Indigo

by Ophelia Keys

  Chapter 6. BURIED

  tuesday, january 5

  Dylan

  There's usually some sort of recourse with a crime. An action that is the accepted response. It's a custom, or the law, or maybe (worst case scenario) you've seen it on some murder mystery TV show. You have an idea what to do. When you're dealing with the supernatural that sort of stuff doesn't exist. Not in any useful way.

  Indigo said, quite simply and calmly that she was sure Lily was not a follower, but some sort of powerful ghost. She looked at me. ‘Really powerful’, she repeated, her fingertips skipping over her collarbone. That he had locked her up there under the stairs. (She didn’t say who ‘he’ was, but it could only be Indigo’s landlord – a man who’d always struck me as particularly likeable). That he had given away her baby. (Could she have had it here, in the house? Its birth as secret and hidden as her death?). And, as a ghost, she had somehow taken her child back. Her living child.

  I was trying not to think about it too much, but Indigo was relentless.

  ‘She didn’t steal him. She brought him back. She just couldn’t remember how to look after him,’ she said, staring at the floor, as if seeing it all.

  I looked at Ani, who simply nodded. We sat for a long time in silence. But it was not the strangeness that held us there. We were stuck. How do you respectfully return the remains of a child who's been killed by his dead mother? Is it even a crime? The most obvious answer was to put them a place where they were sure to be found. Fine in theory, but when it comes to actually planning, it feels terribly wrong. Bones really belong in the earth. Finding them above ground is bad enough, knowingly leaving them above ground in a public place was much harder.

  The worst thing was we had to go downstairs again, to bring them up. Because we’d all left in a rush as soon as Ani put down the little skull. We burst out into the morning air – Indigo white and pretty near expressionless. And then we’d come straight upstairs, instead of going back. I told them they didn’t have to come down again, but they wanted to. This time we had a powerful torch. Which only served to show us too much of what we didn’t really want to see – all the complicated sinews and strings of a real body – not the bleached television version. Not supernatural. Just real and too detailed. Indigo and Ani stood wordlessly behind me, arms and hands entwined, suddenly like sisters.

  Having the bones didn’t help us to think much more clearly. We sat around the kitchen table again. Only now with the box between us. We talked about it for hours, until we were going round and round in circles and it was entirely dark outside. But that doesn't really express how it was.

  I didn’t ask Indigo exactly what had happened under the stairs. It didn’t seem like the time, or maybe I didn’t want to know. She kept holding her hand to her throat and I could see scratches there, becoming raised welts and an angry redness all around her neck. There were little red marks in the whites of her eyes too, but still she didn’t say anything. She and I are the same like that. We have an instinct to cover over our injuries – go away and hide like a wounded animal until they heal over and we don’t have to answer any questions. Suffice it to say – the ghost was material now. And strong. But there was a slim chance we had freed it the moment we found the child.

  ‘I knew something good would happen today,’ Ani said.

  Indigo and I could only look at her.

  ‘So what are we going to do?’ said Indigo, at last. She’d asked many times, but we still had no answer. She put her hands flat on the table. ‘If we handed in those bones, they would think it was me. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘We could bury him in a cemetery,’ I said, for about the fourth time. ‘It’s consecrated there.’

  ‘But then his mother will never know. His living mother, I mean. She still won’t know what happened to him.’ Her hand was up at her throat again, toying with the St. Christopher. ‘It must be so horrible for her.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Indi,’ I said.

  ‘Let’s bury him,’ she said, without seeming to hear me. ‘I can write Grace a letter.’

  ‘What will you say?’ asked Ani.

  ‘That his real mother took him back, but she couldn’t look after him properly. That she’s so terribly sorry. That she buried him herself. We’ll find a beautiful, distinctive tree. So he can be found.’

  ‘You’ll have to be very careful,’ I said (feeling pretty sure neither of his mothers would give a damn what sort of tree it was). ‘They can do amazing things with forensics these days. And once they’ve found the note – they’ll start looking for Lily straight away. They might even trace her to the house and come to you that way.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Ani, instantly. ‘No one ever knew she was here. She ran away from her family to protect herself. She was already pregnant. Lily wasn’t even her real name.’

