Dreamers

The people named below will die during the week commencing 24/3.

The first line of a typed, sealed letter, sitting on the top of a file in front of me. It had been posted to a leading British newspaper one month before the date mentioned. Those named, all male except one, resided in the UK or USA. All, by one means or another, had avoided incarceration for horrendous crimes. The letter was passed to the police who quickly identified where the letter had been posted and who had sent it. He has no criminal record. They all died within that week. He was interviewed and it was established that he couldn’t have been personally involved. Moreover, it was confirmed that all the victims had died of natural causes, in their sleep. The police, advised by the CPS, shelved the case. The newspaper; not told his identity, reluctantly dropped any further investigation.

My office is anonymously located in the vicinity of St James Park, London. Sitting opposite me is Spencer who brought the file, it is interesting. In my work I look for patterns of behaviour, anomalies, the way a life has been lived. On the surface this subject appears ordinary, however, as Spencer explains, a deeper search revealed an interesting, chameleon life.

‘I thought this would interest you. Seems innocuous, but digging, his background’s more complex isn’t it?’ Spencer has walked the short distance from his equally anonymous government office to get my opinion.

‘Yes, strange. He’s lived quite a complex life, but manages to avoid attention. I suppose you want me to see him?’

‘Yes, he sent the letter from some reason. I want to know what he expected would come of it.’

‘An appointment with a psychologist?’ I wonder if he’s ever seen one. Somehow I doubt it.’

‘There’s definitely something. Might be a loony looking for attention, but how did he know. Told him you’re a psychologist and he just smiled; expected it.

‘You sent the letter, Robert?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Why did you send it?’

‘Because it was true.’

‘How did you know?’

‘I just did.’

‘Let’s not play games Robert, you’ve got the attention you wanted.’

‘I’m not sure how to begin.’

My reply is a hard look.

‘No, I mean it. I don’t want to come across as some sort of crazy.’

‘Well, it’s already a bit crazy Robert. I’m not the police, looking for facts, trying to trip you up. I am a psychologist. Tell me who you’re not a crazy. Just talk to me. Start with how you knew that seven people were going to die; of natural causes, in their sleep, during one specific week. You obviously wanted to draw attention that you knew it would happen, and there must be a plausible explanation. So, I want you to tell me in your own time, in your own way.’

‘Thank you, I don’t see it as just wanting attention. I’m not sure what I want. I need to tell you a story?’

‘Ok, would it be facetious to say, “are we sitting comfortably.”’

‘No, it is quite a long story.’ A slight smile shows my little joke wasn’t lost on him.

‘Tea or coffee?’ I’d arranged refreshment, it always helps.

Taking a sip of his tea, his eyes lose focus. He’s remembering something.

‘I’m in a changing room, sort of a sports venue, younger, fitter. There might be other people there but I don’t notice them. Now I’m outside in running gear; it’s going to be a long journey; a long run. Another fellow sets off with me. We don’t speak or acknowledge each other but keep pace for some time. Instinctively, I know the route; like I’ve followed it many times. Must have been running for some time when I realise I’m alone. Is he ahead or behind me? It’s important. No roads, just open countryside. I need to cross the field ahead, follow this path through a wood, turn here, head towards the summit of a hill, I reach it and the next part of my journey becomes apparent; a small town on the horizon, that’s where I’m going.’

If this is put on, it’s really convincing.’

‘I don’t tire, my feet pound mile on mile, breathing’s steady. It’s a glorious day. I glimpse my fellow runner, far ahead. No problem, I’ll catch him. There’s a blip; for a few seconds the way ahead becomes vague. Am I too late. In response I speed up. Then it’s back. Relief. I’ve reached the town. Towns are a serious distraction, there will be others there, unaware of my purpose but sometimes aware of me. The other runner, hopefully, will get distracted. I don’t want any interaction; it’ll slow me, disrupt my concentration, I’ll lose the objective – be too late.

Down the main street, turn right into a shop, out the back entrance. Into a house – I know this house and force myself to ignore the urge to explore familiar rooms – it’s not the objective and will hinder me, I pass a room, the other runner’s inside, he’s recognised something – a rookie mistake. If he ever understood the objective he’ll start to forget it. There’s an exit through the cellar, I avoid a woman, brushing past her; she sees but ignores me, I don’t recognise her. Outside again and on, there’s a small mall down the street, I have to go through it. A Mall; I’m in the USA; Midwest, My recognition becomes stronger, excitement builds.

The mall isn’t busy, just a few individuals walking aimlessly about, some see me some don’t. A very young, pretty girl is sitting on the floor with her back against a counter. She’s wearing shorts and a crop top. She sighs and looks at her hands as if she doesn’t know what they are. I have to force myself to run past her. I’ve seen her before, a long time ago. I was inexperienced and didn’t know what I was doing. I crush the memory; how vulnerable she was, what happened. She’s a huge distraction. I shake my head; can’t regret that sort of thing. Good chance that if other runner manages to leave the house, he’ll see her and forget about the race.’

He can’t be putting this on; he’s oblivious to my presence recalling this memory. Must be a dream. I glance down, checking that the green light out of his sight is still on. I want to analyse this later.

‘Another blip, a few seconds this time. Got to hurry, pick up the pace, get there in time. I’ve often been too late; everything going blank, like a switch turned off, one second there, gone the next. At first I hadn’t remembered, now I do; terrible sense of loss. I’m racing out of the Mall, the town’s gone. I’m there, somewhere else; a communal building; apartments – climbing the stairs towards the sound of voices; young vibrant voices laughing, competing for attention – an open door – room full of teenagers who look briefly at me, nod, say hi, they know me; I’m one of them. My eyes are drawn to a girl who stops talking to her friends. Blond, pony-tail, dress clinched around her waist with a thin belt, short white socks, tennis shoes – nineteen fifties. Her eyes shine with happiness, she bites her bottom lip and rushes towards me. “Hey, I thought you weren’t coming.” My arms around her waist, her whole body sinking softly against mine and we kiss; a soft gentle kiss, a kiss that I know, one that means everything. Around us the room fades and her eyes mesmerise me – eyes that love me, unblemished by time. She’s fifteen and I’m her first, never forgotten love. Her scent, subtle, clean, girlish, fills my mind and she whispers ‘I knew you wouldn’t forget. She kisses me again; a gentle, lingering kiss and I hold her, feeling every contour of her body against me. Her lifetime of memories course through me. It’s over. I can still smell, feel, taste her; her youth, her love. For days I relive the incredible moment of her gifting.’

