I tug my earlobe. That doesn’t tally with what Dante told me. ‘Are you sure?’
‘What? You don’t believe me?’
I watch her carefully. We may not be friends but I know her well enough to tell that she’s not lying. Her eyes are too frank – and irritated – for that. ‘I’d heard differently, that’s all,’ I say. ‘Is there someone who oversees them all? Like an uber leader?’
‘I don’t know. I’m just a shopkeeper, remember?’ She looks round and her shoulders slump. ‘I’m not even that any more.’
Shit. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’re always sorry.’ She sighs. ‘Look, there has to be someone in charge but I don’t know who it is.. Whoever they are, however, they’re obviously cleverer than any of us.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because we don’t know who they are, of course.’
‘They don’t know who we are either.’
‘How do you know that for sure?’ I frown. It’s obvious. ‘Look,’ Esme continues. ‘You’re far better off asking Dante about all this. He’s going to know more than I do.’
I blink. ‘Why? Because he used to work for the Mayor?’
She looks at me as if I’m stupid. ‘Because until you showed up, he was the most powerful person in the Dreamlands. Not just in this zone but in every one of them.’
‘He’s the only tracker,’ I say slowly, mulling it over.
‘Exactly. Now, will you let me leave?’
I nod and step back. She strides out into the brightness of the town leaving me with nothing but my crazy thoughts.
***
I have one more stop to make. I’m not in the mood for messing around; I’ve spent days tiptoeing around like a furtive shadow and I’ve just about had enough. My bull-headed approach with Bron may not have worked but seeing Ashley and the state she’s in has banished any other feelings I had about being circumspect. Now I just want to bring these bastards down.
I march along the cobbled streets with my shoulders pulled back and my head held high. Although there are still very few people around, they all turn to watch me. I don’t pay them any attention. The Travellers don’t interest me, not right now.
I’d been expecting more than one guard on the Bubble. It’s no longer day time so it stands to reason that the Department would place more people on the main door – but there’s not a soul standing there. I assume that’s because they’re all out looking for Ashley but something’s niggling at me, like an itch that I can’t scratch. Something doesn’t add up and I can’t work out what it is. I’m worried that if I keep worrying about it, I’ll add two and two together and end up with three hundred and sixty-seven. Not for the first time, I wish I’d been born with the gift of logic.
I jog down the corridor. There are more darkened doors and my heart feels a little heavier with every one that I pass. I tell myself there’s no point in venturing inside and fighting off whatever’s there mano a mano. I need to be smarter than that.
2432, 5698. I double check the coordinates written on the side of the door. Last time, it was pristine white but it’s certainly not now. My hands start shaking at the thought of going inside again but I have to do it. I have to know. I close my eyes and place my hand on the door handle then I take a breath and go in.
People have recurring dreams more often than they think but they rarely remember them. It’s no surprise to me that when the door closes behind me and I’m confronted with a familiar hospital setting and the glow of a red light.
If I’d thought this was a sinister nightmare the last time around, it’s nothing compared to this time. There’s blood on the floor, trailing all the way down the corridor. It’s not just a few drops, it’s not even a pool of blood, it’s a trail as if something heavy has been dragged along. Something heavy like a body. I shiver. No child should be dreaming of a place like this.
I’m tempted to leave right now. I already have the proof I need. This isn’t a playground with swings and happy cries. I force my legs to keep going though; I want to see more. If I can grab the dreamer in a moment of lucidity, even better.
My feet make a sucking noise as I tread carefully towards my goal. No matter how much I try to avoid it, I have to walk along the blood trail. For some reason, the marks of my footprints are more sickening than the blood itself. I go onto my toes but it’s no good. I end up fixing my eyes on a single point straight ahead. I know from past experience that I don’t want to look in any of the rooms to my left and right, not until I reach the one where the Sandman spoke to me.
I slide inside and look around. It’s the same as it was last time ‒ apart from the child strapped to the gurney.