  ‘What was her real name?’ I asked, putting aside the several other questions I had in mind (for example – how long have you known all this, and why didn’t you tell us?).

  ‘Sarah. I think. But she preferred Lily.’ She smiled at me, infuriatingly. ‘Don’t be mad about it, Dylan – I’m just saying it as it comes to me.’

  ‘Okay.’

  She turned to Indigo. ‘But definitely don’t send a note. They’ll find you.’

  ‘It’s nice of you to worry about me.’ Indigo was talking kind of slowly. There was something a little creepy about it, like she was tranquilised. Her eyes were not really focused. ‘But you can’t really be sure what’s right, Ani. Maybe if they catch me, I deserve it. Maybe I should just let the world decide.’

  ‘You’re kind of shocked right now,’ said Ani, blowing serenely on her tea.

  ‘I’m not going to let you get caught,’ I added. I didn’t like Indigo’s fatalistic tone. It wasn’t like her.

  ‘No,’ said Ani. ‘There’s still too much to be done.’

  The strange outcome was the three of us walking down a near-black road, dressed in clothes we’d found downstairs, looking like some sort of feral family, carrying the remains of a little boy in a wooden box.

  I was wearing a beanie – kind of ridiculous on a summer night – and Ani and Indigo layered in hippy dresses. I suppose they were her clothes. We’d taken them from the front room. I wasn’t sure what we should do with them afterwards. Burn them maybe. Ani and Indigo had tight plaits and hats on – desperate that they wouldn't let any of their own hair fall close to the little box. Or, rather, I was desperate and they did what I suggested. Neither of them seemed very engaged with that sort of thing. Neither of them wanted to take the box. I carried it close to my chest feeling the scrape and shift of the hard, light objects inside. I wasn't horrified anymore. Just overwhelmed by the preciousness of what I was carrying. Wondering, was it possible that a woman could have such a hunger for her child that she could find a way to take shape again, just to carry him back to her? (If that was so, how had my living mother deposited me so lightly in another’s arms?).

  But there were more pressing questions that I kept asking over and over: were we covering up the murder of two people? And which is more important – that a guilty man is going free? Or that Indigo is released from the haunting and the ghost is perhaps unbound? I’ve always believed in judgment and retribution. I don’t believe in the concept of karma. But I didn’t think Indigo could be kept safe if the police traced the child to the house. If all the threads started to come together (not that all of them would be accepted, but Indigo provided the perfect link). I was not going to let her be taken, even if she didn’t seem to care anymore.

  The cemetery was a small one, twenty minutes from the city. I’d managed to resurrect my old Citroen, at least for the night and we had parked well away from the cemetery and were walking, ready at any moment to turn into a driveway at the sign of a car’s lights in the distance. I suppose we were in a lot of danger. We couldn’t really have explained ourselves if we were caught. Of course, the good thing about going to a cemetery at two a.m. on a Wedne
sday is that there's no one around to see you. The bad thing is, that if someone does see you, they're really going to take notice.

  When we got there it was inky black and we had to move by starlight. Luckily, it was so clear and sharp-aired out there – despite the smoke – it really was possible to see by the stars. We found a big grevillea. I pulled its leaves through my hands a few times, trying to know if it was the right place. I looked at Ani and Indigo, mostly just blacker shapes in the darkness. I’d forgotten how noisy it was out of the city – the chirpings of insects and sudden crashings of small animals in the undergrowth. I pushed up my sleeves. Indigo handed me the shovel. I began to dig. I’m sorry but I don’t want to talk about the rest.

  Ani

  I’m still not sure it’s that helpful for me to write everything down. I have this way of going off-topic. But if you consider that everything’s one then maybe nothing’s irrelevant? I know that Dylan and Indigo do it – keep journals. And after we buried the little one, Dylan asked me if I could too. For his history, or whatever it is. So maybe he didn’t even mean this sort of thing? Personal reflections. Maybe he meant dates and times and paranormal descriptions. Well, I’m often not even sure what day it is, let alone what time. And as for ‘paranormal’ stuff – well I’ve got more to say about the everyday things, I think, plus the line’s a bit blurry for me with what’s normal and what’s ‘para’. But everything’s connected, isn’t it? So I’ll just stop worrying about it.

