A New Kind of Dreaming

by Anthony Eaton

  In the back of Jamie’s mind the girl screamed – a sudden, long, piercing cry of agony and distress that seared into his soul, until he felt that he might explode from the pain.

  Then he passed out again.

  The four-wheel drive roared along the dirt road. Spotlights mounted on the front bullbar picked out the undulations and potholes, small puddles of liquid blackness framed against the stark red dirt. Occasionally a kangaroo would find itself caught in the rushing cone of light, and would stare into the headlights, transfixed for a couple of seconds, before leaping away into the blackness. In the cage Jamie slowly returned to consciousness, his head pounding. The back of the truck was slick with fine road dust thrown up by the tyres and sucked in by the vacuum that formed behind the speeding vehicle. Every bump and corrugation in the road launched him in a new direction. The gag had been removed and his legs untied, and he tried to sit up and brace himself against the side, but his hands were still cuffed behind his back, making it almost impossible to move against the momentum of the truck.

  Through the pain and confusion, another emotion burrowed its way in. Fear. Real fear. For the first time in his life Jamie knew the desperation of the trapped. Sweat broke out on the palms of his hands and down the back of his neck. In the dark chaos of the lurching police truck, his skin prickled and the fine hairs along his arms stood on end. This is what it feels like to be completely at the mercy of someone else.

  A particularly big pothole threw Jamie into the air, crashing him back down onto the metal floor. The breath rushed out of him, leaving him prone and gasping. After a few more seconds, mercifully, he passed out again.

  ‘Wakey. Wakey!’ A hand reached into the cage and grabbed roughly at Jamie’s collar, dragging him towards the door. He tried to get his footing, to roll over and steady himself, but he was pulled through the door and was unable to prevent himself crashing down onto the hard sand behind the truck.

  ‘Get up.’

  Butcher stood over him, grinning. Jamie tried to climb to his feet but his hands were still bound, so Butcher grabbed his shirt front and yanked him upright. His legs buckled under him and he staggered a little. A warm rush surged in his throat and he bent over, retching onto the ground at Butcher’s feet.

  ‘Charming,’ said the cop. ‘Not quite so cocky now, are we?’

  Jamie was completely disoriented. It was still dark and the landscape remained cloaked. Off to one side though, the red scar of approaching dawn glowed in the sky. In the other direction the moon slunk towards the horizon. A couple of low buildings crouched to their left, indistinct but for their angular lines in the dim light.

  ‘Welcome to Flaherety’s Curse.’

  Butcher leaned in to Jamie’s face.

  ‘Hope you like it here, ’cause you’re gonna be staying a while. Come on.’

  Grabbing a handful of Jamie’s hair he started towards the closest of the two buildings with Jamie trailing behind him, half dragged, half staggering. There was no door hanging in the frame and inside the room was almost bare. To one side some shapes suggested a couple of abandoned desks and other bits of disused furniture and rubbish piled haphazardly. In the middle of the room a single steel pole rose through the floor, supporting the ceiling.

  ‘Now, I’m going to undo these handcuffs for a second. You’re going to put your arms either side of the pole, and then I’ll do them up again. Okay? If you’re thinking of running, or even just refusing to behave, keep in mind that I can open and close the cuffs with one hand.’

  Reaching into his pocket with his left hand Butcher removed a key. With his right, he unholstered his pistol. The click of the safety catch being flicked off echoed against the bare walls. Butcher pressed the barrel into Jamie’s temple so that the cold, hard circle of steel left an impression on his skin.

  ‘One wrong move, son, and your brains are all over that wall. Now, let’s see how good you can be.’

  Another faint click and the pressure on Jamie’s left wrist eased. Having no choice, he wrapped his arms around the pole and seconds later the handcuff snapped back into place. Butcher squeezed it until the metal band cut into his flesh, making his eyes water.

  ‘There now. That wasn’t too hard.’

  Stepping back, Butcher surveyed his work. Jamie stood with one hand locked either side of the steel pole.

