The Dream Catcher Diaries

by Alexander Patrick

‘Yesterday.’

  ‘What took you?’

  He grinned again.

  ‘Hamish, thank you.’

  ‘I came to thank you.’

  ‘No need.’

  He gazed at me. ‘You really do have yellow eyes. I thought Angus was exaggerating.’

  ‘Angus never exaggerates.’

  ‘So what’s with the eye drops?’ he asked.

  ‘I need eye drops because my tear ducts don’t work very well.’

  ‘What happens if you don’t use them?’

  ‘It hurts a lot, like pieces of grit rubbing inside.’

  ‘Ouch!’ he grinned at me. It was Angus with a smile. It was wonderful. He was free. I had achieved that much and it gave me strength.

  Chapter 106

  ‘Does that hurt?’

  It hurt like hell. ‘A bit,’ I said.

  The pretty nurse smiled. She had a lovely smile. ‘You’re much braver than most of our men patients,’ she said approvingly.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Most of them would have asked me to stop a long time ago.’

  I wished I’d known.

  ‘I’m asking you to stop,’ said a firm voice on the other side of the bed.

  Now that was a voice to make me smile. ‘Hello, Sonia,’ I said with pleasure.

  She ignored me. ‘Can’t you tell he’s had enough? Now, please, stop.’ The nurse withdrew the needle, smirked and left the room hastily. She knew she hadn’t a hope.

  ‘What was she doing?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue.’

  ‘Oh, David!’

  ‘They’re always poking, prodding and sticking painful things in sore places where it can hurt the most.’

  ‘Oh, David!’

  ‘Just like old times.’

  ‘Not funny.’

  She was right; it wasn’t funny. She sat down next to my bed and cupped her hands around mine. ‘Will you marry me?’ she asked.

  ‘Trust you to ask a man when he’s down,’ I said.

  ‘Just seizing the moment,’ she said smiling softly.

  I pulled myself up with the strap hanging above my bed and I groaned.

  ‘You’re just playing for sympathy,’ she said.

  ‘Fat chance, pass me some water.’

  She held the cup of water to my lips and helped me drink. I didn’t actually need any help but I liked to feel her touch me. ‘Answer my question,’ she said.

  ‘You sound like Sammy.’

  ‘I thought he was supposed to be on our side.’

  ‘He’s just doing his job.’

  ‘Is he any good?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She nodded.

  ‘But it doesn’t change anything.’

  ‘It might.’

  ‘You marry me and you may be marrying a dead man - or worse.’

  She gave me her unblinking stare, always unnerving. ‘I know what it means to marry you. I understand what may happen, but I’m allowed to hope and pray that it doesn’t, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes, Sonia, just don’t marry me unless you do understand. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.’

  ‘I do, I promise.’

  I smiled at her.

  Two days later, she was repeating almost the same words in front of a priest, my family, friends and the police. I lay in my hospital bed, manacled to the post. Cyclops sat next to me. He was my best man and Caitlin played bridesmaid. It was an unusual marriage ceremony and it will stay in my memory forever.

  Chapter 107

  It was the middle of the night. I was asleep and dreaming when I felt a rough hand grab my shoulder and shake me; a bright light was shone in my eyes at the same time. I woke with a start, cursing as I did so. I opened my eyes to shapes behind the lights, tall shapes with loud, angry voices. ‘Get up,’ said one.

  ‘What?’

  The handcuffs linking me to the bed were released. ‘Get up!’ repeated the voice. Some clothes were thrown onto the bed.

  I sat up, still confused but instantly wary. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked. I could hear the sleep in my voice. I squinted up at the dark shapes.

  ‘You’re going on a visit, Matrix. Now, get dressed.’

  ‘I need my eye drops,’ I said, reaching out for my bottle.

  ‘Fuck that! Get dressed now!’

  I knew better than to argue with angry voices. I got dressed and reached for my crutches.

  ‘Christ, this is taking forever!’ said one of the men.

  I was two weeks out of the operating theatre and they expected me to come dancing. I pulled myself up.

  ‘Get the wheelchair.’ I was hauled into the wheelchair.

