Someone Else's Dream (14 page)

It was the dream that worried him more than the shakes. He was chasing someone; it was a girl, and it was the author of ‘Charlotte’s Dream’. She was just in front of him, almost within grabbing distance, but it felt like they were both running on the spot and no matter how hard he tried to grab her, she was always just one grasp away.

Then his dream had changed; he was on a beach. It wasn’t an exotic beach but he could clearly remember the rocks and the beach house that stood before him. There was a six-foot high retaining wall holding the raised garden. He could see the veranda and the outside decking from where he stood and in his dream he was shaking as he stared at the beach house; his right hand slightly raised to eye level. In that hand, he held a knife. The knife wasn’t just covered in blood, the knife itself was bleeding and the blood was running down his hand soaking his shirt. He recalled seeing his own expression in his dream; the look on his face was one of satisfied horror. Scared and fearful, but knowing whatever it was he had just done, had to be done, for the sake of his own sanity.

He looked in the mirror, his face still sweating and he could still see the fear in his eyes. He remembered the last part of his dream, just before he had woken up, sweating and shaking. The knife he held was not a knife anymore, it was an umbrella. In his dream he opened the umbrella, still looking at the beach house. It wasn’t raining but still he could hear the drops splashing down onto the umbrella and the crimson liquid falling from the umbrella, reddening the sands he stood on.

He showered vigorously as if washing the blood from his body. He stood for a while looking at the water swirling down the plughole. It was pure and clear, the only blood was in his dreams, but now it was set deep in his mind, where at one time it usually resurfaced. The shower freshened him up and before drying himself down, he stood and looked at himself naked in the mirror. He was relieved to see there was no fear etched on his face, no blood on his body and he was not holding any implements of death. He admired his own nakedness for a while before dressing and making his way down the stairs to greet the new day.

He ate his cornflakes and banana, whilst loading up his laptop. Within minutes, his whole mood had changed as he found out that the author Carla Reid had accepted his friend request on Facebook and was also following him on Twitter. He looked at her pictures on Facebook. She really was beautiful.
We are so going to get on when we eventually meet,
he told himself. He had to make contact, reach out to her in some way. He guessed that, so would everybody else. Searching his pictures, he found one he felt showed him off at his best. No bare chest, just a handsome young man with his daughter. With the picture attached, he started to write a message.

Hi, I’m Matt, I just thought I would reach out, hoping we could connect, I have just written my first novel and was hoping we could share experiences. I live in Doncaster, am a widower currently looking after my five-year-old daughter, Aimee...

When he was satisfied he hit send.

That would do, for now. He just had to sit and wait for her to respond, which he was sure she would.

How could she not?
He told himself. He popped out to the Garden Centre and informed them he would be unable to work for them anymore. This was greeted with some remorse, as he had been a good worker, popular, and helpful with the customers. He was told there would always be a position there for him. This cheered him up immensely though he could never see himself returning. He didn’t need the money; his savings and disability allowance was more than enough to see him through and besides the potential earnings of himself and Carla Reid, combined, was enormous. He could see them writing a collaboration in the not too distant future.

Now, he had one more thing to do, one more thing to plan. He felt someone close to him had been having a bit of a rough time lately and maybe a break away for the weekend could be just what she needed. Okay, it wasn’t Paris; she wasn’t a Paris type of girl. The likes of Carla Reid were Paris girls. A weekend in the holiday resort of Porthcawl in South Wales would suit Marcia down to the ground. It would be right up her street.

He went back home and booted up his laptop. There were still plenty of caravans available for the weekend. He booked a six-berth, luxury caravan, overlooking the sea at Trecco Bay, within a mile of a beach house where a certain author lived. It was now four-thirty, Marcia didn’t finish until five. Iit was time for a pint and to offer the treat to the girl behind the bar.

Marcia saw him come in. She was half expecting him to come in earlier, as he always seemed to frequent the place when she was working. When she saw him, Hayleigh came to her mind, not so much that they had slept together, but the fact that she had told her about the times Matt had struck her. She didn’t want to believe it; he had been so kind to her since she had been attacked. He walked to the bar with a smile on his face. Marcia poured him a pint without the need for him to ask. He took a long sip as Marcia put the money in the till, emptying half the glass, before licking his lips and taking a much smaller sip.