  I’m going to forget everything that happened the day before – all the bugs and bones and Indigo coughing and choking under the stairs. I’m sure Indigo and Dylan have that down just fine. So here we go. The next morning we all slept in and I totally missed my shift at the café. Well, maybe I could have thrown some clothes on and got lucky with a quick tram to Brunswick Street (or just running like hell), but there’d only be twenty minutes left anyway. I knew Justin wouldn’t fire me because he was completely in love with me. He left me five messages, sure. But they were all pretty nice. I texted back – sorry sick xx. And I thought about the kisses for a moment. But I can’t always be good. And if he was dumb enough to give his staff extra leeway because he fancied them, well, he was shooting himself in the foot.

  Once we’d all crawled out of bed, Dylan took us out for lunch – at a swish place in the city – with drinks and everything. Which was really nice. Of course, I didn’t have anything because I was fasting, but I still appreciated it. Indigo had a big scarf around her neck because of the marks and there were still those dark spots in her eyes. She had a weakness in her throat which was why she was always getting attacked there. She probably got tonsillitis a lot too. So no wonder Lily chose her. Both of their throats had been hurt. I’d seen Indigo’s old scar there, pretty faint so it must have happened years ago, but I didn’t ask her whether it was a spirit or a man that had done it. I knew it wasn’t a girl, I got that much. It’s a bit confusing, trying to read people when they’re freaked out, or in love. And she was freaked out – poor thing – not to mention that the air between her and Dylan was constantly churned up like some sort of washing machine going full tilt.

  It’s not unusual. Humans are always messy to read. Not like spirits. Spirits are pure and direct. Until they become material anyway. Things are always more complicated when you can touch them. It’s the opposite of what most people think. Dylan was just as hard to read as Indigo. But there was a kind of dark image looping in his mind – I got that. And it was getting fed from something dark in his past. I don’t like to pry. He doesn’t pry either. He didn’t make a fuss about me not eating. Which most people would if they were treating you to a meal. It was good, because if he’d asked I would have just come out and said – because I need to be pure for tonight. They already thought I was a bit nuts. I wasn’t kidding myself. That would just clinch it.

  So I went downstairs alone that night. I wasn’t afraid, if you’re wondering. Are those guys you call up when there’s a snake in your garden afraid? Just cautious really. I went through all the rooms and cleaned them. I called on the four directions. East was a complete no-show. Which was not good. But it would have to be good enough. I spent a lot of time under the stairs. There were very bad things there. I cleared as much as I could. I wasn’t sure if Dylan would approve – I had no idea whether he was that sort of Christian. I just knew he wore a little cross hidden under his shirt sometimes, and that Indigo wore a St Christopher medal that he’d given her. Well, it wasn’t like I was calling on Hekate or anything, (because who really knows what she actually is, anyway??). It was safer to keep things vague – to call on white light and stuff. I learnt that the hard way, a long time ago.

  It took almost four hours. I’m really very careful with these things. Whenever I clear a house for anyone they always comment on how thorough I am. Didn’t usually take four hours though. And I wasn’t totally happy with the result. I reckon I would need a whole coven for that – and every member would have to be pure of heart (or as close as is humanly possible these days). It was especially hard to do it alone because I hadn’t had much sleep the last few nights.

  It wasn’t just the spiritual stuff. I was checking my email every hour. Forcing myself to actually wait an hour, partly for my mental wellbeing and partly because Indigo’s computer lived in the kitchen and Dylan gave me a look every time he noticed me at it. Just to let me know he realised that something was up. It was none of his business, the fact that she was slowly grinding my heart under her boot. Just by doing absolutely nothing. I already knew she wasn’t planning to send me an email, or text, or turn up on the doorstep ever again. After about the third check that morning he said, ‘Ani?’

