I tear through my work for the day in record time. I have to force myself to slow down when I’ve finished tidying up the coding on Jerry’s website – I don’t want him to think I’m getting sloppy. Once I’m done, I don’t immediately rush into my research. I take my time making a pot of tea, brewing it for exactly four minutes. I stand at the kitchen sink and stare outside as I sip, while the Chairman rolls around in the afternoon sun. I absorb all the details of the day. There’s a blackbird perched on the fence, greedily eyeing the grass for any sign of emerging worms. He’s a regular visitor and it’s good to see him return. My eyes travel the length of the small space. The shadows are starting to lengthen; the days are getting shorter. In the corner, just visible under a bush, is a sweet wrapper. I’d go out and pick it up except – well, you know.
I rinse my cup and leave it to drain then I slowly go back to my computer. The desire to move quickly is extraordinary; I haven’t felt like this in years and it sits uncomfortably with me so I make a point of re-checking my morning’s work yet again. Only when nothing more requires my attention do I turn to Google.
I start with the Dreamlands themselves.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, I find nothing. I discover that the average person has five dreams a night, which makes me shudder. A lot of people seem to dream in black and white. The forest I keep ending up in may be covered in smothering darkness but everything else is in vivid technicolour.
My insides freeze when I read about Sudden Unexplained Nocturnal Death Syndrome. It’s not particularly common but it fits with what Dante told me happens when a Traveller, like me, is killed within a dream.
I click on one of the links at the bottom of the first article and am taken to a forum called Somnolence. There’s a picture of a plain white door and with a Post-it note with the number one scrawled on it. When I try to enter the site, however, it blocks me and asks for a password. I can’t think of any reason why a simple online forum would be so effectively shut off from the general public – unless it has something to do with the Dreamlands – so I spend several minutes trying to gain access. ‘Dreamlands’ doesn’t work; neither does ‘oneironautics’ nor ‘outlier’ nor ‘Traveller’. Nothing fits.
I tap my fingers on the edge of the keyboard. There’s no guarantee that this forum has anything to do with my experiences. It seems right though. I am bookmarking the page so I can return it to later when the phone jangles discordantly.
‘Zoe, it’s Doctor Miller here.’
The tension in my shoulders increases. I push myself away from the computer and take a deep breath. ‘Uh, hi.’
His voice is cheerful. ‘I wanted to check in with you and see how the pills were going. Any more sleepwalking?’
‘No,’ I answer. Technically, I’m not lying.
‘You did take the pills, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you have any more lucid dreams?’
The Chairman pads in, sits next to me and starts washing himself. ‘No.’ I cross my fingers like a child.
‘Good. Good. Because if they don’t work, I can always increase the dosage. It’s no trouble to get another prescription delivered to you.’
‘I’m fine. The pills are fine.’
‘Excellent. Well, do call if you need more. I can come and visit if you’d prefer.’
‘No,’ I squeak, my fingers tracing the tender bruise on my neck. ‘The pills are perfect.’ I laugh awkwardly. ‘They’re just the trick.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. I’ll touch base with you again in a week or so.’
‘I can’t wait,’ I murmur, hanging up the phone.
The Chairman pauses in mid-lick and shoots me a look. I shrug at him in exasperation. ‘What? So I lied. People lie to their doctors all the time!’
He rises to his feet and snakes round my ankles, purring. I scratch his ears. ‘You’re right,’ I sigh. ‘Lying is stupid. I don’t know why I did it.’ I receive a meow in response. ‘Come on, then. How does some tuna grab you?’
Clearly I asked the right question because he bounds towards the kitchen. I follow him in, opening a tin and scooping some into his bowl. The strong fishy smell pervades the kitchen and I wrinkle my nose. I open a drawer to search for some cling film to keep the rest of the food fresh. As I pull out the roll, I see the jar of sugar cubes neatly tucked away towards the back. I keep them for emergencies. Sugar can help when I need to calm myself down.
I grin to myself. The cubes may help me with something else.
Chapter Eight
Our desires always disappoint us; for though we meet with something that gives us satisfaction, yet it never thoroughly answers our expectation.
Elbert Hubbard
––––––––
As expected, yet again I find myself in the forest. Why I keep waking up here, if waking is the right word, when there’s a bustling town somewhere to the north, I have no idea. It suits my plans for tonight, though. I take a few moments to cast around, half praying the dark figure of Dante will appear and half praying he won’t. Naturally the sugar isn’t for him. Not that he couldn’t do with some sweetening up.