Night Terrors

by Helen Harper

  ‘And Bron?’

  ‘He’s a friend.’

  ‘Good.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Are you jealous of Bron too?’

  ‘Not if he’s just a friend.’

  ‘He is.’

  Dante’s voice drops. ‘Am I just a friend?’

  It feels like there’s a lot riding on my answer. I search for the right words. ‘I like you,’ I say finally, feeling like I’m back in high school and admitting I have a crush. ‘You’re the only person who knows who I really am in both the Dreamlands and the real world.’

  ‘So I know you better than anyone else?’ he asks with a note of satisfaction.

  ‘You do,’ I answer simply. It’s the truth. ‘You’re bloody annoying sometimes, though. Where did you go? I waited for you in the forest and you never showed up.’

  He sighs. ‘I’m sorry. I disapparated out. Once I’d had a chance to calm down, I thought better of it. When I went back in and realised you were in the Dreamlands, then saw the Department…’

  I nod. ‘Yeah. All hell broke loose. You used to work for the Mayor, Dante. What is the Department really?’

  He sighs. ‘The Mayor set the Department up years ago. He tried to keep it under his thumb for a while but for some people a taste of power only encourages them to want more.’

  ‘There was a coup against him?’

  ‘Not exactly. He agreed to share information and to work with the Department when necessary on the understanding that it left our zone alone.’

  ‘But it’s in charge everywhere else?’ I ask with a shudder, thinking of the barely restrained violence from the man who confronted me.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What does it want?’

  His voice is quiet. ‘More power. And with the Mayor’s death, all bets are off. When the Department didn’t show up immediately, I thought it might leave us in peace. No such luck.’ I hear him exhale. ‘Zoe, it’s going to know by now that there’s a dreamweaver and if they have Ashley, it won’t take them long to figure out it’s not her. You can’t go wandering around the Dreamlands. Not any more. I know you might want to play the hero and give yourself up to ensure her safety but Dean Salib risked his life to keep your identity secret for a reason. Whether you like it or not, you’re too important to risk.’

  ‘But I can’t do anything! All I can do is the same as you and walk through people’s dreams.’

  ‘That’s not true. You can change things.’

  I try to convey my desperation. ‘I could. A few times.’ I shake my head. ‘But something’s wrong now. I can feel it.’ I explain to him about everything I’ve experienced, including Lilith’s comment about the Badlands.

  ‘Shit,’ he mutters, although he doesn’t sound particularly surprised.

  ‘I remember Bron saying something ages ago,’ I say, sitting down heavily, forgetting to take care with my back and wincing in pain. ‘That the Badlands began to encroach into the town and there was a lot of trouble.’

  Dante laughs without humour. ‘That was long before Bron’s time.’

  ‘Do you remember it?’ I prod.

  ‘No. I don’t think even the oldest Travellers were around when all that occurred.’

  I push my hair out of my eyes. ‘I tried to speak to Esme about it but she was really upset. The Department destroyed the daberhashery and she wasn’t in the mood to listen.’

  ‘She’s lost a lot recently,’ he points out.

  I bite my lip. Yeah, she has. ‘The Department is one thing,’ I say. ‘But affecting the dreams of people all over the country…’

  ‘You don’t have any proof of that.’

  I shake my head. I can feel it in my bones. ‘Trust me. Something’s not right. Could the Department be doing it?’

  His answer is a long time coming. ‘I don’t think so. The Badlands is a law unto itself. What humans do is probably of no more consequence than a fly is to us.’

  ‘Well,’ I say, ‘maybe we can be the fly in the ointment that does more damage than expected. Have you fallen asleep yet and seen what things are like in the zone there?’ I’m assuming that his call means he’s already landed in the States.

  ‘No.’ He curses. ‘Damn jetlag is causing havoc. Besides, it’s morning here.’

  ‘Take your time. I have the unhappy feeling that the Department isn’t going anywhere any time soon.’

  He grunts in agreement. ‘You need to avoid the meeting tonight. Now I’m in a different country, I can’t apparate in that zone any longer. And you should stay away too.’

  ‘I can’t.’ I tell him about the man who accosted me.