With a quick glance behind to double-check that we’re alone, I spring over and start undoing the restraints. She stares at me with wide eyes.
‘He’s going to come back.’
I try to smile. ‘Don’t worry, I’m here now. I’ll protect you.’
‘You can’t protect me against him.’
‘Yes, I can.’
She sits up while I move to her feet. ‘Are you a good person?’
I consider the question. ‘I try to be. That’s all we can do. We have to try.’
‘I’m not.’
I stop what I’m doing and look at her. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘It’s why he comes here. It’s because I’ve been bad.’
Fucking hell. ‘No,’ I say, more sharply than I intend. ‘He’s a bad person. You’re not.’
‘How do you know?’
I smooth her hair. ‘Because I do.’ I smile. ‘You remember the park?’ She nods. ‘Can you take me there?’
‘He’ll be angry.’
‘He’s not going to come back here. I’m not going to let him.’
I finish undoing the straps round her ankles. She puts her arms round my neck. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I really am.’
‘Okay.’
There’s a flash and she’s no longer clinging onto me. I look up and see her on the swing. She raises a hand and waves. I wave back.
‘You shouldn’t have done that.’
I turn round and the smile on my face disappears. ‘Well, well, well. It’s the Sandman.’ Bingo. The fact that my suspicions have been confirmed doesn’t fill me with joy. When Lilith scoffed at my suggestion that he could help, I’d assumed it was because she’d thought he was a child but she was actually telling me everything I needed to know. He’s the one behind all this. It just took me a long time to figure it out.
The blue-haired boy doesn’t blink; his face is expressionless. ‘Weaver,’ he says.
‘This is all down to you. The black doors. The nightmares. The sleep paralysis.’
He folds his arms. It’s painful to keep looking into his perfect blue eyes but I don’t glance away. I’m not going to let him think that he intimidates me.
‘I’m just a kid.’
I laugh coldly. ‘Of course you are.’
A dimple forms in his cheek. ‘Okay,’ he shrugs. ‘You got me.’ He leans in and there’s a strong whiff of sulphur. ‘What gave the game away?’
‘You did. You’re the Sandman.’
‘I make innocent children’s bad dreams go away. Just like hers.’ He points at the girl. She’s still swinging and still smiling but there’s no denying her fear. It’s obvious in the way she grips onto the swing. I want to shout and tell her not to worry but somehow I don’t think the Sandman will let me. Instead I give her a reassuring wave.
‘Some stories certainly say that about you,’ I agree, turning back to him. ‘Others aren’t so kind.’
‘Propaganda can be vicious.’
His features are so young and his voice is so childish that even now I have to remind myself what he really is. ‘Is it propaganda if it’s true?’ I ask.
‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘You’re from the Badlands. And you still live there. Lilith left, the mares left. But you remain.’
He cocks his head, his hair flopping into a blue curl across his forehead. ‘I suppose I do. So?’
‘You’re not a monster. You’re the monster.’
‘Location, location, location. What can I say? Property prices are cheap there.’
I snarl at him, ‘Bullshit! At least the other cloud freaks don’t pretend to be anything else. You cloak yourself in this ridiculous get up like you’re Wee Willie Winkie. Well, it won’t wash, not any more.’
For a moment the expression on his face is so hard and terrifying that I almost step back. As much as I try not to, I still rock on my heels. He might come in the guise of a child, but he really is the monster I just described.
‘This is your fault. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,’ he says.
I shake my head. ‘I don’t believe you. In fact, those kind of statements are what gave you away. You wanted me to be nervous and quake in my boots. You wanted me to think that I was the root cause of everything because I’m the only person who can beat you.’
‘I helped you with the dragon.’
‘You wanted me to think you were helping. That’s why you spoke up in the square; that’s why you made a show of shooting the dragon. You didn’t hurt it at all though ‒ it was all just smoke and mirrors. You pretended to be one of the good guys.’