  ‘We haven’t got time for a cripple,’ said one and he pulled my arms behind me, wrapped them around the back of the wheelchair and manacled my wrists together. He then bound my legs together.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

  A gun was pushed into my neck. ‘Do what you’re told and we won’t harm you.’

  I didn’t believe him but I obeyed anyway. I had no choice.

  I was pushed out of the room, past the two policemen who looked the other way – so much for police protection – and then down the hospital corridor. It felt late; that shouldn’t have made the hospital appear so deserted, but it was. We met no one as I was taken to the lift and down to the ground floor.

  Here there were people bustling about, but no one paid us any attention; we might as well have been invisible. I was being escorted by four men, all larger than me, all wearing smarter clothes, all wearing blank expressions. If they were Fabian, I was dead. If they were not, I was probably still dead.

  I was hustled into a van. They kept me in the wheelchair and blindfolded me. We were then driven to a secret location. I listened as we drove. I could probably trace my journey back there again if I wanted to; there had been enough clues to listen to, even for a man who had not spent part of his life blind.

  When the blindfold was taken off, I found myself in a small white windowless room. It was a clean, sweet-smelling room and empty except for a table, a couple of chairs and a rope hanging from the ceiling. There was a shower-head sticking out from the wall and a drain in the floor. It made me think of the wet room that Spider and Amos used. I guessed it served the same purpose. This was a room designed for torture, for blood letting, for long drawn-out death. I was alone and my arms and legs were still bound to the wheelchair.

  The door opened and a man walked in. He was tall with a paunch and had puffy eyes and cheeks. He was completely bald, more from choice I guessed than natural hair loss. He was dressed in white cotton overalls and he walked barefoot. He smiled at me as he came into the room.

  ‘Welcome to Finley House,’ he said. He made it sound quite cosy. He sat down opposite me and placed his elbows on the table. He was wearing white gloves. ‘They tell me you are no stranger to pain,’ he said.

  I said nothing.

  He brushed an invisible speck of dust from the table. ‘Neither am I,’ he said. I guessed he was not implying he had been on the receiving end.

  He was still smiling. ‘In this room we like to experiment. We like to see how far we can go before,’ he paused, ‘we lose someone. They never die, of course. I’m not speaking of death, not of the body anyway.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘We deal with terrorists here. People like you.’

  He was watching me, waiting for a reaction. I thought it best to give him one. ‘What do you want from me?’ I asked.

  ‘Only your soul,’ he replied. I believed him. ‘But not today,’ he continued more briskly. ‘You’ll come here afterwards, you may be sure of that. This is where we bring all our terrorists and this is where you’ll come after your trial. I thought you might just like to see what we have in store for you. This will become your new home when the courts have had their day.’ He smiled again. ‘I always interrogate naked,’ he said. ‘It saves on the cleaning bills.’

  ‘I hate to remind you,’ I said softly. ‘But they haven’t found me guilty yet and
anyway I’m being tried for armed robbery not for terrorism.’

  He stood up. ‘There’s someone who’d like to speak to you. We’ll take you to him.’

  ‘Who?’ I asked suspiciously.

  ‘You’re going to Number Ten,’ he said.

  I showed no surprise; this was what I had been expecting. ‘In that case, I’ll take someone with me.’

  ‘You go alone.’

  ‘Then I don’t go at all. You might as well start now.’

  He laughed and sat down again. ‘You can’t take that murdering jock,’ he said.

  ‘I assume you mean the General?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I don’t want to take the General. I want to take Phaedo.’

  ‘We don’t know who Phaedo is.’

  ‘Someone does. I’m sure you know who to ask.’

  He regarded me for a moment and then stood up. He left the room without a word.

  I waited in that white room and I was sure, as I sat there alone, that I could hear the screams of the past.

  I closed my eyes and heard bound men cry, beg for mercy, call to a God who no longer heard. I swear I heard those men and women scream as they fell into madness.

  **********************

  Phaedo joined me in the van a few hours later. I knew they would have no problem finding him. He was thrown in and handcuffed to a bar on the side. He looked around him in some confusion. He still looked half asleep. ‘Sorry about this,’ I said.

