The Dream Catcher Diaries

by Alexander Patrick

  ‘He’s deaf too,’ I added maliciously. I waited for him to make a run for it. They usually did at that point. He didn’t, though; he just gave a small nod as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

  Chapter 15

  ‘How long has he been like this?’ It was Simeon’s voice.

  ‘Since he arrived,’ said Steve. ‘Simeon, why can’t he move? Why can’t he speak?’

  I could feel Simeon touch me. He placed his fingers gently in my mouth and probed; the touch, though gentle, sent a shot of pain through me.

  ‘You’re hurting him!’ said Davey, who was still holding my hand. How did he know? I hadn’t moved?

  To my relief, Simeon withdrew his hand immediately. ‘They’ve used the lock on him.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Steve.

  ‘Someone - who cares - it doesn’t matter.’ He was touching my now naked body. I recognised his touch; the feel of expertise was strangely reassuring. ‘What’s this?’

  I was amused. That was quick, even for Simeon. It was too late, but nonetheless impressive. He pulled out the first tiny needle from behind my ear. I heard a slight clink as it dropped into a container.

  ‘What the ...?’ said Steve.

  Simeon hardly drew breath. ‘Steve, Ian, put surgicals on. We’re going to play hunt the needle.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Ian.

  ‘Poison and there’s going to be more than one. We have to remove them now. We’ve already lost too much time.’

  ‘What sort of poison?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Simeon. ‘You’re going to find out whilst we search for more. Take this one and run some analysis.’ I could feel his hand move across my face to my other ear. I knew for a fact that he had missed the one under my eye. ‘We have to get them all, I know that.’ He pulled out a second needle from behind my other ear. ‘We need to check whether we’re dealing with more than one poison.’

  ‘You mean the bastards may have used multiple poisons?’

  ‘Why not? I would’ve.’

  ‘Dear God!’ muttered Daniel.

  I could feel Steve and Ian touch me, but only just; already my sense of touch was fading. Soon I wouldn’t be able to feel them. I prayed that I would die before then. With luck, breathing would become impossible; then there would be release and I would drift into the arms of infinity.

  ***********************

  ‘My name’s Alexander,’ I told Steve.

  ‘What do people call you?’ he asked.

  ‘Alexander,’ I said. I chose not to mention all the disgusting names that people really called me. ‘What do people call you?’

  ‘I prefer Steve,’ he said. I got the impression that he had a few disgusting names that he would rather not mention either.

  ‘Can you really help us?’ I asked. I was busy getting Davey ready. I had told him that we had company and he was curious to know more, but at that point I had nothing else to tell him.

  Steve, meanwhile, was diligently pouring coffee, adding milk and sugar and consuming most of our biscuits. He looked as if he needed them; he was very skinny. ‘Would you like one?’ he asked belatedly, holding out one of our biscuits.

  ‘No, thanks, we’re having lunch soon,’ I said.

  He nodded, cramming another biscuit into his mouth. ‘You’re surfing in the wrong part of the beach,’ he announced.

  ‘I know that,’ I said patiently. ‘That’s because we are something of a liability out there, and your surfing friends are not very tolerant.’

  ‘They’re not my friends,’ he said, and I believed him.

  I was dressing Davey quickly, conscious that Steve was watching us, watching Davey. ‘Anything else?’ I asked.

  ‘Sure,’ he said, still watching, his eyes looking and searching. The eyes of a predator.

  I turned to him. ‘He’s my brother; he’s deafblind – that’s it.’

  ‘How do you talk to him?’ He was obviously fascinated.

  ‘I use hand signs,’ I said.

  ‘Can I speak to him?’

  I was intrigued. This man was different: special but also twisted and broken. I took his hand in mine. He flinched at the touch but he didn’t pull away. I got the feeling he didn’t like to be touched. ‘It’s all about touch,’ I warned.

  He nodded. I showed him how to sign hello. He took Davey’s hand in his and signed hello. Davey signed back. ‘He understood me,’ he said and, for the first time, he smiled, a brief but beautiful smile that lit his face and touched his eyes. It immediately made him look much younger. But it was very brief.

