by Lincoln Law
From the dormitories, they went through much of the University towards the library. Once inside, they were given a private room, waiting in which was a boy Adabelle had never met. He looked a little older than her, with a mess of brown hair and a beard that framed his pale face. He kept his eyes downcast as she entered. She was given a seat opposite him, while Detective Olin sat to the side.
A jug of iced water sat in the centre of the room. Adabelle poured herself a glass in an attempt to calm herself. Her hands shivered slightly, her face shimmering with sweat, the air in the room turning thick.
“Now Adabelle, this young man is Peter. Now Peter, remember everything you say will be used today. I will be taking notes.”
“Yes, detective,” Peter said, glancing quickly to Adabelle, and then away at the detective.
“Good. Now, say what you came here to tell us.”
“Well…last night I had a nightmare.” He spoke like a spooked child, his voice weak and fearful. “I was just dreaming and then a man came to me in my dream.”
“Can you describe the man?” asked Detective Olin.
“He had dark skin, and greying hair. And a moustache, oiled and curled.” As he described Therron Blaise, Adabelle watched him gesture about his face. “He wore a neat suit, and he walked with a cane, though he had no limp. He smelled of cologne, though. My grandfather used to wear the same one; I can recognise it so clearly, because he used to buy me a bottle every year. Lomatti, it’s called. I always thought it reeked of shaving cream.”
He paused in his story, swallowing deeply.
Detective Olin reached into his bag, pulling out cologne in a tall, black bottle. Written in a bold white font was the word LOMATTI.
A single spritz, and Adabelle recognised it as Therron’s cologne. Musky and strong, like shaving cream.
“That’s it,” both she and Peter said at the same time.
Detective Olin nodded, scribbling notes down upon his pad.
“I asked him who he was, and he said his name was Count Blaise. He promised he wasn’t going to hurt me, but he did have a knife. He held it to my throat.” Peter reached for his neck, running his fingers over his Adams apple. “He pressed it in, and I felt it. He said if I didn’t struggle, I would be allowed to leave freely. I agreed.
“Then, he said I had a message I had to pass on. He said, ‘Tell my daughter…tell Adabelle Blaise, that she should be ready’.”
He stopped himself there, closing his eyes.
“Ready?” Adabelle asked folding her arms. “Ready for what?”
“Yes, what?” asked Detective Olin. He sounded as though he was asking both Peter and Adabelle.
“I don’t know,” Peter said. “He just said tell her to be ready. And also that she’d have to start the fire.”
Detective Olin leaned in towards the table slightly, folding his arms upon the table. “Start the fire?”
“That’s what he said,” Peter replied. “I asked him what he meant, but then he was gone.”
Detective Olin took a moment of quiet to write a handful more notes before he said, “Now, Peter, did this knife leave any marks around your neck. You said you felt it. That it hurt.”
“It didn’t leave marks, no,” he said. “But it’s like anything in a dream. You feel it all regardless.”
“Indeed,” the detective nodded, crossing out one of his notes.
“And that’s that. Can I go now? I really need a rest.”
“Of course,” Detective Olin said, smiling politely. “We’ll find you if we have any more questions. Thank you.”
Peter nodded and then stood up and left. For a time, there was only silence in the library room. Then, Detective Olin underlined his notes three times before turning to Adabelle.
“Well?” he asked.
She waited a moment for him to elaborate. He didn’t.
“Well what?” she asked.
“What are your thoughts?”
Adabelle paused. What game is he trying to play here? “It sounds to me like my father came to him in a dream and tried to scare him into passing on a message.”
“And what do you think of the meaning of it?” he asked.
Adabelle’s brow furrowed deeply. “I honestly don’t know. I know nothing about being ready for anything, nor about lighting a fire. As I said last time, what my father does within the Dreams is entirely his own doing. I have nothing to do with it. Ever.”
