The Dream Catcher Diaries
Page 36
‘But it’s made you sad,’ I said. ‘Despite what you say, it’s brought you sadness.’
‘Well, as you so rightly pointed out to me once, I can’t expect another marriage proposal. I’ve had two now and turned them both down.’
I winced at my own cruel words being thrown back. When I had my gloomy moments I seemed to bring other people into my darkness. She had not deserved that from me. ‘Well, you called me a selfish insensitive bastard; you were right about that and I was wrong. There’s no reason why someone else shouldn’t see your special qualities.’
She smiled. ‘My wildness, you mean?’
‘And the others,’ I said.
I was so relieved; I invited her to stay for dinner and she accepted. She sat and ate the stew she had made for me and she remained silent throughout the entire meal.
And then she left, leaving me feeling confused and alone. I wandered across to the window and gazed out.
My mind drifted and I became lost in my own thoughts. I stared at the view that was so familiar and at the same time so alien to me. The truth was, the lochs frightened me. They pulled me to them with their dark secrets, their forbidden depths.
I knew they could never be mine. They would always be there to tempt me with their promises, but they were false promises, created to tease and to torment.
I was no fool; I kept away; that was my secret promise to the lochs: to stay away.
Chapter 56
And so it turns full circle.
Tanya made me an omelette; well, it was more like scrambled eggs. She made me sit at her table. This was a novelty. I was used to eating off the floor. She made me use a knife and fork. They felt strange in my hands. She made me eat it all up. It was my first meal in weeks. She watched me as I ate. ‘You’ve just come out of prison,’ she said. I nodded. For me, it was true.
After the omelette, she gave me my reward. She rolled up my sleeve herself and tutted over the state of my arm. ‘You look like someone’s been crucifying you,’ she said as she worked. She said nothing about the range of fascist and racist symbols tattooed and burnt onto my hands and arm. She took the needle and gave me what I really wanted, what I really needed, what I craved for beyond anything else.
The needle entering my arm was as gentle as a silk cloth brushing against my skin. She was tenderness itself. I thought that if this was anything to go by, she was probably very good at her job. I hardly felt the needle enter. I only felt the relief and the euphoria. I smiled for the first time. She placed a mattress on the floor and helped me onto it and I lay down, immersed in my dreamlike state, for the moment at least, free from my demons.
I left the next morning. She said I could visit again after midnight. I knew I wouldn’t. I was going home to my place of birth; something impelled me on.
I never reached it. I met Judith instead.
And so it turns full circle.
**********************
July 2039
A couple of weeks later Andrew was sitting opposite me in my house drinking my whisky and giving me a hard time. ‘And another thing ...’ he was saying. He was really getting into his stride now. ‘I keep getting fan mail, and it just doesn’t feel right.’
‘Fan mail?’
‘From the tender young minds you are busy infecting with your insidious propaganda.’
‘Oh, you mean the Tri-stars?’
‘Yes,’ he growled.
‘I hope you answer all their questions properly.’
‘I’m passing them onto you.’
‘Oh, thanks.’
‘Only you know the answers, and it’s your fan mail not mine. You know they want to interview me on “Young Pretenders”?’ This was a current affairs programme for young people and very popular.
‘I’m impressed,’ I said. ‘Well done!’
‘Don’t get funny with me.’
‘Are you going to accept?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Pity, I would really like to know what you have planned for our young hero.’
‘David!’
‘Go on, and tell them the next book is coming out soon, and you’ve already written the third book.’
‘Is that true?’
‘Sort of.’ I glanced across at Angus who was saying nothing. He was lounging back in his chair, not even listening, shuffling paper and scowling.
Andrew was taking me seriously. ‘Well, the publicity would do us good. Sell more books; bring in more money; buy more lives. I suppose if you ...’
‘Funny you should mention that,’ said Angus, sitting up and taking notice. This was the moment I had been waiting for all evening. I knew Angus had a problem, and I knew he had to get to it in his own way. He had finally found his way. Andrew was about to speak, but a look from me silenced him. ‘How are your eyes tonight?’ asked Angus, without looking up from those papers he had been shuffling for the last two hours.
‘Buggered, but I have a good imagination,’ I said.
He looked up. My eyes may have been buggered but I saw the anguish there. ‘You’d better tell us, General,’ I said quietly. He threw the papers down and Andrew scooped them up. Angus watched me. The doctor gazed at the papers and gave a cry. I remained motionless.
‘Do you know what these are?’ asked Angus.
‘Photographs,’ I said.
‘Do you know what of?’
‘I think I can guess.’
Andrew held the pictures and looked at us both. He said nothing. He was silenced at last.
‘Tell me.’
‘They’re pictures of my people.’
‘Yes.’
‘Dead.’
‘Yes.’
‘And Bràithreachas has been blamed.’
‘Yes.’
Andrew put the pictures down. ‘Could someone please tell me what’s going on?’ he asked.
Angus was still watching me; I knew it; my eyes were bad, but I knew it. He watched me all the time. Sometimes he was trying to gauge my mood, my reaction, my thoughts; sometimes he was simply curious. Tonight he was seeking something else: knowledge, understanding and reassurance.