  ‘I’d say you’re not going anywhere for a while. This place is an abandoned mine office, just in case you’re wondering and when I say abandoned, I mean it; no one ever comes here and you’re in the middle of bloody nowhere, so even if you chew an arm off or something, you’ll die of thirst before you find a town.’

  Butcher turned to leave. Jamie felt a wave of hopelessness and despair gathering itself around him. He had to fight it. Somehow.

  ‘Hey, Butcher.’

  The cop stopped in the doorway.

  ‘You know this won’t work, don’t you.’

  Butcher laughed.

  ‘See, that’s where you’re wrong. It will work, and I have got away with it. You don’t think you’re the first resident of Flaherety’s Curse, do you?’

  Jamie stayed silent.

  ‘In a few days you’ll be just another kid from the city who couldn’t hack it in Port Barren. Burnt the school down, took off into the desert and died. We’ll probably have a bit of a look around for you later today – don’t think we’ll find anything though.’

  He chuckled at his joke.

  ‘Lorraine won’t believe you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be counting on that if I was you, son. Lorraine knows which side her bread’s buttered on. She’ll believe whatever I tell her.’

  ‘Bullshit. She already knows about what you did to that girl. I told her.’ It was a lie, a desperate one, and Butcher knew it. He grinned.

  ‘Let me tell you a little story about Lorraine, eh?’

  Jamie glared sullenly.

  ‘Few years back we had another young kid, much like yourself, sent up here. I think I mentioned him to you one time. Problem was that, just like you, this kid didn’t have the brains to stay out of the way. Kept making a nuisance of himself. That was a worry, of course, but nothing that couldn’t have been handled with some firm words from his parole officer, and that was where we had real problems. Silly bloody Lorraine got herself involved with the lad, if you know what I mean. Not sure why she did it exactly, it’s not like men are thin on the ground in Port Barren or anything, is it? Bloody stupid. Twice his age, and his parole officer, and that’s what she goes and does. So of course he thought he’d be able to get away with pretty near anything.’

  Jamie stared in disbelief.

  ‘It would have raised a hell of a stink if anyone’d found out about the affair. Lucky for Lorraine, no one did. Apart from me, that is.’

  Butcher stopped and looked expectantly at Jamie, obviously wanting a response. But Jamie stayed silent, letting the cop boast.

  ‘Bit like yourself really, the dumb little bugger didn’t know when to hold his tongue. Told me all about him and Lorraine one evening when I was having a little “chat” with him about his future. Funnily enough, that same night the poor boy disappeared. Much like you’re about to. Call it a favour to a friend if you like, but you can take my word for it – I made damn sure Lorraine knew all about what happened to that lad, and she never did a thing. It solved a lot of problems for her, so she didn’t even try to help him. Just like she won’t lift a finger for you. You’re stuffed, mate.’

  Butcher took a couple more steps out the door, and then turned back again.

  ‘You know the funny part? If you’d kept your mouth shut back in town I would have just arrested you for burning the school down and sent you off to prison for ten years. But you had to tell me how clever you’d been, didn’t you? All about your little bit of detective work. I can’t work out who was more stupid, you
or McPherson, the dumb bastard.’

  He left. Jamie listened to the four-wheel drive roar into life and grind off along the dirt road.

  twenty

  The sound of the Toyota faded into the distance, and panic had taken hold of him again. The bleak pre-dawn light seeped through the broken windows revealing a bare floor, a couple of overturned desks and a bundle of rags strewn in one corner. Sand had found its way in through the broken windows and empty door frame. It coated everything in a dirty layer that had obviously sat undisturbed for years.

  Jamie wanted to vomit again. His stomach churned, he doubled over and retched, but there was nothing left to come up. Eventually he took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down.

  Gently easing himself to the floor, Jamie sat with his arms wrapped around the pole. He tried to lever his weight backwards against the handcuffs, but his pulling only caused the metal to bite harder into the flesh of his arms. His mind still clouded, he put more and more pressure against the unyielding steel bands, until finally the pain bit through his fear. Eventually the waves of panic gave way to a cold despair. Resting his head against the pole he tried to make himself relax and think.