  ‘Sure he did,’ I said. I had ceased to pay attention now; my phone had just indicated a message. I went across to Davey and signed him. ‘No lift, no lunch!’

  Davey groaned.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Steve.

  ‘We were expecting a lift but it’s not coming. We’re stuck.’

  ‘I have a van,’ said Steve. ‘I can give you a lift.’

  I agreed immediately.

  We struggled up the rocky slope to Steve’s van. At one point Davey almost slipped. Steve leaned forward and grabbed his hand, preventing him from falling. I held my breath. Davey only accepted help from people he knew. There was a pause as Davey assessed the situation. Then he gave a small smile and accepted Steve’s hand. I was impressed; he had never done that before. Steve looked pleased with himself. He had no idea what an act of faith it was for Davey to accept that hand, that unknown hand, he had no idea how really impressive it was. I did and I knew then that Steve was someone special who would be good to have around.

  Chapter 16

  Multiple voices: voices in my head, in my heart, voices all around me, conversations taking place layered on top of each other, some phrases that made sense, others that made no sense. Words, so many words!

  ‘What’s this under his eye? For Christ’s sake, Simeon!’ It was my brother Robert’s voice, impatient as usual.

  ‘We can’t move him.’

  ‘You have no choice. We were met by Crompton off the ferry. He told us what’s happened. Blood’s been spilt across the country. There’s been death. The police’ll be here soon.’

  ‘It’s tiny! So small! If there are others like this ...’

  ‘We can’t move him! He’ll die.’

  ‘Sam’s here. She said she can take him – hide him.’

  ‘We need to check his body again just in case ...’

  ‘We need to move him now! If the police come and he’s here ...’

  ‘Why is Sam here?’

  ‘I need to give him something first.’

  ‘She said she had arranged it with you. She’s picking James up.’

  ‘You have an antidote?’

  ‘I have something that’ll slow the poison down. I’m not sure if it’ll stop it.’

  ‘I don’t remember. Dad, I’m not leaving him!’ Davey was clutching my hand so hard it hurt. Even through the numbness I could feel his grip. It was as if he knew that this was my only contact now – my only touch.

  ‘Can he hear me?’

  ‘I don’t think so. My guess is no.’

  I felt a warmth shoot up my arm and my body convulsed.

  ‘Well done, Simeon, kill him off, why don’t you?’

  ‘Hold him down!’

  Silence.

  I thought I must at last be deaf; the silence was so absolute.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ It was Simeon’s voice breaking through my silence. ‘I can’t do anything.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I can’t save him, Robert. He’s dying. He’s slipping away.’

  Again silence.

  ‘Get him away. Get him to Sam’s house. Hide him.’ Robert’s voice held a touch of steel. He leaned forward and whispered in my ear. ‘You can’t hear me, little brother, but I need you to know how much I love you.’ He spoke in Gaelic. I heard the fear in his voice, the desperation and the sorrow. I knew he was crying. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him, bu
t I couldn’t. I hoped he knew. I prayed he knew.

  ‘I’m going with him.’ Davey, of course.

  Robert straightened up. He was shouting through his tears. ‘Move him now before those bastards turn up!’

  ***********************

  We were expected at Ian and Daniel’s for lunch. Steve drove us there in his van. It appeared he worked for the local delivery company, Morrissey’s. Well, it was one of their vans anyway.

  ‘How old are you?’ I asked, as Steve drove us up the winding streets to Ian and Daniel’s.

  ‘Seventeen,’ he said.

  ‘Why aren’t you at school?’

  ‘I work,’ he said evasively.

  I invited him to lunch. It was the least we could do and it would give us the opportunity to discuss surfing techniques. When we arrived, Ian was there to meet us. He looked Steve up and down and made up his mind. ‘This is Steve Carter,’ I said. ‘He’s joining us for lunch and he’s going to teach us how to surf.’