He throws back his head and laughs. This time it’s not a sweet childish sound but a harsh grating noise that judders down my spine. ‘Oh, weaver. Do you really think I’m the only person who’s pulling the wool over your eyes? You’re so gullible.’ He raises an eyebrow in a perfect blue arch. ‘You should get out more.’ He winks. I lunge at him but he dances out of my grasp. ‘You’re going to have to try harder than that, weaver.’
‘Come on then.’ I beckon him towards me.
‘Aw. Would you really hurt a child?’
‘You’re no child.’
A slow smile spreads across his face. ‘You know what?’ he asks. ‘You’re right.’
Before my eyes, the air starts to shimmer. The boy’s face folds in on itself, morphing into something entirely different. His body elongates; he’s no longer a foot shorter than me, now he towers over me. The blue hair vanishes and is replaced by a smooth bald skull. He’s gone from a cute kid to a creepy old man in seconds. All that remains are his piercing blue eyes. Okay.
From behind us, the children laugh and squeal. Only the girl is quiet. Her swing has stilled and she’s watching us in stark terror.
‘Why don’t we take this somewhere else?’ I suggest.
He follows my gaze. For a moment, I think he’s going to refuse but he gives me a sneering smile. ‘If you insist.’
He snaps his long bony fingers and I feel my entire body being yanked violently backwards. Usually, when someone wakes up and I’m ejected from a dream, it’s little more than a gentle tug. This is very different. Fear flickers through me; I’m not sure where we’re going to end up. When I fall backwards and blink, however, I feel relief. We’re not in the nightmarish landscape of another dreamer, we’re back in the corridor of the Bubble.
I scramble to my feet. The Sandman bares his teeth and I realise his incisors have been filed to sharp points. ‘Going for the piranha look, are you?’ I cock my head. ‘You know it’s very last season.’
His face twists. ‘How’s that back of yours doing?’
Before I can answer, he leaps up into the air and somersaults over my head. I try to spin round but it’s too late. A second later, a foot smashes into the base of my spine and I scream. My legs give away and I’m on all fours, gasping for breath.
‘Zoe!’
It’s Dante. Lights dance in front of my eyes but I still manage to turn and see him at the far end of the corridor, by the entrance to the rest of the Dreamlands. Tears of pain mar my vision but I can tell he’s running towards us.
The Sandman leans down. ‘He’s not going to save you.’
I groan and roll over. Unable to make my legs work, I thrust one sharp punch upwards, connecting with the Sandman’s groin. The flesh there isn’t soft but neither is it bulging as one might expect. He might be the Sandman but there’s little of a man there. He’s asexual.
‘Not particularly masculine, are you?’ I gasp.
He snarls, raising his foot for another kick. I roll to my side and narrowly avoid it. My thighs are tingling. Another minute or two and I’ll be able to get up. Another minute or two and I’ll probably be dead.
‘Disapparate!’ Dante is getting nearer.
I’m not going to quit. I shake my head; I’m not giving up that easily. I swipe upwards again. My fingers brush higher this time, catching the Sandman’s belt and the small bag which hangs from it. He pulls back. I can hear Dante’s footsteps getting louder.
There’s a hiss and the Sandman jerks downwards, his face hovering over mine. ‘Some other time, weaver,’ he spits. Then he’s gone.
I wince in pain, and force myself into a sitting position. Dante’s next to me, crouching down and holding my shoulders.
‘Who was that? Are you alright? Zoe, what the hell just happened?’
I raise my hand, holding up one finger after another as I answer his questions. ‘The Sandman. Yes. I got my arse kicked.’
He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he pulls me into his arms and I bury my face in his chest, I sucking in his deep musky scent. He came for me; he helped me.
‘Where’s Ashley?’ I mumble.
‘I bumped into Esme. She’s going to look for her. There’s no sign of the Department. Everything’s fine.’ He smooths my hair. ‘You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep this up.’
