by Helen Harper
I’ve almost made a circuit of the room when the couples suddenly freeze and then slowly turn. Nobody speaks and there’s no sound, but all their faces are pictures of shock and admiration. I follow their eyes. At the far end, next to a large staircase, stands the florist. Her gown is more dramatic and more beautiful than anyone else’s; it shimmers and, when she finally starts to move, makes her look as if she is gliding.
A good-looking man appears, strides to the foot of the stairs and holds out his arm. The florist takes it and he sweeps her onto the floor. The other couples start dancing again but this time there’s a spotlight on the florist and her beau. She looks happy and relaxed and I realise there’s nothing about this dream that I want to change – until another man steps in front of them and pulls her away.
The florist obviously doesn’t want to go and her eyes search desperately for escape. The second man doesn’t want to give her up, though, and grabs her time and time again. I purse my lips and watch them, finally realising what’s going on. Somehow, I don’t think this is a problem I can solve here. I need to see both her and her colleague in person.
‘I want to leave now,’ I mutter. I don’t want to wake up – I still have one more dream to go – so I don’t want to do the same as when I last left the Dreamlands. I need to try something else.
I weave in and out of the couples until I reach the florist. The second man is still trailing after her but I’m getting annoyed by him so I block his body, reach out for her arm and pinch her skin. She frowns. I try again but achieve much the same effect.
Biting my lip nervously, I look in her eyes. ‘I’m really sorry about this,’ I tell her and kick her in the stomach. I would have gone for her shin but the meringue-like ball gown would have stopped me connecting with her body. I know I’ve not done her any real damage – she’s not a Traveller – but as I’m tugged backwards and out of her dream, I still feel like a shit.
Part of me is expecting the final dream to be like the supermarket kid’s –a replica of what I’ve already experienced. It is similar, but it’s definitely not identical. Instead of being trapped in rank, thick fog, I’m in a maze. I can hear shouts for help but, thanks to the high hedges that tower all around me, I can’t see what’s going on.
I try jumping up to get a better look but it’s pointless. I’ll just have to solve the maze to save him.
I start at a jog. It’s a tiring business being dragged from dream to dream and I’m anxious to finish up, but I’m determined to find Mr MailQuick first. I vaguely remember once being told that the way to solve a maze is to continually turn left. I do just that as I come to the first junction. When I reach the second alley and follow it to a dead end, I go back and re-trace my steps, turning left again. I continue in this fashion for some time, until my feet are dragging. I curse aloud. Perhaps because this is a dream maze it doesn’t work in the same way as a real maze. I certainly don’t seem to be getting anywhere.
I wonder how hard it would be to make a gap in the hedge and squeeze through. I shove my shoulder into the thick foliage but I barely penetrate a few inches. But I’m a dreamweaver. The hedge isn’t real so in theory I can make it open up through my will.
I step back and point at it. ‘Open sesame!’ Nothing happens. I imagine myself as Moses parting the Red Sea and gesture with both hands. ‘Part!’ Still nothing happens. ‘Abracadabra?’
‘Now what are you doing?’
I almost fall over. You have got to be kidding me. I turn round and see Dante, his head half-cocked, a dark curl falling across his brow. He looks puzzled.
‘How did you get here?’ I ask angrily.
He shrugs. ‘I’m a tracker. When you didn’t show up in the Dreamlands, I got worried so I tracked you.’
‘You can do that?’
‘Sure.’ He looks me up and down. ‘And not a moment too soon, it would appear. Not only are you holding a conversation with a plant, but you look incredibly bedraggled.’
I glance down. I’m still wet from the river and covered in dust from the cliff top. ‘I’ve been busy,’ I murmur. Then a thought strikes me and I look around wildly. ‘Wait a minute! Can anyone just follow me around? What if the Mayor shows up?’
Dante’s face remains impassive. ‘You’re the only dreamweaver. I’m the only tracker.’
My fears aren’t allayed. ‘That’s why you worked for him. He wanted you because you can find people.’
His eyes narrow. ‘Everyone makes mistakes. When I realised he was looking for important people whose dreams he could observe and use against them, I stopped.’
