by Sean Hancock
I take my backpack off and put it beside the front wheel of the bike. I walk up to Robbie. He’s got his back to me, shouting in Tammuz’s face. I tap his shoulder, and when he turns, I slam the angle of my right hand into his throat, then my left hard into his solar plexus. Finally, I kick the heel of my right boot into his left knee so he’s incapacitated, pushing him onto the tarmac now. He’s whimpering and gasping for air.
I understand Robbie’s life has been hard, and he’s just trying to survive like everyone else, but that doesn’t make it okay to bully and terrorize people he perceives as weak. He had a choice to make a moment ago, just like he did the day he decided to try and mug my friend. Both times he chose badly, and I hope this experience might help him see that.
I look at Tammuz, who’s stunned and pale, telling him to put his helmet on and hand me the keys, which he just about manages. I grab my bag and put it on his back, taking the second helmet for myself now, all the while keeping an eye on Forehead, who’s shouting into her phone, saying, “Man, dem need to get here quick.”
To me, she says, “You’re dead, you and your pussy-hole boyfriend.”
That’s when I hear something and look left as a group of teenagers fly around the corner by the far end of the garages, running toward us. I count four guys and two girls.
Helmet straps hanging loose by my cheeks, I jump on the bike and Tammuz gets behind, saying “go go go.” I pull away just in time, but two of the chasing pack are fast and won’t give up. They reach out to grab us, forcing me to swerve left and right. I struggle to pick up speed on this hill. Just when I think we’re okay and the exit is in sight, one of them manages to get ahold of Tammuz, yanking him to the ground, along with my bag.
I manage to steady the moped and pull over. I stride toward Tammuz, who’s on the ground. Someone wearing a baseball cap is holding him down and punching him.
The other runner, who’s looks Indian and has big, bulbous eyes, opens his arms wide and asks where I’m going, so I kick him hard in the chest and drive the heel of my right palm into his left temple, brushing him aside as I continue forward.
Tammuz is protecting his face, so doesn’t see me ram my foot into the top of his attacker’s skull, clearing him out of the way. As I’m helping Tammuz up, another boy appears and throws a punch. I turn my head so that he connects with the helmet I’m wearing. The guy says, “you fucking bitch” as I remove the helmet and slam it into his nose, causing blood to gush everywhere. The next person comes for me with a knife, so I break his wrist, hearing bones crunch and separate as I kick high into another person’s throat, parrying blows now as I strike out at elbows, lower spines, shins, and groins, making sure none of them get near Tammuz, utilizing the helmet as both a deadly weapon and protective armor.
Very soon, they’re backing off, assessing the damage and telling me from a distance that I’m a dead bitch. Robbie’s back on the scene in his orange jacket, saying how he and his boys are gonna run a train on me.
I say, “Good luck with that,” and then grab Tammuz’s arm and lead him toward the bike, picking his helmet up on the way, as it came loose when they pulled him to the ground. My bag is still on his back.
After starting the bike, against a background of curses and threats, I ask if he’s okay. He says, “Yeah, but I’d really like to go now.”
TEN
When we get to Tammuz’s house, I park his bike and, looking over a shoulder, say, “If you’re planning on disappearing, I’d like my bag, if that’s okay?”
I’m glancing at the sky now, clouds scudding across a three-quarter moon, starting to feel cold, the adrenaline rush from the fight fading.
“You’re all right,” he says, and when we’re standing on the pavement, I lean forward to kiss him on the cheek. The only problem is we’re both wearing open-faced helmets (which I somehow forgot), meaning I head-butt him instead.
“Sorry,” I say. “Was trying to give you a kiss.”
He smiles, but I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. “On the cheek.”
He says, “Of course.” Then, “What for?”
“As a thank you.”
He looks confused.
“For standing up for me.”
He smiles. “I didn’t do anything other than get the crap beaten out of me.”
“That’s not true. You stepped in and told that guy to leave me alone, and you stood by me, even though you didn’t want to be there.”
