The Stuff of Nightmares Page 10

  I grabbed the woman’s legs and pulled. She kicked me in the face, splitting my lip and knocking me backwards. I could taste blood in my mouth. The grating noise was getting worse. The woman was more than halfway out of the window. I leaped forward again and seized her legs, determined not to let go this time. I pulled two, then three times, before she let go and we collapsed onto the ground, both panting for breath.

  ‘I’ve got to get out of here,’ the woman gasped. Already she was on her feet. I jumped up. She started to clamber up the seats again, her gaze never leaving the promise of the broken window above. The rain had diminished to mere drizzle now, but even the downpour we had before wouldn’t have stopped this woman.

  ‘You can’t,’ I insisted, pulling her back. ‘You’ll have the whole train over if you do that again.’

  The woman turned suddenly, lashing out with her fists. ‘Let me go. Julian and Judith need me. My grandchildren need me.’

  ‘Then stay here until we’re rescued!’ I shouted at her, losing it. ‘Listen to me! If you try to climb out, they’ll be scooping all of us off the pavement with teaspoons.’

  The woman’s hands fell to her side.

  ‘D’you understand?’ I was so close to angry tears, I wanted to shake her because she was only doing what I’d wanted to do earlier, what I still wanted to do. I could feel her desperation as if it were my own. The wild look in the her eyes slowly faded.

  ‘D’you understand?’ I repeated, struggling to say it more calmly this time.

  She nodded. ‘I … I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said, gulping down the lump of fear lodged somewhere in my throat. ‘It’s OK. But you mustn’t try that again.’

  The woman nodded. I wasn’t sure if she was even listening; she just kept nodding her head.

  ‘I’m Kyle,’ I told her. ‘What’s your name?’

  She carried on nodding. I moved to look her straight in the eye and repeated what I’d just said.

  ‘Lily. My name is Lily.’ And as she spoke, the light of reason returned to her eyes. Her voice, her whole demeanour was calmer – thank goodness.

  ‘Right then, Lily. Come and sit with us. We’ll wait together for help to come.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘I’ll stay here.’

  ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘It’s all right, I’ll stay here. I need to phone my grandchildren. I want them to know that I’m OK. I won’t try to … leave again. I promise.’

  I looked into Lily’s eyes, unsure of what I should do next. I really didn’t want to leave her alone.

  ‘And in case you make it and I don’t, my name is Lily Channing,’ the woman told me.

  I nodded but was reluctant to tell her my surname. Strangely enough – especially after my thoughts over the last couple of weeks – I didn’t want to think about the possibility that she might need to give my name because I was no longer around to do it for myself.

  Lily took out her mobile and started pressing buttons. Was that really the best use of her time? I decided to leave her alone. After all, where was the harm in her phoning her family? I thought about the mobile phone in my trouser pocket. There should still be enough charge on it to make at least one phone call, but who would I call? Most of my friends were on the train with me. I could phone the emergency services, to find out just what was going on and why they were taking so long to rescue us. Or there was always my mum …

  Lily started cursing at the lack of a signal. I turned and left her to it, still wavering between who I should call. Rachel hadn’t moved from her original spot. She stood, her arms folded, looking distinctly unimpressed. She reminded me of all the bizarre things I’d seen since the train crashed. How had she known about the dreams I’d experienced? And how was she able to share them with me? And why was I able to experience them in the first place? I still didn’t know the answer to that one. I couldn’t forget the rain in Roberta’s dream, how destructive it was. It brought to mind another day when the rain fell with a vengeance. My last birthday, spent with my dad.

  One sombre month drifted into another and still no word from Mum. On my birthday I opened my eyes to the sight of the rain lashing at my window. It was falling so hard I couldn’t see past it. It hung like a heavy curtain of grey on the wrong side of the windowpanes. After a quick shower I got dressed and went down to the kitchen for breakfast. Dad was already there, the obligatory cup of coffee in his hand.

  ‘Morning,’ he said without looking at me.

