Night Terrors (18 page)

‘What’s happened, Rebecca?’

She hiccups back another sob. ‘Elizabeth and Emilia were mean to me.’

‘What did they do?’

‘They said I was worthless. That I was just … just … an insect.’

Ah. It’s starting to make sense now. ‘You know, Rebecca,’ I say softly, ‘things do get better. We don’t remain vulnerable all our lives.’ If only that were true.

She blinks up at me. ‘Really?’

‘Of course. Show me what you’re like as an adult,’ I tell her. ‘Twenty-one. What happened when you were twenty-one?’

She frowns at me. For a moment, I think she’s going to argue but something in my face makes her trust me because suddenly there’s a flash, like lightning.

I look round. The classroom has gone, replaced by what appears to be a dance hall. The atmosphere is smoky. There’s a live band on stage playing swing music and couples whirl around on the dance floor. An older version of Rebecca is standing next to me.

‘There he is,’ she says. Her tears have gone and I admire her shining eyes.

I look over to where she’s pointing. There, across the room, a nervous-looking young man is hovering. ‘Who’s that?’

Her lipsticked mouth turns up playfully. ‘My husband.’

I look at her hand – it’s bare of any rings. Not only is this another moment from Rebecca’s past, but she’s as aware of that fact as she is of me. I feel goose bumps on my arm. I have no way of knowing whether Rebecca’s dreams are real memories or made-up moments but, either way, she’s leading through me a history of her life. This is what it means to be a dreamweaver, to see everything that goes on inside someone’s mind.

I feel the power surge through my veins and I throw back my head and laugh. The dancers on the floor move faster and faster until I’m dizzy.

Rebecca clutches at my arm. ‘He’s coming over,’ she whispers.

There’s another flash and we’re in a room filled with armchairs. The strong smell of cigarettes has been replaced by something oddly clinical. I  look closer and see bottles filled with pills dotted about. There’s a line of zimmer frames, wheelchairs and walking sticks along the far end of the room; their presence is almost malevolent. As I watch, they start to move of their own accord, pushing past the chairs and into the centre of the room. They dance, although this time there’s no music. They waltz across the worn carpet, spinning and twisting to an unheard beat.

Then an old woman, with a lined face and almost pure white hair – no longer frizzy but patchy and balding – appears in the middle of them. The walking aids dance around her while she looks up and smiles.

A grating voice interrupts. It reminds me of fingers scraping down a blackboard and I wonder whether it’s real. Perhaps it’s what sent Rebecca’s mind to another world and another time. ‘It’s time for your medicine.’

A young woman is approaching. There’s something not quite right about her, but I can’t put my finger on it. Rebecca shakes her head. She doesn’t say anything but I sense her thoughts: the medicine makes her fuzzy. This mirrors her real life as well: she doesn’t dream when she is drugged up and all she has left now are her dreams.

The woman advances. She’s holding a syringe. The long sharp needle glistens in the dim light.

I shake my head. ‘Don’t do that.’ The woman pays me no attention. ‘Hey!’ I say, more sharply this time ‘Leave her alone!’

I lunge to stop her. My fingers graze her arm and she turns to me with a snarl on her face. That’s when I stumble. The woman’s skin turns into a cloud of black; her eyes become bottomless pits of nothingness, and the clothes she is wearing vanish into smoke. The Badlands.

I grab a table lamp and smash it over her head. She hesitates but it doesn’t stop her. I tighten my jaw. I’ve beaten the other monsters, I can beat this one.

Rebecca starts to scream but I keep my attention on her would-be attacker. I throw a punch but this time I don’t even touch her. My fist swipes through her body as if it were nothing more substantial than air. As she advances on Rebecca I launch a kick, but it has no effect.

‘Get out of here!’ I yell. ‘You don’t belong!’

The woman flicks out one hand. She doesn’t even touch me but I feel a sharp pain in the centre of my chest. What the hell? I can’t breathe. It’s choking me and the pain is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I stagger backwards, clutching at my throat with one hand and my heart with the other.

Rebecca’s eyes are wide. She’s no longer an old woman; now she’s back to being a child again, her frizzy hair standing on end.

‘Rebecca!’ I croak. ‘Wake up! Wake up now!’ Her brow furrows as if she doesn’t understand. I meet her eyes. ‘Please,’ I whisper. ‘Wake up.’