“Can you get away for the weekend?” Matt asked

Marcia's face showed her surprise, but Lucinda, the landlady, heard the question, as she was behind the bar with Marcia, “Of course she can; it’s just what she needs,” Lucinda responded. She smiled at Marcia and went to serve another customer. Marcia smiled back, but she wasn’t sure whether she appreciated the comment or not. She stood there and stared at Matt, a look of confusion on her face.

“It’s only a caravan in Porthcawl Marcia. It’s a six-berth, luxury, overlooking the sea and I could do with a break. Just wondered if you fancied it; everything paid for, won’t cost you a penny,” Matt added, enthusiastically.

“That would be lovely,” she finally responded. Whilst the chance of a weekend away did appeal to her, she somehow thought she had no choice in the matter.

Matt finished his drink. “Pick you up Friday morning and don’t worry about anything. I’ll sort it all,” before heading out of the bar.

Lucinda came over, “He’s really into you isn’t he?” she said and really, that’s what was bugging Marcia. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to be into her at all.

*              *              *

Dale Simpson was sitting in the bar of the Nags Head, in Carlshon, a rather unsavoury suburb of Barnsley. It was early evening and in a way, he was glad of that. There were already a couple of dozen punters in the pub, all huddled in groups of three or more. He had previously gone to wait outside with his pint of bitter, but, the smell of cannabis was so strong he thought he was going to pass out. Now he was sitting alone, thankful of the smoking ban though he somehow thought if someone did light up then nothing would have been said.

He found himself scanning the bar looking for smokers. It wasn’t quite sawdust on the floor but as Dale looked around he could see the attraction of the place to your everyday pot-smoking, non-law-abiding, citizen. It looked just the right sort of place where you could go and get yourself a deal, or get a job done; after all, that’s why he was there. He was glad at that stage his chosen trade was to defend people and not prosecute though he was really hoping he wouldn’t bump into someone he had defended unsuccessfully.

There was a group of people setting up equipment on the stage and the room was adorned with posters advertising “Dark Sabbath”, a tribute band. He was glad he wasn’t staying for the main act.

Dressed in blue jeans and a black leather jacket, with various patches sewn into it, depicting forms of evil in one way or another, Crazy Cavan walked to the bar. Dale noticed he appeared to be known by everyone, as people acknowledged his entrance, either by waving or high-fiving. Cavan stared across at Dale but did not acknowledge him. It was the first time he actually felt safe since he’d arrived. Taking a sip of his beer, he noticed the sweat still pouring down his forehead.

Cavan got himself a beer and sat beside Dale, who nervously shuffled in his seat. It was less than a year ago that Dale had successfully gotten him acquitted on a charge of actual bodily harm. Crazy Cavan was not your clever, forward thinking, criminal; he was a guy who lived off instinct and was more likely to carry out a robbery on the spur of the moment, rather than something that was carefully planned. He liked to surround himself with people. At forty-two, most of his friends were in their twenties, trying to learn something from the master. The truth was, Cavan couldn’t master anything, other than knowing how to use his fists.

As he set his huge frame onto the stool opposite Dale, the stool’s legs seemed to buckle as they strained to take his weight. Without a word being said Dale passed him a brown envelope. Cavan took a look inside before closing it and putting it in the inside pocket of his Jacket. He took a long sip of his beer, easily finishing two-thirds of his pint.

“Half now; the rest when the job’s
done,
” Dale told him.

Cavan just nodded, drunk the rest of his beer and went to the bar to get another. Dale made a quick exit, leaving his unfinished drink on the table, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible. As he drove off he wondered how Hayleigh was going to cope, but she was just a victim of circumstances and he would make it up to her.

*              *              *

It was around 2 am when Cavan and his friend, aptly named Mallethead, pulled into Hatfield. Cavan needed a driver because he didn’t want to bring attention to himself by nicking a car. He was being paid a grand for this job; easy money he had thought, even after slipping Mallethead a couple of hundred quid, he would still be on the end of a nice little earner. They parked, some two hundred yards away from their destination, on a dark side street. Cavan picked up the small lump hammer from the well of his seat and covered it inside his leather jacket as they slowly walked.