Detective Olin rose from his chair, sitting down upon the table before Adabelle. He leaned on his hands, his legs not quite long enough to touch the ground. He smiled at her. It wasn’t a warm, happy smile, but somehow serpentine. It seemed like a trickster’s smile, made to create a false sense of security and hope.
“Come now, Adabelle,” he said. “You can share anything with me. You are aware that any evidence you provide to us works in your favour when this trial goes to court.”
Adabelle shuffled back in her seat, unable to breathe properly. Detective Olin only leaned in further.
“Anything you can tell us that will help will be greatly appreciated,” he whispered. “About this fire in the dreams. About this being ready.”
“You’re confusing me, detective,” Adabelle said, keeping her eyes fixed on Detective Olin. “One moment you sound like your denying any existence of my father, the next you insinuating that everything he’s doing is real and a threat. And that I’m an accomplice!”
“We treat all threats with equal gravity,” Olin said, “but we cannot make final decisions until we have more complete answers. We can only deal with evidence, and unfortunately, the evidence is beginning to add up. For all we know, this enigma of your father this boy saw could have been a mirage dreamt up by you to throw this case off. You wouldn’t be the first criminal to do this. Think about it; this boy said a knife was held to his throat, yet no knife marks remain. Your sister was a broken woman by the end.”
“It’s because Peter wasn’t a Sturding! Larraine was a registered Oen’Aerei. I never believed for a second she was a Sturding, but I’m sure if you went and spoke to Lady Morphier, she could explain the way Dreaming works, since you seem so set on ignoring what I have to say.” She spoke with venom. Could these men not see the answer sitting so obviously in front of them? Were they so blind as to ignore her suggestions. Open a book, do some research, and realise that people can change. They can grow. Or, in the words of Lady Morphier, evolve.
Detective Olin leant back slightly on the table. She fought the desire to get up and storm out, knowing fully it would not work in her favour when they finally told her she had to go to court.
“I’m not ignoring you,” he said. “I just have to take everything into account.”
His calmness was unnerving.
“And what did Lady Morphier tell you when you went and saw her?” she asked. “Of the sphere that broke? Of my father.”
“Well, she acknowledged the sphere broke and that it’s possible for Sturdings to harm people in dreams. She also explained that your father, even if he had broke out, would be limited to the dream world. He would not be able to harm anyone within the Dream Frequencies.”
Adabelle fought the need to swear now. She pushed it down, endeavouring calmness. It escaped her, though, and all she could do was glare.
“When I questioned her about your cousin Larraine, she seemed quite happy to explain that it is possible for Sturdings to be unaware of their skills. More often than not, they discover their solidity in the Dream by accident. Your cousin was not a registered Sturding, and therefore we can only assume she was not.”
“But there are witnesses that were there. I didn’t lay a hand on her. A coroner would have easily found no poisons in her system.”
“Maybe,” he said, “but you were there at the moment of death. In this day and age, there are still things coroners are unable to pick up. You were there, you were embracing your cousin, she said something and then she was dead.”
Adabelle’s memories flashed.
&nbs
p; “We need help if we’re going to fight him. We’re going to need a lot of help.”
That’s what she’d said.
No, Adabelle thought. The more people who help, the more people will die. She paused. The fewer the better.
“I have no known motive,” Adabelle retorted.
“Don’t you?” he asked. “I point to a piece of evidence; your cousin’s diary. The entry is the day before she died.” He turned to another page of his notebook. “It said, ‘I’m scared of Adabelle now. I don’t know why, but she scares me. These nightmares I keep having, I can’t help but connect them to her. There’s a reason he’s there, and I think it’s because of Adabelle.’ We’ve had it checked against the girl’s handwriting multiple times and it’s an exact match. What do you make of that?”
Adabelle sat before him, dumbstruck.
“She did not write that,” Adabelle said, disbelieving.
“She did. I’m not allowed to lie. I’m not allowed to falsify evidence.”
Adabelle wanted to scream. Why would Larraine write that? Why would she be scared?