His eyes re-focus and he looks at me. ‘I can only imagine what happened after – somewhere in Mid-America a machine urgently beeping, lights flashing, a nurse hurrying into the room, a sad “Oh”. A middle-aged man and a younger woman, his daughter, are looking at the serene, happy face of the old frail woman lying on the bed. Her son bending, kissing her gently on the brow. His daughter gently crying.’ Robert smiles; a knowing smile to reinforce the search for understanding he knows he’s generated. ‘Amazing what happens when you’re asleep,’ he finishes with.

There is a difference between interrogation and interviewing. An interrogator needs the subject to tell them specific information. A range of methods to achieve this can be used. An interviewer also needs the subject to impart information, but the purpose is to analyse the subject. The method is simple; ask a question and listen. The story is important, and I will analyse it, but Robert has revealed more than he thinks he has about himself, and I know a more of his life than he realises. For instance that he is an experienced interviewer; during a later career he worked in HR and interviewed many people. However, my opening question would have to be the right one. I need to find out who Robert is, not who he wants me to believe he is.

‘When did this happen; it’s not a story is it, you believe it actually happened?’

He smiles. The right question. ‘About thirty years ago.’

‘And it’s a dream, not a story. So what is so significant about this particular dream?’

‘It’s the first one when I was aware of what was happening, I had some control.’

‘You could control what was happening?’ Damn, slow down.

‘No, the old lady controlled the dream. The strength of her final memory drew me to her, a sort of parasitic response to her call, but I controlled my awareness, if that makes sense.’

More question bubble up, Slow down, think about what he is saying and what I know about him. Is he playing a game? No, he genuinely believes; he believes he can actively dream; that he has developed this ability over a period of time. I ask him.

‘We all learn, make mistakes, learn from them, develop, hone our skills. It’s impossible not to, Don’t you agree?’

I ignore his question. He acknowledges this with another smile, guessing how it works; that I ask the questions. ‘Do you enjoy dreaming?’

‘Mostly. I’m not aware of all my dreams, that’s impossible; we have so many. I’m aware of perhaps one or two a night if I wake up after them, but there must be others. It’s a different reality, time and distance are fluid, as is awareness. I understand what I am doing within those I am aware of, but there is so much I don’t understand. Dreams are not simply mixed up memories, or other peoples. Perhaps they’re not memories at all. I see and even find other people while dreaming. Sometimes they’re aware of me and sometimes not. I don’t know if dreams are randomly shared and populated or if there is some sort of sense to it, I only know what I can do.’

Robert stops and holds my stare, because I’m listening intently. So much complex information. I continue staring into his eyes as I process what he said. He can find other people in their dreams. He has an open mind. He realises that his knowledge is limited. His perception of others is wider than himself. My perception of him is developing; is he is influencing that? Change of tack.

‘What do you want Robert?’

He sucks air in between his teeth, rests his chin on his hands. ‘I’m not sure. I’m not lonely, I have a family. What do you think I want?’

This time I rise to the challenge, draw him out. ‘I think that you have lived a long, interesting life which has stagnated.’ A pause to let him take that in. ‘I think that you haven’t shared this dreaming part of your life. You’re obviously not growing old quickly. Whether this is due to these dreams is unproven, but anything is possible. You have a family but how relevant are you to them now, the dynamics change as families grow up. I don’t think you are much different to any person at your time of life. I think that you’re bored, you need to feel relevant. You are unusual, but what you want is not unusual.’

‘Sadly, you may be right. So what do I do?’

‘I’m not here to give you advice Robert.’

‘So what are we here for?’

And there it was. I cursed inwardly; hiding it. I smiled, touché.

‘Don’t try and be clever Robert, you sent a letter. I’m getting to know you. It’s what psychologists do. It’s unusual, your story without the letter would still interest me, but with the letter, there are implications. I need to have a conversation with my colleague.

‘What is he?’ Not who is he.

‘Like me he works for the government. Let’s call it a day. I want to think about what you’ve told me, process it and have that conversation. Someone will be in touch. Thank you for seeing me.’

As he’s escorted out, I begin expanding my sparse conversation notes with more detail spinning around my head, I’ll listen to the recording and write a preliminary assessment.

‘Why do you think he sent the letter to a newspaper.’

‘Attention.’

‘You’re sure that’s all, has it occurred to you he may be part of something bigger.’

‘Yes, but if he was wouldn’t you have found something? Have you found anything?’

‘No, but it’s all so improbable.’

‘Agreed, we could just file it away then, but he hasn’t exposed himself just to let us do that, and he has our attention. As yet I haven’t detected any instability. He’s as cool as a cucumber. Be interesting to see what happens if we do drop it.’

‘Not yet. We need to know more. For now, the consensus is to get to the bottom of it.’

‘Ok, so he’s hinted that he has developed knowledge and ability over thirty or so years, but not what he is capable of. We can only guess how those people died, we know he knew but not how, or if he had an active role in their deaths. He’s not admitting or denying anything. He does, however, want us to believe that he has the ability to actively dream, and that it is linked to his knowledge of the deaths. I’ll leave it a few days and talk to him again. Is he being monitored; surveillance?’

‘Not at the moment, we don’t know what we are dealing with. Do you think he’s dangerous?’

‘Anyone can be dangerous. But surveillance isn’t necessary, not at the moment, could be counter-productive until we know more.’

It’s been two days. She smiles. ‘Robert, please call me Mel; Mellanie.’

‘Thank you, I do feel more comfortable talking to a person than an occupation.’

‘I’m still a government psychologist. I want you to feel comfortable, but I’m not your friend and won’t pretend to be.’ Still that smile.

‘I’m quite aware. Perhaps, as you get to know me?’

‘Maybe, because I am going to know you? I really want to know you Robert. Everything?’

I sit back. She’s good, got down to the nitty-gritty very quickly. ‘Yes, but it’s complex. I don’t want to be misunderstood. I don’t have an agenda that I understand, not fully. Does that make sense?

‘No. But if it does to you that’s fine. I’ve thought about your story; the dream. Two questions. Firstly, do you truly believe that you are given life during these dreams, that it extends your life?’

‘Yes, it’s not given, it’s gifted, and it a sort of con but not deliberate, they think they are giving it to the person they are dreaming of, not me. They’re dying, they may not even know what’s happening. It happens within the dream, so doesn’t conform to logic. But I know that I get that small amount of the life they had left.’ I’ve never been able to articulate it so concisely to myself. Sharing helps.

‘Can you communicate with other people you meet in your dreams?’