‘He’s the one behind it all,’ I say through stilted breaths. I clamber unsteadily to my feet. I waver for a second but, with Dante’s help, I stay upright. ‘The Sandman’s causing the nightmares and the sleep paralysis. He must be in charge of the Badlands. He’s sending them in here and they’re throwing themselves into people’s subconscious minds.’
‘I don’t care.’ His eyes rake across my face. ‘He could have seriously hurt you.’
I try to take a step. I’m not convinced that he didn’t. Pain shoots down my spine and I wince. I don’t want Dante to see how much I’m hurting so I paste on a wobbly smile. ‘I’m still here. We have to stop him. I have to go into the Badlands and…’
‘No.’ Dante shakes his head adamantly. ‘There’s no way. You’re in no condition to do that.’
‘There’s no choice.’
His jaw tightens. ‘There’s always a choice. Maybe it’s time we started thinking about going somewhere else.’ He touches my cheek. ‘It’s dangerous here. You’re too important to risk.’
This again. ‘I can’t just leave,’ I mutter. ‘I have a responsibility to sort this out otherwise what’s the point of being the damned dreamweaver in the first place? I overheard some of those Department pricks. They’re prepared to lose this entire zone to the Badlands.’
Something tightens in Dante’s expression. ‘Maybe we have to let that happen. It could already be too late, Zoe. You made it to Manchester, maybe now you can make it to a plane. I’ll help. If you’re away from here then you won’t get hurt. We can…’
‘No.’
I stare into his silver eyes. They’re glittering with an intensity which takes me aback. His lips brush against mine and I forget to breathe. When he pulls away, he sighs heavily. ‘You’re far too stubborn for your own good.’
I grin, attempting a joke. ‘That’s why you love me.’
Dante doesn’t smile back. ‘That’s the trouble,’ he says in a low tone. ‘I think maybe I do.’
I swallow. He continues to watch me until my skin is prickling with discomfort. ‘I…’
‘It’s okay. We can talk about it later.’ He looks at me sternly. ‘If you’re not going to disapparate then we need to get you somewhere you can recover in safety.’
‘I’m going to the Badlands. I’m going to find the Sandman.’
‘We’ll talk about it later.’ He
puts an arm round me to support my weight but I shake my head.
‘I can walk. Honest.’
A muscle throbs in his cheek. ‘Okay.’
We set off back down the corridor. Dante walks slowly slow but I’m forced to shuffle so he keeps pulling ahead. I watch his back, with its taut muscles and tight T-shirt and I bite my lip.
Chapter Seventeen
Every moment of your life that is not a complete nightmare is happiness.
Merrill Markoe
I’m lying on my stomach in the middle of the room with my head resting on my hands. From this vantage point, I can see into all the corners of Esme’s shop. I’m amused by the collection of dustballs in the far corner; I guess Esme isn’t as diligent a cleaner as I’d assumed. The fact that the Dreamlands has dustballs fascinates me. Every aspect of this place is so real. The door opens, blowing more dust in the same direction. On its own, a speck of dust is nothing. Combine it with more dust, however, and it becomes something far larger and more unsightly. A dustball can be seen and targeted; a solitary bit of dust is harder to control. It can hide in plain sight because, until it’s gathered together with specks, it’s virtually invisible. I ponder this for a while, feeling disturbed.
A hand appears in front of my face, holding a glass of water. ‘Here. This might help.’
I take it and frown. ‘How does dream water help?’ I muse. ‘It’s not real. I’m not really drinking it. I’m not going to become rehydrated from drinking water in a dream.’
‘The subconscious is a funny thing,’ Dante says.
‘It really is.’ I sigh, sit up and drink all the water anyway. My mind keeps telling me to mistrust everyone I come across, but Rawlins has done nothing but help me and Dante has proved time and time again that he’s on my side. I have no reason other than my own insecurities to think that he’s anything other than what he presents.
I’m letting the Sandman get inside my skull. He tried to destroy my confidence by making me think that I’d drawn the Badlands into the Dreamlands; now he’s trying to destroy my confidence in other ways.