Night Shade (11 page)

She pats the spot next to her and, rather awkwardly, I sit down and cross my legs. ‘It’s strange,’ she says, ‘that you apparate in the woods. Almost everyone else ends up in the town.’

I file away the term ‘apparate’. ‘Almost everyone?’

Ashley shrugs. ‘The only other person I’ve heard of who does that is Dante.’

I stiffen at the mention of his name. ‘Oh?’ I ask, sounding overly casual even to my own ears.

She sends me a knowing smirk. ‘Rather yummy, isn’t he? He’s a law unto himself though. He’s been like that since he left the Department. Never lets anyone get near him.’

I remember his lips, hot against my skin. My hand drifts towards the love bite before I realise what I’m doing and I quickly drop it. I clear my throat. ‘He used to work for the Department?’

Ashley nods. ‘He was the Mayor’s right-hand man. Then they had a huge fight. He’s stuck mainly to the forest ever since. He shows up in town sometimes but he doesn’t like to get involved.’

I shouldn’t be surprised that he worked for the Mayor; he has that kind of dangerous edge. I sniff. ‘He’s not what interests me,’ I declare loudly. ‘I want to know more about this.’

Ashley flicks back her hair. ‘This?’

‘This place. The Dreamlands. I keep ending up here but I don’t understand what “here” actually is.’

She sighs. ‘For all that Bron makes a show of welcoming newcomers, he doesn’t do a very good job of it. Not that he’s ever had a real newcomer to bring in. You’re very old to be coming here for the first time. Most newbies are children.’

I decide not to reveal that I may have been here before, years ago. Ashley gazes over the water and kicks her feet. I watch the ripples spread out until they reach the strange beast in the centre of the river whose large liquid eyes remain fixed on some point in the distance.

‘The Dreamlands, as far as I know, have always been here,’ she says finally. ‘They’re the constant. Whether they’re fuelled by the unconscious minds of billions of people or they just happen to be here as some kind of parallel world, nobody really knows. Sometimes you can apparate and there will be subtle differences but, once those differences appear, they’re usually here to stay.’ A ghost of a smile flickers across her lips. 

‘But why?’

‘Why is anything anywhere?’

I rub my forehead. ‘So people who come here are often Travellers? And people who wander in by accident are outliers?’

She nods. ‘I’ve been apparating here for as long as I can remember.’

‘And if a Traveller dies here...’

‘...they die in real life. Yes. You have to be careful in the forest, you know. There are things there.’

‘The mares,’ I guess.

Ashley starts. ‘You’ve seen one?’

‘Just briefly,’ I mutter, fumbling the answer.

She shivers. ‘They’re nasty things.’

‘The one I saw didn’t seem so bad.’

‘Stay away from them, Zoe. You don’t want to wake up dead.’ She realises what she’s said and laughs.

I smile and we lapse into silence. Then I take a deep breath and ask the question that’s been burning inside me since all this began. ‘I’ve heard that there’s something called the Department. What’s that?’

Her eyes dart from side to side as if she’s nervous she’ll be overheard. ‘They’re in charge. The majority of us stay away from them.’

‘In charge of what?’

‘Everything,’ she says ominously. ‘They have our best interests at heart but sometimes their methods are, well, heavy handed.’

It’s interesting that no one I’ve met has had anything good to say about the mysterious Department. I’m desperate to ask more but I sense that Ashley wants to change the subject. I don’t want to ruffle her feathers so I oblige. ‘You mentioned that the Dreamlands are the constant.’

‘Yeah. The forest, the town, the Badlands.’

I decide I don’t like the sound of the Badlands at all. ‘What isn’t constant?’

She says thoughtfully, ‘It’s easier to show you.’ She clambers to her feet. ‘We can probably sneak in.’

I stand up and stretch. My feet tingle with pins and needles so I stamp several times. The huge animal in the river shakes its tail. I suddenly realise what it is and laugh.

‘What?’ Ashley asks.

‘That’s an ox, isn’t it?’

She grins. ‘Yes. This part of the river is what was known as the oxbow lake. Apparently it’s been here for over thirty years fuelled, no doubt, by the disturbed dreams of spotty geography students. Come on. Let me show you the Bubble.’

I give the bow-tied beast one last look then follow her down the street.

***

A
shley leads me round the edge of the town, pointing out various buildings as we go. She waves cheerily to a lot of people. Every one of them waves back; she seems popular. I sense that a lot of the Travellers want to stop and chat to her but they’re too wary of me. Ashley ignores their sidelong glances, but she’s not oblivious to them.