He shakes his head and smiles, then leans forward and nudges his helmet against mine. “That’s my thank you then,” he says.
“But you were attacked,” I reply. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Tammuz pulls his helmet off and says, “I’m not gonna lie; that’s the most scared I’ve been my whole life, but it was worth it. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
“They had no right to get in our way, and he shouldn’t have tried to mug you.”
“Who the hell are you?” he asks playfully, with a smile.
I remove my helmet and change the subject, wanting to know if he’s okay, especially after being pulled from the bike, but he assures me all is fine. He says that the bag broke his fall, and he took most of the punches on his forearms. He raises his arms as he adds, “Got my tattoos to hide the bruises.”
“That’s something,” I say, and then add, “I should go,” while reaching for my bag, which is scuffed and out of shape.
“Where you staying?” he asks, helping it onto my back.
“Hotel.”
“Which one? I’ll give you a ride.”
“Was hoping you could recommend somewhere.”
“I can,” he says. “Stay here. Hotels in London are crazy expensive, even the crappy ones. Save your money.”
I say, “That’s a kind offer, but . . .” and he interrupts, “You can have my bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
I pull a face, letting him know it’s a bad idea, and he says, “It’ll be a chance to spend some quality time with Jamie. I’ve seen the chemistry between you two; why fight it?”
I tell him he’s funny and then explain I’ve got stuff to do, but he insists. He says he’ll make a few calls. He might know somebody who can help with the Amazon medicine thing, and the only reason he didn’t mention it before is because he hasn’t spoken to the guy for a while. “He’s not the friendliest bloke you’ll ever meet but knows his stuff when it comes to substances that get you high.”
I say, “That’s amazing,” and “Yeah, I’d love to stay, but only if you call your contact tonight.” Tammuz says, “Okay, cool,” and we go inside. I can’t resist blowing the house idiot a kiss when he pops his head out of the lounge to see what’s happening.
Tammuz suggests I wait in his bedroom while he makes the call from downstairs. I can tell he’s nervous about reaching out to this person.
I sit on the bed, and five minutes later, he appears and tells me that his contact said to come round tomorrow at one. I ask where he lives, and Tammuz says Highbury, which isn’t far.
“He have ayahuasca or know where we can get it?”
“We’ll find out tomorrow. He doesn’t talk business on the phone.”
“Thank you, Tammuz,” I say, standing, giving him a hug, kissing him on the cheek properly this time, wanting to go further, to feel his lips against mine and to run my fingers through his dark, messy hair, but I hold back. It’s a bad idea and will only complicate things.
We go downstairs, and Tammuz prepares some cheese on toast in the kitchen. The sink is piled with dishes, and an ashtray overflows with cigarette and spliff butts. Tammuz points at a cleaning roster on the wall and says, “This is what happens when it’s Jamie’s turn.”
“I’m tired,” I say after eating. “No problem,” Tammuz answers, “I’ll change the sheets.” I tell him not to bother.
Alone in his bedroom, after doing some push-ups, sit-ups, and yoga poses, I take a shower and go to bed, wearing black knickers and a tight yellow T-shirt, trying to igno
re the part of me that doesn’t want to be alone, hoping that Tammuz will slip into bed while I’m sleeping, that I’ll wake and he’ll be there . . .
Go for it, Tammuz, be brave, I think, and despite the warmth between my legs demanding attention and a streetlamp seeping through the paper-thin blinds, tiredness soon takes hold and I feel myself drifting, knowing my mind will continue to work on things while Rosa’s body replenishes. I’m thinking about how I’m Ashkai’s only hope, as I leave normal consciousness and enter the world of dreams.
As if on cue, a majestic, astral jaguar emerges from the void. Ashkai’s spirit animal pads toward me, leaving paw prints of fizzing, animated light, the beast glowing with vibrancy and color, getting closer. I watch as the predator’s head morphs into the face of the Theban prince I fell in love with four thousand years ago.
This is a dream, I think. And I am in control. I relish that as I focus on the tingling wetness between my legs while visualizing the beautiful, nubile sex slave I once was, trained since childhood in the art of physical pleasure. And what a joy it was to satisfy the mighty prince Ashkai, especially as the favor was always returned.