Then she nods in understanding. A moment later I’m ejected into the Bubble corridor. There’s no sign of the woman, and the pain I felt is already dissipating. I lunge for the door and try to open it again but it’s locked. Rebecca, whoever she was, is no longer asleep.

The door is no longer white. As I watch, it clouds into darkness. Whatever that creature was, it was damned strong, stronger than any of the creatures I’ve encountered before. I shake my head in dismay.

‘You led them to her.’

I jump backwards. Standing there, staring at the door, is the blue-haired boy.

‘No.’ I ball up my fists. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

He looks at me with his brilliant sapphire eyes. ‘They’re here because of you.’

‘Are they from the Badlands?’

He nods.

‘So how? How do I stop them?’ Desperation seeps out of my pores.

‘You have to go there,’ he says sadly. ‘You have to stop them.’ He starts to walk away.

‘Wait! You’re the Sandman! You’ve got that magic dust. Sprinkle it on everyone and you can save them.’

‘It doesn’t work like that.’

‘If I don’t come here to the Dreamlands again, will they stop?’

‘It’s too late, weaver. You have to go to the Badlands.’

‘Is that where you’re from? Are you forced to stay there too?’ I demand.

He doesn’t respond. I try to run after him but my body’s taken too much of a beating. The pain in my chest is fading but it’s still there and I can’t move fast enough. The boy is not running but he’s moving away from me at a speed that I couldn’t match, even if I were hale and hearty.

I watch him go, frustration and despair coursing through me. The Department is right: this is all my fault. I put my hands over my eyes, pressing down until it hurts, and wish myself anywhere but here.

***

The television is on mute. Rawlins is in the corner of the room, as far away from as she can get. A miniature bottle of whisky is in her hand. She’s not drunk any of it, but her knuckles are white as she grips it. Her look of horror is so dramatic that I almost laugh.

‘Something wrong?’ I ask.

‘I tried to wake you.’ Her voice is barely audible. ‘I threw water over you.’

I realise that my shirt is sopping wet. I wish I’d thought to bring a change of clothes. ‘I’m a deep sleeper.’ I rub my eyes, wiping away the last of my grogginess. I can still feel the ache in my chest. I bite my lip and think of Rebecca and the fate I consigned her to. She’s not going to be able to sleep at all now, not in a good way. I curse loudly and Rawlins flinches.

‘You were screaming,’ she says. ‘And … thrashing around.’

I take a deep breath. I hadn’t realised that there is such physical evidence of what I do when I sleep. ‘Bad dreams.’

Rawlins raises the little bottle to her lips and downs it in one. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Tell me.’

‘There’s nothing’s more boring than hearing about someone’s dreams,’ I say with a forced laugh.

‘Zoe.’

I blink. That’s the first time she’s used my first name. ‘What?’

‘I’m not stupid. I do have some idea about what’s going on. You know I do. Just tell me.’

I’m not ready to throw myself to the wolves just yet. Rawlins could probably get me committed in a heartbeat. ‘Um…’

She tosses the bottle down and folds her arms. ‘Stop me if I get any of this wrong.’ She jabs her thumb at me. ‘You have the ability to enter people’s dreams. If you touch someone, you can see inside their head when they sleep. You can interact with them and make things happen.’ Her expression hardens. ‘Or stop them from happening.’

My mouth is dry. I go to the fridge, take out a bottle of water, unscrew the top and gulp it down. When it’s half empty, I change my mind and reach for a miniature bottle of vodka instead. I finish it and manage not choke.

‘Dutch courage.’ Rawlins nods. ‘Okay,’ I say heavily. ‘Okay.’ I sit down then I stand up again. It’s been clear for a long time that Rawlins was getting close to the truth but it’s still shocking to hear her say it aloud. ‘Yes. That’s kind of what happens.’

She sucks in a deep breath. I can’t tell whether she’s happy that I’ve confirmed her theory or if she wishes it weren’t true. ‘Is that why you didn’t leave your house? You didn’t want to touch anyone?’

I smile humourlessly. ‘Actually, no. I’m what’s known as a dreamweaver. I have the ability to change dreams. No one else can, which apparently makes me incredibly desirable.’ I think about what I’ve just said and backtrack slightly. ‘Not sexually, you understand.’

Rawlins looks at me.

I sigh. ‘My agoraphobia is a by-product of someone believing that keeping me safe and indoors and away from people was the best thing for me. I thought I was past it all, but I guess mental anguish lingers in the recesses of your subconscious. It isn’t as easy to recover from as you think.’

