Visioness (27 page)

She continued to run down
the street, finding herself in a botanical park. Once in the shade of a tree,
she took a seat with her blanket and closed her eyes, hoping to find a moment
of peace and to catch her breath.

Adabelle found peace in the
shade of the park tree. It wasn’t unusual for people to enjoy their leisure
hours, whiling them away under the shadow of the wide-reaching trees, so to
find a girl napping there wouldn’t be an entirely curious sight. It wasn’t an
easy rest, by any means. It was fitful, with her taking an occasional moment to
open her eyes and scan the people walking past, but it was a welcome piece of
respite regardless.

As the afternoon wore on,
she found herself with a powerful thirst. She hadn’t drunk much at all since
the night before, and her head was beginning to pound from the time spent out
in the open. Her mouth felt full of cotton, her throat parched.

She rose up from her space
in the shade and found a fountain, in which some birds were seeking refuge from
the afternoon sun. But for the cracks, caked with green slime, the stones were
clean,. The water itself looked clean and cold and fresh, and when no one was
looking, Adabelle took the opportunity to drink from it. Handful-after-handful,
she scooped up the crystalline liquid, drawing it into her mouth gratefully. Deciding
there was no better time than the present, she also splashed the water on her
face, letting it clean away the dirt that made her sweat sticky, and the sweat
that made the heat heavy. It wasn’t entirely lady-like—then again, not much of
what she did was—but she lifted the front of her skirt to dry her face. Much of
the dirt came away on the skirt, leaving a thin, coloured streak on the fabric.

Deciding the park might not
be such a horrible place to spend the night, she found a collection of bushes under
which she could hide. She pulled her blanket around her, wrapping up like a
pupae within a cocoon. Only, she wouldn’t emerge a beautiful butterfly. She
would emerge as herself; plain and broke.

But I have my strength,
she thought.
I have my
strength and I have my hope, and that will have to do for now.

The sky darkened with
clouds, thick and heavy, warning of rain to come. Adabelle silently prayed,
while shivering, that the heavens would not open and unleash a torrent of icy
rain. Whichever god listened to the prayers of the homeless seemed to answer,
holding off the rain. The firmament growled, disappointed at not being able to
release the rain, grumbling at the girl whose prayers had been answered.
Adabelle was able to ignore most of these thunderous moans and sleep.

Unlike the night before,
Adabelle dreamed. She imagined her sister, sitting in town hall, wondering what
had become of her sister. She imagined her collecting her dinner from a queue
of people lined up to be fed, and on the same thought imagined her getting
pushed over in the bustle for food. She wouldn’t cry, though; her sister was
stronger than that. So often Adabelle forgot how old the girl was. Only four
years her junior, there ought to have not been too great a gap between both of
them, and yet that gap meant the world to her. That gap meant the difference
between who cared for whom, who accepted help, who hugged when a hug was
needed. She was the big sister, and she had promised to protect.

Yet Adabelle couldn’t help
in this dream. She could only watch as images flashed past her, merging one
into the next, carried on the mists of thought.

After that image came the
appearance of the University being rebuilt from the ashes. It had been damaged
badly in most sections, leading to demolishing and rebuilding. It wouldn’t be
as grand or as ancient-looking as it had been before, but it would be a place
to learn, a place to stay, a place to live.

But not for Charlotte.

The image of her sister,
slightly older now, appeared in the dream, standing on the sidewalk, watching
longingly as the University was built. Then an unfamiliar voice spoke.

“Come along, Charlotte, we
have to hurry!”

Charlotte looked along the
path towards a woman Adabelle didn’t recognise. She was liver-spotted, and
frightful in her complexion; old and impatient. She had a sternness and a
stiffness about her dress and her walk. She had Charlotte dressed in some
ridiculous clothes that forced her back into an uncomfortably straight line,
the skirt touching the ground, revealing only the thinnest sliver of the bottom
of her feet.

