I think I passed out.
I stand up on shaky legs and make it to the bathroom. I splash my face with cold water and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look like a mad woman. There are red marks all over my neck and raised welts where my fingernails dug into my flesh. That attack was the worst yet.
I stumble downstairs and check the front door is still securely locked. I test each window three times. Only when I’m fully satisfied do I flick on the kettle to make a mug of hot, sweet tea. My hand lingers over the sugar cubes and for a moment I’m distressed by the thought of Pegasus tied up and bleeding. I don’t even know that it was Pegasus who was captured but it doesn’t make any difference. I squeeze my eyes shut until the kettle boils and try to regain my equilibrium.
When the tea is finally ready I gulp it down, even though it scalds the inside of my mouth. The sugar helps. When my breathing is under control, I go to the computer.
I don’t know what to look for. I press my temples and think; somewhere there has to be answers. Finally, I click on the link I saved to the Somnolence forum. The password request blinks at me.
I think about what Dante and the Mayor called me. Dream weaver. I bite my lip and try it. Access denied. I stare at the screen. Maybe it wasn’t dream weaver, maybe it was dream weevil. It sounds ridiculous but I try it anyway, feeling foolish when I’m denied access again. No. Dante definitely said dreamweaver. I think, then I take out the space. Dreamweaver. My finger stays poised over the return bar as I consider it. Eventually I press down and, almost immediately, my screen goes black.
For a heart-stricken moment I think I’ve inadvertently downloaded a virus but a second later the screen returns to normal. Except this time, instead of the password request box, there’s a message board. So the forum is something to do with the Dreamlands after all. I start reading.
B52: AH has gone. Just today.
Robocop: OMG. Why? What does it mean?
B52: Dunno. New statue in place.
Tam: Who?
B52: You won’t believe me if I tell you.
Robocop: ...? Come on!
Tam: Tell us!
B52: Salib.
I almost forget to breathe. It’s all connected, I just don’t know how.
Tam: M must be shitting a brick.
Robocop: His days are numbered. I told you.
Tam: Does D know?
B52: Haven’t seen him.
Robocop: D? You there?
Tam: He’s never here. Forget about him.
There’s no response. I check the timestamp. Two days ago – right after the statue changed. AH has to be Albert Hall. I wonder whether M is the Mayor. Could D be Dante? I scroll further down to a different day’s posts.
Tam: New girrrrrrrl!
Bluesky: Teen?
Tam: No. Adult. Twenties, I think.
Robocop: BS.
Tam: I’m not lying.
D: True. Met her yesterday. Not outlier.
Bluesky: Twenties? No way. Is she pretty?
D: If you like that sort of thing.
I frown. D is definitely Dante. I fold my arms across my chest, telling myself I’m not hurt by his dismissive words. I continue reading message after message. Most seem to be focused on M and what can be done to oust him from power. Interestingly, Dante advocates caution and the others defer to him.
I’m about to scroll down again when the top right-hand corner of the screen blinks, alerting me to a new message. Someone is posting. Excited, I flick back to the top. I’m not sure if I’ll let them know I’m present, especially not after Dante’s accusations, but the idea that someone is typing here as I read sends a thrill down my spine.
D: Shut down. This isn’t safe.
I tense, staring at the screen. Sixty seconds later, the message board is no longer there and my virtual self is forced out. I click on the bookmark to refresh it but all I get is an error message. When I track back to the website that originally sent me, the link has vanished. This is because of me; I asked Dante about the website and he thinks I’m some sort of spy so he’s closed it. He may even have seen me watching. I’ve been an idiot. If he knows about computers, he may be able to track my IP address. Now I don’t just have to worry about the Mayor knowing who I am; Dante might be able to find me in real life.
This time I don’t panic quite so much. Maybe my previous panic attack was so severe there’s no oil left in that particular tank. Whatever the reason, I’m grateful for it.