  He sucks in an angry breath. ‘Goddamnit, Zoe. I can’t afford for you to get hurt.’

  I? Or did he mean we? I swallow. ‘I told you. Whatever grip I had on dreamweaving is slipping away and what I can do is next to useless.’

  ‘Then,’ Dante says in a grim tone, ‘you need to practise and get better.’

  ‘And the Badlands?’

  ‘There might be records somewhere about what happened last time that will help.’

  I grind my teeth. ‘Let me guess. In the crappy building that’s currently being overrun by the Department.’

  ‘That’s the one.’ He sighs. ‘There’s nothing we can do right now. It just means you have even more incentive to learn what you can do. You have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid like plunging into the Badlands on your own.’

  I don’t immediately respond. If he hadn’t telephoned when he had, I may very well have done just that.

  ‘Zoe,’ Dante warns.

  ‘Okay,’ I say finally. ‘I promise.’

  ‘One thing at a time.’

  I nod. ‘Yes. You’re right.’

  There’s the sound of a muffled knock. ‘I have to go,’ Dante says. ‘My contact is here.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ I’m strangely reluctant to let him go. ‘Call me later if you get anything.’

  ‘I will.’ There’s a long pause. ‘It would be better if you were here in person to meet him. I suppose it’s just as well I only booked one hotel room.’

  I blink rapidly. Er…

  Dante chuckles softly. ‘Take care, Zoe. Don’t do anything stupid.’

  ‘Only if you do the same,’ I warn.

  ‘Of course.’ He hangs up.

  I stay where I am for some time, looking at the phone and feeling bereft.

  ***

  Needing to release some of my pent-up energy – as well as ensure I’m tired enough to sleep tonight – I pull on my leggings and trainers and head out for a jog. I have to take it slowly to avoid making the pain in my back worse, but it’s good to be out in the fresh air. I missed this when I was stuck indoors for months on end, so there’s no way a little dream-induced backache is going to stop me now.

  I raise a hand to Mr Reynolds as I exit my cul-de-sac. He waves back bemusedly. He still seems confused that I can make it out of the house. For a short while, the Chairman trots alongside me. By the time I reach the busy main road, however, he’s given up in favour of rolling around in a patch of dust on someone’s driveway.

  It’s a lot cooler here in the real world than it is in the Dreamlands; the sky is an overcast grey rather than filled with brilliant golden sunshine. There’s something more pleasant about the outdoors here, however. I’m not sure whether it’s because it is more real or whether it just feels more real. Either way, as my lungs expand and I trot round the familiar streets of my childhood, I feel my spirit lightening. It might only be temporary but I definitely need it.

  I still keep one eye trained on the road, looking for cars which might be out of place. The Mayor tracked me down to this part of the world so it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that the remainder of the Department will do the same. But no one who passes me seems intent on anything other than their own lives, from the harassed mum with screaming kids in the back seat to the haggard-looking businessman who’s already late for his meeting and is speeding down the street. The no
rmalcy of it all is incredibly satisfying.

  Unwilling to go too far in case my back seizes up, I veer left to make a large loop and end up back where I started. When I go down Antler Avenue, I’m taken aback by the large number of cars parked at the side of the road. Either someone’s having a huge house party – which is unlikely at this time on a Thursday – or something else is going on. The only thing I can think of in this part of the town is the doctor’s surgery but that has a substantial car park so there’s no reason for vehicles to be parked on the street. Curious, I head towards them.

  By the time I reach the first cars, two people are standing on the pavement. ‘You too?’ exclaims the first woman, clasping her throat as she addresses her companion. ‘It sounds awful but I have to admit I’m really glad I’m not the only one.’

  I frown. That doesn’t sound good. I bypass the pair of them in favour of checking out what else is going on. I don’t have to go much further to see that not only is the surgery car park already brimming with cars but there’s a queue of people snaking out from the front door. At least a dozen tired-looking people are slumped against the wall.

  ‘Do you think the water supply is infected?’ someone asks with a faint tremor in their voice.

  ‘No. It’s mobile phones,’ another responds with absolute certainty. ‘All those radioactive waves are causing damage.’

