Authors: Ray Kingfisher
Patrick’s jaw shook a little. ‘Jesus, that’s terrible.’
‘Terrible, yes. But only a terrible dream, that’s all. We tried a few basic cognitive techniques to make her understand that this didn’t really happen, but she didn’t respond.’
‘She said it wasn’t a dream?’
‘Yes—well, no. She said it was “more than a dream”.’
‘What could that mean?’
‘In your wife’s case, Doctor Leary, sadly it means she’s unable to distinguish between reality and imagination – leading to our preliminary diagnosis of some form of psychosis.’
‘No, no.’ Patrick held both hands to his head. ‘But she’s always been so… so well-balanced.’
Doctor Bailey lowered her voice. ‘We’re talking about a psychotic disorder here – although it’s just possible it could be no more than a one-off incident. It does happen. That’s why we want to keep her in for observation.’
‘Yes, yes. I’m sorry. Do whatever you think’s best for her.’
‘Doctor Leary, we always do what we think is best for our patients.’
‘Of course.’
That evening, after telling the children their mom wasn’t well enough to come home, and making them all say a prayer for her, Patrick crept into his cold bed. The pillow on the other side of the bed still smelled of Rozita, so he pulled it close, turned it lengthways, and slept with his body against it, a protective arm over it.
*
23
When Patrick woke up again he was back in his own apartment in Chicago.
And the very second his eyes opened – almost before his first waking breath – he grabbed a notebook and then spent twenty minutes transcribing every detail of Rozita’s dream he could remember.
The information was completed by online searching for the Red Barrow Parade and schools and rivers and ice-houses. By the time he picked up the phone to ring Beth, he had two sheets of dense scribble laid out in front of him.
But Beth wasn’t answering. He swore at her before the tone, and left a message after it. He was going to all this effort, risking his… his sanity – yes, that wasn’t too dramatic a word for it – he was going to the trouble of transcribing his dreams yet she couldn’t be bothered to even pick up the damn phone.
He groaned and thought for a moment. It was Saturday morning – perhaps she was stuck in some busy, noisy store. Then again, she
had
left her address and told him to go over to see her.
A short cab ride brought Patrick to the apartment block in question, and he stood outside for a few seconds, looking up, impressed at what sort of a place a high-flying career could buy. The property was select by Chicago standards, a block of twenty spacious apartments, four on each floor, held within immaculately kept communal gardens. It was no mansion, but pretty impressive for anyone under thirty.
Patrick buzzed the intercom and heard a ‘come up’ in the tone of
yeah, yeah, I’ve been expecting you
.
There was a little surprise in the back of his mind at the lack of security, but that wasn’t important right now.
Three flights of stairs later he knocked on her door, and started explaining as soon as she opened it:
‘I’ve got it. It’s a killing at a school. I’ve done some research too—’
‘Hey, won’t you just shut up for a moment and come in?’
‘Sorry.’
Beth led him into the breakfast kitchen. He took a moment to glance through the floor to ceiling windows and down to the river meandering below.
‘I got a fresh coffee here,’ Beth said.
Patrick nodded and they sat down.
‘So shoot,’ Beth said.
‘Okay. Success. I got back to the same dream last night. Rozita had a nightmare. I’ve written down all of the details and added some notes from internet research.’
‘No, no, Patrick. Start with her dream, just what her dream was.’
‘Okay. She used a boat to travel to this school, where there was a Red Barrow Parade due the next day. She spent the night hidden in the ice-house—’
‘The what?’
‘I didn’t know either. That’s the research bit. I found it, Beth, I found the school. It used to be a mansion house in the nineteenth century. They used to gather the ice in winter, store it in the ice-house, and use it as a kind of natural deep freeze to store meat and stuff.’
‘Hold on, Patrick. How did you find the school?’
‘Will you let me finish?’
Beth frowned, then drew her head back and nodded.
‘Rozita said she spent the night in the ice-house, then in the morning she broke into the school storeroom. She hid there until the children came into the hall. Then she ran out and shot thirteen of them dead.’
Beth sat impassively.
‘Well?’ Patrick said. ‘It’s a prediction, or a premonition, whatever you want to call it.’
‘Is that it?’
‘What does that mean?’
‘You could have looked all those details up on the net.’
‘No, not really. Look.’ Patrick grabbed two sheets of paper from his pocket and unfolded them on the table in front of them. ‘This first one is exactly what was in my dream – or rather Rozita’s – no internet research of anything, just what I wrote down as soon as I woke up, before I even switched my laptop on. See, I’ve written the time next to it. This second one is all the stuff I found out from the internet search.’