  So I said ‘yes’ and sent him a psychic, pre-emptive shut-the-fuck-up.

  ‘Do you think she’s really gone?’

  It took me a few seconds to work out he wasn’t talking about Penny.

  ‘Yep, I reckon.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘The follower thing? Oh yes, that’s still around. You won’t clear that in a hurry.’

  He wasn’t at all surprised. ‘What should we do?’

  ‘We can’t do a thing. Just leave it to Indigo. Why can’t you stop thinking about it for five seconds? Take a break.’

  It seemed he couldn’t figure out if I was joking or not. He gave me a really long look, like he could see right into my brain if he only looked hard enough. He had very grey eyes.

  I have this system I call the 1-2-3 system. It might sound dumb at first, but it works. Something you say is 1. The person hearing it and what it makes them think is 2. And 3 is what happens as a consequence of all that. It might sound dumb, but let me tell you, before the 1-2-3 system I was always causing crazy things to happen. Like I probably would have said straight out to Dylan – Look, if Indigo just isn’t that into you (and let’s face it, it doesn’t look good), I‘d be really happy to sleep with you at least a couple of times – no strings at all. Let’s start right now. Let’s just enjoy being alive for twenty minutes or so. That’s an example of number 1 in the system. And it would seem pretty okay, because he was miserable about Indigo and I was dumped. And he was deserving something nice in his life and so was I. And I just plain liked the look of him. Plus he had this kind of thousand-yard-stare thing going now and again, which made me feel like he was looking right through me and into the heart of something super important – like disconnected from the real world but seeing something serious in the even realer world – which is just how I feel a lot of the time. And it gives me a little frisson every time he does it (which is French for shiver, by the way). But then, just as I’m about to open my mouth and cheer him up (with me as consolation prize – which has never failed to cheer anyone up in the past, let me tell you), in comes the 2-3 part. Well, being so unhappy, he might say yes straight away (that’s the 2). And I just couldn’t let that opportunity pass (who would?). Which leads to 3. He grabs me right that instant and we have possibly the best sex of all time right there in the
kitchen. Sounds promising, right? But two problems. It might turn out Indigo actually does like him and is just too freaked out to do much about it at the current moment. In which case I’ve just been like the one that turns something beautiful into messy ickiness. The karma is terrible. And the other problem – he’s so hung up on Indigo, he couldn’t forget it, even for an instant. And every time you sleep with someone you like, who’s pining for someone else, it takes a little part of your spirit away. Literally. So before you know it, you can find quite a big chunk missing. And that stuff’s gonna take years of spiritual rebuilding, let me tell you. Anyway, that’s my system, and it’s why I don’t talk half so much as I used to.

  It took me only a moment to 1-2-3 that scenario and work out a lecture would be a safer bet for the time being.

  ‘You can’t spend your whole life worrying about her,’ I told him. ‘She’s getting exactly what she asked for, you know.’

  ‘Well, you’re right. I guess girls like getting followed by strange men.’

  It didn’t take a genius to work out he was being sarcastic, even though he used a thoughtful kind of voice – like I’d given him some kind of gem of an insight. It amazed me he could spend so much time researching this stuff and still not have the absolute basics. Kind of like an aeronautical engineer who can’t fix a fridge. I just decided to come right out and explain it.

  ‘You know, you can definitely be the victim of another person – not your fault at all – but you can’t be the victim of a spirit. They only come in when you let them. So if they come in, you’ve only got yourself to blame. And only you can get rid of them. It’s your responsibility in the long run. That’s my philosophy anyway.’

  ‘It’s a fairly austere one.’

  ‘If you mean it’s harsh, then I don’t think so. It’s just true. So give yourself a break and get some air.’ I snapped shut the lap-top, thinking maybe I should take my own advice. Because the more he glared at me, the more I wondered how quickly step 1 and 2 might improve his outlook and the more I had to focus on step 3 in order to get myself to just shut up and toe the line. But then he pretty much took care of everything with his attitude.