  I stop and join the end of the queue. An older man with heavy shadows under his eyes glances at me. ‘Here’s another one,’ he mutters.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I ask nervously.

  He waves a hand at the waiting people. ‘Isn’t it obvious? We’re all here to see a doctor. And,’ he leans towards me, ‘we all have the same symptoms. My sister in Bathgate says it’s happening there too.’

  ‘What? What’s happening?’

  He gives me a long look. ‘You’re one of the lucky ones then. It’s not happened to you.’

  I resist the urge to grab him by the lapels and shake him. ‘What’s not happened? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Sleep paralysis,’ he says with an air of finality. ‘We’ve all had it.’

  Something deep inside me freezes solid. ‘What is sleep paralysis?’

  He grimaces. ‘You don’t want to know. Just be thankful that you don’t have it. Yet.’

  I swallow. This has to be related to my worries about what I’ve been experiencing in the Dreamlands. Rather than feeling vindicated, I feel sick.

  The only bonus is that I recognise one of the cars parked in the far corner. Rawlins. Her reasons for sitting outside my house in the middle of the night are becoming clear.

  I scan the rest of the line for the police sergeant’s familiar glower. She’s not there, so I head towards the front of the line.

  ‘Hey!’ someone says, irritated. ‘There’s a queue here!’

  Several others push themselves off the wall. I step back and put my hands up in submission. There’s nothing like loss of sleep to make people act out of character.

  ‘I’m not here to see the doctor,’ I say, soothingly. ‘I have a friend inside who I want to talk to.’

  I receive some suspicious glares and there are a few sidelong mutters but they let me pass and I squeeze into the lobby.

  I’m taken aback by the sight inside. This is a small Scottish town. The biggest thing that’s happened here recently is the summer fair committee coming to blows over whether they should allow the sale of teeth-shattering toffee after three children ended up at the emergency dentist’s last year.

  The scene that greets me now is akin to the aftermath of a terrible disaster or a war. There are people everywhere. One man is arguing vociferously with the strung-out receptionist, demanding to know why he’s not been seen yet. There are two kids asleep on the floor next to the packed chairs in the waiting area. The atmosphere reeks of desperation.

  A scuffle breaks out in the far corner. I see Rawlins extricate herself from her seat and stride over to sort it out. Her calm, professional tone smooths the ruffled feathers on both sides and she encourages the angry pair to separate. When she turns back to her chair and sees that someone has claimed it, however, there’s a flash of anger in her eyes that takes me aback. If this sleep paralysis, whatever it is, is affecting her to this point it must be serious.

  Feeling my gaze, she glances in my direction. Her eyebrows raise and she strides towards me. ‘Ms Lydon.’

  I incline my head. ‘Sergeant.’ I look around the room. ‘This doesn’t look good.’

  ‘No,’ she says grimly. ‘It doesn’t.’

  ‘Sleep paralysis?’ I ask.

  I receive a terse nod. She stares at me for one long drawn-out moment. ‘I have to stay here in case there’s more trouble,’ she says finally. ‘But we need to talk.’

  I point to the side where there’s a small space. Together we move over and lower our voices.

  ‘Are all these people here for the same thing?’ I ask.

  ‘Most of them. I think there’s a broken arm and a kid with the flu as well.’

  I twiddle nervously with my hair. ‘That’s not good.’

  Her expression is hard. ‘No. No, it’s not.’ She reaches for my arm, her fingers curling round it. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  I tense. ‘I’m not sure what I can do. I’m not a doctor.’

  ‘Look around you,’ she hisses. ‘Have you ever seen so many people in this surgery before?’

  I refrain from pointing out that it’s been a long time since I was capable of visiting the surgery and shake my head. ‘This is why you came round, isn’t it? You wanted to talk to me about this. Why didn’t you?’

  She mutters something under her breath. I hear the word ‘crazy’ and immediately understand. After speaking to the policewoman through her dreams when the Mayor was after me, I managed to smooth things over enough to make her think she’d imagined it all. A kernel of suspicion obviously remains but she thinks her idea is too far-fetched to voice aloud. I’m guessing that now she’s running out of options and is prepared to explore the unthinkable. Rawlins is the very definition of pragmatic realism. The fact that she’s considering my appearance in her dreams means something has her worried.