Unless…
He approached her to get to me, she thought. He’s going through those around me to get to me, since he knows I will run. But why did Larraine have to write that in such a way! It makes me sound guilty! Like I’m the one after her.
There was no way to argue those words. She had to accept them, and move on from there.
“So I need you to tell me again,” Detective Olin said, “what are you preparing for, and what is the ‘fire’ meant to represent? Is it a code for something? Are you planning some kind of arson attack? Where? When?”
Adabelle lifted her head, staring directly into Detective Olin’s eyes.
“I will tell you exactly what I have said before. I have no idea what my father is planning, or what he is doing, or how he is going about things. These fires have nothing to do with me; whether real or invented I cannot say, because I do not know. My father, as far as I am aware, is trying to get to me. Why he would be doing that, I do not know, because I am avoiding his presence in the Frequencies. What he has planned for when he gets to me, I am lost because I am not in cahoots with that horrible man. I will remind you one last time that he killed Larraine and he killed my mother, as far as I am aware. Why would I fight on the side of the man who killed one of the few good things in my life? Lady Morphier, it seems, is being entirely useless at proving my innocence, for whatever fool reason she has, so I won’t recommend going to her again.”
Detective Olin took notes all the while Adabelle spoke. “Is there anything else you wish to say.”
“No,” Adabelle replied, almost spitting the words out. “Nothing.”
“Very well. You may leave. Until we see each other again, Adabelle.” He extended his hand.
Adabelle rose from the chair, glanced at the man’s hand, and then left.
She returned to her bedroom, shaking and huffing, unable to contain her fury. She threw open the door, slammed it shut and flopped onto the bed with a loud sigh.
“Meeting with the detective not go well?” asked Charlotte from her bed.
Adabelle shook her head, face still planted deep in the pillow.
Adabelle rolled over just enough to show her face and to have her mouth move. She explained from that vantage point the discussion she’d had with the detective, focusing in on how poorly it went. She sighed at the end.
“They think it’s me,” she said, “and father knows if he can make me weak, I become an easier target.” She paused, looking away from her sister. “And the evidence is slowly stacking up against me. If it keeps going like this, I could be before a court within the month. Father knows how to influence people’s minds, how to control from the shadows. He made his life out of doing that, and now he’s doing it to hurt me.”
But why? she added, leaving those questions for herself and herself alone.
“Anyway,” she went on, “I have to get ready for work now.” She rose from her bed, sluggish and listless. “I suppose it’s something to keep my mind off things for a while.”
That evening, Adabelle brewed a cup of Slugleaf Tea, reminding herself that she’d have to buy some more soon as the jar was beginning to run low. Charlotte was already asleep, so Adabelle did much of this by the light of her reading lamp. She poured the cup, sweetening it with honey, and drank it in one.
She curled up on her bed, pulled up the covers, and switched off the lamp. There, in the darkness, she stayed for a time, staring at the wall. Her eyes seemed to adjust to the darkness, as the room gradually became easier to see.
But that was odd. The walls were turning ivory, the window nearby shining with a light more brilliant and white than the sun. Adabelle rolled over in her sheets and found herself in a realm of stark alabaster.
What am I doing here? she thought. She clambered from her bed, staring about herself at the way everything seemed to shine with a brilliant white glow. It seemed false, dreamlike.
I’m Dreaming, she thought, suddenly reaching lucidity.
But how? She had taken her tea! It was meant to stop her from dreaming. A single mental image kept at bay by this strange substance. And it had failed.
She pushed herself away from the Dream world, but couldn’t. Something was stopping her. Something kept her under.
A scent of cologne wafted into the space, joined by the gentle tinkle of ivory piano keys. The Dreamer’s Lullaby sounded gently, almost an ethereal afterthought in this space of light and white.
And then her father appeared.
“Hello, Adabelle,” he whispered.
“Father,” she replied. Now was not the time for conversation. Now was the time for action, for questions. “I know you put a mindlock on Charlotte,” she said.