  ‘Morning,’ I returned.

  I made myself a cup of coffee too. It was all I could be bothered to make. I clinked cups and banged the cutlery drawer and poured in the lukewarm water from the kettle, and all without another word from Dad. Not even a ‘Happy birthday, son’. I guess he must’ve forgotten. We left the house together, forking at the gate, with Dad heading for work and me for school. I turned after a few steps to watch Dad walk away from me without a backward glance. I thought about calling out a reminder, but the bloody-minded part of me thought belligerently that I shouldn’t have to. He was my dad, he should remember. Bastard.

  Steve wished me happy birthday and Perry threatened to give me one wedgy for every year of my life. I soon told him where he could stick that idea. I spent the entire day in a bad mood. School finished, and I didn’t head for Steve’s house the way I usually did. For once I went straight home.

  I opened the door and listened to the shroud-like silence that now permanently enveloped our house. But as I looked down, my heart hiccupped: we had post. I ducked down eagerly to check out the letters. Just bills for Dad. I checked the answering machine. Zero messages. I started up our computer and checked for emails. Nothing. Didn’t expect any. Didn’t want any either.

  When Dad came home that night, I’d cooked spaghetti bolognese with sauce out of a jar. I left Dad’s in the oven. Usually Dad called out a vague, general ‘Hi, Kyle, it’s me,’ before heading straight into the kitchen. But not today.

  ‘Kyle, could you come down here please?’

  How many guesses did I need to figure out what was going to happen next? Answer? Less than one.

  ‘Yes, Dad?’ I stopped halfway down the stairs.

  ‘Happy birthday.’

  ‘Thanks.’ So he’d finally remembered, had he?

  ‘I’ll give you some money later. You can buy your own present.’

  ‘Thanks.’ For nothing.

  Dad looked up at me, his eyes burning with the light of hope.

  ‘How’s your mother? Where is she?’

  ‘How would I know, Dad?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Let me see the card she sent you.’

  Ah! Now I knew what prompted his memory. I hadn’t been enough on my own. ‘What card?’

  Dad frowned at me. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ he said. ‘Let me see the envelope then.’

  ‘Dad, I didn’t get a card from Mum. No postcard, no envelope, not even a stamp.’ I spoke slowly and clearly.

  ‘What did she send you then?’ asked Dad.

  I shook my head as I looked at him. Dad could hear me but he obviously wasn’t listening. He strode over to the phone on the hall table. ‘Did she leave a message? How long ago did she phone?’

  ‘Bloody hell on a lollipop stick, Dad!’ I flared up. ‘No, Mum did not send me a letter, an email or a birthday card. She did not phone. She did not send a carrier pigeon. When are you going to get it into your thick head that she’s gone for good? She’s had enough of both of us. And I can’t say I blame her. Look at you. Look at me. I’ve had a bellyful of both of us too.’

  The light in Dad’s eyes dimmed and extinguished, like a candle being slowly smothered before being snuffed out. Hope was Dad’s oxygen. But if Mum didn’t even get in touch on my birthday … He turned away from me, but not before I saw the sheen in his eyes. I turned and took the stairs two and three at a time, heading back to my bedroom. I slammed the door shut behind me just as hard as I could. Then I opened it and slammed it again. I waited to hear
Dad yell at me or order me back down the stairs.

  Silence.

  Sitting on my bed, I waited for the ball of broken glass in my throat to scrape its way down to my stomach. Which part of this was fair? My life wasn’t supposed to hurt this much. Clenching my fists, I promised myself in that moment that I wouldn’t be like Dad. I’d never be like him. I’d make it so that I didn’t need Mum – or anyone else for that matter. Needing others only brought misery. That wasn’t going to happen to me.

  Ever.

  The next day Dad came home from work at lunch time ’cause he wasn’t feeling too great.

