The Dreams of the Eternal City

by Mark Reece

  Thirteen

  That weekend, Ethan felt vague anxiety about what would happen when he returned to work, combined with the sense that when Aislin came back, their relationship would finally run its natural course. His fear about the late night with the porter disrupting his sleep patterns did not come to pass, except on the Sunday morning when he switched off his alarm clock then dozed for half an hour. A situation that would have horrified him two months earlier now counted as success.

  He felt well enough that he was able to drive to work on Monday, experiencing a strange mix of new and old as he travelled his familiar journey. Several shops had been boarded up since the previous week, and after he had parked, his feet tingled on his every step.

  As he walked, he thought that he was still adjusting to the fact that he had lost indefinable parts of himself to exhaustion. His eyes were simultaneously sharp and dull, and the dragons of his dreams looked down at him, kept from swooping by radiant energy from his sandpapered nerves.

  When he reached the SDMA building, Ethan felt some satisfaction when checking his watch to see that he had arrived at precisely the time he always had before his problems had started.

  There were black-suited guards at the entrance. He nodded at one when he was a few steps away and was taken by surprise when the man stepped forward and grabbed his arm, twisting it so that Ethan doubled over. Someone unseen controlled his other arm.

  “What are you doing? I work here.”

  “We know who you are.”

  Efficient hands emptied his pockets. His coat was noticeably lighter after his security pass had been removed. There was a pause then they dragged him away with his head held down. Ethan could not hear anyone else, giving him a strange sense of relief that no one would see what had happened. He wondered whether the guards were solely intended for him.

  They took him to a white van at the rear of the building. It was smeared with mud and there was an advertisement on its side for window cleaning that he did not have time to read before he was pushed into the back. He sat on a bar then the men went out and appeared in the front a few moments later. There was a divider between them that looked like plexiglas, and when they started talking, Ethan realised that it was soundproof.

  As they drove off, he was jolted into the air; there were no seatbelts or anything else to hold him in position. It seemed as if they were driving very quickly, and whenever they stopped or turned, he bounced off the sides like a pinball. He felt pain at random points around his body as if his clothes were filled with biting insects, and after it had happened a few times, he waited for the next jerk with the pensive air of a dog that knows it is about to be kicked. He looked to his right to see whether the men were doing it deliberately, but they were both watching the road, ignoring him.

  They can’t know much about what’s gone on or this would have happened ages ago. At first, Ethan thought about explanations he could give. They definitely won’t know about anything that’s happened in my house so it must be something from the jewellery shop that gave me away. I’ll just have to say that I was too scared to tell anyone. Perhaps that I didn’t trust Peter to deal with anything, that would be believable. The van swerved and Ethan was propelled into the other side. He felt his nose compress and liquid drip from it. There was no pain, and in his bewilderment, he looked up to see whether rain was leaking from the roof. It was only when he held his nose between his fingers that he realised it was blood.

  He could not bring himself to move back, so slouched against the wall, watching blood drip on his trousers. I’ll never get out, he thought. Ethan stared at the side of the van. Everyone will know. Aislin will know. Mum and Dad will know. Mo will know. Alfie and Jo will know. That I’m a traitor.

  He tentatively traced the sore spots with a finger. There was a space on his back where he felt a burning pain, a feeling that continued when he wrapped his arms around his knees. It’s all over. He cried, making the places where he had been struck pulsate.

  He felt better when he had finished and thought that they had to be going a long way, given how fast they were travelling and how long it was taking.

  Some time later, the van stopped abruptly, making him fall off the bar. He felt no enmity, as he could understand their anger. They must have reached their destination. He shuffled away from the door, thinking that it would not be wise to surprise them by being too close when they opened it. Ethan was shocked by the amount of his blood on the floor. His sodden trousers were very uncomfortable and he lifted the material so that it did not press against his skin. It looked as if he had been stabbed and he was suddenly aware of the coppery smell, which made him queasy and light-headed.

  When the door finally opened, he did not dare to look up for several seconds, when he saw the two men looking into the van but not catching his eyes. One of them stepped forward and banged the side. Ethan’s knees cracked when he stood and he squinted as he stepped into the light. They led him with hands on his shoulders.

  They were in the countryside. They took him along a dirt path with lush greenery either side, as if they were walking through the garden of an old aristocratic home. There were apple trees at regular intervals, the fruit hanging just above them. Ethan stumbled over divots several times and was dragged for a few steps on the tops of his feet, the men pinching him painfully in their grip.

  After they had followed the line of trees for a while, Ethan saw a portentously ugly building in the distance, a flattened grey block that looked like a smaller version of the SDMA headquarters. He was reminded of how conspicuous the Iklonian safe house in Caville had been. They both rely more on power than secrecy; they’ve reached a point where they can operate in the open and defy anyone to point them out. They can be secret by virtue of being omnipresent.