‘Ah, well that’s complex. Those I meet in my dreams are in their own dreamworld. If I enter their dreams I’m not sure it’s me they’re seeing, maybe if they already know me but I am not sure even then, because I can’t ask them when they’re awake. I’m whoever they see me as. I don’t even think some of them see me, others interact but their awareness is dulled, mine is sharp. It’s only when someone I know or have known enters my dream the interaction can be almost normal. Particularly with family members, even those who have passed. I’m sure you understand that everything is different. As I’ve already mentioned; time, reality, perception, it’s all different. Every time its different.’

‘How do you navigate it then; how do you make sense of it?’

‘Practice; years of it, memory, accepting the impossible, adapting. Memorising dreams that matter.’

‘Answer my question properly Robert?’

‘I can communicate with others but they may or may not know it’s me. They may think’ that they are talking with someone they know, living or passed, or another stranger. Mostly with someone they know or knew,.’

‘Passed. Dead?’

‘Of course, haven’t you ever talked to someone, a family member or a friend who has passed away in your dreams?’ I see her eyes flicker. Of course she has – don’t smile.

He saw it. He saw my reaction; acknowledgement. I’m not comfortable but I’ll have to accept that this may happen. Time to take charge again.

‘I’ve been looking into your past.’ I take his file from the drawer and place in on the table. Not really necessary, an old trick, unsettling. I get a brief shrug.

‘I been around for a long time.’

‘This isn’t your life-story, just occasions you’ve come to the attention of various authorities, mostly mundane. Trawling your background no single occasion would cause concern, but in all of them, for seemingly random reasons, as a psychologist I detect patterns. You’ve had three careers. Sequential, hardly a gap between them, almost from one immediately to the next. In each you performed well. But there is one common feature. In all of them you showed potential, but each time set your own agenda; took your own path, even in the military, which isn’t easy to achieve. Your military records are sparse, we had difficulty finding much out about what you actually did, but when we did, well, you had a very interesting time, didn’t you?’

‘It didn’t last long, but it was interesting.’

I leaf through the file, slowly for effect. ‘You spent a long time training, then was sent abroad on short detachments for a year or so, working mainly on your own, few details though.’ I pause.

‘I had particular skills.’

‘Again, vague. During our training you regularly performed top of your intake. This constantly surprised your officers. Exceeding expectations, both in military and technical skills. You finished top student in both categories. And yet you didn’t attend the passing out parade and the accolade that would normally accompany it. You were sent on leave. Nothing to explain that. Why?’

‘I didn’t really fit the profile. I learnt a lot in training about life, myself. I toughened up, perhaps too much. My peers didn’t understand me; intelligence is often seen as weakness.’

‘Were you bullied?’

‘No, I did my own thing; not much of a team player, no interest in leadership.’

‘And was this a problem?’

‘Of course, it’s the Army. No, it was the way I retaliated if someone tried to bully me. They watch you, see how you respond. You’re always being assessed.’

‘I don’t respond to provocation,

‘You can fight?’

‘I didn’t need to, pointless, just violent competition, I won’t get angry if there is no point. If outnumbered, or the other person is too dangerous, I’ll walk away, or apologise. I’m not a natural victim; they became wary of me.’

‘You didn’t get into trouble then?’

‘No, not really. I was left alone, which suited me. I didn’t join sign up to make friends.’

I’m getting somewhere. His recall matched what I’d read in his file. I turn to my notepad and make a coded entry. Sociopathic!

‘I see you spent most of your time with the US army, wasn’t that unusual?’

‘I don’t know, perhaps, I’ve not thought about it. It was during the Vietnam War. I was seconded, I think they had a shortage of certain technical skills or something like that.’

I’m not going to let him talk about memories for too long. He’s too comfortable. I want to disrupt his focus.

‘And yet in your next career, surely teamwork was crucial?

‘Yes, of course I can work very effectively as part of a team, I’m loyal, trustworthy and dependable. It’s work obligation. Socially, that obligation ceased, they understood that.’

‘Do you have any social obligation?’

‘To my immediate family. To colleagues or friends no, any interaction depends on my own wishes. Does that make sense?’

‘To you obviously Robert. How do you feel about truth?’

‘Lying? I don’t lie.’

‘You never lie?’

‘No. I have a rule. I never lie, but how I answer depends on how the question is couched.’

‘So if I ask you a direct question you will answer truthfully.’

‘Yes, if you ask the right question.’

‘That’s very evasive.’

‘I’m careful with truth.’

Time to wrap up. I have an idea what drives him. I’m making progress. He’s complex, elusive, but I’m beginning to see a pattern.

A bustling café, perfect. Spencer’s gently tapping his coffee cup. I wonder if he has any revelations he’s willing to share. I asked for this meet. So, we’ll see.

‘My last meeting with Robert was very interesting.’

‘In what way?’

‘I’ve changed my mind; I think he could be dangerous.’

‘How so?’

‘Sociopathic; almost definitely. Psychopathic; the jury’s out. He has an unusual personality – very interesting. He lives explicitly by his own rules, not ones he expects anyone else to understand or conform to. I don’t think he believes he needs to obey any law, but will do so unless he’s absolutely sure he can get away with breaking it. He’s intelligent but limits showing it overtly. He’s not interested in kudos, power, or usually, attention – remember this last one – its important. All his life he has attained exactly what he has wanted by never drawing attention to himself. He is always in the right place, the right job. He wants influence, but through other people, carefully finding the best position in any organisation achieve this.’

‘But what’s he achieved? I can’t see what he’s got out of it, and what makes you think he could be dangerous?’

‘Because, I don’t know what he wants now. I also can’t work out what he’s achieved. I haven’t worked out what motivates him. He has consistently avoided attention, and now he’s suddenly opened himself to it.’

‘Have you considered he may not be doing whatever he is doing alone?’

‘Of course. But I need to know what you know before engaging him in that conversation. Not just what you know about him, but also what you know about this investigation. The more I talk to him, the more worried I’m becoming about being involved at all. Something’s off about it. I’m concerned I’ll end up knowing too much.’

Spencer sighs and after taking a long sip of his coffee nods, as if he’s come to some sort of decision. ‘I had the same misgivings after my meeting with upstairs. I can usually get a feel for a case, and with this one I do get a feeling that at some point we will be thanked, all records will be gone and we will be told to forget Robert.’

‘Does that worry you; it’s not that unknown in our line of work.’

‘What if it transpires that Robert can kill someone when he is dreaming, either alone or with others? Let’s consider it is possible; that he, or they, can kill anyone, anywhere, at any time. while they are asleep, and it has all the appearance of a normal death.’

This possibility has always been there, but I haven’t considered it a reality. Now, Spencer voicing it, all sorts of scenarios present themselves, each opening up more serious consequences. Aware of my body language, his eyebrows raise, accentuating the “so now you get it” look on his face. He’s waiting fora response.