‘You could have stopped him.’
‘Not when everyone thinks the Mayor is the only person holding the Dreamlands together. Public opinion is important, Zoe.’ His voice is tired. I wonder whether he’s trying to persuade me or persuade himself. I give him a break and change the subject.
‘How do you do it?’ I demand.
‘The Bubble. As long as I know what I’m looking for, I can sense traces and follow them.’ His irritation increases. ‘If you didn’t keep bouncing around from dream to dream then I’d have found you a lot quicker.’
‘I thought only the Mayor’s goons were allowed into the Bubble,’ I say suspiciously. ‘Are you sure you’re not still on his side?’
I receive a scornful look. ‘Just like only the Mayor’s goons were allowed into the house where the mares were being kept, you mean? We all have our means, Zoe.’
‘Why now? Bron said you didn’t start working against the Mayor until I appeared.’
He doesn’t meet my eyes. ‘Because up until now, there’s been a limit to what the Mayor can do. With a dreamweaver in his pocket, things would be different.’
‘I’m not in his pocket,’ I point out.
‘I’m going to make sure you never are.’ His voice is hard.
I sniff, not sure I trust him. ‘Well, as you can see, I’m fine. And I’m my own person, not yours or the Mayor’s. You can go back to the Dreamlands. Keep an eye on the Mayor and find out what he’s up to. I’m busy.’
‘I already know what the Mayor’s up to,’ Dante answers silkily.
My curiosity gets the better of me. ‘What?’
‘He’s looking for you, of course.’
My mouth suddenly goes dry. ‘Oh.’
Dante reaches out, his fingertips brushing against my cheek. ‘You’re hurt.’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘Bear?’ he guesses. ‘They’re pretty common in dreams.’
I pull away. ‘Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?’ Against my own will, I reach out towards his scar. He seems to want to pull away but he suffers my touch, his body rigid as I trace the jagged line. ‘Perhaps now we’ll match.’
Dante opens his mouth to answer but at that moment the MailQuick man starts shouting for help again. His voice seems far away but his plaintive cries are still distinct. Dante raises his eyebrows. ‘I take it that’s the dreamer?’
‘Yeah,’ I say ‘So?’
‘Is he someone special to you?’
‘No,’ I snap.
‘So why are you here?’
‘I’m practising,’ I say. ‘And you’re getting in my way.’
I move as if to go but Dante gently holds me back. ‘You’re prickly again all of a sudden.’
‘Do you blame me?’
His shoulders stiffen and his voice drops. ‘After yesterday, I thought we were on the same side.’
‘We might have the same goals,’ I sniff, ‘but our methods are very different. I work better alone.’
He sighs. ‘You’re still upset about the plan to kill the mares. You have to understand that we were doing what we had to. If the Mayor took them to the Bubble and set all six of them onto someone...’
‘You knew I could approach Pegasus. Jesus, Dante, we made a deal that I’d show you how to do the same! You could have come to me first.’
‘Except,’ he says quietly, ‘I didn’t know if I could trust you.’
I’m aware of him watching me carefully. ‘That was you. I wasn’t sure. I only knew that someone had breached it.’
‘Yes, it was me.’ Then, unable to help myself, ‘And I saw what you wrote about me.’
For a moment he seems baffled. ‘What do you mean?’
I’m instantly embarrassed. ‘Never mind.’
‘Zoe, what did I write?’
I’m saved by Mr MailQuick. This time he gives a high-pitched scream. I take off. He might be having a nightmare but he’s provided me with the perfect excuse to get away from Dante. If only Dante thought the same – unfortunately he takes off with me.
‘You’re going the wrong way,’ he says.
‘Oh yeah? How would you know? You’re just a ...’ Damn it. Just a tracker. I stop running and look at him. ‘Fine.’ I sigh. ‘Which way is he?’
He jerks his head in the opposite direction. I narrow my eyes but he simply laughs and holds up his palms. ‘I’m telling the truth.’
I swallow my pride. ‘Will you take me there?’