  The path widened into a vast lawn that surrounded the building on all sides, a startling bright green that made Ethan wonder whether it was artificial. It made sense, of course. Their security staff would never allow a DIA building to be surrounded by trees. Open space enabled them to see who was coming and monitor nearby paths to determine whether there were any patterns in the amount of people who used them, the time they walked past, and whether the same person or combination of people recurred. That would allow a series of reports to be written to assess whether any of the activity was suspicious, then meetings would follow to discuss the findings. It’s what I would do.

  After going through a set of revolving doors, they stopped in a square space before a lip-shaped security barrier that looked to be the same design as those used by the SDMA. One of the men shouted “all right”. They waited a moment until the barrier opened and someone handed them a security pass, which they put around his neck. They then scanned themselves in and one of them pulled Ethan’s pass to the machine, making the cord cut into his neck. He wanted to laugh, as their amateurishness was as painfully obvious as that of the SDMA.

  They took him into a lobby that was filled by a semi-circular reception with gaps at each end, which were blocked by security barriers. People sat behind the counter at regular intervals facing outwards, typing and ignoring them. All but one of them were men in expensive-looking black or grey suits, with a single woman sitting incongruously amongst them wearing a shiny blue dress, her hair tied back. She had a black rose in her hair and thick red lips. It was Daisy. They dragged him before one of the men.

  “It’s for this,” one of the men holding him said.

  “Oh, right. Go on through.”

  The man behind the counter frowned at him in such a way that Ethan thought that he must know what he was accused of. They moved him towards one of the barriers and he glimpsed a walkway behind the reception that was dominated by what looked like a huge piston. The striking nature of the image made it remain in his mind for several seconds.

  The corridor behind the barrier was sterile white, with panels at regular intervals either side that were almost indistinguishable
from the walls; he only became aware of them after having been dragged a considerable distance.

  Eventually, they stopped before one and the men scanned their identity cards then pulled Ethan’s towards it. A door opened and they pushed him through. As he heard it closing, Ethan twisted and put a foot in the way. One of the men stood before him.

  “When am I going to be able to see a solicitor?”

  “You’re not under arrest, you dumb fuck.”

  The man stepped forward and punched his stomach. Ethan stumbled back. The door closed and he did not try to breathe for several seconds.

  Ethan was no longer afraid and did not berate himself like he had when he had been taken. His mind was blank. He was like the drug and sleep addicts who lined the city streets, gazing at passing commuters with the indifference of those with nothing to lose, almost revelling in disproving the idea that law can be enforced, free in their way, knowing that no restraint or punishment can touch them. He felt so lethargic that nothing was worth thinking about for more than a moment. He would not have thought that anything was out of place if Daisy had had three arms.

  There was a constant level of light in the room and no windows, meaning that Ethan did not know the time. It had to be late morning or early afternoon, although it seemed like he had lain on the floor for a very long time.

  When he finally got to his feet, he saw that the room hardly seemed like a cell at all. There was a double bed with clean linen that was more comfortable than those of many hotels he had stayed in. An MV monitor faced it, built into the wall so that nothing protruded, with a plastic covering over the glass. Beside the bed was a wardrobe bolted to the floor with a variety of clothes inside. There was even an exercise bar attached to the top of the door.

  Ethan ran his fingers over the walls to find that they were uniformly smooth, like marble, and he could smell soap wherever he stood. Above the bed hung a picture of a stormy horizon. It was cool to the touch, making him imagine that it was covered with some kind of protective film.

  The only aspect of the room that reminded him that he was in a DIA prison was the hatch on the door, which opened soon after he had finished looking around. A tray was pushed through that contained soup, a chocolate bar, and a packet of crisps. Ethan sat on the bed and sniffed them suspiciously, but there seemed no reason to poison him now that they could do whatever they wanted.

  There was an en-suite bathroom that he did not see for some time after he had entered the room, as the door to it was hidden by the angle of the wardrobe. He would not be able to fit into the bath, the towels were only slightly larger than his hand, and the ceiling seemed very low. However, given everything that had happened, Ethan was amazed that they had allowed him such comfort.

  After he had finished eating, there was little to do other than watch the MV. When he switched it on, he saw that all options other than two-dimensional television had been disabled. There was a list of channels to choose from, although when he selected some of the options, he saw that the descriptions of the programmes were available but the channel had been blocked. Those included film channels and pornography.

  The other oddity was that when he watched the news, the space in the bottom right corner of the screen where the time was usually displayed was blacked out, and the contrast was such that he could not tell whether it was day or night. He flicked the channels to find that the options must have been set that way. Furthermore, at certain points, presenters’ voices were muffled by static. After watching awhile, Ethan realised that it had to be whenever they were mentioning the date or time.

  Having no pressure and nothing to do was an unusual, and very pleasant experience. As he watched a summary of the sport over the weekend, Ethan at first struggled to pay attention. However, after going over his situation until his mind felt numb, he realised the futility of worrying. If I could predict what they were going to do then I wouldn’t be here.