  The following day he didn’t go in to work at all …

  Dad’s isolation was imposed upon him. Now that Mum was back in my life, I was the one imposing silence and hateful looks on her. How strange then that at this moment, more than anything, I really longed to hear her voice. Mum … I found it so hard to talk to her now. The words I wanted to say always seemed to get caught in my throat. I used to be able to talk to Mum about anything and everything. Not any more. I couldn’t get past the fact that she’d left us. She wasn’t there to watch Dad fall to pieces. I was. And all because of her. How did either of us move on from that? She was back in my life but things between us weren’t back to normal. We weren’t even on the same planet as ‘back to normal’.

  But who knew when, or even if, any of us would get off this train? If something happened to me, I didn’t want my last conscious thought or feeling to be one of regret about my mum. I pulled the phone out of my pocket. Great! Just great! Bashing into things when the train was hit had done my phone no favours. The thing was dead. But someone in this carriage apart from Lily had to have a working phone. I’d just …

  ‘Kyle, stop it.’

  ‘Stop what?’ I asked.

  ‘You need to focus,’ snapped Rachel.

  I thrust my useless mobile back into my pocket before letting my hand fall to my side.

  ‘We have more important things to worry about,’ Rachel told me, almost belligerently. ‘If he catches up with us—’

  ‘Enough with the scary movie crap, OK? Who are you so afraid of? And give me a straight answer this time.’

  ‘The only one any of us should be afraid of,’ replied Rachel, looking at me unwaveringly. ‘Death …’

  Silence.

  I burst out laughing. It echoed around the quiet carriage, sounding harsh and out of place.

  ‘Death is in this carriage?’ I said, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Maybe not this carriage. Yet. But coming through this train – yes.’

  ‘Course he is!’ I humoured her.

  ‘And he’s looking for you in particular,’ Rachel continued.

  My sardonic smile held pure disbelief. I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation but I decided to play along until help arrived. Goodness only knew what a Christmas cake like Rachel would do if she thought I wasn’t taking her seriously. I asked, ‘Why would Death be coming after me in particular?’

  ‘Because your dad sent him,’ said Rachel.

  Which punched the sarky smirk right off my face.

  ‘W-what …?’

  Rachel’s lips twisted into the semblance of a smile. She had my full attention now and she knew it.

  ‘What d’you mean?’ I managed the full sentence this time.

  ‘You heard me,’ said Rachel. ‘You have to do exactly as I say, or you won’t make it off this train in one piece.’

  ‘But why would Dad send Death after me?’

  The conversation had taken a sudden ninety-degree turn. It was still the most bizarre conversation I’d ever had, but somehow it wasn’t funny any more. Not even close.

  ‘I’m right, aren’t I? Your dad is dead?’

  My mouth had stopped working. I stared at Rachel.

  ‘And he’d have a reason to hate you? What happened between you and him?’

  I shook my head, still unable to speak.

  Rachel shrugged. ‘You’re right. It is none of my beeswax.’

  Dad had sent Death after me? He really hated me that much? What was I thinking? Of course he hated me – hadn’t he already proved that with his actions?

  I shook my head again. This was too freaky. How on earth did Rachel know about Dad and me? I took a stumbling step backwards. If knowledge was power then Rachel had it all and I had none. She obviously knew a lot more than me about what was going on.

  ‘Who are you?’ I whispered.

  ‘Someone who’s here to help you – if you’ll let me.’

  ‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ I said.

  Rachel studied me before she spoke. ‘I’m here to stop your dad from succeeding. That’s the truth.’

  ‘Is that why I’m having all these nightmares?’ I asked Rachel. ‘Is Dad messing up my head by sending me those as well?’

  ’We both know the dreams you’ve experienced belong to those whose minds you invade,’ said Rachel.

  ‘But how is that even possible?’

  I just didn’t get it. And each time I disappeared inside a nightmare, it became harder to escape from it. With Steve and Miss Wells, it was as if I was watching, a spectator. Hearing what they heard, feeling as they felt but able to step back from it. But not any more. Now, inside each nightmare, it was growing harder to discern where I stopped and my friends started. And with this last one, with Roberta’s nightmare, I could still taste the fear that had erupted within me at the sight of the Marauders. I desperately wanted to know what happened next but I was afraid to find out.