  The girl spoke to him again. The same disembodied voice, the words meaningless and foreign. This time however, Jamie heard more than just the words. Trapped in the hut in the middle of the desert, he was struck by the despair and the pain that formed the undercurrent to what she was telling him. His own situation, trapped, desperate and scared, was so similar to hers that he understood exactly what she was saying, even through the barrier of language. She was sharing his pain, as he was sharing hers.

  Outside, the light grew stronger as the sun rose to fill the sky. Gradually, the early morning rustling and snuffling of animals feeding in the cool dawn faded into the eerie stillness of the midday desert.

  He was wracked with thirst. He hadn’t had anything to drink since he left the kitchen in Archie’s place over twenty-four hours ago. His mouth and throat were dry and parched, his body felt numb and his head spun. Jamie knew that his body would soon wither in the desert heat. He hadn’t eaten in ages, but it was the thirst that dominated his thoughts, constant and nagging, the craving for moisture so powerful that he began to lick his arms, trying to save the tiniest droplets of sweat from running off him.

  Minutes passed like hours, and hours like days. Above his left temple his head throbbed where Butcher had struck him. He managed to lie down after a fashion, by twisting his body sideways around the pole and resting his head on one arm. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but he was exhausted and sleep came almost as soon as he closed his eyes.

  Jamie dreamed. Visions and feelings swept through his subconscious. Images from childhood, his family, his parents, and Eddie. Always Eddie. In his dreams he returned again and again to that sterile prison visiting room, with Eddie telling him that as soon as he got out they’d do something straight; that Eddie would come and find him. Jamie knew that not even his brother would be able to come for him out here, and in his sleep his body trembled.

  Mixed in with these were the more recent dreams. The boat, Lorraine, Butcher, flames engulfing the school. Now and again he’d hear the voice. Not the scared, panic-driven voice, but something soft, soothing, gentle and reassuring. The words were incomprehensible but the meaning clear – ‘Don’t be scared. Everything will be all right.’ The words of Archie’s story rang in his ears:

  The people must wait for another to come. A wanderer or a lost one who can balance the pain. Can restore the land. Can bring the peace.

  Jamie slowly returned to consciousness. He felt as though Archie himself was there in the hut with him, retelling the story.

  ‘Who am I?’ The words formed themselves on Jamie’s parched lips. ‘Am I a wanderer, or a lost one?’ In his dazed state the question made less sense than ever, the answer, if there was one, remaining hidden behind a veil of pain.

  He slid upright. This proved difficult. His arm had gone to sleep beneath the weight of his head, and his body was stiff and bruised from the brutal ride in the back of the truck. He rested his head on the pole and prodded cautiously at the lump on his temple.

  By mid-afternoon the thirst was unbearable. The heat was worse than anything he had ever imagined. Constant rivers of precious moisture ran off him, soaking his clothes. Through the empty doorframe he could see a rectangular patch of horizon. Nothing but scrub and spinifex and the occasional rocky outcrop in the distance. No sound except the buzzing of a couple of bush flies that had found their way inside and hovered, unharassed, around Jamie’s limp form.

  Late in the afternoon a breeze came up, but it served only to stir the warm air inside the hut.

  Early evening brought slow relief. As the sun eased towards the horizon, the temperature and stifling atmosphere in the hut began to abate slightly. The coolness revived him a little. Outside, the usual cacophony of insects greeting the approaching night was chirping into life. Jamie tried to settle again on the floor, hoping for the mercy of sleep, but his body was restless and twitchy. The urge to pull further at the handcuffs, to tear his body away from the pole, was overwhelming, but he fought against it. His wrists were already raw from the constant chaffing of the steel bracelets and he needed to conserve all the energy he could.

  Someone began to sing. The sound floated around the hut, echoing off the bare walls. Jamie listened, fascinated, to tunes he vaguely remembered from his childhood. Nursery rhymes his mother used to sing to him. It was some minutes before he realised that the music was coming from his own mouth.

