TWENTY-THREE
What was that incredibly annoying noise?
Randall stood in the near darkness of Fraker’s and Charlie's room listening to what sounded like someone blowing bubbles into a glass of water, it took him a few moments until he finally realized it was coming from Charlie's mobile phone which was sitting on a coffee table bubbling away. Its owner was in a deep sleep on the sofa next to it. Randall would have thought the annoying ring tone would have been grating enough to prompt the dead to rise from their graves in an effort to silence the cacophony but not Charlie he barely twitched.
The collector looked at the caller ID which read: 'Bill'. Randall gave an audible sigh of relief then the phone finally fell silent. He had broken into the room the old fashioned way, with an expertly applied butter knife to the lock when Charlie had failed to answer the door which wasn't that surprising considering it was now nearly two am.
Randall watched Charlie sleeping peacefully for a moment, he knew the phone call meant Fraker was probably on his way back which meant he didn't have that much time. But why was he here? What was it about the kid that sparked his interest anyway? Was he really a potential collector? Seeing him now laid so innocently asleep the thought seemed a little ludicrous, but still there was undeniably something about Charlie that warranted this intrusion. He knelt down next to the sofa so that he could get a better look at Charlie as his brow furrowed and he let out a low moan then shifted his position awkwardly. He was dreaming.
“Charlie?” Randall said softly but he didn't wake. Somewhere during his training deep within the void before his return, Randall had learned a thing or two about dream manipulation and it had served him well other the years. But he didn't have the time for anything so complicated now so he decided just to have a peak at what was doing on inside that head of Charlie's.
Randall rubbed his hands together and felt the instant heat as the power surged through them then with practiced precision he carefully rested the palm of his left hand on the back of Charlie's head and held it there as the heat increased as the energy flowed through his hand and deep into the back of Charlie's brain deep into his subconscious dreaming mind. “Now,” Randall said softly as he closed his eyes and concentrated. “Let's see what we can see.”
“Charlie?” The voice was a whisper close to Charlie's ear. He jolted awake expecting to see the speaker right next to him.
“What? Huh?” He sat up and looked groggily around the darkened room. He was alone, no one was leaning over him whispering his name. It took him a moment to orientate himself. He was still in the hotel room and realized he must have dozed off. He swung his legs around and sat up properly. That's when he saw Randall sitting in the chair opposite him, he was masked in the half light, but definitely there. “Randall, Christ,”
“You were sleeping,” the American said.
“What? No, just resting my eyes,” he blurted out as if a teacher had caught him sleeping in class. “Bill's not here, he's erm, he's out.”
“So I see,” Randall said and leaned forward so the meagre light from outside finally hit his face.
“Don't know where he's gone I’m afriad,” Charlie lied. He ran his hands through his messy hair in a vain attempt to flatten it. He shrugged and smiled awkwardly not knowing what else to do.
“You were dreaming,” Randall said after a long pause. “While you we resting your eyes.”
“I was?” Charlie replied and felt the sudden need for light so he reached across and turned on the lamp on the table in front of him, the harsh yellow light hurt his eyes but at least he could see Randall better. An image from the dream flashed into his mind’s eye for a second then slowly faded like a flash bulb briefly illuminating the scene until it finally melted back into darkness where it belonged. Strangely vivid then gone in a heartbeat but leaving behind a lingering melancholy.
“Weird,” Charlie said. Now he could barely remember what it had been, but the feeling of loss, of sorrow remained which meant only one thing: “I was dreaming about my Dad.”
“He's sick,” Randall stated plainly.
“Hmm, yeah,” Charlie nodded. “Hey hang on, how did you know that?” He asked certain he had ever even mentioned his Father in front of Randall, let alone his condition. Why would he?
“And it's serious,” Randall said again without inflection, it was what it was, a statement of fact.
The blunt truthfulness of Randall's tone weighed heavy on Charlie and he exhaled sadly but then caught himself and delivered the Walker party line on the issue. “Yeah, but he's going to be okay.” He made the mistake of looking Randall in the eye which instantly made the words the lie Charlie knew deep down they were, but he steeled himself to carry on with it regardless. “Sure he's in hospital, just for test though, y'know? But he should be out any time now.” He could feel the American’s eyes on him, looking for any crack in the veneer, but this time Charlie made damn sure he didn't meet his gaze.
After an age, Randall said; “You know he's dying.”
Again the bluntness of his words hit Charlie hard. “What? No, no,” he protested. “You don't know him, he’s a tough old git. He'll be alright. For Christ sake, he's only sixty!”
“People die a lot younger than sixty, Charlie” Randall said. “Take my word for it.”
Truth. Hard and cold. “Yeah,” Charlie managed deflated. “I know.”
“Like your Mom.”