  ‘Who’s not emailing you?’ he asked, and not in a very nice way.

  Well, I don’t have to take that. I just got up and left. I wasn’t really that angry with him. People get grumpy in these kinds of situations. But I really hope he didn’t think I was being mean about Indigo. Cause I knew what it was like to just let stuff in. Sometimes it happens when you think you’ve done something hugely wrong and don’t deserve to say ‘no’ to any punishment that might ever come your way. And other times it happens cause you feel like you’ve done something just a tiny bit wrong every single day of your life. For example, when your parents think that the one thing you’re good at is something so bad it shouldn’t even exist, let alone be mentioned. That’s what happened to me, by the way. Because my mum had an old lady standing behind her shoulder since I could remember and sometimes I forgot to pretend I couldn’t see her.

  Anyway, I was on Indigo’s side because I’d had a lot of problems protecting myself from all sorts of things, but particularly guys, and spirits from the lower levels. You know, from the other plane, in the places where all the dark ones hang out. In my dreams it kind of looked like an underground, concrete bunker. I call them dreams, but they were visions rather than dreams. I wasn’t always asleep when I had them. Down there it was pretty dim and damp with long corridors and bad flickering lights. Even my guardian spirit didn’t like it when I went down there – and he was a little on the dark side himself. Another example of me letting the wrong thing into my life. (I hadn’t realized that just because some jerk’s fond of you, you don’t have to hang out with him. Hence my early problems in the dating world, which I won’t even mention here.) It’s okay though, because I learnt to surround myself with mosquito netting and they can’t get through that easily. It’s a visualisation, of course. I’m not crazy. And after that my first ‘guardian’ seemed to lose interest and my new guardian turned up in the shape of a border. She was always showing up in the middle of nightmares and doing useful things like squishing spiders with her sweet, long nose, and asking to play ball in the middle of really bad vibe dreams – so I would end up just about laughing and forgetting to be scared at all. I called her Gyp. Because it was a good dog name. And I didn’t think she’d be offended, since she chose a dog shape in the first place.

  This all seems off-topic but it’s absolutely not. Because Indigo urgently needed to work on her visualisations. And maybe get a Gyp of her own. Just for starters. It wouldn’t get rid of her follower, but it could give her some breathing space. And she would probably go a bit loopy if she didn’t get some breathing space soon. For all I knew, she already had – she kept her door shut most of the time. I didn’t know how to tell her that. About the ways to protect herself. We weren’t close. And if I explained about the mosquito net she’d probably stop talking to me forever. People have to work out this stuff for themselves. She’d listen to Dylan if he told her. But the chances of convincing him were even lower. I would have to think of exactly the right thing to say and he would have to be in a very open minded place. I wasn’t sure he even had an open minded place. To be fair, I didn’t know much about him. He and Indigo were both really hard to get to know. Like they were in some cool club, full of doomph-doomph music, and forgot to put my name on the door. Which didn’t bother me. Because there were plenty of clubs I could sail right into. Still, it’s nicer to be liked.

  I’m not being a big, sniffly girl, Dylan. If you’re reading this (and I bet you are). It’s just a plain fact. It would be easier if we were all good friends and could talk freely about everything. And though I might 1-2-3 everything in the moment – when I finally give this to you (when it’s all over) I don’t think any of it should need the 1-2-3 treatment by then. It will all be in the past, right? And you’ll either have found a way to be with Indigo or you’ll be consoling yourself with me. So why spare you stuff that might turn out to be totally relevant? A journal’s a journal. Plus spirits and things usually show themselves in our feelings. So our emotions are totally valid bits of evidence. And I suspect even you’re recording your feelings too, because you know that it’s at the heart of it all. Not science. Not in the way you mean science anyway. So, there you go. If you don’t like what I’m writing (which you definitely won’t if something bad happens to Indigo) then you’re just going to have to live with it. This is my version and I’m going to tell the absolute truth.