“How did you piece it together?” he asked.
“Well I was thrown off when it seemed you didn’t know of any sister when you first met with Larraine and I. But I visited Lady Morphier and she was able to show me what I needed to know.” She paused, taking in Count Therron’s concerned gaze. “What is so secret you had to hide it in your daughter’s mind?”
“If I told you it wouldn’t be a secret,” Therron replied. “Everyone’s entitled to their privacy.”
“But in your daughter’s own mind? She can’t dream, now. She can’t think through the seal.”
“But it had to happen, Adabelle. The alternatives were unthinkable.”
Adabelle closed her eyes, disbelieving. “What was the alternative!”
“That needn’t concern you,” he said, angrily, like a harried father more than a furious tyrant. “What matters is that you and I are here, and we can talk.”
A table appeared, Therron taking a seat across from Adabelle. He gestured to the seat cordially, a soft smile playing about his face. Adabelle shifted uncomfortably into the seat across from her father.
“See, that wasn’t too hard, was it?”
“What do you want?”
Count Therron looked entirely shocked. “Can a father not just talk to his daughter?”
“Not you,” she said. “There’s never just a talk.”
Count Therron smiled. “Well maybe for once there is. I wish to know why you run?”
“I want to know why you’re after me?” she asked. “Why you killed Larraine…why you’ve sealed my sister, your daughter’s mind.”
“Can a man not desire to see his family?” he asked. “Can I not request a chance at redemption? At freedom?”
“No,” Adabelle replied. “If you were seeking freedom and redemption you would have come quietly. You would have approached me in my dreams as a kindly figure and gradually unveiled yourself as my father. You wouldn’t have killed Larraine and somehow framed me for her murder.”
He smiled a sickly grin. “You’re a smart girl, Adabelle,” Therron said. “You know that? But you’re passionate and strong, too. You never feel emotion in half-measures. It’s all or nothing with you.” He laughed quietly. “You got that f
rom your mother. Do you know it was only after our first meeting she said she loved me? She was so quick to fall, so quick to make me her everything. You’re the same. You feel things so wholly they consume you; take up all your thoughts until there is nothing else there.” A glass of water appeared at the table, and he sipped from it. “I look at you and I see her.”
Adabelle shivered. “Then why do you pursue me as you do? What is it about me? Why now?”
“I have been in the Dream Frequencies for the longest time, Adabelle. Do you know what that does for a man? I haven’t tasted real water, or eaten real food, or felt real sun on my face for what seems like an eternity. Time runs different here, Adabelle. In the time we’ve been talking, seconds have passed in the real world. Or maybe days. It modulates and changes and we can never be sure. Regardless, it’s been an eternity for me.”
Adabelle leaned forward in her chair. “So you want freedom. You want to escape the dream?”
Count Therron nodded slowly.
“No, you don’t. You want something from me, from my sister. You killed our cousin! There’s more to this.”
“There really isn’t.” He seemed almost of the verge of laughter as he shook his head.
“Then go to Lady Morphier if you seem so set. She seemed completely besotted by you. I’m sure she’ll do whatever you wish.”
“It cannot be her,” he said, “it has to be you.”
“Why?”
“It just does.”
“Then tell me, why did you kill Larraine?” she asked.
Therron paused, expression shifting momentarily. He seemed annoyed. “She discovered something I didn’t want her knowing. She had to go.”
“What?” Adabelle asked.
“I can’t tell you.”
“But I’m your key out.”
“Then we are at an impasse. We can go no further. You have something I need. I have something you need.” He rose slowly, releasing the glass. It faded into oblivion. “But before I go, I do have something else I wish to ask.”
“Yes?” asked Adabelle. “Since you’ve come quietly I will answer a question, within reason.”
He smiled. “That boy you’re with…Rhene? I’d keep an eye on him. A face like that…I’d hate for something bad to happen to it.” His smile sharpened. “Think about it. Goodbye.”