The Dream Catcher Diaries

by Alexander Patrick

  ‘We need to get to the heart of the Muslim community,’ I said. ‘Bradford’s the key. There are some powerful people there, but they don’t trust the Brotherhood.’

  Conor was looking thoughtful. ‘Well, I’ll talk to as many people as I can.’

  ‘You must help me infect the world with the Matrix worm,’ I said. ‘You must pass on the word. Bràithreachas needs to gain the trust of the people. We’re fighting a media machine that seeks to discredit us. We must fight, even though they’ve blindfolded and handcuffed us. We must show them that the substrata can be strong and can be a force to be feared. We’ll not be victims – not anymore!’

  Chapter 48

  ‘Please, sir!’

  I stopped and turned round. It was Sweeney running up behind me. ‘Please don’t ever call me sir,’ I said.

  He grinned at me. ‘Well, you are the boss,’ he said.

  ‘I think you’re confusing me with the General; Matrix will do.’

  His smile disappeared. ‘That’s what they called you, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They did that to you as well, didn’t they – to your face, I mean?’

  ‘Yes, they did; exactly like they marked you.’ He touched the brand on his left cheek and dropped his gaze. ‘They marked us all,’ I said softly.

  He looked back up at me. ‘But you’re different,’ he whispered. ‘You’re different to the rest of us.’

  ‘No, not different; I have the brand. They put it on my neck, but it’s the same.’

  He still looked doubtful.

  I went to move away. ‘Does it get any better?’ he cried. ‘Do the dark thoughts go away?’

  ‘Yes,’ I lied.

  ‘Caliph still has them. He still has the bad dreams.’

  I looked at him for a while. He was just a child but he looked at me with the eyes of a man. I decided he deserved the truth. ‘They may not go away, Sweeney,’ I said. ‘But you will learn to deal with them better.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s what Caliph said.’

  I smiled. ‘Caliph’s a wise man; listen to him.’

  ‘He’s a mean cook, too.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He even makes our mush taste good.’

  I laughed. ‘Yes, he does.’

  Sweeney looked me straight in the eye. ‘I listened to what you said, sir, about us I mean, about us being substrata and everything. We really are the lowest of the low, aren’t we?’

  He paused. ‘It’s just ...’ he said hesitantly. ‘It’s just, I was thinking, why should anyone care about us? Care enough, I mean. Care enough to - well - to fight for us, risk their lives for us. I mean Conor, he’s okay, but he’s only one man, isn’t he? And he’s used to people like us. He doesn’t really count. What about real people? Normal people I mean. Why would they care? Why would they bother? I mean we’ve been put in our place, haven’t we? We’ve been sectioned, solved, forgotten ...’

  I gazed at him. My voice was firm. ‘I will make them care,’ I said.

  ‘Thought you’d say that,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘I say it because it’s the truth. I will make it happen. Everyone is going to be saved. You have my word on that. It may just take some time.’

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Sweeney, you can; you will; you already have. Caliph speaks well of you.’

  He beamed. I moved away.

  ‘Thank you, sir!’ he called after me.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For caring, for speaking out for us, for being our voice; whatever happens, no one will ever forget Matrix.’

  I wondered if he was right. I wondered if it really mattered what the world thought of Matrix.

  ***********************

  There are prisons up and down the country full of bad, mad, guilty, innocent men and women – black, white, Muslim, Jew, Christian men and women.

  We still have convicts despite Section Twenty-six. They wear their uniform of incarceration. They work at the tasks given to them and they sleep in the four-walled hole called a cell. They know many things. They know the routine set for them will result in their lives passing until they are released and they know that the prisons are starting to empty.

  They have already noticed; men and women, particularly young offenders, are not re-offending. It was a joke at first, then a concern. Then we told them the truth.

  Now the prisons are full of angry men and women.

  Waiting; waiting for the call.

  The call to follow Matrix – and, when it comes, they will not only be angry.

  They will be in control.

  Chapter 49

  April 2039

  Fox was already there waiting for me when I arrived. It was a cold windy day in April and it was starting to drizzle with rain. He had chosen a bleak spot for our meeting: a deserted piece of wasteland and a grey sludge of canal full of rubbish. I looked up into the heavy, wet clouds and slumped down beside Fox on the hard, damp bench. I gave a groan and rubbed my leg.

  ‘No sympathy from me,’ said Fox.

  ‘Oh, that’s a pity – and I was feeling so much for myself already.’

  He smiled. ‘I remember you,’ he said.

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘I remember you and your easy laugh and good nature. I remember you as a kind and gentle man who smiled and sat back and watched the world with indulgence and tolerance.’

  ‘That was somebody else – someone who died a long time ago.’

  He was silent for a while. ‘It’s done,’ he said.

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘I’ve secured their freelancers. I’ve earned their gratitude and a promise of reward in my career.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ I said dryly.

  He turned to me. ‘I don’t quite know what I’ve achieved. I’ve fitted their freelancers with a Century of Police Soldiers. If someone were to try and steal their data, it would trigger off the suicide code. The Century would set about corrupting all the data; before you had time to catch your breath, you would have scrambled eggs – end of story. What now?’

