Visioness

by Lincoln Law

  “It was the nightmare again, wasn’t it?” asked Charlotte.

  Adabelle nodded, wiping the sleep and tears from her eyes.

  “Why don’t I ever have them?” asked Charlotte.

  “I don’t know,” Adabelle said. “But you should count yourself lucky. I don’t think you should have to see or hear it.” She paused. “But I think part of it might be the fact you weren’t born yet. You were still in mama’s belly.”

  “I know,” she replied, “but how do you know it’s mama’s voice you’re hearing?”

  Adabelle hesitated. “I just…I just do.”

  And that was that. That was how it had always been, and how it would stay.

  The pair of them got out of bed, washed their faces at the basin. Adabelle used a hair band to hold her hair out of her face, as it was only short and needed very little tending to. Similarly, Charlotte’s hair was longer, so she chose to keep her hair in a braid. They both dressed behind their own privacy screens into their day clothes. Today, Adabelle wore her favourite blue skirt and a white blouse with a coat—for it was somewhat chilly this day.

  When Charlotte was ready, too, she asked, “Are we going to see Aunty Marie today?”

  “Yes,” Adabelle replied, “but breakfast first.”

  They went down to the college dining rooms, where the usual buffet of toast and cereal sat on offer. Coffee was there, too, but it was that disgusting instant stuff. Adabelle had a theory that it wasn’t actually coffee beans—it was nowhere near strong enough—so she’d save her coins for later when she could sneak one at work.

  Mrs. Abeth met them at the dining table, and sat beside them both while she ate her own cereal. She was a kindly woman, with dark hair and green eyes and the plump of a motherly woman grown into the comfort of ageing.

  “Good morning, girls,” she said. “How are you both today?”

  “I’m good,” said Charlotte brightly. Almost four years her junior, Adabelle could not help but notice how alike they were in looks, even if Charlotte was quite a lot shorter. Whenever she looked at Charlotte, she saw herself. She also wondered if she saw her mother, given the close likeness. Some mistook the pair for twins, with their same dark skin, dark hair and brown eyes. That height difference was enough to throw most people off that theory, though.

  “And you, Adabelle?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied quietly. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately. Nightmares.”

  Mrs. Abeth grimaced, eyebrows tilting. “You poor girl. Same dream?”

  “Always.”

  “They’ll eventually go with time,” Mrs. Abeth said comfortingly. Adabelle wasn’t entirely convinced, though.

  “I know,” Adabelle said, “but I need my sleep. It’s not doing me any favours. I haven’t been able to practice the violin the last few days, and whenever I don’t practice, I just get into a bad mood.” She shook her head, anger coming through in her voice now. “Sleepiness just makes me useless.”

  Mrs. Abeth bit her lip. “Well get what sleep you can when you can. Hate to deal with you in a bad mood.” She laughed at this, and Adabelle did, too.

  “I will.”

  What she didn’t say was that sleepiness led to her being a bit careless with her ability to Dream. Even now, she struggled to keep the dream tendrils contained to the limitations of her mind. She could feel the vestiges of Mrs. Abeth’s dreams from the night, though most had faded and were now just swirling colours in her head. Yet still she felt them. The buffer, the time it took to get out of the dreams fully, was still present. She had to snap out of it and pull herself back to reality. She didn’t wish to end up like Aunt Marie.

  “Perhaps a visit to the Halls of the Oen’Aerei might help, too,” Mrs. Abeth suggested. “They might have something there to help.”

  “I doubt it,” she replied, not meaning to sound as bitter as she did. “The last time I was there, they just wanted to sign me up as a Oen’Aerei there and then. Why would I want to spend the rest of my life fighting off nightmares when I can barely contain my own?”

  “Who knows?” Mrs. Abeth said. “You might find it helpful or therapeutic.” She smiled kindly, rising and taking her bowl with her. “But what do I know?” She laughed again, louder this time. “I’ll see you both later.”

  Adabelle and Charlotte finished their breakfast, putting their dirty plates with the others for the cook to take away. While students headed off to their classes for the day, Adabelle and Charlotte would be able to enjoy their day outside. Adabelle had already promised Charlotte she’d take her to the park that day, and that they’d also visit their Aunt. Adabelle did take classes at the university, though it was mostly just violin.

