by Lincoln Law
“And what did you say?” Adabelle prompted.
“Well at first I denied him. But then he put the knife to my neck and said he’d rip me open if I didn’t.” The words were jagged, almost cold like steel. It made Adabelle shudder. She felt the knife at her own throat, biting her skin.
Such hateful words, Adabelle thought.
“I’m sorry, Adabelle, but I told him you were at the University. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You can’t lie in the Dream Frequencies,” replied Adabelle, voice gentle to assure her she understood. Dreams were the mind talking, and it could not lie. It could withhold certain aspects and camouflage things, but to outright lie was impossible.
Adabelle placed a comforting hand over her shoulder, patting softly. “Then what happened?”
“He said he’d been observing you, watching carefully. But he then said he hasn’t been able to see your sister.”
Adabelle’s fear that had come on at the thought of him watching her was suddenly exchanged for a tremendous amount of relief. As if the boulder she had been rolling up that momentous precipice had been smashed; she felt suddenly free.
If I can keep the knowledge of my sister away from him, then she will be safe.
“Did he ask you was she alive?”
“No, thankfully,” she replied, “He said he hoped she was still around, considering the deal he made with your mother.”
“Deal?”
“The promise to let your mother give birth before he killed her.”
The shiver of fear that had sprung up her spine suddenly disintegrated at the thought. Her sister could remain blissfully ignorant for the time, and that was something of a blessing.
“But then he asked if you were a Dreamer, and I said yes, and then he asked if you were competent, and I said yes, and then he asked how competent, and I said extraordinary for someone without training. Then he asked what you were doing with your life, and I responded in kind, but then when he asked he to summon up an image of you, I refused. Apparently, his first attack was meant for you. The Sturding Nhyxes were meant for you, but since he doesn’t know exactly what you look like, he can only go off vague guesses based off how you looked when you were younger. I suppose since we’re related, we have some of the same features. But I refused, which was when he pulled out the knife again. He asked again, and I refused, and again, I refused. Each request drew the knife closer, but never did I let up. And then he finally cut.”
“I was there,” Adabelle said. “I heard your screams, and I went into the Dream, and I found you. I wanted to stop it, but I couldn’t. I’m so, so sorry, Larraine.”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t show yourself,” Larraine said, “else my fight would have been for nothing.” She paused, taking a breath before she went on. “Then, after he made the cut, he leant down to me, reeking of cologne. I can still feel his beard. Still feel it on my chest.” Her hands floated there for a moment, scratching an unseen, probably entirely invented itch, brought on by memory. “And he whispered…” she paused, taking a deep breath. Adabelle realised by having her recount the story, Larraine was reliving the pain. She was in agony now. But she pushed on. “He whispered that I have to warn you that he’s coming for you, and he will not stop until he has you.”
Adabelle paused, terrified. “But why does he want me? What for?”
“I do not know. It’s very apparently he needs you for something, though. Very clear.” Again her hand reflexively rose up and touched her face. Cheek to jowl, there would be a scar. Forever. “He is coming, and he will not stop until he gets to you.” Her tone was grave, her gaze a fearful pit.
That notion brought the kind of shiver up that one only got when facing the worst of fears. It was the cold sweat one awoke to from a horrible nightmare, the sinking of the stomach one felt when receiving bad news; it was the screaming of her cousin as she was attacked in her dreams.
“In dreams we’re meant to be safe,” Larraine said, looking past Adabelle and into space. “In dreams, we’re meant to have some modicum of privacy. I sometimes wonder if there was ever a time without the Oen’Aerei, without Dreamers, where people could privately experience their own thoughts without fear of others coming in. Even sleep was meant to be safe. Now, I don’t know what is. I haven’t been able to sleep much at all, with the last few days of trouble.”
Adabelle had been so distracted by the cut along Larraine’s face that she failed to notice that her eyes were rimmed with black, fading out like a sunken aura of exhaustion. Her skin, usually so bright and warm, was dull and drained.
“Have you asked the nurses for some help?”