  ‘What programme did they have before?’

  ‘Actually, they had Marionettes – an excellent one; one of the best on the market.’

  ‘One we could have unscrambled?’

  ‘Only with some clever expertise.’

  ‘We may not have that.’

  ‘You need some expertise, Matrix.’

  ‘We have someone, don’t worry about that, but I’m not sure he would be up to the Marionettes.’

  ‘I still don’t see that we’re any further forward. You need me to call back the Century. No one else outside the Inner Circle can do that.’

  ‘Then, when we steal their data, you’d better make sure you’re there to decode the Century before the corrosion takes place.’

  ‘That’s not possible. First, I would have to steal it; then, I’d have to sit down and scan my eye print into the system before the corruption touches a single piece of data. Once started, the Century can’t be stopped. It really is like a troop of soldiers being given the order to charge. Once they start running you don’t get in their way.’

  ‘I’ll arrange for someone to steal it, just you make sure you have an alibi whilst we’re doing it. As an outsider you’ll be open to suspicion. You must be nowhere near those freelancers when we go in for the kill ...’

  ‘Sure, I know.’

  ‘This is important, Fox. You must remain squeaky clean. Keep us informed at all times about where you are. When you get special invitations ...’

  ‘Matrix!’

  ‘Anything! You must tell the Brotherhood ...’

  ‘Can I remind you that I’m the professional here? I’m the one who advises the Brotherhood! I think I know what I’m doing.’

  I sighed. ‘This may surprise you, but I’m worried about you and what you’ve just done.’ He smiled at my words. I carried on. ‘These are nasty men. You’ve just earned a place next to
Matrix. If they want to crucify me, they’ll certainly want you hanging next door.’

  ‘Oh, you’d be delighted to hear what they have to say about you!’

  ‘Tell me about it sometime.’

  He looked serious. ‘Harrison hates you, but it’s more than that, he’s scared of you too; he’s scared and he’s running and that makes him weak.’

  ‘Even a weak Harrison is a formidable opponent; never underestimate him.’

  ‘Now you’re teaching me my job again.’

  ‘Just keep us informed, and don’t forget we need you with us when it happens. You need to be at one of our safe houses to rescue the money and the information.’

  ‘Money?’

  ‘Didn’t I mention it? We’re going to sting them for a few million whilst we’re at it.’

  ‘Oh, shit!’

  Chapter 50

  We had set up our third safe house, and I had been visiting it with Angus and Euan when Sonia’s father died. Luckily, Andrew was there for her. I had come back tired and dispirited; we had ‘lost’ one of our residents. We had found her hanged in the outhouse; too many nightmares over too many nights; too much suffering and guilt. Yes, we all suffer from guilt, as well.

  I went to visit Andrew; Angus came with me. We sat at his table, ate his food, drank his whisky and swapped sad stories.

  ‘She had so much to offer,’ I said. ‘She was bright and pretty.’

  ‘She was damaged beyond repair,’ said Angus. He was angry; I could see it in him. He was so full of anger now that it hurt to be with him. I hoped desperately that I had not created a monster. I had recognised him as a man without a cause, a man who should have been born during the Scottish rebellions not a time of disappointing independence when nothing came up to the dream. He had lost his dream – no, not lost, it had been taken from him without him knowing it. Now that he had something to fight for, this passionate man who looked like ice was hungry for revenge.

  We sat with Andrew until the early hours of the morning. Just as we were about to leave, Andrew grabbed my arm. ‘Are you going to see Sonia?’ he asked.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because she’s just lost her father – or have you forgotten?’

  ‘Of course not, but why would I visit Sonia? I’m the last person she wants to see. She hates me; why would she want me to offer my condolences?’

  ‘She doesn’t hate you.’

  ‘You didn’t hear what she said.’

  ‘I know what she said – she’s told me – but this isn’t just about her; it’s about Donald. He was fond of you. You took enough money off him.’

  ‘Andrew, we played for peanuts.’

  ‘Go and see her.’

  ‘We’re not speaking to each other.’

  ‘Time to make up.’

  I walked down the road with Angus. He walked me to my door and then hovered. I knew he wanted to talk, so I invited him in. Once in, he started on me straight away. ‘I can’t believe you’re going to let it happen!’ he said.

  ‘Let what happen?’

  ‘Let that little shit marry Sonia.’

  ‘I take it you’re referring to our minister?’

  ‘You know I am.’

  ‘Angus ...’

  ‘You’ve seen what perverts do. Actually, you know from personal experience, yet you’re just going to stand by and let that man marry Sonia.’

  ‘He’d never harm her.’

  ‘Like fuck!’

  ‘I’m not sure I have any influence in this; she despises me. Why would she listen to my marriage guidance?’

  ‘Work it out for yourself. You’re the college boy.’ He stormed out.

  ***********************

  When I saw Sonia, I felt desperately sorry for her. I knew what it was to lose a father. She looked dreadful. Her eyes were deep pools of tired despondency. She was tired, she was sad and she looked wretched. She barely raised a scowl when she saw me.

  She stood back to let me in. I entered a house that still smelt of the dead man, but it was cold. I stood for a while and she said nothing. ‘Sonia,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. He was a special man.’