‘So, two considerations; one Robert’s intentions and the second our departments.’

‘Potentially three, maybe more.’

‘Which are?’

‘Anyone he may be working with and,’ a pause, ‘any other government that already has, or may become, aware of him. The other deaths were in the States, it can’t be discounted.’

‘He must be aware as much as we are.’

‘You need to find out if he has considered these things Mel.’

‘It’s a good angle to draw him out, I’ll have to approach it carefully. He’ll be evasive pushed on areas he’s not ready to disclose.’

‘At the moment upstairs is letting us run with it, but it’s under wraps. If anyone else shows interest, within the department or outside, let me know. As you are obviously aware, knowledge is dangerous, and you and I are getting to a point where we know a lot about Robert. I’m already using you as a bottle-neck for the most disturbing factors about him. That way I can get a feel for how interested upstairs are. At the moment they appear diffident, but they’re not and that worries me, for myself and for you.’

‘Bottle-neck, won’t that look as if I am holding back information?’

‘Perhaps, but psychologists analyse everything and everyone deeply before deciding what’s what. Perhaps I’m overthinking it, this job makes one neurotic.’

‘I know you have questions for me, you’ve probably formulated them after discussion with your colleague. But can you allow me to run something past you, it may take some time, but it’s important to me.’

‘I ask the questions Robert but, as I’ve said before this is not an interrogation.’ He wants to lead the conversation, I’ve been waiting for this to happen and headed him off. Time to listen.

‘Good. I’ve a bit of a dilemma, I’ve put myself in your hands, and those of your colleague, deliberately, and you have been, quite reasonably, delving into my personality; what makes me tick. Now, we can only build trust if I know how you respond. Is that reasonable?’

‘Yes.’ but with a strong, unsaid caveat; depends if he tries to gain control?

‘We’re all individuals, have independent minds, unlike hive creatures. And yet we live in social groups; families, tribes, nations, larger and larger. As these groups become larger, common factors are maintained for cohesion; loyalties, beliefs, laws. We allow certain amongst us to decide what is best for the rest – over time they wield power over many groups, nations. Sometime we cede this power and sometimes they take it. For the purpose of this conversation, which is better doesn’t matter.’

‘It this important Robert.’

‘Of course it is.’

‘Carry on.’ I am interested in where this is going, seeming not to be encourages him. His eyes are bright, animated.’

‘Those in power want everyone in their nation conforming to mutual beliefs, rules, behaviours. Not specifically the ones they held, because that is necessary to keep them in power. However there are always social groups who refuse to conform. Would you agree?’

‘Perhaps.’ He smiles weakly at my response. ‘I’m not going to ask you to agree again, I shouldn’t, should I.’ Smiling again, being my friend. ‘Society is not fair. The likes and dislikes of those in power are reflected in a nation’s laws and culture. Anyone who demonstrates against these are shunned, ridiculed, hated, punished, depending on how the demonstration impacts on their hold on power. Complicating this, what is acceptable at one time, becomes unacceptable at another. Not that long ago, a gay person would be severely punished, imprisoned, shunned, hated. Yet now they are accepted, seen as good in one society, and yet still punished in another. One example, there are many, many others.’ Another pause. ‘The point I’m making is that anyone who demonstrates even slight difference to those in their society could, depending on the strength of feeling within that society, be penalised simply for demonstrating that difference. And the response of those in power reflects the wishes of the majority of that society to stay in power.’

‘And you are different?’

‘Yes. I am, but I don’t think that difference is innate, it can be learned, shared. I want to share it. Do you think that would become a problem?

‘I still don’t know enough about you Robert, or if this is a difference. Furthermore, everyone is entitled to their thoughts on society, especially in the UK.’

‘Ah, I’m not as sure as you are about that Mel. You and your colleague; not a mainstream investigation this, is it?’

Am I keeping my disquiet from being exposed? This is not what I expected. Shit, he’s seen it. I can see it in his expression although he’s trying to hide it. I can’t ignore it. ‘What colleague?’

‘You know who I mean; you mentioned him.’

He’s trying to control the conversation; thinks I care about exposure. It’s telling me more about him. I wonder if he realises he’s opening up to me, or is it deliberate?’

I like her. She’s not arrogant but she is clever, let’s see.

‘Robert, can we talk about your dreaming?’

I sort of expect a change. However, I’m sure she’ll pick what I’ve just said to bits, I hope she’ll realise how important it is. ‘That’s fine Mel.’

‘Do you communicate with anyone who is also aware when they’re dreaming?’

‘I prefer to be alone, it’s competitive. There are others who respond to the calls, I don’t try to communicate with them, don’t know if they are aware of what they’re doing, or why, or even remember when they’re wake.’

‘You’re referring to the response to a dying draw. What about when you’re dreaming and there’s no call, are you still aware and able to control your actions?’

‘Mostly. I think it depends on the depth of dreaming, whether you can interact with them. Not everyone interacts, you may see them but they may not be in the same dream; dreams overlap. You have be in their actual dream, not just the same dreamscape. They may not be seeing what you are. If you know don’t know them, it can happen but it random. To do it deliberately you either know them or can link to them.’

There’s something important in that, I’ll replay the tape later. ‘What happens if you try to interact with someone?’

‘It’s disconcerting. Do you remember interacting with anyone in your dreams Mel, do you remember if it made sense?’ I see she’s going to ignore that. I have to keep her interested. I can’t do what I have to do without her. ‘I can interact with people I’ve met, and through them people they know if they’re also dreaming.’

‘You can actively join anyone’s dream, and interact with them, if you have met them?’

She’s missed it, I need her to pick it up now. ‘Or through them someone they know.’

‘When you say known; is that anyone they have known, even someone who has died?’

OK, she has the gist of it. doesn’t matter if she’s on the wrong tangent. She’s into complex territory. I don’t want her to get distracted by it ‘Perhaps it’s a construct the mind develops, I sincerely hope so.’

‘Why the urgent meeting Spencer. Bad news?’

‘Yes and No. New information has come to light. I’m not sure what I make of it yet but it changes things.’

I’m no commenting; he expects me to,

‘Bit conflicting; this information.’

Still not commenting.

‘Anyway. I’ll tell you first of all that we; well more upstairs, are pretty sure this is not what we were worried it was. The Americans have been investigating the two deaths on their side and what they found has changed how we have been looking at the ones here. It would seem there is, or can be, a logical explanation, acceptable enough to throw doubt on Robert being involved.’

‘Does this also cover him sending the letter and its content?’