  Ian frowned. ‘Lemonade, anyone?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  He disappeared and I settled Davey in his seat, fetched water for Fallon and pointed out to Steve the wonderful garden that Ian had created. ‘Later I’ll show you Davey’s garden,’ I said. ‘It’s full of smells and textures.’

  Ian came out. ‘I need help with the lemonade,’ he said. ‘Steve can do that.’ He led Steve away and I wired Davey up.

  As Davey and I sat outside in the shade of the day, Ian was pulling out glasses for the lemonade. Steve stood by awkwardly, watching him. Ian didn’t pause in what he was doing. He spoke quietly, quickly and with some urgency. ‘I don’t know what your game is, pal,’ he said. ‘But Alexander and Davey are both straight.’ Steve shifted his weight uneasily. Ian continued. ‘I know what you are. I even know who you are.’ He paused and looked Steve in the eye. Steve failed to meet the look and stared at his feet instead. ‘You’re a fucking rent boy,’ said Ian, ‘... and a category B sex offender. You’re on probation, and if the police knew you were here with a couple of blind kids they would march you back to prison just like that!’ He snapped his fingers.

  ‘I just ...’ began Steve.

  ‘You will take these drinks out. You will drink yours and you will make some excuse to go. You fail to do that and I will call the police. Do you understand?’ Steve nodded. Ian gave him the tray of drinks. By the time Steve came out with the drinks, Davey was relaxing next to me and I had taken off my jacket and sunglasses. Steve put the tray down and stared at me. I was used to that. It didn’t mean I liked it, though. My strange eyes always elicited some response. Steve appeared to be no exception. His mouth dropped open slightly as he looked.

  ‘Come and say hello to Davey,’ I said. ‘He’s all wired up. Just be sure you speak to him on his right side. Speak clearly, don’t shout and remind him who you are – since most voices sound the same to him.’

  Steve glanced down at Davey and back to me again. ‘He can hear?’ he asked.

  ‘It only works in certain conditions,’ I explained.

  ‘Quiet places like this are perfect,’ said Davey.

  ‘Oh.’ Steve nodded as if he came across freaks like us on a daily basis. He looked back at me again.

  ‘I know I’m pretty weird looking,’ I said helpfully.

  ‘It’s not that,’ said Steve and then he blurted out, ‘Are you really blind?’

  I laughed, so did Davey. ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I’m partially sighted.’

  ‘And not all the time,’ added Davey. ‘He couldn’t look after me if he was blind, now could he?’

  I smiled lazily and Steve watched me still looking puzzled. Ian came out of the house and stood in the shadow of the doorway. He coughed pointedly. Steve jumped, obviously startled. ‘I have to go now,’ he said quietly. He leaned towards Davey. ‘Thank you,’ he said clearly in Davey’s right ear. ‘I’m Steve.’

  ‘And I’m Davey. Do you really have to go?’

  Steve glanced over at Ian. ‘Yes.’

  I knew what had happened. I knew and I was furious. As Steve disappeared in his scruffy van I turned to Ian. ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘I’ve looked him up on the database. He’s a rent boy and he’s done time for raping a child.’ Ian was blunt. ‘He’s not getting his filthy hands on you or Davey, and no, Alexander, he doesn’t deserve a chance, so don’t even think it!’

  I did think it.

  Chapter 17

  DCI Edward Morgan sat at his desk working through the final paperwork of a recent homicide. It was late and he should be home, but he had no one to go home to so he sat at his desk and shuffled numbers and figures. He hated his life. He hated the people he had to deal with, not just the criminals, his own colleagues as well. He had had enough of life and so he sat at his desk shuffling the figures and thinking of his next drink.

  He was tall and lean with sloping shoulders and grey hair that most of his superiors thought too long. His suit had seen better days and so, he felt, had he. He had survived the troubles and been promoted as a result; it had not brought him happiness only more discontent. He had a long despondent face, sagging cheeks and round blue eyes. Women tended to look at him with interest, not because he was good looking; he was not. There was something about him that needed tidying up, looking after, cosseting – and there were plenty of women who wanted to do just that.