The ethereal, ancient me, oiled and ready, reaches out to caress the half man, half beast, while Rosa licks fingertips, the same hand brushing past erect nipples on its way down, almost there, so close, when somebody lifts the duvet and climbs into bed. I feel the warmth of their breath on the back of Rosa’s neck.
Tammuz, I think, dreaming lucidly, aware of the fact I am straddling two dimensions at once. Not now!
This boy is just a silly crush, whereas Ashkai is my light, my love, my soul mate, and I am angry with Tammuz for imposing like this, especially as I will have to wake and tell him to leave, knowing the jaguar will likely be long gone by the time I fall asleep again.
I feel Tammuz’s hand slip under my T-shirt and cup a breast. I open my eyes now, turning to tell him no, but instead of seeing the kind person who covered me with a blanket on that bus, I find myself looking at the house idiot, Jamie’s smug face just inches from mine, his right cheek flat against the pillow. I am instantly furious and appalled, but when I try to push him away, I discover, to my horror, that I’m paralyzed.
I try to scream but only manage a pathetic whimper. Delighting in my predicament, Jamie laughs, revealing a mouth of rotting, black teeth. His pupils burn red, skin melting, the idiot transforming into a hideous, green witch.
The demon lunges and straddles my midriff, pinning my arms (not that I can move them). Its hideous, wart-covered face advances toward mine, cheek by cheek now, whispering something, saying she wants what I have . . .
Could I still be asleep? I think, the question garnering hope.
“Your light is special,” the wench says, sounding impressed before turning nasty again. “I must feed.” She’s shouting now. “Give me what’s mine.”
The creature, frenzied and angry, leans back to glare at me, but by now I have a pretty good idea what I’m dealing with.
“You are a succubus,” I say, regaining composure, seeing by the look in her eye that I am right. “You wasted your human lives, didn’t you? And now your light is too dim, too weak, too damaged for the demands of a physical body. But you long still for pleasures of the flesh. Which is why you prowl the dreams of others, stealing their life force, biding your time for a return to the Earth plane.”
The wench leans close and screams, “Give me your light!” but I know this entity is powerless without fear. And I am not afraid.
“Be gone,” I say, sensing my jaguar nearby, ready to pounce. But I don’t need help dealing with this scum energy.
I say, “Leave me, succubus, for I will give you no light,” but instead of disappearing, the wench starts to whimper and groan.
“I have erred,” she says, eyes changing from the color of lava to a deep, midnight blue. “Have mercy.” But this is not my work. I watch her green skin crack and splinter, each fissure releasing a shard of energized, sentient light, a voice calling to me . . .
“Samsara,” it says, as if travelling across a vast distance. “I am coming. I see you.”
By now the succubus is gone, but I am not alone, for she has been replaced by a being of immense beauty and power, one with soft, wide lips, short, dark hair, and piercing indigo eyes, an aura of the same color cocooning her naked, goddesslike form. Just like the wench, she is straddling me, but my arms are free, and I am no longer paralyzed.
How did you find me? I ask using thought-speak, and Meta says, out loud, “With love.” Her voice resonates in such a way as to make me feel better than I’ve ever felt, so safe, peaceful, and warm.
She says, “Do not fight, little one,” but I hear the jaguar snarl, and it helps bring me back. I’m calling my master’s name now, invoking the power of his spirit animal, asking for its light to merge with mine.
I become aware of a change in my physical energy, an almost painful tingling, and I look over to my right. There is a huge, dappled feline paw where my hand should be. My head is also transforming. There’s an indescribable feeling of my brain rearranging as I become part cat, part woman. I roar with a mixture of desperation and rage. Simultaneously, I unfurl my claws and swipe for Meta’s head. But in the moment before contact, everything changes—no more Meta, no more indigo light, no more jaguar—and I’m back in the land of the living, scouring the side of Tammuz’s face with my nails.