Charlie nodded, “Hmm,” wait a second! “Hey, how the hell did you know my Mum was dead?” Charlie asked suddenly angry, he knew for damn sure he had never mentioned that to the Yank. He moved to get up but his legs gave way and he sat back down on the sofa.
“I can smell it on you,” Randall replied.
“What?” Charlie suddenly felt faint, his head was pounding particularly at the back, he absently rubbed the back of his head and half expected to feel something clamped on there like a weight of some kind, but he realized the feeling wasn't on his head, it was inside the back of his skull almost like a stone, heated by an open fire, white hot burning a hole into his brain. Before he knew what had happened he was laid back on the sofa, and now that he was, he couldn't remember ever having actually sat up.
“Relax, Charlie,” Randall said, his voice oddly soothing. “You're still sleeping.”
Of course Charlie thought, that explains a lot, the strange feeling at the back of his mind, Randall's Clairvoyance. But wait a second, he was awake, wasn't he? His eyes were open, sure he felt weird but he was there, in the hotel room talking with the Yank, wide awake if more than a little disorientated. “Wide awake,” he said out loud as if trying to convince himself.
“Just try and relax,” Randall said his voice inside Charlie's head now, it was so soft it made his eyelids heavy if he hadn't been asleep before, he sure as shit was now. Wasn't he?
“What's happening to me?” He slurred, as the room descended into darkness. “What's....” The word drifted off into the black which was all around him now. He was sure he was dying but it felt okay, not so bad at all. “Randall?” His voice sounded a million miles away, barely recognizable as his own, so much so that he thought maybe he had just imagined he's spoken. Perhaps he had.
Charlie was lost now in total darkness, it wasn’t simply a lack of light that engulfed him it was an almost physical, oppressive tomb of black. He shouted, but the moment the sound left his lips it was swallowed up by the void he was drowning in. So much so that he began to doubt he had even made the sound in the first place it was gone so suddenly. Perhaps he had just thought about screaming in terror and not actually uttered a word.
He held his hand up to within an inch of his face but could see nothing, or at least he thought that was what he had done, but as with the phantom shout, maybe he had just imagined the action, after all he couldn't even feel his breath on his hand if it was so close. Charlie was alone in an infinite dead space, and wondered if this was what death was like.
Am I dead? He said, or dreamed he thought he'd said.
No. At last a sound, a voice but not his own. No not a sound, it was inside his head again. Wasn't it? It was familiar somehow, an American accent. Yes, the Yank, Randall's voice inside his head?
Where am I?
In a place between sleep and the waking world. The voice/thought inside his head replied cryptically.
I'm scared.
Don't be.
But I can't feel anything. Can't hear or see or feel anything... Except scared. At least that was something to grasp hold of in the void. Fear. It wasn't the most comforting of anchors but it was the only real thing he had at this point.
You can hear me, Charlie.
In a way... You sure I'm not dead?
Positive
What are we doing here? In the space between sleep and the waking world?
You were dreaming before. When I came in, you were dreaming about something, remember?
No, I can't. You sure I'm not dead?
You're still sleeping, kind of.
This place is weird. You sure I'm actually here? Shit, that's a strange thing to say, erm, think. Whatever it is I'm doing now, saying, thinking, that’s all the same here, right? Saying and thinking. What am I doing... Saying or thinking?
Right now? You're babbling.
Hmm, You know what this is like? Feels like tripping or something. Well I say feels like, I can't feel anything... Yep feels like tripping...
Tripping?
You know, LSD.
Never tried it.
I feel... Out of my body.
You are.
Can I wake up now please?
You were dreaming, before.
So you said.
I want to know what you were dreaming about.
Can't remember.
I can help you with that. That's why we're here.
In the place between sleep and the waking world.
Now you're getting it.
Did I mention I'm scared?
Even though you can't feel anything?
Okay, I think I'm scared.
I think therefore I am.
Huh?
Charlie, I need you to concentrate. I need you to remember your dream.
Why?
Because I believe that dream is a memory you can't quite reach. And it's the one that is shaping what you are, or what you could be if you let me help you unlock it. It's buried deep in your subconscious and I think it could make you a good collector.
Collector of what?
Later, I need you to remember that forgotten moment.
Why? Oh, wait, I think I asked that already. I'm I repeating myself? It's hard to remember anything out here.
I need you to remember, because I can't remember mine. That moment, that event that triggered all this... after life.
Huh?
Forget it, it's not important. Now, come on, tell be what you were dreaming about.
Can't
Why... No, hang on... That's it, I'm getting a summer’s day, Children's laughter...
How!?
Concentrate Charlie.
Randall, stop! I can't remember.
You already have, Pal... Yes that's it, I've got it now.
Discombobulated.
Huh?
That's how I feel. Or think I feel. One thing's for sure, if I could feel anything right about now, it would be a big fucking headache.
It'll be over soon. Yep, tuned in now. Say Charlie?
Yeah?