His silver eyes glitter and I feel an odd flutter in my stomach. ‘Of course. There’s no need to run, though. He’s not going anywhere for a while.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘It’s part of my tracking skill. I know when someone’s about to wake up.’
‘And can you track someone in the real world?’
‘No. So you don’t need to worry. I still don’t know who you really are or where you live.’
‘I’m not worried,’ I lie.
He smirks at me and takes my hand. ‘Of course you’re not. Come on.’
We walk in silence for several minutes. ‘So what’s new with you?’ Dante eventually asks.
I’ve just been detained on suspicion of committing a double murder, I think. Except I know he’s only trying to take my mind off the MailQuick man’s shouts. I shrug awkwardly. ‘Apart from witnessing the Mayor kill someone? Not much.’
He sighs. ‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’
‘We could have tried to stop him.’
‘Then you’d be dead too.’
He’s still holding my hand so I pull it away and absently rub my fingers. ‘Why hasn’t someone done something about him?’
‘You mean the Mayor?’ Dante sighs and pushes back his hair. ‘I know it sounds easy enough but it’s not.’
‘Try me.’
He looks at me grimly. ‘Let me give you an example. After you left yesterday, a few of the more vocal Travellers demanded to know why the Mayor was keeping the mares captive.’
I brighten almost immediately. ‘And?’
‘And he did what he always does, he spun them a story. He told them that the mares were becoming dangerous, that they’d attacked Dr Miller without provocation and killed him.’ I gasp. Dante nods and continues. ‘He said he didn’t want to hurt them or kill them, but to keep everyone safe he was running a programme to capture them all so they didn’t hurt anyone else.’
‘And people believed that?’
‘Even if they didn’t, what’s the alternative? Challenge him? The Mayor knows who everyone is. He’s had people mapping out the Bubble for years. Goodness only knows who he’s found. If he knows which door your wife or husband is behind, he can see what they are dreaming, understand their deepest hopes and fears.’
‘So?’
‘What secrets do you keep, Zoe? What things are you trying to hide?’
I’m tempted to tell him that until Salib collapsed at my door, I was remarkably uncomplicated. Instead, however, I say quietly, ‘Ignorance is bliss.’
Dante agrees. ‘For most people, sadly, it is. And the Travellers know it. The only good thing is that the Mayor no longer has any mares he can send through those doors.’
I mull over his words. ‘So we need to turn the tide of public opinion against him. That way he can be kept away from the Bubble.’
‘We do but we can’t afford a civil war. The world can’t afford it. The Dreamlands are too important.’ He points to his right. ‘Your dreamer is just over there.’
I stop walking and look at him. ‘Thank you for your help.’
He gives me a crooked smile. ‘No problem. I’m not sure what you’re planning to do now, though. I don’t think there is a way out of this maze.’
I smile back. ‘He doesn’t need a way out, he just needs to be found.’
I stride forward and turn the corner. Dante was right: bang in the centre is the MailQuick deliveryman.
‘Hello,’ I say gently.
He doesn’t respond, unless you’d call throwing back his head and howling in anguish a response. I wince and move up next to him, taking his hands in mine. I squeeze them. ‘Hello,’ I repeat.
His eyes drop and, for the first time, he sees me. ‘You’re here to help me?’ he whispers.
‘Yes. I am.’
‘Zoe,’ Dante warns from behind, ‘he’s about to wake up.’
‘That’s okay,’ I tell him.
‘Wait. Before we all get yanked out of here, I need you to know I really am sorry about–’
He’s cut off in mid-sentence. I’m back in my bed, staring up at the ceiling and feeling oddly bereft.
Chapter Sixteen
Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.
Abraham Lincoln
I’m barely out of the shower and dressed when the doorbell rings. And rings and rings and rings. I jog down the stairs and start unbolting it. Before I’m done, I pause abruptly. ‘Look at you, Zoe,’ I whisper to myself, ‘you’re unlocking the door and not even worrying about it.’
I fling open the door, daring myself to not peek through the spyhole first. I’m not surprised to see Sergeant Rawlins standing there.