The building they were seeking was easily recognisable by the large spire. Though it looked spooky, they were grateful that the graveyard was dark. Cavan pushed Mallethead through the gate; there was no way he was going in first. They soon found themselves surrounded by headstones.

Mallethead, a thin man in his twenties, looked around the graveyard; the night was cloudy with a hint of moisture in the air.

“It’s pitch black, I can’t see a thing, how we gonna find it?” he whispered to Cavan.

“Just look for the fucking name man!” came the swift reply.

Mallethead bent down beside a headstone and flicked his lighter on, to be able to read the name on the headstone. No sooner was the lighter ignited, than it was kicked out of his hand by Cavan.

“You stupid twat.” Mallethead rubbed his hand.

“That fucking hurt,” he said

“Just find it and let’s get the fuck out of here, this place is spooking me out.”

They searched for twenty minutes before Mallethead announced that he had found it. Cavan handed him the lump hammer.

“Just wreck and smash the fucking thing, I wanna get out of here.”

*              *              *

Dale found difficulty in sleeping that night as his wife-to be, rested beside him, gently snoring; having had no idea what her fiancé had been up to. Dale wished he had chosen some other way of getting at Matt, but the only other thing he could think of was the Lexus Matt owned. Damaging that would be just as far-reaching as desecrating the grave. He decided the car would be next on his list. Matt Conner had stepped over a line and he was so going to regret it.

Matt also had a restless sleep that night and when he did drift off that recurring dream of him chasing someone in an alley without gaining pace or moving, occurred. He twice got up for a drink of water, but he finally settled into a deep sleep where his dream became pleasant. He dreamt he was walking along a beach with Carla Reid. It had been raining; Matt was holding an umbrella over her head, her arm linked through his as he walked. They were walking away from the beach house, towards the sea.

              *              *              *

With the job accomplished the two grave wreckers were travelling back to Barnsley. Crazy Cavan was thinking it was the easiest money he had ever earned. He knew the solicitor would pay the other half, as he would be way too scared not to.

Back in the graveyard, it was still dark and eerie with a hint of moisture in the air. The grave of Amy Shaw, who died in 2005, aged forty-seven, lay desecrated.

*              *              *

Elated was the word Carla used when describing the sales of ‘Charlotte Fights Back’. In addition, ‘Charlotte The Dream’, had started climbing the download charts once more. The royalties were pouring in every hour and Facebook, Twitter and Google followers were adding Carla by the minute. It did overwhelm her a bit, giving her a feeling of losing her privacy. ‘That’s the price of fame’, Donna had told her. Carla wasn’t interested in the fame, she just wanted to write books and make enough to live on.

In a strange way, the success of her books had made her lonely world seem even lonelier. Darren was gone and she found it strange she was actually missing him. His boyish humour and charm had really grown on her and she wondered if perhaps she should just settle for that. He would never cheat on her, he would never hurt her and he would always be there for her. Really, that was all she wanted. Ever since she was fourteen, she had wanted a man that would love her and make tender love to her; to help her forget and bury the past. It was at fourteen she had almost lost her virginity, when a boy, not much older than her, forced himself upon her. Even now, when she felt that her life was no longer private, she had never forgotten that day.

*              *              *

The pretty fourteen-year-old schoolgirl took the same walk home every day. Carla lived in Hampton Court, a private Close of just eight newly-built homes. The school she attended was on the nearby Council Estate ‘Moorlands’, just outside the city of Swansea. The school was a quarter of a mile from her home. Although her father would drop her off at school in the mornings, she would regularly walk home alone; being the only teenager in the eight-house Close in her school year.

The bulk of the other residents had bought their houses as a retirement home, with it being less than two miles from the sea, but not as high a value as similar houses in the area; the price being driven down by the proximity of the Council Estate. The land was sold off cheaply and the houses built in no time. There were plans to build further houses in the space between where Carla lived and the Council Estate.

The only other teenager in the Close was a new tenant who had been there less than a month; that was where sixteen-year-old Donna Morgan lived. Donna was confident, sexy and full of life, but a bit annoyed she had to spend her last year at school at a new venue. She would never have denied the parents the chance of buying their dream home, though, so she acquiesced to the move. Donna and Carla had cast glances at each other a couple of times but never spoken. Carla was a little shy and Donna wasn’t really bothered about making friends; she didn’t plan to hang around for much longer after she had finished her schooling; so they had never really met or spoken. Not until that day.