  ‘I need to understand what’s going on,’ I say urgently. ‘Explain to me exactly what’s been happening. I don’t even know what sleep paralysis is.’ I can guess but I’d rather be sure.

  It helps that Rawlins is a professional. She gives a miniscule shake and focuses. ‘For me,’ she begins, ‘it started about ten days ago. I go to sleep like normal and…’ Her voice falters.

  ‘And?’ I prompt.

  ‘Not long after I drift off, something heavy starts to pin me down. It’s like a huge weight on my chest. It makes it difficult to breathe.’ Unconsciously she rubs her hand across her body. ‘It’s suffocating. I can’t move. It doesn’t matter what I do, I can’t even wiggle my toes.’

  I stare at her. What she’s describing sounds similar to my agoraphobia-induced panic attacks. I know how terrifying they can be. To experience those sensations while asleep must be even worse.

  ‘That’s awful.’

  She snorts. ‘You think?’

  Shit. ‘There’s more, isn’t there?’

  ‘You’d better believe it. The weight on my chest moves. There are hands which hold me on. Legs which…’ She pauses and I can see her struggling for words, ‘…which knee me apart. Hot breath that covers my face. Then I feel the erection. My pyjamas are ripped off and…’

  I clench my teeth. ‘You’re assaulted.’ Sickened, I look away.

  ‘It’s not real,’ Rawlins says quietly. ‘It seems real when it happens but when I wake up I know it was a dream. I’ve never experienced fear like it, though. I’m so helpless, I can’t do a thing to stop it from happening. But,’ she repeats, ‘I know it’s not real. It’s only happening in my head.’

  The trouble is that I’m not so sure of that. Not knowing what I know.

  ‘Sergeant, have there been any physic
al signs?’ I ask urgently. ‘You said your pyjamas are ripped. When you wake up, are they still torn?’

  For a long moment, she doesn’t answer. Her eyes rake my face. ‘No,’ she says slowly. ‘They’re fine. And I’ve even checked myself over, as silly as that sounds. Whatever’s happening isn’t physical.’

  For now. And the mental anguish of that kind of experience is going to be more damaging. I let out a long breath. As long as Rawlins can still believe that what’s happening is only in her head, she’ll find it easier to recover. Much as I want to comfort her and tell her I’ll do what I can to help by visiting her dreams as soon as I can, it’s better for her in the long run if she still believes it’s a hallucination.

  ‘It sounds awful,’ I say, meaning every single word. ‘I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through. But I’m not sure how I can help.’

  There’s a sudden flare of anger. ‘Don’t you get it? I’m afraid of going to sleep!’ She throws her arms out at the other people waiting. ‘So are they! I’m not sure what I believe you’re capable of, Ms Lydon, but I know you’re capable of something. Help us.’

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t know how.’ Feeling like an absolute shit, I lick my lips. ‘Have you tried a few drops of lavender on your pillow? Herbal remedies can often be very useful.’

  The disappointment on her face strikes at my very core. Rawlins doesn’t believe I’m capable of visiting dreams but there’s a part of her that wants it to be true. I take her hand again sympathetically. I want to make absolutely sure I can apparate into her subconscious.

  ‘The best thing to do,’ I say, ‘is to go home and try to get some rest.’

  She is struggling not to snap at me that the last thing she wants to do is sleep. She pulls her hand away.

  A door to the surgery opens. A woman in a crumpled suit appears and clears her throat loudly. She’s holding a prescription pad.

  ‘Thank you for your patience, ladies and gentlemen. We are doing the best we can and will see anyone who needs a doctor if you’re willing to wait. For anyone who is here because of sleep-paralysis symptoms, we can write you a prescription for chlomirapine hydrochloride. We require full medical histories before we do this, however, and that will take time.’ There’s a sudden buzz in the room and several people sit up straighter. ‘Let me be clear that the prescription is for a very mild dosage. We recommend that anyone with medical problems does not resort to chemical sleep inducement. The best thing for this paralysis is to avoid stress.’