“Ahhh, fuck!” he says, recoiling. “Sam, it’s me. You were having a bad dream.”
I’m upright now, sweating and out of breath, the room ablaze with morning sunshine.
“It’s okay,” Tammuz says, holding a hand to his cheek and edging toward me. “Everything’s okay now, you’re safe.”
But I’m not. And neither is he.
ELEVEN
“I am so, so sorry, Tammuz,” I say, sitting at the kitchen table, palms cupping the mug of chamomile tea he just made. There’s a window on my right with a view of two bicycles and a neglected back garden. Even though it’s a fairly clear day, down here, in among the tightly packed houses made of dark brick, everything feels industrial and bleak. To make matters worse, I’m still badly shaken from the events of last night. I’m also dealing with a thumping headache. I have to breathe and relax if I want to avoid another seizure.
Inside, I tell myself that just because Meta found a way into my dreams, it doesn’t mean she knows where I am. I reason that if she did, I’d have been captured by now instead of sitting here drinking herbal tea.
“What the hell happened?” Tammuz asks.
My gaze is drawn to the scratches on his left cheek. After getting out of bed, I snapped a leaf from the aloe vera plant in the bathroom and used its gel to soothe his wounds. Even so, I feel guilty and low. It’s glaringly obvious I have to get out of his life before something really bad happens.
“I had a nightmare,” I reply, promising myself after today—ayahuasca or not—he’ll never see me again. I feel sad about that. I wish I wasn’t wearing his jumper that’s way too big for me, and I wonder what it is about his smell that makes me feel so safe and at home.
He says, “You sounded like a wild animal. It was nuts, howling and roaring . . . woke the whole house up. Jamie was fuming. I thought you were either having a fit or being murdered, which is why I came in.”
I point at his face. “And that’s how I thanked you.”
“Was it because of the fight last night?”
I rub my temples to ease the pain. “No . . . maybe . . . I don’t know . . .”
“Were you being tortured or something, in your dream I mean?”
“I’m not sure; it’s patchy . . .” I look away to let him know I’d rather not go into details.
He adds more sugar to his coffee. “You weren’t the only one had a weird night.”
“Nightmare?”
“Not exactly. Seriously messed-up dream, though.”
“About?”
“You,” he says, holding my gaze.
I r
aise an eyebrow.”
He says, “It was nothing kinky, don’t worry.”
“I’m not.”
Tammuz takes another gulp of coffee. “Good.” He’s trying to be cool, even though he’s blushing.
“Details, please?” I ask, happy to be changing the subject.
“Other people’s dreams are boring, aren’t they?”
“Not when they’re interesting.”
“Okay, but I want to hear yours as well, whatever you can remember. I deserve that at least, don’t I?”
“You first,” I say, rubbing my temples again, thinking I’ll just make something up when he’s done.
“Deal,” he says, and we clink mugs.
“I warn you, it’s properly out there,” he says, sitting back, running a hand through his hair. “I woke in the middle of the night, at least that’s what I thought . . . and standing at the bottom of the couch was this woman or angel or goddess or something. She was beautiful, though, really, really beautiful, and there was this light everywhere . . . and it all felt, I dunno, really . . . sort of . . . real, I guess, realer than this even, does that make sense?”
I nod, trying to hide my concern. “Yes, it does.”
He sits forward and reaches for my hand. “Everything all right? You’ve gone pale?”
“I’m fine; keep talking,” I say, pulling away, feeling a shooting pain in my left temple, hoping this story isn’t going where I think it is.
“Tell me if it gets boring.”
I force a smile.
How could Meta possibly know about Tammuz?
He says, “So the angel or goddess or whatever she was glides over, floating like a cloud, and strokes my head, and I get this amazing feeling all over, as if I’m coming up on ten pills at the same time, only better . . . really loving and peaceful, sort of healing as well, hard to explain. Next thing I know, she starts speaking to me in my head, if that makes sense, saying she needed my help.”
He pauses, and I say, “With what?” feeling like the left side of my brain is about to implode.
“Sure you’re okay?”