  Anyway, once I’d walked off on Dylan I started to feel bad about saying it was all totally up to Indigo. I started to think maybe I should get off my metaphorical arse and actually try to do something. Maybe a bit of a mistake. But it’s like those snake guys. Eventually they get a bit casual about it and that’s exactly when they get bitten – snap! Right on the face. And then they get like necrosis or something and part of their face kind of drops off. Okay, that’s not what actually happens to me – my point is that really bad stuff can happen from a little error in judgment.

  So this is what I did. I went back to the kitchen to get some salt (Dylan wasn’t there anymore) and then I locked myself in my room. I opened the window because I didn’t want to feel trapped. I made a big circle of the salt and sat down in the middle.

  ‘Follower,’ I said, straight out, because there’s no point beating around the bush. ‘Follower, I’m waiting for you to come and talk to me. It’s Ani, Anna’s daughter, who’s asking. And don’t even think about making trouble because I’m surrounded by a line of white fire that you can’t possibly cross. And Gyp’s here too and she’ll bite you if you even look at me the wrong way.’ I added that last part on the spur of the moment. I didn’t really know if she was there, but I though she might at least prick up her ears when she heard her name and then maybe come running if there was trouble, just like a real dog. There was a bit of a silence after that but my hands were tingling, which was a goo
d sign.

  ‘I’m talking to the one who’s attached to Indigo. Come and make yourself appear. Answer all my questions and do everything I say. Now, now! Quickly, quickly!’

  I waited a really long time. It didn’t turn up. Technically, they don’t have to show when you call them. But they’re usually so curious they can’t help it. Not this one. I had to give up.

  So you can imagine how surprised I was when I found the little note. It was about an hour later. I’d just been kicking back on the balcony, reading a magazine, because it really was a nice, warm evening. And why waste it? So I went in to get a glass of water and just as I was leaving the kitchen I noticed something. Two tins of tomatoes were sitting on the middle of the table, which was unusual but not really scary so much. But wedged very neatly between them was a little piece of paper, folded up lots of times. I unfolded it – there was a kind of weird, messy writing on it. It was in green biro and I knew there was an old green biro in the kitchen drawer. Plus the note paper was scrap from the kitchen drawer too. Just thought that might be of scientific interest. Anyway, Dear Anianna, it started. Which I guess is close enough.

  Dear Anianna You have another Spirits name on your Body so just wait in your Turn.

  I just stood there for a pretty long time. And I’m not ashamed to say my hand was shaking a little bit. Just because I wasn’t quite expecting it. There was a signature underneath. A kind of backward squiggle. Well, that’s when I started to wonder if the follower might actually be a demon. Because demons love to sign stuff and write things out. I’ve got no idea why. Just cause they can maybe. I had a feeling it wasn’t though. Whatever it was, it had given me a bit of a scare – like a snake flicking out at my face. Actually, I was so mad I grabbed the first thing I found – an old pencil stub – and wrote underneath, in capital letters: DIDN’T ASK FOR YOUR OPINION. Childish maybe, but it just burst out of me.

  I guess I’m writing this journal to an imaginary person, someone kind of sympathetic but not personally involved, but I know it’s likely Dylan’s going to be reading it in real life. So don’t get mad I didn’t tell you about any of this, Dylan. It’s not relevant to Indigo. It’s just the follower’s way of saying – back off and don’t try to call me again. And the message? Well, spirits don’t usually make stuff up. They might twist it around and even get confused, but they don’t generally out and out lie. So there was probably some trouble on the horizon for me. Maybe twenty years away, maybe in five minutes – who knows? Spirits don’t have much of a concept of time. For all I knew it was trying to be helpful. A spirit’s idea of what’s threatening is a bit different to ours. On the other hand maybe it really meant to scare me – keep interfering and I’ll take you before your turn – sort of thing. It was hard to be sure. I didn’t try to call it again. I kept the letter though and I’m sticking it in my journal (in an envelope, so I don’t have to read it every other day). Because it’s perfect for Dylan’s history. My rambling’s might not be appreciated, but that letter’s absolute gold as far as ‘paranormal’ evidence goes. And as for the other one it threatened me with, the one with its name all over my body? Well, I don’t see anyone’s name on me. I’m not fond of getting nasty letters from the spirit world, but I do have nerves of steel. So I say bring it on, follower – or whatever you are. There are three of us here now. And we may not be the best of friends, but we’re definitely all on the same side. So it’s three against one. Oh it might not mean much to you, and I know you could take her at any moment. But I definitely like the way it sounds. Three against one.