‘Not entirely, but I need to explain the other bit of information first.’

‘Ok’.

‘I received a new batch of files from the MOD, they weren’t confidential or anything, just filed away in medical records. This batch does throw some light on his personality and his time in the military. It would appear that in the year prior to joining he was a bit of a hippy – it was that era. Spent most of his time enjoying a free and easy lifestyle, including drugs. He wasn’t a big user. He and his friends had a preference for LSD. We know this because he told the army openly after he experienced what were then called flash-backs; when LSD particles that are still floating about the body, long after ingestion, find their way to the brain and cause brief but very disconcerting episodes of hallucination. That’s how it was described to me.’

Spencer paused. I’d unconsciously nodded. It wasn’t a correct description of what could happen, but in layman’s terms reasonable.

‘He only admitted it after he’d finished training. He had an episode; went into some sort of catatonic state in his room, his friends thought he was dead, lying on a bed, eyes open, unresponsive. Taken to hospital and suddenly came out of it. Said he had fallen asleep and thought he was awake when his friends came in but couldn’t move or make a sound; as if he couldn’t wake up. Even when he did eventually, in hospital, manage to pull himself out of it, he was afraid he was still dreaming. They thought it was some form of DT’s, due to excessive drinking; not unknown in the army. But they asked him if he had taken any substances and he told them again about his former life. It does seem relevant now, doesn’t it.’

I reserve my judgement. ‘Is that all?’

‘Well no. Apart from his time with the Yanks, there seems to have been a pattern of incidents that happened when he was around, but didn’t appear to be involved. Like he was some sort of jinx. Colleagues, and even superior officers would demonstrate unusual behaviour.’

This was interesting, mostly because Spencer seemed uncomfortable relating this to me. He was a serious guy, factual, focussed. To him it was obviously poppycock. Time to play.

‘Do the files describe any of these incidents.’

‘Nothing official, just a few statements regarding the most serious. I actually think it’s all nonsense. There’s nothing to link them to each other, or really to our man. I only mentioned it to give you the full facts. I think the LSD part is more relevant.’

‘Humour me.’

‘Well an officer lost his pistol. Serious thing. Robert had been invited to join a field exercise, just after he’d finished with the Yanks. During the investigation he insisted that Robert had taken and put the pistol somewhere for safe keeping during the night, very bizarre. Turns out that Robert wasn’t even in the same camp at the time, and even if he was, why would an officer allow a soldier to do that, and safe keeping? Another one not long after in a large communication centre, when all the WRAC’s asked if they could join a union. Again, fingers pointed to Robert as the instigator of that rubbish, but none of them could explain why they thought it was him and he insisted he had nothing to do with it. Personally, I think the British military had it in for him from the beginning, there were no similar incidents during his time with the Yanks.’

‘So what’s the outcome of all this?’

‘We’ve sort of losing interest in him.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Though you might say that.’

‘Are you telling me he’s suddenly of no interest at all now, because that worries me.’

‘In what way?’

‘You know what way Spencer. We discussed this.’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘So I can, with official sanction, keep Robert for a while longer as a client if he is willing, even though we’ve officially ‘sort of’ lost interest in him?’

‘I suppose so, keep me in the loop though and make notes of all conversations.’

‘Would it be wiser for me to pull back?’

‘I don’t think so, I know what you’re thinking. You don’t trust upstairs Mel, do you?’

‘Do you?’

‘I don’t trust anyone Mel. But that goes with the territory. Let’s see how this plays out. I’m as dubious as you are about it all, everything, right from the beginning. Christ knows what’s really going on.

I’m angry. I shouldn’t be but I am. What the shit? I’ve called Robert as soon as I’d dressed and told him to get to my office. He’s complied without question or irritation, which makes it worse.

‘What’s the matter Mel, you seem disturbed. Has anything happened?’

Nothing in his tone or body language hints at satisfaction.

‘I had vivid dream last night.’ What I have no intention of telling him was that I was with my parents, who are dead, and my sister at our old house. My mother was as always fussing about in the kitchen. “Are you happy Melanie?” my father asked. He knew he was dead; I don’t know how I knew. The dream went on; disjointed conversations, rooms changing, weird but dream normal, until it wasn’t. ‘Do you know why I’m telling you Robert?’

A non-committal shake of his head.

‘Because it was interrupted. Someone walked in, joined in, someone everyone seemed to know. Someone who was accepted as an old friend.’

‘Dreams can do that Mel. Especially ones you remember vividly, personal ones.’

‘It was you Robert.’

‘Ah really, wait a second.’ He closes his eyes, face still, remembering. ‘Oh, I have it. right, yes. It wasn’t deliberate, I wouldn’t have remembered. I apologize. I can’t control everything – not every dream.’

‘But you do remember. So you were consciously in my dream. You shared moments of my dream. You dreamed the same dream as me.’

‘You have to understand Mel. You’re analysing me. It works both ways, we are becoming closer. We all roam in our dreams. I must have been drawn to yours; dreaming about lost members of family is very strong.’

‘Family members? I didn’t mention any Robert.’

‘It all came back to me. I talked to your father.’

The implications were piling up in my mind; each more disturbing than the last. I’ve no way of assessing whether he’s trying to confuse me with a mix of actual and plausible capabilities. ‘Would I always know if you access my dreams, deliberately or not?’

‘I don’t know, you actually recognised me. During end of life dreams I’m obviously someone from their memory. I don’t know why I entered your dream, but our conversations are intense. Dreams are a deep psychological event, perhaps we’re becoming psychologically close.’

‘Do you remember what my father said.’

‘Yes, he talked about your sister.’

‘You’re messing with me Robert, don’t mess with me. I haven’t seen my sister for years. How do you know about her?’

‘I don’t, you asked me, it’s what he said.’

‘What exactly did he say?’

‘He said, “She thinks I don’t know, that one. Right little madam. Other one’s not much better. Bloody teenage girls.’ That’s all, then it was all gone, must have been when you woke up.’

Show nothing, remain completely oblivious. He’s telling the truth. I almost hear my father say it exactly like that. I need to think about what this means. My eyes bite into his. I’m unable to hide my hostility. He blinks, deliberately. What! He blinks again. I catch it again – a flash of numbers on his closed eyelids – two on the left, one on the right – a date. He coughs and rubs his eyes. The numbers have gone.

‘Sorry, something in my eyes.’

‘What’s so urgent Mel?’

‘I saw Robert yesterday.’

‘And?’

‘It was an interesting session, in fact a very disturbing conversation, I think he’s trying to get to me. But that’s not the urgent bit. He covertly communication something to me. I think he believes he’s under surveillance. It was a date.’