She hurried along behind the
stern-looking woman, nodding and apologising profusely.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she
whispered.

“Don’t mumble,” the woman
replied. “A lady doesn’t mumble.”

“Who is this woman to talk
to my sister like that?” Adabelle thought out loud.

The dream shifted again,
blurring, revealing Charlotte crying on her bed. How Adabelle knew it was her
bed, she did not know. This was no room Adabelle was familiar with. It was bare
and barren, like a desert with furniture.

“I hate it here,” Charlotte
sobbed.

“Charlotte!” cried a shrill
voice from downstairs.

Charlotte looked up.

“Charlotte, get down here
now!
”

Her sister appeared
terrified, as if the fear of death itself had bolted down her spine. Charlotte
attempted to hide, rolling onto the floor and under the bed. The door burst
open, and the same angry lady from before appeared, face like stone, expression
like fire.

“Don’t you dare hide from
me, girl,” she roared. A man followed in close behind her.

“Ungrateful witch!” said the
man. He was just like the woman, all jagged edges and square, furious
expressions. “We give you a house and you repay us with thievery!”

“Get out from under there!”
the woman commanded.

“I didn’t steal anything!”
Charlotte sobbed, her voice rich with fear and sadness. But in that voice there
was also honesty.

“You did, you little witch!
Get her! Beat her!” the woman demanded, turning to her husband. He dragged
Charlotte out from under the bed by the leg, the girl screaming as she was
scraped along the carpet, skin burning from the friction. From there she was
pulled to her feet and struck hard across the face with a hand like a shovel.
She fell to her bed, screaming, before that hand rose again and struck her
across the back.

“Steal again and you’ll get
worse!” he roared. Another beat, another scream, Adabelle unable to turn away
from the darkening nightmare.

The images flashed, and
Adabelle heard a voice.

She has stolen from us,
said the sharp, clipped
voice.
We want her out of our care.

Another family appeared,
this one a much younger couple. The story was much the same, though. Beating,
abuse, and emotional cruelty. From home-to-government-home Charlotte moved, a
burden of the state now that she had no money and no home. Therron was to blame,
and yet Adabelle knew she had been a part of this too.

This is what will happen if
I do nothing,
she thought.
This is what’s going to happen if Therron wins.

Down this path Charlotte
continued to descend, each step darkening. Those lies and taunts eventually
became truths, those fabrications turning to genuine accusations. She was
stealing, she had turned to drugs. An abusive husband, an unwanted child, all
because of this single event. All because Adabelle had chosen to run,
abandoning her sister.

But I haven’t abandoned her,
Adabelle thought, as if in
an attempt to justify her actions, if only to herself.
I’m protecting her.
I’m protecting both of them.

But was she? By running
away, by not facing her fear and accepting things outside of her control, was
she really protecting them. Maybe for a short while Therron will have lost his
targets—they only went to them because through them he could get to her—but in
the long-term, had she honestly saved them.

It wasn’t a premonition she
saw—Dreaming was by no means a form of soothsaying or divination—but it was a
possible outcome. A possible future if Adabelle chose not to act; if she chose
not to fight.

The Dreamer’s Lullaby
began, the choking scent of
cologne appearing. Therron was an inevitability, yet Adabelle felt within the
dream that he was here on peaceful terms. It came towards her in the form of a
gut-feeling. She just somehow knew that Therron meant no intentional harm to
her.

Therron appeared, suited and
smiling, walking into her mind with the cane for support. He looked calm, if a
little tired.

“Hello, Adabelle,” he said.

“Therron,” she replied.

He seemed troubled for a
moment that she didn’t call him father, but he made nothing of it.

“How are you, my daughter?”

He knew how to get her deep
down. “I’m fine,” she replied.

“You don’t look fine,” he
said. “You look terrible, as a matter of fact.”