  The pair stepped out onto the street, the University’s main entrance sitting on the corner of two boulevards. They waited for the busy morning traffic to clear before crossing the road, heading down the footpath to the nearest tram stop.

  The pair arrived just in time to find the red tramcar pull up, bell ringing all the while. With a flash of their year tickets, they were welcomed on.

  As usual there were no seats, but the hospital was only a few streets down and the tram was really just for the sake of saving Charlotte from complaining about her sore feet. The pair got off at the stop beside the Seventh Bridge over the Odilla River, the hospital only a block away now.

  The pair walked down the street, passing shops filled with glamorous clothing and furniture and home wares, and all Adabelle could do was look in and stare. The pair weren’t poor, quite the opposite, really. But until Adabelle was nineteen, she could not access the full inheritance, only portions of it, divided up so as to have it last till they were old enough to support themselves. She had work at the café, and that helped let the money stretch, but they wouldn’t be living richly for quite some time to come.

  They arrived at the hospital, a grand, three-floored sandstone building, with a grand copper dome atop its main atrium and a statue of the founder built in bronze out front. The bushes in the garden were plain, but well kept, and the clock tower atop chimed the hour as the pair stepped through the tall archways to the main entry.

  The hospital atrium looked more like a mansion’s entry than a hospital. A chequered pattern of black and white marble covered much of the floor, but for a border of red. Tall stone pillars reached towards the high, domed roof, spreading out with vine-shaped stone embellishments. Apparently, this place had once been a palace, and had only been converted later on in its history. During one of the wars, Adabelle supposed. Nurses ran about, rushed off their feet, while doctors came in and out of doors off to the side—that was the only sign that this was a hospital at all.

  Adabelle and Charlotte approached the front desk, where sat a kindly-looking woman dressed in hospital reds. It was Cassie, a nurse who was nearly always on the front desk. She turned away from the filing drawer, smiling as she saw a familiar face.

  “Morning Adabelle, Charlotte,” she said. “Here to see your aunt?”

  “Yes, thanks, just signing in.” Adabelle scribbled on the book, signing her younger sister in for her, too. “See you again later.”

  She went down the hallway to the left, the path to her aunt’s room now as familiar as the roads of the city itself. The staircases lined with brilliant artworks were so recognisable that Adabelle payed no attention to them at all. She’d examined each one carefully already, during times when it was too dangerous to visit her aunt, or when waiting for the doctors to finish their examinations.

  Given Aunt Marie’s permanent patient status, she had her own room in the western wing of the hospital. Not only was the private room due to her illness, but also given her tendency to do things while sleeping. For a period of time they had put her in a room with another woman, but at some point during the night, she had attacked the woman. Both had emerged unharmed, but in case she was to ever act poorly, they put her in her own room.

  The door was locked when they arrived—it wasn’t always—but they had their own key,
and so entering the room was no complicated matter. During times when their aunt was in an unruly state, a padlock could be placed over the door to ensure everyone’s safety. Charlotte grabbed hold of Adabelle’s arm before she could open the door.

  “It’s not going to be like last time?” Charlotte asked. “When she accidentally hit me.”

  “Not at all,” Adabelle replied, “and besides, she’s probably still sedated from the drugs. Now come along.”

  She placed a hand behind her little sister’s head, pushing her softly into the room.

  The hospital room wasn’t very big, just large enough for the bed, the bedside drawers, and a window—though the window was entirely sealed. That happened after the first time Aunt Marie thought she could fly and took it upon herself to leap out of the window.

  “Hello, Aunt Marie,” said Adabelle. As usual, her aunt’s eyes were open wide, yet their glazed-over, distant stare revealed that she saw nothing. She wore only a nightie, but she was well cared for here. She occasionally had her episodes where she refused bathing, or a dentist visit, or dressing, but she was mostly compliant with the nurses’ wishes.