‘Go on.’

‘The day after tomorrow. Nothing else, just the date.’

‘Hmm, ok. Let’s see.’

‘Spencer?’

‘That date Mel; yesterday?’

‘Yes.’

‘Look on BBC news.’

I open the app on my phone. ‘Ok.’

‘Scroll down, towards the bottom.’

One of the small world news boxes, a man’s face and below a short descriptor. “has been found dead” I click into the article. It describes in few words the death from natural causes of a notorious political activist. Reason for death given as natural causes while he slept.

‘Good riddance.’ I commented.

‘Yes, that would be the general consensus.’

‘A coincidence, probably thousands died of natural causes yesterday.’

‘You know how we feel about coincidences Mel. Look don’t mention anything to Robert, or show any interest. See how he reacts. When are you due to see him?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Let’s get together afterwards.’

‘Is it back on now.’

‘I don’t know; possibly.’

‘Why Robert? You had my attention; you entered my dream. Why this?’

He’s shrugs. Deciding. Push him. ‘Something in your eye. Yesterday’s date, died in his sleep?’

‘So you did notice. Do I have their attention again?’

So, their attention, not mine. He sensed they were losing interest. ‘Does it matter?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’re back to this again Robert; attention, if so you’ve got it back. They want me to ignore yesterday’s death, see if you reacted?’

‘I need their attention, but the question you should be considering is why.’

‘Are you willing to tell me?’

‘Links.’

‘Links?’

‘Tell your colleague, he’ll get it eventually. So will you, probably sooner since we’ve already discussed it, you’ll understand what I mean by links.’

‘I think I already understand. What if I refuse to see you again, you have just admitted that you caused someone’s death.’

‘No. I admit that I knew it would happen. If you stop seeing me, it won’t matter. It hasn’t for a while. Well, that’s not exactly true, you are helping me understand myself. What happens in dreaming is vast, a separate aspect of life. I’m using it to make a statement about society, delving into it with you I’m breaking unchartered territory.’

Uncharted territory. What does he mean. ‘So, exactly how am I helping?’

‘Well for a start, by never saying “how does it make you feel.”’

I don’t detect any humour in his inane remark. ‘Robert, I’m worried.’

‘Mel, I would never harm you, not under any circumstance. I won’t enter your dreams again, not deliberately. I can’t control what you do though. If you draw me into your dreaming I may not be able to resist.’

‘I didn’t say I was worried about you harming me. Could you? No forget that. You mentioned links. Have you deliberately entered my dreams before? Can you link to people I know through my dreams, would I know, wouldn’t I see you?’

‘Momentarily, not enough to remember. You; the people you work with, you’re all mentality fast, very fast. You live in a closed world, keep secrets, hold them close, you’re always concerned about what each of you is doing, makes access easy.’

‘They don’t really believe in active dreaming at the moment, what do you think will happen if they do?’

Another shrug and the hint of a smile. ‘I’ll know they know before they do anything about it.’

‘You don’t know who they are Robert. Or what they are capable of.’

‘I don’t know who they are, but I know them Mel. All the links in the chain.’

The implications shake me. ‘You don’t need me anymore.’

‘You haven’t listened properly Mel; I want to explore and understand dreaming. I need you to help me balance reality, it’s difficult to control.’

‘They will regard you as a threat. They can kill you and get away with it, make you disappear, keep you somewhere forever.’

‘They won’t though, they will consider all of those. I understand what they are capable of, but they don’t know what I am. They’ll risk the lives of others, even you, but not theirs. It’s too late. I know them, I can find them when they are at their most vulnerable. I’ll tell you something that will help.’

I want to see how the land lies, what Spencer’s been told and what he thinks himself. I need to analyse his reaction when I drop the bombshell on him. There’s an awkward silence; he expected me to start.

‘How did it go? Is it him?’

‘I’m pretty sure it is. He all but admitted it, I still don’t know how. He didn’t care.’

‘You think he probably did it?’

‘No, I am convinced. He doesn’t deny it.’

‘So he is dangerous?’

‘Yes, but I’m as frightened of upstairs as I am of him Spencer.

I expect some sort of denial but Spencer purses his lips and locks eyes with me.

‘Is he getting to you, are you getting too close?’

‘No, but I want him to think so, I want our conversations to be open. He’s careful but is opening up, he wants a friend but I am only treating him as a subject. He is undoubtedly unique though.’

‘He could be fooling you, using you.’

‘I’m letting him think he is, and he’s open about it. He’s using me as his therapist, but also as a conduit.’

‘What do youmean?’

‘Links. He told me and I didn’t understand at first, but then it was obvious. He needs the first link in the chain. That’s me. Now that’s established he doesn’t need me anymore. But he still needs me to help him understand himself; what he can do is very complex. He is very complex. His approach to us, to you, was only one aspect of what he does.’

‘What, or who, are the other links?’

‘You were probably the second, and from you the links have expanded. He can chose which links to follow.’

I love the stunned look blossoming in Spencer’s eyes. I can almost hear the blood pounding, driving the expanding crisis overwhelming his brain. He is struggling to maintain his usual suave, unflappable demeanour.

‘I need more detail?’

I’m impressed; he’s recovered quickly. ‘Dreams, he established a rapport with me, which enabled him to access my dreams. I don’t know how it happens; I don’t think he really does himself; I think it’s intuitive. He’s been studying this for many years and is far more advanced than I realised. From me he says he’s accessed your dreams and from you, anyone he needs for his purpose. Links in chains.’

‘Why don’t I know, can he read my mind?’

‘No, he just accesses; enters your dreams. You can’t control who you dream about, or how you process what has happens in your waking life.’

‘Surely I would know?’

‘Not unless you remember everything you dream about, every person who inhabits that dream, especially those you don’t recognise. Most people don’t remember a single moment of most of their dreams, or do so for more than a few waking minutes. He only needs be in yours long enough to access those in your dream who interest him, then he somehow jumps from yours to the theirs. I suppose that’s how it’s done.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘Obviously not Spencer. I’m telling you what I have discovered, you can ignore it if you wish to.’

‘The implications are extremely worrying. I don’t know if I can take this forward at the moment, it all conjecture.’

‘I can help you with that. He told me something else’

‘What?’

‘In two weeks’ time; the Thursday after next, precisely at four fifteen in the morning, Miles Davenport, I don’t know who he is, but Robert assures me that you do, will abruptly wake up. At exactly the same time, a prisoner, one recently sentenced for crimes involving children, will die in his cell whilst asleep in Broadmoor. Miles Davenport will be aware that something has taken place. “This will persuade your colleagues to take me seriously,” those are Roberts words.’

