‘No nightmares?’ I persist.
‘Nightmares?’ He scratches his neck. ‘No, I never dream. Why? Do I look tired?’
I shake my head. ‘You look fine. It’s just, er, I had a bad nightmare last night. About letters.’
‘Oh, yes?’ His voice is flat. He’s completely uninterested in what I’m saying. It’s hardly surprising; hearing about people’s dreams never makes for scintillating conversation unless you’re Sigmund Freud. Or me, of course.
He passes me the letter and I spot a sudden crafty light in his eyes. ‘If you’re having bad dreams though, perhaps I can come round tonight and help you with them.’ He licks his lips, stroking his thumb slowly across his jaw.
‘No, thanks!’ I squeak, horrified, and hurriedly step back and slam the door shut.
I bolt all the locks, ignoring the sound of him chuckling to himself on the other side of the door. I don’t breathe out and relax until I hear his footsteps retreat.
I’ve been clutching the letter so tightly that it’s scrunched up. I smooth it out. It’s not the long-awaited tax letter, merely some gumpf from the local council. It doesn’t even have my name on it.
I sit on the bottom stair, staring thoughtfully at the locked door. As far as the postman is concerned, nothing strange at all happened last night. He seemed to be telling the truth when he said he never dreamt, though laboratory studies have proven that everyone dreams; it’s just that ninety-five per cent of us don’t remember them.
I touch my cheek. It’s still a bit tender so I’ve got more than mere memory to help jog my brain into action.
I think about the postman’s dream. All those letters were drowning him, attacking him. I have a theory. If it’s wrong, it proves nothing. But if it’s right... I nod my head decisively.
It doesn’t take long to get hold of Rawlins. I’d thought about contacting Hartman first but for some reason I trust her brusqueness more than his affability.
‘Have you remembered something else?’ she asks, her voice even more clipped on the phone than it is in person.
‘No.’ I pause. ‘I’m calling about another matter.’
‘Go on.’
I draw in a breath. ‘I know you think I’m nuts but I need you to hear me out.’
‘I don’t think that, Ms Lydon.’
I’m sure she does. I let it go though. ‘I think my postman is hoarding mail. Taking the letters and then not delivering them. He’s probably keeping them in his house.’
She’s silent for a moment. ‘If that’s the case,’ she finally begins, ‘you should probably contact Royal Mail.’
‘I’m not making it up. It’s a serious matter, you know. People rely on their post.’ As soon as I say the words, I wonder whether that’s true. How much has been replaced by the internet? I don’t give up, however. ‘I think you should check it out.’
‘We can’t chase up every–’
‘Please.’ I keep my voice as level and friendly as I can.
‘We’re really very busy.’
‘You don’t think that someone stealing mail is important?’
‘We’re investigating a mysterious death, Ms Lydon. Or perhaps you had forgotten that?’
‘I thought,’ I say softly, ‘that believing he died from anything other than natural causes would be a flight of fancy.’
Sergeant Rawlins sighs. ‘I’ll look into it but I can’t promise it’ll be this week.’
That’s the best I’m going to get. I withdraw while the going is still good. ‘Thank you,’ I tell her. I mean it.
Chapter Four
This whole world is wild at heart and weird on top.
David Lynch
––––––––
On Wednesday, Constable Hartman touched my arm and I dreamt of him. On Thursday, it was the postman. Today I’ve been free from all human contact and I’m expecting a normal night’s sleep. So when my ears prickle again, I feel a jolt of shock even through my unconscious state.
This time, I’m in a forest. It’s dark and spooky and, unlike the previous two hallucinations or dreams or whatever you want to call them, it’s cold: there are goose bumps on my arms. I’m wearing the same holey old T-shirt I put on to go to bed. It might reach down to my knees but it offers scant protection against the frigid air.
I wrap my arms round my body and look around my surroundings. Again, I feel ... normal. Despite my nervousness about where I am, I’m not about to pass out or hyperventilate.