I waited for him to ask. ‘Tell me what to do, Matrix,’ he said.
‘Tell me what’s happening,’ said Andrew.
‘This is what’s happening,’ said Angus, banging the table. ‘Photographs of dead, mutilated discards in the media and Bràithreachas is being blamed for it. They call it gang warfare. These are supposed to be bodies of Fabian supporters and we’re supposed to have killed them. That’s what’s happening!’
‘Oh,’ said Andrew, and he looked at me.
‘Fabian control the media,’ I said. ‘What do you expect?’
‘We need to recruit,’ said Angus. ‘How can we do that when this sort of thing’s going on? We’ll attract all the people we don’t want and put off all those we do want. We have to do something!’
‘We will.’
‘But what?’
‘We need our own media expert.’
‘Ah well, if that’s all we need, no problem then!’ Angus could be very sarcastic if he chose to be.
‘I do know a journalist who would be on our side.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘He’s gay.’
‘So what? That just means he doesn’t support Fabian.’ Angus banged the table again. ‘Isn’t that the whole point? We’re being set up as the alternative bad guys. This is being portrayed as a battle for territory, for the bodies of whores, for a drugs slice.’
‘Let me just speak to him.’
‘Then I’ll be with you.’
‘Great. You don’t trust me.’
‘I trust you with my life, but I trust no one else with you. From now on you travel with a member of the Brotherhood. You’ve always been a target, but now they could take you down and blame the Brotherhood for doing it. No excuses. We take no more risks.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ I said.
***********************
‘Perhaps.’ I didn’t really care. In my bones, I was sure that I would see this through to the end.
Andrew sensed something in me. ‘I won’t let it happen, you know,’ he said, ‘and neither will Angus.’
He waited, but I said nothing. ‘We won’t let the King be sacrificed,’ he said.
Still I said nothing. It didn’t matter what he said. Only I knew what game I was playing. Only I knew how it would end, and nothing any of them could say would change that.
Chapter 57
The van was dark and cold; Ramon sat huddled in the corner. He could feel his body shake and move to the swaying of the van. He looked into the gloom and could barely see Janney. She was hunched up opposite him; he could see her white knees sticking up out of the shadows and, if he stared hard enough, he could make out her wide, terrified eyes – bright blue, the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. He wanted to call out to her, tell her everything would be alright, but he couldn’t. They had put the lock in his mouth and, anyway, it would have been a lie; everything was not alright.
There were four of them, packed into a small van, with two carers from their pod. They had been carefully selected. The man in a smart suit, who always smelt of flowers, had come round and inspected them all. He wanted four children, not too ugly, he had said. He had hesitated over Ramon. He had stood over his sprawled naked body and with one foot had turned him over. ‘Not sure if they want a black kid,’ said the smart man.
Up until then, Ramon had prayed they would not pick him. When children left with this man, they never came back. They were taken somewhere, somewhere worse than the pod, and they never came back. This was understood by everyone. It was a joke; the men and women in charge always laughed and simply replaced the stolen children with others, until the next time – and now he was here again, and Ramon was terrified; he did not want to be picked. But as the man turned Ramon over, he had seen that they already had Janney, and then he did want to go. Whatever terrible place they were going to take her to, he wanted to be there. He liked to think it was to protect her, but deep down he knew he couldn’t really do that – all he could do was die with her.
‘How old?’ asked smart man.
‘This one’s twelve; the girls are the same age; the other boy’s ten.’
Smart man walked over to Lincoln, who had already been pulled up and was kneeling in the filth with Janney and Taz, his head bowed down in the submission pose as he had been taught – as they had all been taught.
The smart man took his stick and pushed it under Lincoln’s chin and lifted up the face to have a better look. Lincoln carried the usual mark on his cheek; his face looked bruised and swollen, but you could see he was still a nice looking kid – blonde and blue eyed, just like his sister Janney. Smart man scrutinised the face and licked his lips; he smiled. ‘Ten years old, that’s good, I like that,’ he muttered. He nodded decisively. ‘I’ll take these three,’ he said and went to walk away; then he stopped. ‘Throw the black kid in for nothing,’ he said. ‘We don’t pay for niggers.’
Ramon was in.
***********************
The van came to a halt; the swaying and the noise stopped. Ramon and the others waited. The doors were swung open and they were each hauled out. The four children were all naked except for the breaking irons; they found it hard to move. The pimps didn’t try to make them walk. They were picked up and flung over a shoulder and carried. It was night-time and the air was cool. It seemed a long time since Ramon had felt the air on his face; it felt wonderful. As they walked, he thought he’d caught sight of trees with leaves pale in the night; it must be summer – yes, it must be – it was cool but not cold. He was being carried to his death, he knew that, but at least he would have felt the fresh air one last time, and he’d seen a tree one last time – not for long though; soon they were back inside and being carried down long, richly-carpeted corridors. Ramon knew they had entered a rich man’s house; it was full of colour and warmth and the smell of food cooking.