Beth grabbed the second sheet and started reading. She nodded agreeably as she read, but halfway through she let out a gasp and placed her coffee on the table, splashing a little. ‘This school is in Wichita?’
‘Well, I did a search on Red Barrow; it’s a summer custom in Kansas. Quite a few schools around there have a parade for it, but there’s only one that borders a river, and only one that’s got an ice-house on the premises. And it’s the same one: Buckthorn High School, Wichita.’
Beth struggled for words.
‘You’ve noticed the date, yeah?’ Patrick said.
‘What date?’
‘The date of the Red Barrow Parade. It’s tomorrow.’
‘It’s not that.’
‘Well… what, then?’ Patrick said. ‘What is it?’
‘My sister lives in Wichita. I’ve got a niece and nephew there.’
‘You know what school they go to?’
Beth shrugged. ‘No.’
Patrick leaned across to her. ‘Look. I guess all this could sound a bit sick from your point of view, but believe me, compared to my other dreams it’s pretty tame. But really, I had no idea about your sister. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry; you haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘But can you find out if they go to this school?’
Beth flicked the back of her fingers against the sheet of scribbled notes. ‘Your research is pretty thorough; I’m surprised you didn’t find that out for yourself.’
There was a silence for a few seconds. Patrick finished his coffee in two large gulps.
Well, that was it. He’d told Beth the dream; soon he’d have a second (and very logical) opinion on whether he was going insane. But what was his next step – to go home and wait or to stay with Beth? Judging by the expression on her face he didn’t much fancy the latter. Perhaps she thought he was playing with her mind, trying to stress her out as part of some power game. He wanted to tell her that was the last thing he wanted, that he had enough problems. He was just phrasing the words in his mind when she spoke first.
‘Patrick, listen to me carefully.’
He nodded.
‘Have you ever been to Wichita?’
‘No.’
‘Kansas?’
He gave his head a slow, unequivocal shake.
‘And you’re not shitting me about this. This isn’t some big—’
‘Some big wind-up?’ Patrick’s lower lip trembled, his voice betrayed fear. ‘Christ, Beth, I’m losing my fucking mind here, I know you can’t actually help me, but a little moral support would be nice.’
‘Hey, I’m sorry.’
It was no peevish, heartfelt sorry, but a semi-sarcastic,
fuck you
sort of sorry.
Patrick stood up from the table and his chair flew away and toppled onto its back. ‘Don’t. Just fucking
don’t
, Beth. You realize if this turns out to be nonsense – if the Red Barrow shit doesn’t happen – it means I’ve got some sort of psychiatric disorder. You can see that, can’t you?’
Beth stayed still, but there was a hint of human frailty in her slumped shoulders. ‘And if you’re right?’
‘If I’m right… Well, I don’t know what I’m going to do.’
‘No,’ Beth said. ‘If you’re right then thirteen innocent children are going to die.’
Patrick heaved a few sighs, calming himself. He picked up the chair.
They stared at each other. After Beth’s brief dalliance with vulnerability there was steel in her eyes once again.
‘I know what we’re going to do,’ Beth said.
‘What?’
‘We have to go there,’ she said, blurting out the words.
‘Go where?’ Patrick said. ‘Wichita?’
‘You have to go to this Buckthorn High School. You have to see if Rozita’s there.’
‘Hold on,’ Patrick said. ‘I thought you were my voice of reason here?’
‘I am.’ The steely eyes were now matched by the voice. ‘You need to find this out for your own sanity. That’s the reason for going.’
‘So you still don’t believe me?’
Beth gave an upside down smile. ‘I’d plead the fifth on that.’
‘Fair enough. I don’t think I’d believe me.’ Patrick spent a few seconds giving his fingernail a thoughtful chew. ‘I didn’t even know where Wichita was until I looked it up online an hour ago. It’s a long way. Could I get a flight there?’
Beth thought for a moment. ‘You can get a flight anywhere – but it’s late notice.’
‘Oh.’
‘If it turns out there aren’t any flights you won’t get there in time.’
Patrick gave his stubble a rub. ‘What’s the alternative?’
‘You heard of Route-66?’
‘I don’t have a car.’
Beth made a cradle of her hands and rested her chin on it. ‘But I do,’ she said.
‘You’d lend me your car?’