‘People aren’t used to newcomers as old as you,’ she says in an undertone. ‘They just need to get used to you, that’s all.’

Her optimism is heart-warming, even if I don’t entirely believe her words. I force a smile back and she continues to burble on. She knows an extraordinary amount about both the town and its people.

It’s not until we near a door at the far north-western edge of the town that she falls silent. A door in itself isn’t particularly strange but this one isn’t attached to anything. There are no walls.  There’s no building. It’s simply a door. There is, however, a uniformed man standing in front of it.

Ashley pulls back her shoulders and strides up to him. Somewhat less confidently, I follow.

‘Hi Kev,’ she calls out in a voice that is higher and more girlish than I’ve heard her use before.

Despite his sombre expression, the man flushes. ‘Ashley.’

‘Can we go in?’

He looks unhappy. ‘You know it’s not allowed.’

‘Come on,’ she scoffs. ‘We’ll only be five minutes. Zoe here is new. I want to show it to her.’

He barely looks at me. ‘I’ve heard about her.’

I stiffen. From whom? Dante? Or Bron?

‘She’s not an outlier, you know,’ Ashley continues. ‘She’s a Traveller. Like us.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he sniffs. ‘The Department won’t like it.’

She places a hand on his arm. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’

His mouth turns down further. ‘I can’t.’

‘Yes, you can. You can even come with us, if you like. We won’t go through any doors. We’ll just ... take a quick peek.’

‘Ashley...’

She bats her eyelashes, actually bats them. I stare at her. This is quite a performance.

‘Go on then,’ he groans, his eyes flicking around nervously. ‘But only five minutes.’

Ashley beams. ‘You’re amazing.’ She reaches up and gives him a peck on the cheek, the top of her head brushing against his cap and knocking it slightly askew. She throws me a triumphant look over her shoulder. ‘Come on.’

Hastily, before the flustered Kevin changes his mind, I follow. She twists the doorknob and opens the door. Wide-eyed, I traipse after her.

We’re definitely no longer in the town. The door behind us slams shut and I jump. It’s not the sound that freaks me out, though. The Bubble, whatever it is, is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The door at my back is just the beginning. Yawning out in front of us, for as far as I can see, are thousands more doors. Every single one is plain varnished white. My jaw drops as I take it all in.

‘What is this?’ I breathe.

‘What it’s really all about,’ Ashley tells me. ‘The dreams and visions of the entire world.’

‘You mean...’

She nods. ‘Each door represents someone’s subconscious mind. Go through any one and you’ll see what they are dreaming at that moment.’

The vastness overwhelms me. I was wrong: there aren’t thousands of doors, there are millions. ‘This is absolutely nuts.’

‘You bet it is,’ Ashley agrees. ‘The Department doesn’t usually let normal people inside because they say it’s too dangerous, both for us and the people whose minds are locked away here.’ She shrugs. ‘I think they just don’t like to share.’

‘Have you ever been inside? One of the doors, I mean?’

‘Sure. We used to sneak in here all the time when we were teenagers. Bron, Kevin, me, a few others.’ A shadow crosses her face. ‘That was a long time ago now though.’

The immensity of it all terrifies me. My stomach tightens; my breathing is becoming shallow. I start pinching my fingers, one after the other after the other. Ashley frowns at me, confused.

‘We should go,’ I whisper, aware that my heart rate is increasing at an alarming speed.

‘Yeah. It’s probably better not to get on the Department’s bad side.’ Recognising my fear, she takes my arm and gently pulls me round. I realise that the door we came through is black, rather than white. At least it means anyone venturing in here knows how to get out.

Just as my vision begins to swim and blur with distressing familiarity, Ashley wrenches the door open and we’re out, back in the brilliant sunshine and relative safety of the town. Oddly, Kevin seems to have disappeared.

‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’ she says. ‘When you realise how many people there actually are out there.’

I swallow down the painful lump in my throat and try to recalibrate. ‘Yes,’ I croak. Not to mention the fact that each door looks identical to the one I came across at the gateway to the Somnolence forum. My gut reaction about the website was right. Rather than ask Ashley about it, however, I err on the side of caution and focus on what’s really bugging me. ‘How do you do it in the real world?’

‘What do you mean?’ she asks, noticing Kevin’s absence and turning around to look for him.