She realised now that she
had retained her image from the real world in here. She wasn’t used to
concerning herself with her image; she’d never really minded. At present she
had a dirty face, her hair was ragged and her clothes were tattered. She
mustered up the strength she needed to change her image, letting her hair grow
long, her face clear up and her clothes restore themselves. Once she felt
presentable, she replied, “Is that better?”

“Much better,” Therron said.
She’d meant it to be rhetorical, and yet he still responded honestly. “No
daughter of mine should ever live in tatters.”

“And yet I do, because of
you.” She had to tell him the truth; he had to understand her pain. “You
attacked the University, you burnt down the one home I had. You killed the one
person I could count—truthfully—to be my mother, and then you claim that no
daughter of yours should live in
tatters
.” She shook her head in disgust.
“You should be ashamed, really, of what you’ve done.”

Therron shrugged. “It was
your choice to react how you did. I did not make you run, I did not force you
into homelessness. I would not, for a second, demand that of you.”

“Then why chase me?” she
retorted. “Why force me to make these kinds of decisions?”

Therron was silent, his face
remaining as smooth as stone. That calm expression did not change or shift for
even a moment.

“No reply then?” she asked,
almost arrogantly. Now was truly the time to show he did not affect her as
badly as he believed. Now was the time to show her true power. He could push
her down, throw her back, make her feel like dirt; but she could stay proud. He
needn’t know her fears for her sister now, nor the nightmares she had faced—though
a small part of her told her that he’d know some small aspect of those images.
Of Charlotte in foster care, and the cruelty of others.

“You do know there is an
easy way out of all of this?” he said. “I could make all the pain end. You know
by now that there is no money in our bank account, yes?”

“
My
bank account,”
Adabelle spat, “and yes I know.” She paused, partially curious. “How do you
think you could make this all go away.”

Therron took a step forward.
“Step forward. Reveal yourself. Go to the police, tell them you are Adabelle
Blaise and go into their custody. Easy?”

“And what will that do?”
Adabelle retorted. “I’m meant to care for Charlotte. How am I meant to do that
from a prison?”

“My agents have money,”
Therron replied, still calm despite Adabelle’s harsh tone. “My agents have
connections, far more numerous than you could comprehend. Through this web of
ties, I could insure you are not found guilty. I could protect you. And all you
have to do is step forward to the police. I am quite capable to take everything
from there.”

Just as in her dream before,
Adabelle found herself able to hear the truth. She sensed sincerity in his
words, and it confused her.

Even he isn’t that powerful,
she thought.
He couldn’t
be! You can’t lie in Dreams.

“You’re lying,” she replied,
uncertainty tinging her words.

“Call me a liar if you
wish,” he responded, turning away from her. “I know I’m being honest, and
that’s all I need to get me by. I am sure you will not go to prison; you will
be cared for well. I have my people in position when you need them. Just step
forward. Relinquish yourself to my care. I would do no harm to you, nor your
sister, when the time comes for me to care for her. You want access to the
money? This is fine! I can make that happen. Just hand yourself in.”

“You have killed hundreds of
people,” Adabelle replied. “You put Rhene in danger to save me.”

“I put Rhene in danger to
save you, yes. If I had not woken him and sent him to you, you would be dead.
I’ll pretend those harsh words are your way of saying thanks.”

“
You
sent those
flaming Nhyxes!” Adabelle replied. “
You
sent them to harm us, to scare
us. Don’t pretend you did something noble in waking Rhene up and sending him on
his way!”

“I don’t pretend it’s
noble,” Therron replied. “I know what I did was right. I have my own reasons
for my actions—mine and mine alone—and you are not in a position to question.”
The pair stood there in silence for a time, Adabelle out of breath, Therron
entirely too happy to be facing his daughter. “Now, I did not come here to
argue. I came here with an offer. It is sitting there if you wish to take it. I
have to power to hunt you down, but I may not be so obliging to reveal my
connections if you get caught in any other manner than announcing yourself. I
must go. Goodnight.”