‘He’s going to murder this man; albeit a monster, and expect us to stand by and do nothing.’

‘No, he’s going to assist him to commit suicide, “humanely with no suffering”. Again his words not mine. It’s the subject’s own wish, I think we should substitute force for assist.’

‘Mel, you gave me certain information yesterday. It’s being followed up. I do know Davenport; Giles Davenport. However he has a twelve year old son, who is Miles. The names are similar, are you sure it wasn’t Giles?’

‘Yes, definitely Miles.’

‘We know who the subject is. I’m going to Broadmoor to see him. Want to come?’

‘No, I would but it’s not a good idea. Robert already believes he can manipulate me. He has to understand I’m maintaining a purely professional role.’

‘Are you?’

‘My role is to analyse and gain the confidence of Robert. He is an unusual and complex case. I admit keeping focussed isn’t easy. Why are you going?’

‘We informed the police that we have information the subject is a serious suicide risk. They are surprised. Far from being a suicide risk, he seems to enjoy his celebrity and continues teasing the victim’s families of their children’s whereabouts; none have been found and they are believed to be dead. A DCI will accompany me, but only to observe the interview, unless she feels a serious need to intervene.’

‘What about Miles?’

‘Nothing decided, Giles hasn’t been informed yet. What do you suggest?’

‘I didn’t know Miles was a child. I assume Robert did, but maybe not. I’ll ask him. I would suggest bringing Giles onboard as soon as possible. Install cams on the subject and the boy that night, doesn’t have to be intrusive. Switch them on just prior to the time and off again if nothing happens.’

‘We’re already thinking along those lines.’

‘Sorry to wake you Mel. It happened. Camera on the subject didn’t detect anything. Other monitors installed picked up sudden loss of vital signs.’

‘I know.’

‘What do you mean? it’s just happened.’

‘I can’t explain right now. Later.’

‘Meet me; eleven at The Chairmen, I’ll book the room.’

‘Mel, this is Giles Davenport.’

Almost a clone of Spencer, are they recruited that way? The only difference is age, They all fit a profile, I suppose I must. Accents differ, only regionally, not socially. I return his smile. Wonder how long that will last.

‘Giles, do you have a photo of your son?’

There, smile gone. He takes out his phone, plays around with it then hands it to me. I look and it and nod, a deliberate sham, then hand it back. ‘How did he wake? Did he say anything?’

‘The cam switched on five minutes before the time, exactly at eleven he woke with a start and sat up. I went in immediately. He was wide awake but didn’t seem particularly shaken. I asked him what the matter was. He said he’d had a dream. He’d been in a garden, or field or something. Other children were there, playing. They took no notice of him. then a lady was with him, holding his hand. There was a man leaning on a gate and behind him were old, broken down buildings, like a farm, but no animals. He said the man was laughing, not a nice laugh and it frightened him, but the lady was nice and squeezed his hand. Then the man turned suddenly and looked behind him at the old building, said “Oh”, and disappeared so suddenly that he woke up.’

Spencer took up the story. ‘Thing is Mel, before we came here we showed him a photo of you. He said you were the lady?’

‘Yes, I had the same dream, it was me. It was a derelict farm. The man was the subject. Everything was as your son remembered. However, there’s one thing that I remember; a name roughly carved into the top of the gate. Foxborough’s Farm.’ After a few seconds the implication shows on their faces. ‘My entry into the dream preceded meeting your son Giles. I clearly remember being drawn to the location. I’m not sure of distances or time, but I passed by, or through a pub; The Blue Boar.’

‘Shit, we’ve got to go. Foxborough’s Farm, The Blue Boar?’

Nodding, I watch as they hurry out. Time to talk to Robert.

‘Director, you want to see me?’

‘Ah, Spencer, yes come in, take a seat.’

He’s looking out of the window. His office is on an upper floor, just above surrounding roof level, most of which top various Georgian or Victorian town houses and buildings; government occupied, leased from an insanely rich relative of the Royals who owns most of the area. He’s watching crows soaring and flapping around the chimneys and dormer studded roofs. Not far away Westminster Abbey provides ample roosts. A little further on to the left the Treasury indicates the beginning of Whitehall. The top of Big Ben is also just in view.

‘They own the rooftops around here, probably re-incarnations of old public school masters, wheeling around, searching for former pupils who’ve inhabited these buildings over the years.’

I’ve no reply to this, and none is expected. He’s expressing his superiority; that he belongs.

‘What are you working on at the moment Spencer?’ Still looking out of the window. Knows damn well what I’m working on.

‘You mean the case with Melanie, Director.’

He turns his head with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘David will do Spencer, I’m not sacking you, or even carpeting you; That’s done by email these days, and you wouldn’t have had access to your office this morning if it had been the case. Without looking he reaches with his right hand into a pedestal drawer and brings out a tan coloured file, placing it on the desk.

I know the implications. All E-files on Robert’s case have been completely wiped, including mine and Mel’s. He’s waiting for a response.

‘It’s not a normal case David,’ I know him well enough to accept his request for familiarity. ‘I now feel that the subject is very dangerous and we have every reason to consider him rogue. But we have been unable to attribute any logical explanation to the events surrounding him. Until we can, any action he might consider hostile could be risky.’

‘I agree. The case no longer formally exists. The implications we already suspect cannot be allowed to materialise. I want to know more about him and his capabilities, your investigation has already highlighted the possibility that he may not be working alone, or that he may be able to coerce others to help him, but more worryingly, that others may already have such capabilities, even if they do not fully understand them. Find out.’

‘And Melanie?’

‘Keep working with her. Understand what connection she’s developed with him; it’s obvious there is one. Make sure she understands, she’s usually very competent. I’ll be following this very closely and I want updates.’ He hesitates for a second. ‘I’ve issued a protocol.’

I don’t show any concern regarding this final comment, but it’s a warning, a very serious warning, and not directed just at Richard.

I’m slightly bemused at the place Spencer has chosen to meet me; a small pub – The Coal Hole, or something bizarre like that, along The Strand near Charing Cross. Now I’m here I realise why. “Go downstairs at the side, there’s a small basement bar.” It’s busy but private, a cellar. Low ceiling, alcoves, exposed pipework. Not a place for surveillance. He’s sitting in a secluded alcove. The place has a good smattering of well-heeled, afterwork office locals. My drink is waiting.

‘They’re all there, buried around the farm buildings.’

A very abrupt, sad greeting, obviously not a social meet. ‘How many?’

‘Didn’t ask; don’t want to know.’