They were taken into a room and flung onto the floor. All four scrambled into position. They had been well taught and were desperate not to offend. To make the men cross meant pain beyond endurance. The four of them knelt together on the soft carpet in the submission pose, with their heads bowed low, their foreheads touching the carpet. All four had their wrists manacled to the back of their belts; they were locked in position. Ramon was conscious that they had placed Lincoln next to him. The two girls, Janney and Taz, were also put together.
‘Gentlemen, the entertainment has arrived!’ shouted a jovial voice.
The children remained absolutely still. They heard the sound of chairs being pushed back and people coming over. Men with polished black boots walked around them. ‘We have, as you can see gentlemen, entertainment to suit all tastes.’ There was soft laughter. ‘We have boys and girls – we even have a black one. You may choose, mix and match, it’s up to you. Do what you like with them. Just make sure there’s enough for everyone.’ Again, laughter – louder this time.
‘We have a room set aside for the entertainment. It’s already full of some fascinating toys. Please, feel free to bring your own favourites. Neil will be in charge. I hope they meet with your approval.’
There were cheers and more laughter.
The voice continued, ‘And now, gentlemen, let’s eat!’
The feet walked away, all except one set. ‘Martin, I have a favour to ask,’ said a quiet voice.
‘Ask away.’
‘I’d like to go last tonight, and I’d like all four.’
‘Of course, but why last?’
The man with the quiet voice sounded apologetic. ‘I’ve something of a reputation with children – their backs, they’re so fragile. I get carried away. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Ah, I understand, no problem, they’re yours. You go last, and you can do what you like, the bodies are easily disposed of, no problem. We never send them back; we always terminate them at the end of the entertainment. They’ll have done what’s required. Thank you for your honesty.’
The voices started to drift away. ‘There are some things I’d like to discuss with you. I’d like your opinion on a few matters.’ The men left the room. Ramon and the others were hauled up and flung over shoulders again. Ramon prayed that Janney had not heard that conversation. He didn’t want her to be afraid when the time came. He didn’t want her to know what they would do to them. He wished to God he didn’t know.
**********************
Although Galmpton Court was Henry Fuller’s house, it was clear to everyone that he was not the man in charge of the evening’s events. That honour fell to the acknowledged leader of the group, the Commander-in-Chief of New Fabian, Martin Harrison. He sat at the head of the table; he decided when to eat, what they did and what they talked about.
The meal was over. The food had been perfectly cooked and presented by silent men wearing white gloves. The wine had been plentiful and of the best vintage. Tables were being prepared for playing games of chance and skill and, at set intervals, one of the party would be taken upstairs by Neil to the substrata entertainment.
Neil had recently left with the fourth person, and Martin Harrison was expounding on his favourite topic, politics. Everyone listened; everyone deferred. There were nine men sitting around the table, nine of the richest and most influential men in the country – nine men who all met on a regular basis to form the Madison Club; most were also members of Fabian and top layer. The wives had not been invited. Fuller’s own wife had been instructed to stay away, and, like a good Madison wife, she remained in a separate part of the house.
‘I’m working on my book now,’ said Harrison. ‘It should be ready by next summer.’
‘It’ll be our manual,’ said Fuller.
‘Code of Practice,’ suggested Charle
s Garfield, the deputy of Fabian and Henry Fuller’s father-in-law.
‘Not just for you,’ said Harrison smoothly, ‘for everyone. I intend the whole world to understand our vision. It’s time to move away from the shackles of New Fabian into a bigger, stronger, more encompassing ideology. Too much is being done behind closed doors. I long for openness, for everyone to embrace not only what we have achieved, but how we have achieved our success; only then can we free ourselves from the politicians of yesterday.’
There was a burst of applause around the table.
Harrison lifted up his glass. ‘Gentleman, I give you The New Order of Madison and the eradication of the substrata!’
Everyone raised their glasses and repeated the toast.
‘So,’ said someone. ‘What’s stopping us? Why don’t we just tell the people what needs to be done to create your harmonious society that we’ve all been yearning for, for so long?’
There was a moment’s awkward silence. ‘The people, as you put it,’ said Harrison patiently, ‘are still recycling yesterday’s dogma. They can’t let go. We need to go gently with them. Since the correct implementation of Twenty-six, we’ve seen huge changes in our country. It’s become a safer, more structured place to live. We can walk the streets at night, our children can breath in their schools now that dross,’ he pointed upstairs, ‘such as the type we have here tonight, have been taken out of the system. This is barely the beginning, but if we go too fast we’ll lose it all. The people will not want to go back to the old days – you may be sure of that – but we need to be sure that they’re brave enough to carry the solution through to the end. It’s a glorious solution, the Madison ideal. We need to be patient; there’s only one way to go and that way is forward.’
Again, there was applause.
‘And what of Matrix?’ said Matt Cooper. He was part of the Inner Circle, one of the top four.
The look on Harrison’s face hardened, and his fist clenched momentarily around his wine glass. ‘Matrix is not a problem,’ he said icily.
‘He is nothing but a blind discard,’ said Fuller contemptuously.