  ‘Yes, he was,’ she said.

  I waited. ‘Well, you can either tell me to go or ask me to stay, but I don’t do standing around.’

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ she said. ‘Please, sit down. I’ll get some tea. I don’t have anything stronger.’

  That didn’t surprise me.

  I sat down and looked around me as she made the tea. There was nothing left of the man. She had cleared his memory away completely. It was in stark contrast to my house, which still looked like Judith had just walked out the door. ‘There’s nothing left of him.’ I spoke out loud without thinking. She was behind me; she had heard me and she burst into tears. Soon her head was on my shoulder and she was sobbing. ‘I apologise,’ I said. ‘That was bloody insensitive.’

  She still carried on crying and then, just as quickly, she stopped and pulled herself away from me, as if she had just realised what she was doing. I guessed she was not too happy to find that it was my shoulder her head had been resting on. We both sat looking awkward. ‘I didn’t think you would come round,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve been away,’ I said. ‘I’ve just come back.’

  ‘Visiting your whore,’ she said bitterly.

  I thought of the pretty young girl, barely sixteen, who had been a whore, and could no longer live with the memory. I thought of her poor body hanging in the cold, damp outhouse. ‘Yes,’ I said.

  She sighed. ‘Well, some things never change.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed.

  We sat in silence for a few moments. ‘You look tired,’ I said tactlessly. ‘Have you spoken to the doctor about something to help you sleep?’

  ‘You can see me?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I can today.’

  She sighed. ‘That’s typical! You couldn’t see when I ... Oh, never mind.’

  ‘How’s Fraser?’ I asked, hoping we could change the subject to the wedding.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I’ve not seen much of him since we cancelled the wedding.’

  ‘You’ve cancelled the wedding?’ I tried not to sound too pleased.

  ‘Well, postponed. I couldn’t think about it with all of this.’ She sounded so forlorn. She looked around her. ‘I had to clear the house. I couldn’t bear to see his things. I kept thinking he must still be alive and then realising he was dead.’ She sobbed. ‘I know it’s wrong of me.’

  ‘No, everyone deals with grief differently. There is no right or wrong.’

  She nodded miserably.

  She sat staring; twisting a silly little handkerchief that most sensible people had given up using in the last century. ‘I don’t want to argue anymore, David,’ she said.

  ‘Neither do I,’ I agreed.

  ‘Can we be friends?’

  ‘Yes, I’d like that.’

  ‘I’ve thought about what you said, about Caitlin accepting you for what you are. And you’re right. I shouldn’t try to change you. You are what you are; I can’t influence that. I just want us to be friends, no more arguments.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ I didn’t believe her, but it was a nice thought. I got up to leave. ‘Does that mean you want to come back to cleaning my house again?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said with a rare smile. I turned to go. ‘If you pay me ...’

  As I left her house, I realised what a mess I’d made of the visit: I had failed to convince her not to marry Fraser Drummond, I’d agreed to have her back in my house – something I had never wanted in the first place and still didn’t want – and I’d agreed to pay her for the privilege.

  And I expected to lead a revolution.

  **********************

  No one loves the destitute, the homeless, the drug addict. During the day I begged. During the night I slept in doorways, under bridges and in old shelters. I spent my life avoiding the police, the religious and the cutthroats. I sought out thos
e who would sell me drugs and then found a hole in which to take them. Sometimes the stuff was good, sometimes it was rubbish and sometimes it was very nearly lethal.

  If I couldn’t find drugs, I drank; if I couldn’t find alcohol, I smoked cigarettes and if I couldn’t find those, I found someone who would give me money either through pity or fear.

  I became everything I previously would have despised.

  And all the time I kept moving north, where it became colder and where life was becoming more and more impossible. I had hardly eaten for weeks. I no longer cared about food; it was very low on my list of priorities. If I had money, it was for drugs – nothing else really mattered – and if someone gave me food, it was often food I could no longer eat, since my mouth and teeth had been destroyed by the lock.

  No one loves the destitute and if that destitute happens to carry the Fabian mark then no one is your friend. Those who stand next to you, by the burning coals in the wasteland, glance across and spit in your direction. As you sleep, they come to you and take what they can find, kicking and punching you until you can no longer move. You are an outcast amongst the outcast. You carry the bruises they give you. Only your knife, ever at the ready, holds back death from their hands.

  I was a marked man, hated by everyone, but I didn’t care anymore; I hated myself too much for that.

  That was when I met Tanya.

  Chapter 51

  May 2039

  Edinburgh

  The wind cut through my clothes and the rain drizzled down my neck. I was chilled right through. It may have been late spring everywhere else but here, in this cemetery in Edinburgh, it felt like winter.

  Someone spoke my name. I flinched; it had been a long time. I turned around; it was Alban. He stepped forward to greet me, holding out his arms. I recoiled. ‘Don’t touch me,’ I whispered.

  He stopped and gazed at me. ‘I’ve known you since you were a wee bairn,’ he said. ‘Why, I held you in my arms days after you were born.’ He shook his head. ‘Your mother and father were so proud of you.’