‘I mean, it’s easy for me. I don’t go out. I don’t touch many people. But for someone normal, it must be terrible. You could touch hundreds of people in a day. End up in hundreds of dreams.’ The thought terrifies me. Ripping through three nightmares was bad enough; to deal with dozens on a daily basis would be impossible. I look at Ashley and realise she’s stopped searching for her would-be beau and is staring at me instead.

‘Eh?’ she says finally, frowning.

‘You know. When you touch someone and then you...’ My voice trails away. It’s obvious from her expression that she has no idea what I’m talking about. My stomach knots even more. ‘Forget it,’ I mutter.

‘Zoe, what are you talking about?’

‘Nothing! Ignore me. I’m just finding it hard to get to grips with all of this.’ I wave a vague arm in front of me. Her eyes are still narrowed in suspicion.

There’s a sudden clip of heels to my right and two men appear, both wearing similar uniforms to Kevin’s. I’m relieved by their interruption until I realise they’re both glaring at me with cold, hard stares.

‘Shit,’ Ashley mutters.

‘Stop there!’

‘Oh come on,’ she protests. ‘We were only inside for a couple of minutes.’

‘Step away from the woman.’

I tense. Why do they want me to move away from Ashley? From his tone of voice, the first man seems to think she’s dangerous. He pulls out a gleaming set of handcuffs. When he steps towards me, however, I realise that it’s not Ashley who they think is the dangerous one: it’s me.

‘You’re coming with us,’ he grunts, grabbing my wrists and snapping on the cuffs.

I’m so taken aback that it takes me a few seconds to react. ‘What? Why? I’ve not done anything!’

‘Leave her alone, you pricks!’ Ashley yells.

I try to pull away. ‘Who the hell are you? You can’t just imprison me like a criminal!’ My voice wavers slightly.

The man stares at me. ‘Yes, we can.’ Then he raises up a baton and brings it down towards my head and everything goes black.

Then they came for me.

Pastor Niemoller

––––––––

W
hen I come round, not only am I still not back in my own bed, but I also feel nauseous and dizzy. Whoever that bastard was, he clumped me hard enough on the head to cause mild concussion. The thought panics me. I can’t go to a hospital when I wake up, I simply can’t. I remind myself that this is only happening in a dream. It’s my subconscious; it’s not physically real. I know enough by now, however, that the thought is no comfort.

I’m in a small room. It’s not a prison cell exactly; there are no barred windows and no steel-fronted door. Neither is there a bed or a bucket serving as a toilet. Other than two chairs, the room is empty – but it still feels like I’m in jail. I can’t work out why. If it’s because I ventured inside the Bubble then they’d have arrested Ashley too. If arrested is the right word for what has happened.

I stand up and pace around, counting in my head less to measure the room I’m in and more to calm myself down. I’m on my seventeenth circuit when there’s a thump and the door opens. I tell myself not to cower in the corner. Funnily enough, it works; I feel more secure in small spaces. I draw myself up, ready to eyeball whoever appears and demand to be set free.

The man who strolls in looks rather benign, twinkly even. He has a white beard and moustache framed by a ruddy complexion and smiling blue eyes. He reminds me of someone, but it’s not until he beams at me that I realise it’s Santa Claus. Perhaps that should make me feel relaxed but it doesn’t. What’s more creepy to an agoraphobic who’s terrified of a home invasion than a man who can stealthily enter your house while you’re fast asleep? I’d feel more comfortable standing in the middle of Piccadilly Circus than enjoying a visit from Saint Nick.

‘Zoe,’ he says warmly, ‘it’s so good to meet you.’

I growl. Rather than being taken aback, his expression exudes worry. ‘I apologise for your ill-treatment, it shouldn’t have happened.’ He tuts. ‘My deputies are overly enthusiastic sometimes. I simply wanted to meet you and they translated that as something entirely different.’ He gestures at the open door. ‘You are free to leave at any point. I just want to have a chat with you first and welcome you properly to the Dreamlands.’

If I were anyone else, I might be tempted to take him at his word. Whoever this guy is, he’s doing a bang-up job of appearing friendly and non-threatening. But he doesn’t know me; I’ve spent years perfecting the art of paying attention to small details. I notice things that other people wouldn’t, such as the slight bulge in his pocket that suggests he’s carrying a weapon, and the flickering shadow in the corridor that tells me we’re not alone. What really slams the nail in his coffin of fake affability is the faint flaring of his nostrils and the tension in his neck. This man is snarling with rage; he just does a better job of hiding it than other people.