  “Hello,” Charlotte said, the quiver in her voice suggesting a fear she seemed unable to hide. Being unable to dream since birth had led to a few quirks in her little sister, the biggest being an unusual fear of Aunt Marie. She seemed hesitant to have any interaction to the woman, and suffered headaches regularly around her when kept in close proximity for long periods of time. Adabelle blamed on the girl worrying herself sick, yet Charlotte seemed certain it was something else, though what she could never explain.

  Aunt Marie didn’t speak, instead keeping her gaze transfixed on the ceiling and the dreams she surely saw playing out there. Adabelle’s mind, so well trained to the frequency of the dreams, could barely control itself as it reached out and embraced those dreams she saw. There were hundreds of them, thousands, all playing out before her, the woman experiencing none of them fully, yet all of them at once. The buffer sickness was a cruel one, indeed. She could never enter her mind fully, though, like she could with others. It was like it was full already, too heavily stuffed with rampant thoughts to allow even a wandering mind.

  As Adabelle reached out to each of these dreams, she was somehow able to repress some of them, or tug them away from the woman. It seemed, whenever Adabelle and Charlotte were around, the dreams that would usually cause Aunt Marie the most pain would subside, or disappear, or at the very least, pull themselves to fore for Adabelle to strike away from the woman. It was like they appeared before her, just visible in her mind’s eyes if she squinted, and from there she could unweave the dreams. Like the dutiful Dreamer she was, she pulled the nightmares away, keeping the horrors at bay, while Charlotte took a seat across the room. Adabelle’s own mind began to ache with the strain. That was one of the side effects of the buffer sickness: others suffered, too. That was another reason for Aunt Marie’s own private room. She would only trouble the other patients were she allowed to let her thoughts run free.

  Adabelle hated her power, sometimes hated her family for passing on the gift to her and not Charlotte, but when duty called, she acted.

  She would never join the Oen’Aerei, though. Ever.

  Dealing with Aunt’s Marie’s dreams was different to regular Dreaming that she did on occasion. Whereas most Dreaming would require the Dreamer to mentally enter the Frequencies, Aunt Marie’s dreams projected themselves out from her mind—another side effect of the Buffer Sickness, apparently.

  Adabelle took those dreams that she had tugged from her aunt, holding onto the tendrils with her mind as a child holds onto balloons filled with helium. Only these thoughts were not drawn to the sky—they were drawn back to her aunt, back to the source. Adabelle bound the dreams to her own mind, and then threw them away, watching them dissipate, like mists on a wind, like memories into oblivion.

  Aunt Marie shifted in her sleep, her eyes blinking for what appeared to be the first time since Adabelle and Charlotte entered.

  “Release me!” Aunt Marie cried. “Release me!”

  Her voice was hoarse. Adabelle’s heart leaped in her chest. Charlotte was already hovering above her chair.

  “No! I daren’t! No! I Mustn’t!”

  Then she fell still again, her momentary spell of sleep-talking subsiding.

  “She’s not doing too well today,” Adabelle said, answering the question that she was sure Charlotte would ask. “Those nightmares today…ugh….” She hated prying into the woman’s thoughts, but if it helped, she would do so. “That dark figure was in them again.”

  “You can call him papa, you know,” said Charlotte.

  “That one,” Adabelle replied. In many respects, she was glad Charlotte couldn’t dream. She would never have to suffer seeing the dark man in the top hat. Conversely, though, she wished Charlotte could see him, that she could show her somehow, so that she knew what he looked like. So she knew when to run. People dreamt to deal with problems and thoughts, and the constant appearance of this man suggested that there was something in Aunt Marie’s past involving him. Of course, whatever problems she faced in these nightmares were entirely her own. It wasn’t up to Adabelle to pry and solve, or share. These were private moments some of these, and that was how they would stay.

  “Let’s just be thankful he’s dead. He used to be a Sturding you know?” Adabelle said, sighing. “He has done some horrible things in those nightmares of hers.”

  Charlotte turned, confused. “Have you ever faced a Sturding?” she asked.

  “No,” Adabelle replied, “and I hope I never have to. Given what happened to our mother, I hope to never have anything to do with the Sturdings or the Oen’Aerei or even a run in with Lady Morphier. She’s weird, she is, and I would hate to ever meet her in a nightmare.”