  I shook my head, muttering to myself, ‘They’re just dreams. Don’t believe them, Kyle, they’re just dreams.’

  Restless, I started down the carriage towards Lily. Rachel fell into step beside me.

  ‘Isn’t that the point?’ she asked.

  Confused, I stopped and turned towards her.

  ‘On some level, don’t your dreams tell you who and what you are?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, of course not. By definition dreams aren’t even real.’

  ‘But if all the things that happen to you, all your experiences, make up the kind of person you are, then doesn’t living through a dream do the same thing?’

  ‘But they’re not real,’ I repeated.

  ‘Who says?’

  I thought about all the dreams and nightmares I’d had – and could remember – over the last year. Some were based on or inspired by actual things that had happened to me and my family. But some were as far removed from real life as I wanted to get. Though Rachel was right about one thing. I had been forced to live through my nightmares over the past year. And what had the experience done for me? Bugger all, as far as I could tell. I was no smarter, no braver, no better informed. All my nightmares did was make me even more angry at the world.

  ‘And I’ve got some advice for you,’ said Rachel softly. ‘The next time you’re in the head of one of your friends, stay put.’

  ‘So I’m supposed to gloat over Joe losing his mind or rejoice over Miss Wells’s marriage to God knows what, am I?’ I said.

  ‘You’re talking about dreams you experienced before I arrived. All I’m saying is it still has to be safer than staying out here,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Says you – if you’d only admit it to yourself. Don’t forget, you started jumping into your friends’ dreams without any help from me. You wouldn’t’ve started jumping if you hadn’t sensed that he was after you. We both know you’d rather be anywhere else but here. But you don’t have the bottle to stay put once you do it.’

  I scowled at her. ‘You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Rachel shrugged.

  ‘And if … if what you say is true,’ I began. ‘If my dad really did send Death after me, how come you know so much about it?’

  Silence.

  There! Gotcha! I knew it was all crap.

  ‘I know because I was told.’

  ‘By my dad?’

&
nbsp; ‘No. Death told me.’

  It was one of those glass-half-full/glass-half-empty situations. Half of me believed her, or wanted to believe her. But half of me didn’t believe a single word and wanted to laugh in her face. It was time to pick a side. Which side should I go with?

  ‘So you’re on speaking terms with Death, are you?’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Then why are you trying to help me?’

  ‘I have my reasons.’

  God, was she pissing me off!

  ‘Let’s just say, I don’t want your dad to succeed. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop that happening,’ she said.

  There was something about the way she said it, the total conviction and sincerity in her voice, that made me believe her. In that moment, bizarre as it may sound, I picked a side. Rachel’s side.

  ‘Thanks,’ I muttered. ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘D’you know this girl?’ Rachel asked, pointing at Elena, who lay, eyes closed, on the ground. Beads of sweat decorated her forehead and her top lip.

  ‘Yeah, that’s Elena,’ I said, squatting down beside her. Her blonde hair had fallen across her cheek. I brushed it back behind her ear.

  ‘She’ll do then.’

  ‘Oh, but—’

  ‘Come on. I can tell you like her.’ Rachel smiled. ‘Are you her boyfriend or is it this guy next to her?’

  ‘She’s Conor’s girlfriend, not mine. Elena and I are just good friends.’

  ‘But you’d like it to be more.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I replied coldly.

  ‘If you say so …’ said Rachel, that sly grin back on her face. I didn’t know which was getting on my nerves more, that smirk or her constant refrain of ‘if you say so’.

  ‘Yes, I—’ That’s as far as I got.

  The train gave a sudden lurch and I fell sideways. Putting out my hand to steady myself, I missed the side of the seat I was aiming for and ended up falling across Elena. I instantly put out my hands so that my full weight wouldn’t descend on her, but even so my chest still landed on her crooked leg. She groaned but her eyes didn’t open. I pushed myself back immediately.