Carla had made that walk hundreds of times, every time had been on her own. At first, she didn’t like the walk home, even though it wasn’t very long, but now she had gotten used to it. The first part of the journey was a small piece of barren land which no one really seemed to claim ownership of. That bit of land was still in dispute as to who actually owned it, with developers waiting to pounce and build. It was popular, in the evenings, with the children from the estate, who would light their fires, drink, and smoke, without their parent’s knowledge. Following that piece of land was a small wooded area, often used for fly-tipping and constantly strewn with rubbish. The Council would eventually take it all away, but it was an on-going job and would soon be full of rubbish once more.

Carla Reid was a bright, well-spoken, student who always dressed immaculately, but was totally unaware how desirable she looked, even at the tender age of fourteen. Boys lusted after her whilst some girls were jealous of her; jealous of her beauty and jealous of the large house she lived in. She was posh, way too posh for this area, some people thought. Carla never really noticed that some students made fun of her and looked down on her. She always had her head in a book and kept herself to herself. Most students were courteous and helpful when she first moved to the area, helping her to settle into the school, but Carla never made any real friends. Carla Reid just had good manners and a good heart and although most people accepted that for what it was, some just took it as being stuck-up.

It was her usual walk home and after a good day at school, she was feeling quite buoyant. She had started mixing a bit more recently and was really beginning to think she was starting to make new friends. She had really enjoyed the Drama class that day and the English teacher had complimented her on her short story. Wednesdays were her favourite days; Drama and English all in one afternoon; what more could she ask for?

School had only been back for a week after the school holidays and although she lived in quite a posh house, really that’s where it all ended. Carla Reid’s family was not rich by any stretch of the imagination. They may have been property rich but being cash rich was a long way off, as all their money was tied up in the house. She had spent the summer holidays at Porthcawl with her parents; in a caravan that to be honest, had seen better days. This was some time before the site had been refurbished and updated with electric caravans. Carla had loved every minute of her holiday with her parents; these were the memories she was always going to cherish. Those holidays with her parents had always made her want to live by the sea. At fourteen that was her dream, September 23
rd
was also a date that she would never forget.

She approached the wooded area after walking across the field, and she could see some kids, around her age, hanging about. She wondered how they got there so quickly after school, but what she didn’t know was these kids were playing truant that day. When they saw Carla they seemed to take a few steps back into the woods. Carla didn’t think much of it at the time, it was only a small wood and a short distance to walk. She was half way through the small wooded area when she was grabbed around the neck by a girl she would later recognise as being Wendy Scott from her school. She would also recognise the other girl and two boys who were with her, but Wendy Scott was the ringleader; a plump, freckled-faced girl, with the word ‘bully’ written all over it.

Carla was forcibly dragged into the woods, off the pathway and thrown onto a filthy damp mattress that had previously been dumped there. It wasn’t a vast wood, the trees were sparse and they could easily be seen by anyone approaching the area. The springs of the mattress dug into her back and caused her to cry in pain. What took place next, was all over in a minute or two, but the memories would last forever.

She was pinned down on the mattress. She tried to fight them off, but her efforts were feeble and her screams soon muffled. She remembered hearing one boy shouting;

“Ooh! She got yellow knickers.”

Carla remembers the laughter until this day. She realised during the struggle her skirt must have risen showing off her panties. There was nothing she could do to stop it.

“Take them off her,” ringleader Wendy shouted. Carla tried to kick as hard as she could to prevent them. She was lying there now, her skirt above her waist, with no panties on. She just cried and thought of her parents and how could they ever forgive her.

Wendy Scott and the other girl held an umbrella each that they had picked up from the rubbish dumped in the woods and started poking Carla, with it, on her thighs and around the groin area. The boys were goading them on but amid the shouts and laughter, she heard Wendy ask her.

“Have you ever been fucked by an umbrella,” as she poked and prodded her, in and around her vaginal area, each jab registering a jolt of pain to her brain. She was sure she was going to die a slow agonising death. Thankfully, although of no great relief, the jabs moved from her groin to her ribs and her chest. These were somewhat cushioned by the clothes she wore, but the pain in her groin remained.