  Charlotte shrugged, much of what she said surely lost on her, but in a way, speaking the words out loud helped Adabelle think more clearly. After dealing with her Aunt’s dreams, she needed to clear her thoughts herself. She waited in that seat for another fifteen minutes, just to be safe and sure that she was clear of the dream buffer, before she told Charlotte it was time to go. It was only a short visit today, as most of them were, but it gave Adabelle some peace to know she was doing some small good. She may not have enjoyed toying with her aunt’s thoughts, but so long as she did that, she was keeping her clear of the Oen’Aerei that would be called in otherwise, and, by extension, their Nhyx.

  She locked the door as she left, putting the key in her pocket and nodding farewell to the nurses.

  As they wandered the halls, Charlotte asked an odd question.

  “Do you ever wonder what happened to mama?”

  Adabelle, taken by shock, stoped walking and looked down at Charlotte.

  “What ever do you mean?” she asked. “She’s dead. I’ve explained this before. Remember?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “No! I don’t mean that. I mean, what do you think happened to her after she died? She was like you, right? An Oen’Aerei?”

  “Don’t use that word on me,” Adabelle snapped, and then said nothing more.

  “You know what I mean,” Charlotte replied, somewhat apologetic. “Do you reckon her thoughts might still be out there?”

  “She’s only a memory now, Charlotte,” Adabelle said. It pained her, but she was old enough to hear the truth. It still felt odd to speak so openly with her; she seemed still only a child in Adabelle’s mind.

  You’re going to underestimate her one day, Adabelle thought, and she will shock you.

  “But those spheres the Oen’Aerei use hold nightmares,” Charlotte replied. “Surely that means there’s a chance she’s still—”

  But Adabelle cut her off. “That’s something completely different. Nightmares and people are different. You can’t drag a memory into the real world; I can’t even drag an object out of the Frequencies. Only Sturdings can do that, and even then there are rules.” She didn’t mean to sound as frustrated as s
he did; it just seemed to slip through.

  Charlotte just shrugged, somewhat defeated. “I was just asking.” She bowed her head and continued in silence. She didn’t show that she was hurt at all though. That was where the differences between them really shone. Whereas Adabelle could be fierce and strong and occasionally selfish, Charlotte was gentle and kind and forgiving, selfless sometimes to a fault. Despite everything that had happened to them; despite not having parents, and having the horrible father they had learnt of, Adabelle was still amazed at how much of a beautiful person Charlotte had grown to become.

  When the pair arrived at the University, she was shocked to see the Oen’Aerei’s car out the front—and judging from the sign on the door of the car, and the footman that waited beside it, puffing a pipe, it was someone important. Adabelle paused outside for a spell, deciding whether to avoid going inside, or whether she ought to just face it. She quickly agreed with herself that facing her fears was always better than running, and charged in.

  She found the entry mostly empty, part from the receptionist, who seemed entirely caught up in the pulp novel she was reading.

  “Excuse me,” said Adabelle, “I was just wondering what the Oen’Aerei are doing here?”

  She lowered the thin novel slightly so as to look at Adabelle.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, before raising her novel once more, returning to its pages.

  Adabelle hummed and pursed her lips out of annoyance, eyebrow raised. “Well thank you for your help,” she said, walking away.

  I don’t know why they still have her here, she thought. So unhelpful. She took that as a sign not to pry and went about her business.

  She left Charlotte to her own devices for the remainder of the morning to keep herself busy. For the time being, she settled herself down in one of the music rooms, taking up her violin, and spent the middle of the day up until lunchtime practising.

  The violin had been her favourite pastime since she was only 8. She’d struggled at the start, her fingers too thin and weak to reach the strings, but over time she had improved, eventually taking lessons with one of the professors at the University. According to most people, she was rather good at playing. She usually found herself disagreeing with them, but deep down she knew she had enough ability to be able to play most songs with a single look at the page of music. Reading it was as easy as reading words—sometimes easier—the musical notation as familiar as the alphabet.