  The worst part of it was the feeling of being hopelessly trapped, a total prisoner. Is this how Eddie must feel, he wondered. Waking up every day, caged, alone. The only thing that seemed important to Jamie now was freedom. He longed to rip himself away from the pole, to run from the hut out into the endless desert.

  The thought of flight had firmly lodged itself in his brain. It took control of him and through a red haze he hauled himself up and started to tear at the pole. In his detached state he felt the skin sliding away from the muscle beneath, but the pain seemed somehow distant, as though it was happening to someone else. Again and again he wrenched his arms back until the chain of the handcuffs snapped up hard against the unyielding steel of the support beam. His hands and wrists grew raw as the layers of skin beneath the bracelets peeled away, the tiny trickle of blood mixing with the sweat that poured down his arms. Finally a bursting jolt of pain snapped him out of his madness, and he slumped to the floor.

  He knelt with his head against the pole and let the tears of pain, frustration and despair run down his face. Outside, the symphony of insects suddenly stopped, and from out of the unexpected stillness the noise of an approaching engine carried clearly through the evening air.

  twenty-one

  At first Jamie thought that he must have been hallucinating again. The sound was so far off that it seemed no more real than the voice of the girl inside his head. He kept expecting to wake up, or for the engine noise to recede back into his dreams. Minutes passed, however, and the noise continued to grow louder and stronger until it stopped somewhere outside the hut.

  ‘Jamie!’ A voice. Familiar.

  ‘In here.’ He tried to call but his throat was parched, and his voice, which just a few minutes earlier had been singing, suddenly refused to work. All he could manage was the barest of squeaks. For a couple of confused moments he almost laughed at the situation.

  Footsteps crunching across the dirt towards the hut.

  ‘Jamie?’ A figure appeared in the doorway. Cameron started towards him then took in the scene. Saw the handcuffs, saw the blood, saw the exhaustion on his friend’s face.

  ‘Hang on, I’ll be back.’ He sprinted from the room and Jamie’s thirst-addled mind had a momentary panic attack, thinking that for some reason his rescuer was leaving again. But minutes later Cameron returned, a backpa
ck and toolbox in hand.

  ‘Here.’ He pulled a bottle from a pocket on the side of the pack and held it to Jamie’s lips. The bitter, metallic water of Port Barren had never tasted so good. Jamie gulped greedily, spilling it over his chin and neck.

  ‘Steady.’ Cameron pulled the bottle back. ‘I’ve got plenty. Take it easy or you’ll make yourself sick.’

  He let Jamie drink slowly for another minute and then put the bottle down.

  ‘We’d better get you off that pole.’

  ‘How’d you find me?’ Lubricated by the water, Jamie’s voice returned, gravelly and scratchy.

  ‘Later. We’ve got to get moving.’

  He dug around in the toolbox, pulled out a hacksaw and went to work on the chain.

  ‘How’d you know to bring that?’

  ‘Dad’s a mining engineer – our car’s full of tools.’

  ‘You can drive?’

  ‘Since I was fourteen.’

  ‘And your dad lets you use the car?’

  Cameron paused in his sawing for a second and gave Jamie a strained grin.

  ‘That’s why we’re in a hurry. He doesn’t know I’ve got it.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Actually, he’s probably worked it out by now. It’s a long story. I’ll explain on the way back.’

  The steel chain was tough and unyielding. As the blade scraped back and forth, the grinding rasp of serrated teeth chewing through metal reverberated around the room. For fifteen minutes Cameron hacked away, and rapidly worked up a huge sweat. Droplets were running down his arms, onto the handle of the saw, making it difficult to control.

  ‘Sorry,’ Cameron grunted, as the blade twisted unexpectedly and nipped at Jamie’s forearm.

  ‘It’s okay. Can I have another drink?’

  Cameron brought the water bottle to Jamie’s lips for a sip and then returned to the sawing. There was little conversation.