  Instead, he fell into a drowsy stupor, and when the sport had finished, he flicked through the channels until he found something vaguely diverting. He wondered what would have happened if he had lived this way. Although he was not rich, he had earned a good salary working for the SDMA, and could have done a passable job, gone home on time, and led a life of domesticity and mild dissipation, like everyone else.

  Would I have been happy? It was difficult to say whether Aislin would have approved. On the one hand, she would definitely have appreciated more time together and the ability to go out whenever they wanted, rather than when it was convenient for the organisation. However, she had signed up for the same lifestyle and must have known that if the SDMA had not gone to hell after the recent changes and she had got her promotion, she would have been in the same situation as him. There was no answer.

  At some point, Ethan dozed off, waking with a jump after a loud noise on the MV. He felt alarmed, as there were bound to be hidden cameras recording his every movement and sound, which would be constantly analysed. For a moment, he tried to convince himself that it might easily be night; after all the programmes he had watched, a day could have passed. But when he was honest with himself, Ethan knew that it was not true. He knew the hazy feeling very well by now, the sense that sleep was like a thief that would sneak up on him the moment he lost concentration, after which he would be lost in a fog of constant napping.

  He looked at the door, imagining that they were monitoring his thoughts and would break in after hearing his mental confession. But time, whatever it was, only drifted on.

  Ethan continued watching the MV until he guessed that it was late by the amount of times the headlines had been repeated. There were no pyjamas in the wardrobe so he stripped to his underwear and got under the sheets, which were thick enough that he felt swaddled.

  When he woke, he remembered where he was and thought that there was no point being conscious for long in that place. He turned over and fell into a deep sleep in which he seemed to chase fragments of dreams. That happened several times until every last drop of sleep had been squeezed out of him.

  The absence of clocks meant that Ethan was confused as to whether he should feel tired and hungry or not, and whether he should feel guilty or not. His captors gave him no indication of what he should be doing. He switched on the MV and watched some cartoons before getting dressed.

  There was a tray of food by the door, but before he ate, Ethan tried the exercise bar. He could not lift himself parallel to it and was surprised by how much his arms ached at the attempt. After stretching them, he tried again and did a small number of reps, lifting himself to a lower height. He felt a vague sense of excitement at the idea that he could bulk up like people in normal prisons. When he was a child, he had been able to run around the playground for hours at a time; he would likely fall over if he tried the same thing now. I don’t know when I got so unfit. Just snuck up on me, I suppose.

  The lack of recorded time made Ethan learn a new routine. He soon abandoned any attempt to placate his unseen guards by sleeping lawfully; not only did his inferences about time based on what he saw on the MV become increasingly tenuous, but he thought that he might well be viewing a series of recordings set up to test him. In any case, he soon felt blasé, thinking that he could not commit worse crimes than he already had. What are they going to do, put me in a cell with worse wallpaper?

  He alternated between watching the MV, daydreaming, trying to exercise, and napping. Despite his initial enthusiasm, he still could not lift himself to chin height after numerous attempts.

  After he had exhausted his limited set of activities, he would climb into bed and wrap himself tightly in the sheets, rolling around until he felt tired then thinking about how he would be fading in the world; his work being taken over a piece at a time, Aislin and his parents worrying about him before gradually accepting his disappearance, his friends first perplexed then irritated at his failure to return their calls, before he turned from a talking point into a
n unmarked absence. Few care profoundly; loved ones will continue to eat while grieving and most live on, despite their protestations about the impossibility of doing so. After imagining that process, Ethan was happy to watch the MV again.

  His meals tended to be provided while he slept, although occasionally, he heard the flap slap shut when he was daydreaming. After a time, Ethan decided to leave some washing by the door, as there were too many dirty towels for them to be stored anywhere. To his surprise, he found clean replacements when he woke. If only there had been alcohol and a selection of consumer goods available, the room would have been many people’s idea of paradise.

  Soon, Ethan ceased to have any cognizance of being watched, or even where he was. He adapted entirely to his new life, as if it were natural to live in two rooms and for food and clothes to appear and disappear while he was not looking. Once, he wondered how much longer this would go on before whatever process they had set up for him came into effect. They must be preparing their case and gathering more evidence against me.

  One of the men who had brought him here had said that he was not under arrest, which meant that he would be tried in a DIA court. I must have a deeper understanding of the Sleep Code than anyone, because I know it from both sides. Ethan knew that the only conceivable punishment was death. He switched on the MV.

  He was embarrassed and ashamed that he did not miss Aislin and his family as much as he should. His sleep problems had taken over his life to such an extent that now they had been alleviated, the mental space they had colonised was a void. The subject was too painful for him to focus on for long, and when it intruded into his thoughts, he winced as if remembering childhood pain.