“No, I haven’t,” she replied, “but part of that is because I haven’t wanted it. I don’t want to sleep, because if I do, I’ll be subjected to whatever Count Therron wants of me. He’ll torture me for information again, if he cannot find you, and I’ll be blamed for everything he hasn’t achieved.” She stopped for a moment, shuddering under the weight of her fear. “He is a terrifying man, your father. What ever drew your mother to him?”
That was a good question, indeed. What sort of man was he before he became the powerful Oen’Aerei and murderer for which he was now infamous? Who was he when he first met Adabelle’s mother? Who was the man with whom she fell in love?
“I do not know, but if she was alive today, I’m sure she’d ask herself the same thing.”
“Speaking of family,” Larraine said, “I was wondering if you could please visit Aunt Marie. I’d normally have visited by now, and she’s probably getting lonely. Doesn’t have to be for long—I know you’re busy—but just a quick one to tell her I’ll visit as soon as I’m out of the hospital. Something to assure her I’ll be back soon.”
“Of course,” Adabelle replied. “I think something like that might be helpful; keep my mind off things.”
Larraine nodded curtly, patting the book on the bedside table. Adabelle rose. “Well make sure you read up on that, for me.” She smiled warmly, “And I’ll be sure to visit Aunt Marie.”
“Thank you,” Larraine said.
The next time Adabelle sat with her little sister, she brought up her visit with Aunt Marie.
“I know you don’t like going, because it bothers you, but I was wondering if you would like to come with me to see Aunt Marie?”
“When?” Charlotte asked, which was naturally her next question. Most times, when she was given a day, she was able to associate some event with an excuse not to visit. She wasn’t a very good liar, but she would get out of it if she could. It wasn’t out of selfishness at all, but rather a genuine fear of what she faced there. Charlotte could not fathom dreaming to any capacity, let alone another mind entering those otherworldly Frequencies. She understood it to a degree, but just like the shadows in a deep crevasse, or the secret depths of the ocean, the unknown and unknowable frightened her.
“Tomorrow morning, after my violin lesson. If you come, we might be able to go out for lunch afterwards. Enjoy some cheesy croissants, maybe.”
Cheesy croissants were Charlotte’s favourite. That threw an enormous knot in her excuse-weaving.
“How long will we be staying?” Again, naturally the next question.
“Only an hour or so. I’m pretty busy, but I owe it to cousin Larraine. She’s asked me to go as she can’t.”
“How is she?” asked Charlotte. She hadn’t seen cousin Larraine since the Nhyx attack, as—again—she couldn’t understand it at all. The simple proximity to Aunt Marie was enough to bring Charlotte out in a cold sweat and drain the brilliance from her visage. Having to see Larraine was a simple addition to these worries.
“Surviving,” she replied. “She’s been healing okay. She’s going to be in there a bit longer, though. She had a turn the other day, and she’s been having a bit of trouble getting over it all. That’s why we’re going to see Aunt Marie. She’d be getting lonely.”
“Did they say when she’d be out?”
“Soon, hopefully,”
Adabelle replied, hopeful. Once the girl was out of hospital, they could protect one-another. She could avoid a visit to the Halls of the Oen’Aerei.
“I’ll come, then,” Charlotte said. “I suppose I owe her that much. But the moment she has a turn, I’m out of there.” There was no trace of uncertain fear in her voice. She was bluntly sincere, her tone containing maybe the slightest tint of anger. She wasn’t usually so fervent, holding the quieter, more reserved personality that Adabelle seemed to lack. Adabelle inherited the fierce passion and zeal her mother had possessed, while Charlotte kept mostly to herself, only calling out when necessary.
Of course, there were the odd occasions when Charlotte surprised her. And these surprises were never done in half-measures.
“She won’t,” she said, hopeful that she wasn’t lying to her own sister. “And if she does, you can leave. I won’t make you stay.”
Charlotte nodded. “Thank you.”
