’ he started to get excited. ‘David, just how old are you?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Under twenty-five.’

  I shrugged my shoulders. ‘I turned twenty-five last birthday.’

  ‘But the girl wasn’t disabled, Gill would have mentioned it.’

  ‘She was a bad girl,’ I said casually. ‘Her name was Ruby. She played truant, hung around with some bad boys. They were all sectioned.’

  He was looking at me in astonishment. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Didn’t you wonder where I disappeared to in the spring?’ He looked embarrassed. ‘Did you think I was back on the game?’ I teased.

  He had the grace to blush. ‘I thought you were dealing with Judith still ...’ He sat back, deep in thought. ‘So, there are some pretty nasty places where you can end up if you’re sectioned. More than one, obviously, since it happened to you and this Ruby in two different cities.’

  ‘How many do you think?’ I asked, picking up a chess piece.

  ‘Who can say?’ he cried. ‘We need to inform the police so that a proper investigation can be carried out.’ He frowned. ‘David, this means you’re going to have to give yourself up. There could easily be more than just you and Ruby; thinking about it, it would be pretty surprising for us to have stumbled on the only two. We must tell the proper authorities so that something can be done. We owe it to those people who may, as we speak, be suffering some of the things you and Ruby did.’

  He leaned forward towards me. ‘You’ll have support. You have me and the rest of this village to help you. At least you’re not twenty-five any longer and you’re living in Scotland. Whatever you did can’t have been that bad.’

  He stopped and watched me for a moment. I was not responding. I was staring at my chess piece. He carried on. ‘David, this is important. What you have to say will be important. We can’t do it without you. That other poor girl can’t speak out. She’s dead. You owe it to her. You must step forward. And think of the benefits! We can get that leg of yours fixed.’ He came to a stop again. ‘David?’

  I was frowning. ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ I said.

  He looked confused. ‘What question?’

  ‘How many people like me do you think there are?’

  ‘How do I know?’

  ‘Make a guess.’

  ‘How can I?’

  ‘Give me a percentage.’

  ‘David!’

  ‘Try.’

  He groaned in exasperation. ‘Oh, I don’t know, even ten per cent would be bad. Even ten percent would be worth saving.’

  ‘Even ten per cent,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Aye, that’s what I said.’ He watched me, a look of puzzlement on his face.

  I placed my chess piece back on the board. ‘When I played chess with my brother, for a while he always beat me. He was three years older than me and, anyway, he was the better player. Then, as I grew older and our ages became more equal, I started to beat him.’ I smiled at the memory. ‘It was important to me. I needed so much to be his equal.’

  Andrew gazed at me in confusion.

  I carried on. ‘The trouble was, in order to beat him I needed to sacrifice a lot of pieces, whereas he could win with hardly any casualties at all. When I won, it was a bloody battle. He always said he wouldn’t like to serve under me.’ I was silent, lost in my memories.

  ‘David, I don’t understand.’

  I looked up at him. ‘Try one hundred,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Try one hundred per cent.’

  ‘That’s some guess,’ he said gently.

  ‘It’s not a guess.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I’ve worked it out.’

  ‘How can it be?’

  ‘It’s how the system works. I should know, I’ve been through it.’ I picked up the box and held it. ‘My social care worker would come to visit me every two weeks to check that everything was okay. I always wore the lock when she came.’

  ‘You said no one would know if you were wearing it.’

  ‘She knew.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘David...’

  ‘Do you know what they call us? The police, the social care workers – all of them – they call us discards.’

  ‘Discards? I don’t understand?’

  ‘Discards: it stands for Disabled, Criminal, Alone (without parents, that is) Retard, Drunks and Druggies and Substrata Scum. Discards. Section Twenty-six works because it takes people like me and disposes of them, discards them. They change our names and our identity. They take away every safeguard and they give us to the Fabians. That’s the system; that’s how it works.’

  ‘But, if what you’re saying is true, then the whole system is corrupt. You’re accusing the whole of the social care network, criminal justice, education and the police. Everyone would have to be a part of it! That’s ridiculous!’

  ‘What would it take to convince you?’

  ‘Proof!’

  ‘It’s time you met Raqeeb.’ He looked startled. ‘Not his real name,’ I added.

  ‘Who’s Raqeeb?’

  I stood up. ‘I robbed his shop once,’ I said, gathering my crutches. ‘I put a knife to his throat.’

  Andrew stood up as well. ‘Are you sure I need to meet him then?’

  ‘You want proof; he’ll give it to you.’

  **********************

  I remember her visits, the visits of my social care worker. Amos and Spider always dressed me for the occasion. I wore the breaking irons, but for her visit they also put proper clothes over them. I sat in one of their chairs in their living area wearing my sunglasses; they hid not only my eyes but some of the marks on my face as well.

  We sat and drank tea together – at least, they did. It was claimed that I didn’t drink tea; a glass of water was always placed carefully before me. I never reached out for it. I couldn’t; my hands were strapped down under the blanket covering my legs. It was all very civilised.

  My SCW was called Mrs Woods. She had a high, girlish voice, a nervous laugh and a Yorkshire accent. I could always smell her; she wore a sweet, heavy perfume. It filled the room, and when she had gone I would remember her for a long time afterwards; her smell lingered.

  One day she came to visit. I sat in my usual place, stiff, afraid to move and silent. She chatted on. On that particular visit, my face was covered in
bruises, the result of the previous night’s work – ‘an over-enthusiastic client,’ Amos had said. The sunglasses couldn’t hide the bruises. Amos and Spider had fretted over them.

  ‘What will Mrs Woods say?’ they had said as they dressed me. I had just had my weekly bath. ‘Breathe in,’ said Amos.

  I breathed in and he wrapped the metal band around my waist and clipped it in place. ‘My! My!’ he exclaimed. ‘We’ve gone down another size!’ The spikes bit into my flesh. It was always at its most painful when they dressed me. I gasped.

  He fitted my collar, still chatting as he did so. The collar was so tight, the edges cut into my collarbone and under my chin.

  Amos bent close to me. ‘She’ll think we mistreat you!’ he said laughing.

  He wrapped my armbands on, clipping them in place.

  ‘There, you’re dressed. What a pity we have to cover it all up when Mrs Woods comes to visit.’

  She did make a comment about my bruises and they explained how clumsy blind people could be. ‘Oh, I know.’ she giggled. They continued to drink their tea.

  Then I felt something dribble down my chin. The lock had been cutting into one of my front teeth. It had finally done its worst, and the gum, which had been bleeding for some time, released the front tooth – and a flow of blood with it.

  Mrs Woods coughed nervously. ‘I think, perhaps ...’ This was a tough one.

  Amos leaned forward and swiftly wiped the blood from my chin. He turned to Mrs Woods. ‘Nasty toothache!’ he said.

  ‘Evidently,’ said Mrs Woods sweetly.

  ‘More tea?’ asked Mother.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said.

  Amos continued to dab my chin throughout her visit. ‘Really, Jamie’ he said. ‘You must look after yourself better!’

  Everyone laughed and drank their tea.