Beth let out a gasp. ‘Now you’re definitely shitting me.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh. Exactly. I’ll drive you there. I want to see this for myself. I reckon it’s a ten hour drive; if we leave now we’ll get there before midnight. We can catch a few hours’ sleep in a motel, then get to the school in the morning.’
‘How do we get into the school? Don’t they have security?’
‘We can sort that out when we get there. Are you good to go?’
‘Now?’
‘We can stop off at your place on the way.’
Thirty minutes later Patrick signed out of security at his apartment block, and hopped into the passenger seat of Beth’s Ford Taurus.
They’d got to the edge of town before either of them spoke.
‘Nervous?’ Beth said.
‘Sort of.’
‘What about? Spending the next two days with me?’
‘Why would I be nervous about that?’
Beth glanced to her side and spluttered a laugh. ‘I was being sarcastic. And don’t say you don’t understand; I know for a fact you Brits do sarcasm pretty well, in fact—’
‘How can you joke about this, Beth?’
She shrugged as she pulled out onto the freeway. ‘How about, because I’m nervous if you’re not and it’s my way of coping?’
‘You’re just the driver; what have you got to be nervous about?’
‘Oh, nothing. I’m just driving halfway across the country and spending the night with a man who thinks his dreams are telling him the future, that’s all.’
Patrick breathed out a laugh.
Beth looked over and smiled. ‘You know, that’s the first time you’ve done that since I’ve known you.’
‘Is that surprising? You’re not the only person in this car who’s nervous. It’s not like we’ve thought this whole thing through. We’re going on a wing and a prayer.’
‘It’s pretty straightforward,’ Beth said. ‘We go to the school, we find out if your Rozita really is there – which I’m sure she isn’t.’
‘But if she is?’
‘Then I guess it’s a big, big story for someone.’
‘Yes, but if she’s there and she’s planning to… to go through with this thing, then do we just watch her do it? And if not, then… what do we do?’
‘You mean, what do
you
do. I’m just the driver, remember?’
‘Okay,’ Patrick said. ‘What do
I
do?’
They stopped at a set of traffic lights and Beth turned that steely glare to Patrick again. ‘It’s simple,’ she said. ‘You kill her.’
24
Back in the Lake’s End coffee shop, Maggie Dolan finished her coffee and slid her cup to one side.
‘You know, something in your story just doesn’t add up to me,’ she said.
The man gave a short laugh. ‘Of course it doesn’t.’
Maggie shook her head. ‘I don’t mean the dreams, I mean about Beth.’
‘What about her?’
‘Why would she be doing all of this? Why show so much concern for one employee?’
‘You’re suspicious of her actions?’
Maggie nodded. ‘Especially driving all that way. Why would she do that?’
The man leaned forward and whispered, ‘You’ll have to wait to find out.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Maggie said.
‘What?’ The man’s face dropped a little. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What I mean is,
Why wasn’t Patrick suspicious?
’
‘Oh,’ the man said.
‘You see, if someone did all of that for me, came to my apartment to check on me, took me on a long drive in their own car – I mean, I’d be flattered by the concern, but I’d look for some other motive.’
The man’s weary eyes held onto her for a few seconds, then he looked down into his coffee cup and took it up to his mouth to drain the last few drops.
‘Then again,’ he said, ‘you’re not Patrick, are you?’
‘But from what you say he’s a clever guy,’ Maggie said. ‘It doesn’t ring true that he just goes along with Beth.’
‘Well, perhaps there’s something about him you don’t understand.’
Maggie shrugged. ‘Like what?’
‘You have to remember that his parents died when he was young. You don’t know how that feels, do you?’
Maggie thought for a moment. ‘Well, no I don’t. But how would you know that about me?’
‘Never mind,’ the man said with a sneer. ‘The point is, Patrick was brought up in care. He didn’t have some of the life skills most people take for granted. He didn’t have the security of a loving mother and father.’
‘But… surely he must have had some idea?’
‘Well, yes. Let’s just say the thoughts were starting to crystallize in his mind.’
‘Good,’ Maggie said. ‘And this Rozita, she sounds so perfect to me.’
The man tilted his head to one side and gazed into the beyond. ‘Oh, she was,’ he said. ‘Then again, what would you expect of a dream lover?’
There was a long pause. Maggie turned to watch the commuters walking along the street outside. Now none of them looked likely to try the door.
‘So how about you carry on?’ she said. ‘Tell me whether he went and found this Rozita woman.’
‘Okay, I will.’
The man drew breath again.