As she had promised Larraine, the following day after her violin lesson, Adabelle collected Charlotte from her room, and headed off to the hospital. The tram was a little late today, but the number of stops between the University and the hospital were reduced because fewer people on board. They got off at the bridge, and went the last few blocks on foot. Charlotte seemed to hang back, her trepidation about visiting the hospital becoming quickly apparent. Adabelle wasn’t one to judge, though, and allowed her that small mercy as they walked.
The pair signed in, and then made their way up to Aunt Marie’s room. Charlotte seemed incapable of hiding her fears. She was unusually skittish today, so Adabelle let her wait at the door.
Aunt Marie fidgeted and shuddered more than was normal. At first, it worried Adabelle. These types of actions usually preceded bad turns. That her face expressed only serene calm meant Adabelle wasn’t too concerned. She dare not extend her thoughts into the Dream Frequencies, in case Aunt Marie’s reveries changed suddenly to something more powerful and consuming, as they sometimes did. There had been times where the dreams had been so potent, they had appeared in the real world floating above her head in shimmering mirages, connected to her head by beams of serpentine blue light. Those had been particularly traumatic to see, especially as the dreams that caused them were usually filled with dark, nightmarish occurrences. It was one thing going through a nightmare yourself; an entirely other thing to have to watch someone else suffer, knowing you were incapable of assisting.
But she went in, leaving Charlotte at the door, and took a seat next to her Aunt.
“Hello, Aunt Marie,” she whispered. “It’s me, Adabelle. I hope you’re okay today.”
No response. She just lay there, occasionally twitching or muttering words under her breath.
“I’m here because Larraine isn’t well. She’s in hospital, and she got attacked by a Sturding Nhyx.” She laughed quietly at herself, and at the ridiculousness of the statement. “I didn’t know they even existed till she got attacked. But apparently they do. And…” she hesitated, glancing quickly at Charlotte. She had retreated even further out the door into the hall. She was sure Charlotte wouldn’t hear her. She whispered, “…And it seems Therron has returned, in one manner or other. I haven’t had confirmation, but Therron may have broken free of the Oen’Aerei’s spheres. And I’m scared.”
Aunt Marie stirred a little at mention of Count Therron’s name. Her fidgeting hands played with themselves, her head twitching, eyes fluttering beneath closed lids. The muscles in her neck bulged and tensed beneath pallid skin.
“I don’t know whose help I should seek. Most people would turn to their parents, but…well…I have none of which to speak. And while Mrs. Abeth has done a wonderful job looking after us, she’s not really a mother. What I mean to say is, a mother would be able to make me do what I don’t want to. A mother would give me the courage to go and seek the truth—go to the Halls of the Oen’Aerei. But I have no mother. I have no one to give me strength. And…” she hesitated, as she felt herself growing emotional. No, she thought. Push through it. Be strong. “…It makes it all the harder knowing that I cannot protect Charlotte.”
Again, the woman stirred, muttering. “Therron,” she whispered, so softly Adabelle almost lost it.
“I need to keep her safe, and yet…it is her who needs to protect me. She’s the only one who Therron can’t affect. Until he’s gone, I’m in danger, and she might be left alone, and I can’t have that happen. I have to protect her.” But how can I protect her when I can barely protect myself? “I need to be there. I’m all she has left.”
Aunt Marie continued muttering, shifting and stirring. Those muscles in her neck pulsed now, her eyes moving more rapidly.
“I don’t know why I’m talking to you.” Adabelle extended her hand to Aunt Marie’s. “I suppose I should talk to Larraine, find out what she thinks about having to look after someone she’s meant to look up to. She might be able to help me, so I can tell Charlotte.”
Somehow, despite their closeness in age, Adabelle always felt like the gap between her and her sister was a wide canyon of time. She was the baby in the family; her baby sister, now and always. Adabelle sometimes forgot that Charlotte was old enough to care for herself now without falling too far astray. She was mature and kind-hearted and could be strong when she needed to. It had seemed like only yesterday that Adabelle had been nursing her baby sister in her arms, and then only a short time more that she had been fighting off bullies in the playground at their primary school.