‘What do you mean that you can change dreams?’ she asks slowly.

I rub my forehead. ‘In theory, I can manipulate your thoughts and feelings. I can drop in ideas that will affect what you do in your daily life. I can see into your soul and change it as I see fit.’

I’m testing the bounds of Rawlins’ credulity here. ‘You can change me?’ she asks, disbelief colouring her tone.

‘And you would never know it.’ The corner of my mouth crooks up. ‘Creepy, right?’

She stares at her empty miniature. ‘I think I need a bigger bottle.’

‘I did say in theory. I’m supposed to be able to do those things but I can’t. Ashley, the woman we’re looking for? The people who took her think that she’s the dreamweaver. They want to use her for…’ I pause. ‘I don’t even know what for but it’s definitely nothing good. If they find out she doesn’t have those powers, then they’ll probably kill her.’

The blood drains from Rawlins’ face. ‘Murder? Seriously?’

‘Think about what you could do if you could go inside someone’s mind.’

‘You could stop them from committing a crime.’

I nod. ‘Or you could encourage them to commit one when they normally wouldn’t.’

Her skin pales even further. ‘You’re definitely the only person in the world who can do this?’ she demands. ‘You? Zoe Lydon?’

‘Yes.’

‘There’s no one else?’

I can understand her fear. ‘Not as far as I know. There are others who can visit dreams but they can only observe.’

Rawlins recoils. ‘So what you’re saying is that any time I sleep, someone could be watching what I’m dreaming?’

‘It’s unlikely. There are a lot of people in the world and very few who can visit dreams.’ I twist my fingers together and look down. ‘But essentially, yes. Someone could do that.’

She looks sick. ‘And the sleep paralysis? Is that do with,’ she waves a hand around, ‘all this stuff?’

‘Yes.’ I’m not sure how far I can take her but I’ve told her so much, I feel I may as well go all in. I describe the Dreamlands and the Badlands. I even include the Department’s claim that the dreamweaver is responsible for what’s happening to everyone.

Once I’m finished, Rawlins turns away. Maybe she can’t bear to look at me. I’m a freak; I was a freak when I couldn’t leave my house and now I’m an even bigger freak.

I see her reflection in the rain-streaked window. Her expression is distant. ‘If you want me to go…’ I begin.

‘No.’

I bite my lip. For what seems like an interminable length of time, she stays in that position. I grow increasingly uncomfortable. Maybe I should leave and give her some space to think it all over.

‘They were real, weren’t they?’ she murmurs finally. ‘My assaults.’

Damn it all to hell. I’ve been so focused on my own problems that I’ve forgotten completely about hers. I curse myself again for being so self-absorbed. I’ve spent far too much time with just myself for company.

‘They were still dreams,’ I tell her quietly. ‘They didn’t happen in real life.’

‘But they’re not a figment of my imagination.’

I swallow. ‘No.’ And then, even though it seems ineffective, ‘I’m sorry.’

There’s a hard set to her mouth. I realise in that instant that Rawlins isn’t like me at all. She’s not going to let her fear control her, she’s stronger than that. ‘He’s not appeared in my dreams since you … since you stopped him. But there are a lot of other people experiencing the same thing.’

I slump in defeat. ‘I tried. I’ve been going into dreams to stop what’s happening but there are thousands of people who are afflicted. Maybe hundreds of thousands. To stop every single dream is almost impossible.’

She purses her lips. ‘Whose dream were you in just now?’

I tell her about the Bubble and what happened with Rebecca. Rawlins’ expression hardens further. ‘So not only can you see what people are dreaming, you can also manipulate their subconscious to show you images of their lives? Their memories?’

She’s right. Almost everything that happened with Rebecca involved a memory: being taunted by school friends, meeting the love of her life, even being given drugs in her care home. Despite the surreal edge to what occurred, it wasn’t wish fulfilment or a deep-seated imagination that I experienced in her head, it was visions of her actual life. If I can replicate that with others, there’s no telling what information I could find out. I shiver. Right now I need this – but I really don’t want it.

Rawlins straightens up, recognising my epiphany. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve discovered since meeting you it’s that nothing is impossible. You need to find out how to stop all those nightmares.’

I nod. I might be no closer to working out how to keep the Badlands at bay, but I’m learning more about what I can do. If I can develop my skills sooner rather than later, we might just be in with a shot.