The wind had dropped away completely by this time, without my even noticing. And, in one of those vagaries that the English climate is prone to, gaps had appeared in the thick sheeting of cloud above the rooftops, condensed shafts of golden sunlight filtering down through them.
One of them struck my window. And, reflecting through it, caught the overly-large amber eyes of the little wooden man on my bureau.
For the briefest moment, the thing seemed to move. Not raise its head, nor shift a limb. Not anything like that.
But it seemed to ... take a breath. As though it were alive.
I looked directly at it.
Reconfirmed that it was nothing but an inanimate object. Wood, feathers, and dried-up resin -- that was all.
Those eyes, though. Those bulbous eyes.
They seemed to radiate the sunlight that they caught far more intensely than they ought to. Draw it deep inside, then re-emit it shaded deeper than it previously had been, lending a faint ochre tint to the entire room.
It made me feel drowsy, though I wasn’t sure quite why.
I went through into the kitchen, made some more coffee to combat that. When I came back, though ...
When I sat down in my chair ...
The ochre light emitted by the carving seemed to work its way behind my eyeballs, and I let my head tip back. I didn’t want to fall asleep now. Was afraid what might happen this time. But then my body slackened, and my eyes closed fully.
When I managed to re-open them, Terri was standing there.
*
“I didn’t whistle,” I said to her, peering at her blankly.
“That was just at the beginning, Stevie. We’re now far enough along that it’s no longer necessary."
Far enough along with what? I wondered.
All the caked blood was gone from her face this time, and the dent in her temple had grown much smaller. I had no idea that ghosts healed so quickly.
“What on earth is going on here, Terri? These are not just dreams, now are they?”
“But I already explained all that. Or tried to, at least.”
“How about the carving?”
She grinned broadly. “You finally got it?”
“What were you doing, getting into voodoo?”
“You know me. I’ll try anything once.”
“What’re you really up to, Terri? Are you still my friend?”
“Of course. Why?”
“This is starting to scare me, that’s why.”
She took a step closer.
“Steve, you have to understand this fully. I am not creating anything, not making up a single thing. What you’ve been experiencing is my life, just exactly as I’ve lived it. To the moment. To the detail. The only difference is that you now play a part. Isn’t that worth being scared a little?”
I couldn’t think of any way to answer that, and so I bowed my head, almost in shame.
Those postcards that I’d received down the years, that had meant so much to me. They were nothing much, really. Simply the tip of the iceberg of Terri Campion's reality. And for the last couple of days, I had actually been living that intense reality to its fullest. Every odour, every sight and sound and taste.
And ... what the hell had I been doing for the last twelve years? What memories did I have?
I had practically forgotten she could seem to hear my thoughts.
“I agree with you, Steve,” she told me. “What else do you have? A wife? A family? A career you enjoy? Some bold future? I can understand why you’d shy back ... but this is the best opportunity of your entire life. You can go anywhere. You can do anything. With me right by your side. You keep on trying to call this a dream -- but isn’t this what you’ve always dreamed of?”
My eyelids squeezed together so hard that it almost hurt. Oh for heaven’s sake. The most embarrassing thing of all was ... she was absolutely right.
Her touch moved along my shoulder, and I did not so much as flinch.
“Come on now,” she continued. “I can open up the whole world for you. All you have to do is stand up, and take one step forwards.”
Which I did.
*
We travelled and travelled all afternoon, till I lost track of time.
We were ... in a rattling old Land Rover, bouncing across the Serengeti. Herds of wildebeest and zebra moved out of our way, and we could see giraffes and rhino in the distance. We stopped to watch elephants and lions, not getting too close. A pack of hyenas stalked around us, but they kept their distance.
Night fell very quickly, as it does in Africa. The noise of crickets was so loud it was almost mechanical. I had never seen the sky so clear, the stars so very close.
We were ... in the Shinjuku district of Tokyo, on a summer’s Saturday night. Neon exploded around us. Giant television screens high up on the tall buildings threw adverts down at us, like in Blade Runner. The sidewalks were thronged to bursting. Every restaurant and bar was packed. Terri and I somehow remained hand-in-hand despite the constant jostling, heading across Yasukuni Avenue and then uphill towards the love-hotels.
We were wandering through the passageways of the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, the smells of copper, rugs, and tea surrounding us. Every shop window was an Aladdin’s cave.
We were in Switzerland, on the slopes above Interlaken. The Eiger loomed before us, its peak wreathed in cloud.
We were in Nicaragua, on horseback, riding along a dirt track through the high forests near the Honduran border. A small, brown township came in view. As we neared it, children started crowding round, amazed to see us there.
We were in Sidi-bou-Said, Tunisia, the white-and-blue town perched on startling clifftops. We were sat on rush mats on the verandah of a cafe, sipping mint tea and gazing at the blue ocean below.
We were in Budapest, in a restaurant up high on the Fishermen’s Bastion, overlooking the Danube. It was night.
We were on a ferry boat upon the wide Ottawa River, the spires of the Parliament District fading in the distance, the broad, wooded sweep of the Canadian countryside beginning to surround us.
Then we were in Barcelona. Night. Saturday night again. But like Saturday night nowhere else in the entire world. We were on the Ramblas, along with half the population of the city. Music boomed from every doorway. There were buskers, jugglers, people singing opera or playing classic violin. An electric band were performing from a temporary stage.
We crossed the Placa Portal de la Pau under the gaze of the Columbus statue, then went out across the footbridge that took us to Maremagnum, an entire small island given over to night-life. Bar after club after disco after bar again, all packed side by side, the beat of music so fierce that the pavement vibrated under our feet. We chose a club we liked the look of, danced and drank. Met some Spaniards, bellowed to them for a while, then drank and danced some more.
And everywhere we visited, it always ended up the same. In the back of the Land Rover, on the river bank, on a bed of pine needles or in the cramped cubicle of a room in Tokyo, we would make love.
Yet ... I just couldn't seem to reach the end of the act.
Long before I climaxed, there would be that cold flash in my body. And the dream would cease -- a new one would begin.
Except that it seemed to take a little longer, every single time.
Until finally, in the open air, on a fire escape at the back of that loud club at Maremagnum ... finally it happened. I reached my climax.
And the coldest flash of all of them ran through my body.
And ... my soul?
It didn’t fade away, this time.
My skin had gone taut with the sheer iciness of it, and I felt chilled through to the marrow.
Which made what happened subsequently even more alarming.
I was awoken, quite suddenly, by the feel of something hot and liquid running into my right eye.
I squinted for an instant. And then put my hand to it.
My palm came away bright red. It was blood.
~~~~
Copyright - Tony Richards 2005