When Charlotte turned thirteen, thereby allowing her to leave school and take on private tuition, she had become more independent. She seemed to be growing minute-by-minute before Adabelle. Charlotte was a young woman now—Adabelle needed to remember that—and yet she also didn’t want to let go of that sweet innocent girl she had once been able to cradle in her own tiny arms; the one she had stood up for in the playground; the one she had assured everything would be okay, though they had no parents. She didn’t want to let go, and yet there would come a time when she would have to stop playing surrogate mother and let the girl make her own choices.
She turned to Charlotte in the doorway. She was short for her age, yet Adabelle could already see the first signs of womanhood beginning to blossom. It made her smile and forget her worries, if only for a short moment.
Charlotte was more fully in the hallway than the room.
Adabelle touched Aunt Marie’s hand, turning back to the woman, unable to wipe that somehow serene smile from her face. In that face, though, there was also fear.
“I just need some help.”
Suddenly Aunt Marie’s eyes snapped open, wide and white and mad with distance. They moved rapidly side-to-side, as if she was unable to settle her eyes on one thing for any longer than a moment.
“THERRON!” she screamed, her voice loud and hoarse from lack of use. “THERRON, LEAVE!”
“Aunt Marie?” Adabelle whispered, going to remove her hand. She pulled back, rising up, but Aunt Marie didn’t let go. Her head swung suddenly to Adabelle, looking her directly in the eyes. The Dream Buffer sickness held her fast, for she was soon blubbering nonsense, and screaming.
“Nurse! Nurse!” cried Adabelle, unable to let go. Vines of blue light grew from Aunt Marie’s head, spreading out above her. Each one expanded, ballooning out. Their centres blurred, revealing strange images, misted sights. Charlotte fled, screaming.
“COUNT THERRON!” Aunt Marie roared. “LEAVE ME!”
“No, no, no,” Adabelle whispered, using her other hand now to break free of the woman’s vice-like grip. All the while, the tendrils of thought extending from the woman’s mind shimmered, revealing images of dreams she experienced; nightmares she was forced to suffer. In one she was chased, in another she was tied up, in another she was falling from an impossible height, and Adabelle couldn’t help but stare. The Dream Buffer sickness wasn’t contagious, so to speak, but other Dreamers could get caught up and carried away.
She found herself drawn towards those dreams, however
horrible many of them were. Her mind begin to fuzz in reality, her inner ear playing tricks on her to make her experience falling and running, her thoughts suffering through all the fears and worries Aunt Marie had to experience. They shared this mutual nightmare, and both of them screamed.
In these images passing before her, flickering quickly one to the next, one thing became consistent. One sound. One song.
The Dreamer’s Lullaby drew her into its soft tune, each gentle shift in the notes forcing her to hum. Like music from a music box, the tinkling noises created an echoing harmony from the way it reverberated within the Dream Frequencies.
And that scent! The smell of the cologne, so rich and musky. It floated in the air so thickly it seemed to make its own cloud, wafting on the winds of thought.
Get out of here, Adabelle! she thought, shaking her head, running away from the music and the choking aroma. Get away from him!
“You cannot run,” Count Therron Blaise said, his voice deep, carefully enunciated and considered. It was the voice of a man who’d had everything from youth, the voice of an educated man.
The smell won’t leave! It won’t leave! I can’t leave!
But she had to. She had to run. The Buffer Sickness had drawn her in. She had to get out!
The world swirled around her, the setting of the living nightmare changing as often as a clock ticks. She fell, she ran, and she drowned. She flown one moment and was buried alive the next. All while the scent of Count Therron followed, and the music played. Whether in the chimes of the music box, or in the pitch of the thunder crack, the music followed.
Have to get away…have to get away…she thought, again and again, wondering if she would ever truly escape.
She was running down an endless hallway, and she instinctively knew the door was somewhere behind her. The door to hell, the door to horror. The door to the end. Every one of her steps made a different sound. A lyric.
The door swung open, snapping against its hinges. Like thunder it cracked against the wall.