Wanna see something really cool?
Randall. To be honest, you fucking freak. I'd be glad to see any fucking thing at all right about now. Cool or otherwise!
Can't argue with that.
Oh, and Randall?
Yeah, Charlie?
Sorry about that fucking freak crack. It's just that I'm...
Discombobulated, I know.
Yeah.
Fair enough.
TWENTY-FOUR
Charlie could hear faint voices, drifting towards him from out of the darkness. Definitely voices that he was sure and no longer in his head. Voices being carried on a light breeze which he could feel caressing his face and blowing through his hair.
He could feel it.
No light as yet, just blessed sound and feeling. He raised a hand and ran it through his hair where the breeze had touched it and was grateful to feel it slipping through his fingers. The air was filled with now with the sound of children playing, still someway off in the darkness but getting louder as he listened. And he could smell the slight hint of a summers day, which grew stronger second by second, the unmistakable scent of freshly cut grass mixed with the smell of half a dozen types of flowers, none of which he could name.
The children were shouting excitedly; “Run, Run!” followed by a peel of grown up laughter. The breath caught in Charlie's throat as more shouts and laughter erupted, tears sprang instantly to his still sightless eyes. He didn't need to see the children to know who they were. This was a scene he had revisited many times before in dreams. A lost moment of happiness from years ago.
“You're out!!” A girl shouted.
“Kate...” Charlie breathed.
Then a boy protesting; “No way!” Followed by more laughter.
Twelve year old Charles Walker junior, bowled out at cricket by his younger sister.
Voices from the past, made all too real somehow.
“Oh, God,” he choked. “This can't be...”
Laughter, grownups joining in the fun. Charlie recognized his Uncle Ben's voice jokingly telling him not to worry, that he wouldn't tell anyone he'd just been bowled out by a girl. Then a ripple of applause for his sister.
“How...” Was all Charlie could say, his voice thick with emotion. Now he knew for sure he could feel again because his heart was breaking, and he could feel the tears pouring down his cheeks.
“It's all smoke and mirrors.” Randall said from close by. “Say, is that barbeque I smell?”
Charlie couldn't speak so he just nodded. A useless gesture in this endless void but he just couldn't find his voice as the memories flooded his brain threatening to over load it completely. It was so real he could almost taste the steak cooking nearby.
A pinprick of light appeared way off in the distance. Although it was the merest dot in the nothingness, the endless darkness lightened a touch and as his eyes began to adjust to this new sensation Charlie could make out vague shapes in the gloom around him. Was that the hint of a tree he could see? Shifting shadows moving back and forth, little more than smudges of grey against the black, but if he concentrated he could make out they were half formed figures, little more than outlines, the rumour of substance really but growing more substantial moment by moment.
Charlie felt something between the toes of his bare feet and looked down to see he was standing on grass, he moved his foot over the top of the blades and sure enough they tickled his sole. The sensation, coming as it did so close on the back of numbness was electrifying.
That's when the pinprick of light exploded flooding Charlie’s starved vision into over load, instantly illuminating the scene all around him in vivid detail.
He cried out and instinctively threw his arms up to protect his eyes. The sudden contrast to the darkness hit him like an almost physical assault, he reeled back a step and nearly lost his footing. “Jesus... Jesus.” But gradually as he stood there panting, his vision began to adjust so he could slowly lower his arms and gingerly open his eyes. Even before they could take it all in, Charlie Walker knew exactly where he was.
Charlie was standing in his Uncle Ben's garden on a bright summer’s day, looking across the lawn at his twelve year old self paying cricket with his sister, Kate and his Dad. Seeing his Dad in better, healthier times just compounded how ill he had looked the last time Charlie went to see him in that God awful hospital. He couldn't help but smile as his Dad bowled a tame underarm throw to his sister who was standing in front of the wicket holding the oversized bat awkwardly in both hands, she swung wildly and hit the ball, more out of luck than judgment.
“Catch it!” Young Charlie shouted from his place behind the wicket, but his Dad just dived theatrically at what should have been an easy catch and just missed as the ball bounced away and into a nearby flower bed. “Dad!?” The youngster protested as his sister squealed in delight and set off running.
“Oh, Christ,” Charlie had to look away. The whole scene was just so hyper real, a waking dream the colours of which were a little too vivid, the sound, though clear was just a frame or two out of sync, slightly bassy and laced with reverb. It was like watching a dodgy DVD knock off of a favourite movie he had seen a million times before.
The sunlight filtered through the bright green trees felt real enough and Charlie hadn't realized just how warm it was on his upturned face until he felt a coldness creep up behind him and linger just over his shoulder.
“So, this is what you dream about so often?” Randall said, his voice like everything else here just the wrong side of real. Charlie nodded once more transfixed by the game being played out in front of him. “Quite the scene of domestic bliss,” the American continued. “Only in dreams, huh?”