  He saw that I was bound to the wheelchair. ‘What’s going on?’ he whispered.

  ‘We’re going to visit a man.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Someone who lives at Number Ten.’

  ‘Shit, I wish I’d known; I’d have worn something different.’

  I laughed. ‘You look fine, just keep smiling and, more important, keep listening.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I need a witness.’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘To the truth, I need someone I can trust, someone who can keep a secret.’

  ‘I still don’t understand.’

  ‘Whatever you see or hear tonight, you must tell no one until the time is right.’ He still looked puzzled. ‘You’ll know when that time is, probably after the trial, after all of this is over; then you may speak. In fact, I’ll want you to speak, but not until then.’

  ‘Except the Brotherhood.’

  ‘No, you must speak to no one, especially the Brotherhood and especially my brother.’

  ‘What’s going to happen?’

  ‘What I’ve been expecting to happen. That’s why you’re here, as I said, you’ll be my witness.’

  ‘I still think ...’

  ‘Be quiet!’ shouted a voice from the front of the van. ‘Or we’ll gag you both.’

  ***********************

  We were unloaded at Number Ten. ‘I want Phaedo to push me,’ I said. There was a moment’s hesitation and then a nod. Phaedo pushed me in.

  We were ushered down carpeted corridors lined with paintings of the great. I could smell flowers. We were taken into a wood lined room filled with books and antiques and a huge desk. The room was lit discreetly with small and tall lamps dotted around. It gave it a cosy, old-fashioned look. Phaedo pushed me up to the desk.

  The man behind the desk had his back to us as we were ushered in. He was pouring some drinks at an ornate cabinet against the wall. He turned round. He was just as I remembered him: small, with thin hair and round glasses. He still retained his mild-mannered expression and his eyes still appeared hard and dark. It was Mr Ward. He looked at us. They had kept us both bound. He tutted loudly, as if someone had committed an indiscretion. ‘Untie them, please,’ he said. We were untied immediately. He waved the bad men out of the room and we were left with the good guy. At least, that is what we were supposed to feel. It all felt stage-managed to me.

  He told Phaedo to sit down and then turned back to the drinks. He passed large whiskies to us both. Phaedo hated whisky, and I wasn’t allowed it since I had been put on some heavy-duty painkillers at the hospital. But neither of us said no; we took the glasses politely.

  He sat down carefully. This was a man who did everything carefully, everything was a political manoeuvre, everything was thought out, calculated and planned.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’

  ‘Well, it’s more pleasant than Finley House,’ I said.

  He looked perplexed. ‘I’m not familiar with Finley House. Is that the name of your hospital ward?’

  ‘It’s my future address.’

  ‘Oh, I think we know what your future address will be,’ he said warmly.

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘You play chess, Mr Cameron?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then perhaps you can understand something of the dilemma I’m facing.’ He glanced across to Phaedo. ‘Does your friend have to be here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does he know how to keep a secret?’

  ‘It’s why I chose him.’

  ‘Why not alone?’

  ‘I don’t expect those papers you have for me are in Braille and I have no intention of signing something I haven’t read.’

  He was silent for a while. He glanced back to Phaedo again; he obviously didn’t like what he saw. He placed both hands on his desk. They were small, white and soft. ‘We have two kings on our chessboard, Mr Cameron, and we can’t have that.’

  ‘You’re referring to Matrix, I understand?’

  ‘He cannot remain, you know that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Phaedo moved forward and I placed my hand on his arm. He sat back again. The Prime Minister continued. ‘You have built yourself a formidable reputation, Mr Cameron.’

  ‘I thought we were talking about Matrix?’

  He looked puzzled, genuinely puzzled this time.

  I continued. ‘Matrix is your problem not Jamie Cameron.’

  Understanding crossed his face. ‘Ah yes, I see what you mean. The trouble is, I don’t quite see how we can deal with one and not the other?’

  ‘That’s a pity.’