  thursday, january 7

  Dylan

  I often woke up to see one or other of them standing in the kitchen. Ani generally in next to nothing (she apparently had no shame – which was refreshing, to say the least). She always seemed to be up at five past three in the morning. I noticed it on the microwave light. She would open the fridge, letting out a long angle of light, and go rustling around selecting things to take back to her room. At first I thought she didn’t know I was awake, but one night, without turning around, she said, a little crossly, ‘Weren’t there still some carrots left after that salad?’ Sometimes Indigo would pad in wearing a big old t-shirt, quietly getting a glass of water, assuming I was sleeping. All in all it was reasonably often I’d wake up to find someone else in the room.

  This time it was a little different because it was almost dawn but there was moonlight shining through the window and Indigo’s slip was glowing white around the edges. She had turned the tap on and it was just running and running, very bright in the moonlight. Which was strange because we had water restrictions and she was pretty fanatical about them generally. I just lay there for a while because I wasn’t quite sure if it was a dream. Slowly she turned off the tap and put down her empty glass, just staring at the wall.

  ‘Indigo,’ I said, when it had gone on for a long time.

  She jumped. ‘Oh, you’re awake,’ she whispered. I couldn’t see her face, just little wisps of light glinting from her hair.

  ‘Can’t you sleep?’ I sat up. Something was bothering me. She was facing me now, and all I could see of her dress was a film of light between her knees and thighs. It was starting to dawn on me.

  ‘Why are you wearing that?’ I asked.

  Her face was completely hidden. ‘I don’t know. It’s hot and the fabric feels cold.’

  ‘You were wearing that when I found you.’

  ‘I know.’

  She couldn’t seem to fathom what the problem was. I changed tack.

  ‘Can’t you sleep?’

  ‘Yes, but … I’m dreaming a lot.’

  ‘About what?’

  There was a tiny pause. ‘Not sure.’

  I could tell she was lying. She wasn’t even really trying that hard. She turned the water on again and filled her glass.

  ‘Indigo, if I asked you something very directly would you answer me?’

  She had become very still. ‘Of, course,’ she said, after just a few beats of silence.

  ‘What have you been dreaming exactly?’

  She seemed to stay entirely still, but there was a trembling of light around her skirt as if she were shaking just a little, all over.

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ she said.

  ‘Too late,’ I said, forcing my voice to be light.

  She paused as if searching for the right words. ‘He’s still telling me to go downstairs.’

  ‘By ‘he’ I suppose you mean ‘it’?’ I wished I could see her face in the dark. ‘Come and sit here, I can’t see you.’

  She remained separate, crossing her arms over her stomach. ‘He’s asking me a hundred questions about the little child. Over and over again – like a fever dream. ’

  ‘Perhaps it is a fever. Come here and let me see.’

  ‘No. It’s not a fever it’s him. He stands over the bed and asks and asks and as soon as I finish answering one question he’s already onto the next one. Or repeating the first.’

  ‘You think he’s really there?’ I stood up.

  ‘Really in my dream. In the last one he was sitting beside me, holding the little box.’ Her voice changed a little, became even lower and softer. ‘Indigo – why did you put it in here? Do you want to hide it? From whom? Why did you put it in a box?’

  I moved toward her, but she moved back to the same degree.

  ‘I’m sure it’s finished now. I can’t dream it all night.’

  I gave up and watched her drift toward the door. ‘Before you go, tell me again – why are you wearing that?’

  Her voice was a little sharper. ‘I told you, I don’t know.’

  As soon as she left I turned on the light and sat down with my head in my hands for a moment. I was draggingly tired, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep at all now.

  ****