Then she felt something completely different; she felt a body on top of her. At that point, she really started kicking out and fighting back, but it was no good, she knew what was about to happen. She knew at some point she would lose her virginity, but she always thought it would be with a man she loved; not out here in the woods, being raped on a damp mattress. Then something happened that she would be thankful for, all of her life.

Donna Morgan was also walking home from school, the same route Carla had taken. She had seen Carla walk into the woods and Donna decided it was about time they got better acquainted since they were neighbours and all. Donna ran, so as to catch up with her and introduce herself. Donna was sixteen and was as fit and athletic, as she was beautiful.

It was the scream she’d heard first and then she saw it. A girl being held down on a mattress and a boy clumsily lying on top of her, trying to undo his trousers at the same time; the others goaded him on. She noticed a girl holding an umbrella and as Donna ran towards them she snatched the umbrella from her hand and whacked the boy lying on top of Carla over the head with such a force he fell to the side and screamed. Donna didn’t stop there, she started hitting Wendy Scott with the umbrella. Within moments they had fled, leaving Donna looking at Carla who had now sat up, her legs drawn up to her chest and was sobbing uncontrollably. She immediately knelt to comfort her.

“Are you okay?” Donna asked as she stroked Carla’s head.

Still shivering Carla replied, “yes, I think so though my legs hurt.”

“Let me see!” Donna demanded. Carla reluctantly let her.
The bastards!
Donna thought,
I’m so gonna get them for this
. She could clearly see the marks around Carla’s groin and thighs.

“Did they hurt you inside?” she asked, Carla knew exactly what she meant

“No, I’m okay.”

“Did the boy…”

Carla interrupted her, she didn’t want to hear the words. “No, he didn’t, I guess that was thanks to you!”

Donna grabbed her arm and helped her up, “come on let’s take you home and call the police.”

“No, please. I can’t go home and no police, my parents will go mad.” Carla really didn’t want to burden this on her parents.

“My folks are out, come to mine, we’ll clean you up, but if you’re really hurt, I’m taking you to the doctors.”

Carla put her arm around Donna’s shoulder, for support and they made it the short distant to Donna’s house. She let Donna check her over as she undressed her and helped her into the bath. Donna couldn’t help but notice the beauty of the naked girl that was before her, it gave her feelings she didn’t think she would ever experience with another girl, which was a turning point in Donna’s life. She soon chided herself, Carla’s body was beautifully formed and mature, but how could she have those sort of feelings, especially with someone so young? She was going to be very badly bruised and sore, but with no permanent damage, physical at least. Carla Reid had never let anyone see her naked body, after that event, even now that she was in her thirties.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Carla pleaded, as both girls sat on Donna’s bed.

“Of course not,” said Donna “I will never tell a soul, but someone’s got to pay!”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.” Carla answered sadly.

“You leave that up to me.”

Every day after that, they went to school together and walked home together, becoming the close friends that they are now. Carla never again wore a skirt to school again, always choosing the black slacks that would become a big part of her life. Within a month Donna had sought revenge; resulting in a few missing teeth and some badly bruised testicles. Wendy Scott’s smile would never be the same again.

For almost twenty years they have stayed close and the secret never shared. They moved at the same time to Porthcawl. Donna had always felt some sort of responsibility for Carla from that very first day they first met. She had also never forgotten the feeling that the naked teenager had given her. Donna thought she owed Carla, she had allowed her to explore herself and the bodies of both sexes. She didn’t think she would have ever realised she was attracted to both woman and men if it wasn’t for the beautiful Carla.

*              *              *

“Come on Darren, it’s Friday night, get a bloody move on,” Smithy complained, trying to urge Darren to hurry himself up.

Smithy was already on his third can of beer and if Darren took much longer he would be drunk before they even got out. It was the weekend and this was the first time Darren had been out since he and Carla had their difference. Smithy wanted to take him out and get him laid, to take his mind off Carla. He didn’t believe for one minute they were just taking a break for Carla to write her book. Darren was covering his hurt and Smithy needed to show him there was plenty of fish elsewhere. Finally, Darren walked into the kitchen.