‘I’m not sure I’m supposed to talk to you without my solicitor present,’ I comment.
Her face is pale and there are blue shadows under her eyes. I guess she didn’t have a good night’s sleep. ‘We have decided not to continue with your questioning for now. You’re still a person of interest but–’
‘You don’t have any real evidence to tie me to anything,’ I finish as relief floods through me. ‘You do realise that’s because I haven’t done anything wrong?’
Rawlins ignores my words although, from the tension in her jawline, she’s still not convinced. Her eyes drift to my cheek, no doubt wondering about the scratches there. I hope they’re not too bad. ‘Dr Pat called. She’s yet to write up her report but she was most insistent that you could not have committed any crime. She seems to believe you don’t have the mental capacity for it.’ Her voice is strained. ‘Her opinion was far less certain yesterday afternoon.’
I shrug amiably. ‘I guess she slept on it.’
Rawlins’ eyes narrow. ‘What exactly did you do?’
‘I didn’t do anything. I was here all night. I’m sure your patrol car can confirm that. You’re welcome to check my phone records if you wish. All I did,’ I pause, ‘was go to sleep.’
Rawlins’ reaction to my words is immediate and she jerks, confirming my suspicions. I give her a reassuring smile. ‘I know you dreamed of me. I know you remember.’
‘You planted the thought in my head,’ she hisses. ‘It was just my subconscious acting it out. It’s no different to watching a film and then dreaming about it.’
‘Are you sure?’ I watch her carefully. ‘I know you watch a lot of films. Gone With the Wind? Alice in Wonderland? The Shining?’
She recoils. ‘You work as a computer programmer. Have you hacked into my system? Is that how you know these things?’
I keep my tone calm. ‘Unless you keep an online dream diary, how would I know that you were dreaming of packing a large trunk and trying to move it?’
Rawlins hisses like a cornered cat. ‘Stay out of my fucking head!’ She backs away, runs to her car and slams the door shut before speeding off. I watc
h her go, gnawing at my lip. I didn’t want to freak her out, I just wanted her to realise that I had nothing to do with Salib or Miller’s deaths. I hope I’ve not made an enemy.
The phone rings. I close the door carefully, relocking it out of habit more than anything else, then grab the receiver before it stops. ‘Hello?’
‘Zoe! I was starting to wonder whether you were still with us,’ Jerry’s voice booms.
Guilt surges through me. ‘I’m sorry,’ I apologise hastily, ‘I’ve been, um, busy.’
‘I got your letter via MailQuick.’ Oh. ‘The thing is that there was nothing inside apart from a coupon for a weekend getaway in the Lake District.’
I wince. I should have thought that through a little more carefully. I was more focused on the deliveryman rather than the contents of the letter I gave him. ‘I spotted it yesterday and wondered if it would be something you and your wife might be interested in. You’ve been sounding pretty tired lately.’ I force a laugh. ‘I guess that baby is keeping you up at night.’
‘Oh.’ He seems rather nonplussed. ‘That’s a kind thought. Thank you.’
My guilt increases. ‘No problem. Actually, speaking of holidays, I’m feeling a bit burned out myself. I wondered if I could take a break. I know there’s a big job coming up in a week or two and I want to be fresh.’
Jerry doesn’t answer immediately. ‘Hello?’ I ask tentatively.
‘Zoe, this is wonderful news!’ he finally gushes. ‘I have been trying to get you to go on holiday for quite some time.’
I nibble my lip. He has but I always declined in the past. What would I do on holiday? Watch morning television? I like peace and quiet and monotony but that would be a step too far, even for me. ‘Great. Although I’ve just realised,’ I add hurriedly, ‘that I didn’t keep a copy of that coupon for myself. Could you maybe photocopy it and send it back?’
‘I’ll scan and email it. You’ll have it in a jiffy.’
Damn it. That’s not going to work. I think a little bit more. ‘Actually, I was hoping you could use MailQuick to send it to me because, um, because...’ I’m hit by inspiration ‘...because I really like the guy who does the deliveries and I was hoping I could chat to him again.’