  His look hardened. It was late. He didn’t want two substrata cluttering up his nice study for longer than necessary. ‘Matrix cannot die; we know that. We’ve learnt the lessons of history. If he were to die we would have a martyr who will live in people’s minds forever. He will become a rallying point, a God.’

  ‘Too late for that,’ muttered Phaedo.

  The Prime Minister ignored him. ‘Matrix is not going to die, you may be sure of that. We will do everything we can to ensure he lives to a ripe old age, if necessary.’

  ‘But only if necessary,’ I said.

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can make no promises.’

  ‘You won’t let Matrix die. It would create a God who will live forever in me and a Pontius Pilot who will live forever in you. If I die, you die with me ... politically at least. So if Matrix cannot die, what can you do with him?’

  ‘You tell me.’ The Prime Minister was smiling now. ‘You’re the chess player.’

  ‘You want me to come up with the answer for you?’

  ‘I have an answer. I just wondered whether you’d guessed it.’

  ‘Finley House,’ I said. This time he didn’t pretend. He simply nodded. ‘What will you give me in exchange?’ I asked.

  ‘In exchange for what?’

  ‘In exchange for being buried alive.’

  He smiled again. ‘Your family,’ he said.

  ***********************

  Phaedo sat in the van with me on the way back. He was hunched and sobbing quietly. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘What have you done? They’ll crucify you.’

  ‘I had no choice. They’ll not allow Matrix to live. That was always going to be the case.’

  ‘What about Sonia, you’ve only just married?’

  ‘She knows, at least she’s guessed. She knew what she was doing.’

  He reached out
and touched me. ‘I’ve always loved you,’ he whispered.

  I knew that. ‘You’re the best of men. Make sure you’re there for Sonia and Caitlin and Elijah.’ I knew he would look after my family and friends, he always had done.

  He sobbed again. ‘What about the trial? Surely if ...’

  I shook my head. ‘They want the world to forget about Matrix. They’ll make sure that happens.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘You heard the man. If I give them this then you’ll all be protected. In the end this is what I’ve been fighting for. Matrix cannot be responsible for the death of everything I love. It’s in their interest to ensure that you’re all forgotten as thoroughly as Matrix.’

  ‘And when you have been forgotten, surely they can release you then?’

  I reached out and touched his cheek. It was wet with tears. ‘He said as long as was necessary,’ I said.

  ‘But ...’

  ‘The day the world forgets Matrix is the day he dies.’

  Chapter 108

  Tomorrow the trial of Matrix, the Dream Catcher begins. I am to be put on trial for soliciting, selling drugs and armed robbery. Sammy is convinced that the first two will almost certainly be dismissed; that only really leaves the robbery. It’s going to be quite a grand occasion considering the nature of the crimes.

  I’ve been told by Sammy that the judge will be sympathetic towards me. Sammy has gone to a great deal of trouble to secure someone who will give me a fair hearing. Apparently it’s a Scottish judge, which means he will need some basic guidance in English law. Sammy is not too concerned about that; the benefits, he feels, far outweigh these disadvantages.

  I have pleaded guilty to armed robbery and, with my two previous convictions, the three strike rule will apply, namely a custodial sentence. That’s why the sympathetic judge is so important. He will have no choice but to send me to prison; his only discretion will be for how long. A compassionate judge could give me a sentence closer to the minimum six months than the maximum two years and a really lenient judge could recommend clemency and bring it down to three months. That’s what Sammy is staking his career on: three months.

  In the end, none of this is important. Of course Sammy is not aware of this, neither is the judge.

  So I sit here in my small cell. It is my last night. Tomorrow I will be moved closer to the court for the duration of the trail. I don’t expect it to take too long. After that I will be taken to my new prison. One way or another, I have been in prison since the day my father died, nearly five years ago: a lifetime. I am twenty-seven years old but my life is over. They will take me to Finley House – standard procedure for terrorists. But I hope I have ensured my stay there will be as short as I can make it. These are the last of my notes. I will send them via Sammy to a man who will publish them. I have decided to call them The Matrix Solution. I hope they will be read enough to ensure I am moved out of Finley House fairly swiftly and away from the gentle care of the man in white.