  He switched his computer down ready to go home and stretched his long, thin arms. He leaned back and glanced around the gloomy office. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts he had not noticed it getting dark. He flicked a switch at his desk and the room lit up. As it did so, his consul swung into action and began to purr loudly. He flicked another switch. ‘Yeh,’ he said idly, he had a soft midlands accent. People often underestimated him because of it: they thought him stupid, soft or both. He was neither.

  ‘Sir, we have a coded message,’ came a female voice from his consul.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Brotherhood, sir.’

  He sat up straighter. He’d heard about the events of the previous night. ‘Have you authenticated it?’

  ‘Yes, sir; it’s genuine.’

  ‘Put him through on number twelve.’ He chose the high security channel – standard practice when dealing with any terrorist gang or organised crime. He considered the Brotherhood to be both.

  ‘Yes, I will, and, sir?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s a woman, sir.’

  He was surprised. The Brotherhood – despite its name – had female members, had women in all its ranks. Nevertheless he was still surprised. He had old-fashioned views when it came to violence and preferred to deal with men.

  ‘Put her through,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  There was a sharp click. A voice came over the line, a gentle Scottish voice. ‘Please help!’ cried the voice. ‘They’re going to murder him!’

  The distress, fear and panic in the voice were not what he was expecting. ‘Who is this? Who are they going to murder?’ he asked.

  There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘They’re going to murder my father,’ she whispered.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Please, promise me you’ll save him!’

  ‘Who are you?’ he repeated. ‘Who are they? Who are they going to murder? I can’t help you or him unless you tell me.’

  Again, there was a long pause. He thought she had gone. ‘Hello?’ he said.

  ‘The Blood Brothers are going to murder Matrix,’ she said at last.

  ***********************

  Steve’s arrival caused huge problems in the extended Patrick clan: two camps, one for and one against; everyone had a definite opinion. Initially, I was in the smaller camp – but it was the most influential since it contained my father.

  At first, my father had not been prepared to voice an opinion until he had met Steve but, once he met him, he was immediately won over. Robert followed pretty soon after that, and Davey
had already made up his mind. That left just about everyone else we knew in the other camp.

  Steve came to visit us and took an immediate liking to my father. Pretty soon he was sitting in his observatory and talking through the night. My father was an amateur astronomer. He was the son of a professional astronomer who had taught at Edinburgh University. He had inherited a passion, if not a vocation, for studying the stars. We had all used this personal night-time space as an opportunity to talk and my father – a naturally silent man – was the perfect listener. Steve was one of many who did the same. I don’t know exactly what he said to my father, although I can guess, but I do know that a bond was forged during those night-time talks that was important to both of them.

  The rest of our clan eventually came around to loving Steve as much as we did. Before the end of that year Ian and Daniel had formally adopted him and he had moved from his seedy attic flat to their cosy welcoming cottage.

  I am not saying all went smoothly after Steve met us. He was to return to prison a few more times, but now it was different to before; now, when he came out, freshly shaven and smelling of prison, we were waiting for him. We had no reason to judge him; we knew that it was not that he could not let his old life go, but that his old life could not let him go and, perhaps more importantly, the world could not forgive him his sins. It still wanted to punish him and it did.

  Chapter 18

  Morgan sat and stared at his computer for a short while. Then he spoke. ‘Computer, what information do you have on Samantha Colman?’

  There was a soft ticking sound. ‘Born April 27 2009. Married to Timothy Colman. Both work for UNISEF. Divorced from Professor David Patrick in 2037. One son ...’

  He listened. None of it made any sense. This was a very respectable woman. What was her connection to a terrorist organisation?

  He was not interested in respectable people. The call must be a hoax. He strummed his fingers on the desk as the computer listed academic achievements, awards and personal tragedies. Nothing formed a connection with the Brotherhood.

  The computer droned on. ‘Divorce from Professor David Patrick was high profile news, her husband being a Nobel Prize winner and prominent in his fields of mathematics ...’ and so it went on.