So, this is not about the murderer, it’s about Richard. ‘What’s going on Spencer?’

‘Upstairs. They’re taking it seriously now.’

‘Good seriously?’

‘It’s never “good” when they take things this seriously.’

‘You sound worried.’

‘I need to ask you something.’

Now I’m concerned. It’s about me. I’m not surprised though, I’ve been mulling over questions I don’t want to answer.

‘Could you step back from this Mel?’

Could, not can. I’m thinking which should be the appropriate word.

‘Ok, can you?’

Shit, he’s almost reading my mind.

‘Will Richard allow you to?’

And there it is. I suppose Spencer is the only person I’m prepared to discuss this with. ‘I don’t know, I really don’t. He has the ability to be intrusive, but I don’t think he want to be controlling, not with me.’

‘But if it suits his purpose can he be without you realising it?.’

‘I don’t understand enough about it yet, I’m not sure it is controlling, my experience so far is that I have free-will and remembrance, I am beginning to understand how it works, but I’m not sure who enters who’s dream. It’s not as complex as he tries to make it. I need more experience to analyse that side of it.

‘So you’re not sure if he meant you to enter the Miles’ dream.’

‘I don’t know, I think it’s about links. I don’t know enough about active dreaming. Robert has years of experience of it, but admits he doesn’t fully understand it, only that you become more adept with experience.’ I’m being very careful, not sure I want to share or give too much away to Spencer.

‘And yet he predicts when someone dreaming will die. How can he if he doesn’t understand it?’

‘I don’t know, and admit that I’m not sure what he is capable of. He opens up in dribs and drabs.’

‘Or he’s drawing you in. Getting you invested in knowing.’

I wait for it.

‘And if that’s the case, he is sort of controlling you Mel.’

I don’t need to answer.

‘So, back to the question; could, can, or even will, you step away from this if we ask you to.’

‘We.’

‘Yes.’

‘I work for upstairs as well, are they shutting me out, is that what this is all about?’

‘No, it’s a simple question.’

‘I need to consider it.’ My mind is seething with scenarios and contradictions.

‘Not good enough Mel. I think you’ve answered the question.’

He’s right. My mind clears. This is serious. I need blue sky thinking; a cliché I have never used before. This is not about me; it never has been and shouldn’t be. I’ve allowed the knowledge of something extraordinary to lure me in. I haven’t been controlled but perhaps I have allowed myself to be drawn in. I want to be drawn in. Free-will.

‘You’re right, I don’t need to think about it. If I’m told to pull out I will, not only will but must.’

‘What if he won’t let you?’

‘It would change our perception of him. He’ll have given himself away, he won’t want to do that.’

Sitting so closely, next to me on the small bench in the alcove, I’m seeing every detail of Spencer’s face. I hadn’t realised the intensity of our conversation is; the concern etching his mouth. His eyes still haven’t softened.

‘Don’t stop seeing him, not as things stand at the moment. This is very serious though, dangerously serious. I’m second thinking everything, you must as well. If upstairs think that this is going pear-shaped, you and I won’t even get the chance to know it has.’

‘God, it’s that dangerous?’

‘So much so that safeguards are in place. And I am telling you this because you need to know. Reinforce your clarity of thinking. He’s not your friend Mel. He’s a subject; you’re analysing him more than his capabilities. They are for us to assess.’

‘I need to go home and rethink my approach Spencer.’

‘I do as well, I’m sorry, well actually I’m not, that I’ve been such bad company tonight Mel. I had to speak to you quickly and there’s no easy conversation when things reach the stage they have.’

Fear puts everything into perspective. Especially when you have choices. Especially when one is so obviously the right one; the safest one. Roberts’ demeanour cements my certainty. He wanted to meet somewhere outside; I’ve opted for a pavement table outside a café near Holborn. Neutral territory. He’s not his usual confident, almost arrogant self; something’s off. I’m silent, he can open the conversation.

Eventually, ‘It happened, just as I said it would?’

I’m saying nothing. It was a question, not a statement.

‘Have they told you, confirmed it?’

That’s it, he doesn’t know exactly what happened that night, only that the subject is dead. Is he sure, did he actually do it himself? ‘Yes, and they’ve found the bodies.’ Vague, confuse him.

‘Bodies! It wasn’t just him?’ Concern flares from his eyes. He’s having difficulty controlling his emotions,

‘The children’s bodies, his victims, the dream also showed us where to find them.’

‘I-I don’t understand, how do you know what happened in the dream. What did Miles say? I wasn’t sure how Miles would know, just that he would as it happened. Was he there when it happened, that would be very dangerous, a child alone in a maniac’s dream. I linked them mentally. It was risky, I didn’t realise. Shit, a child alone in a child killer’s active dreaming. What was I thinking. I knew something was off. I’m not myself. What did he say happened?’

‘Miles wasn’t alone Robert.’

‘Oh.’

Robert’s looking at me but he isn’t. He’s trying to process what I said. He’s sifting through his experiences, hoping to know the answer before he is forced to ask. Ceding initiative is confusing him. I hold eye contact until his vision clears. ‘His father? I linked Miles through him.’

‘No, not his father.’ If it wasn’t so serious it would be amusing.

‘Did he know who it was: a stranger, someone he knows? Hypothetically one could be drawn into, or wander into the boy’s dreaming. It could even have been someone the subject knew. I didn’t think this through.’

‘It wasn’t anyone he knew or that the subject knew. It wasn’t a stranger Robert, it was me.’

He’s shocked, trying to make sense of what I’m saying. My mind is clear, cool. Up to now my mind was clouded; that’s gone. So is the fear. The fear wasn’t what Spencer alluded to; it was about whether this guy could get into my head, literally. The shock he’s unable to hide is a relief, almost satisfying, after all I’m only human. He’ll want to ask questions but I’m not letting him. ‘I was drawn into Miles dream. He doesn’t know me so it must have been the subject’s, but he doesn’t know me either. So perhaps I linked through you.’ He doesn’t like that scenario, a frown and slight shake of his head. ‘The subject was there; I assume it was him. We were at a farm; thankfully it was identifiable. I don’t know if he was aware of us. He suddenly disappeared and I assume that’s when he died.’

I can tell he is still trying to make sense of what happened; especially my part of it. It’s not what he expected, it isn’t what he wanted. His concentration repeatedly flickers from me to somewhere in his mind. He bites his lip, fidgeting. Time to push ‘Are you alright Robert?’. It’s not therapy or analysis; I’m beyond that. ‘I wouldn’t link to me again if I were you Robert. A hint of threat, how you say things is important.’

‘Yes, but.’

‘No Robert.’

‘I may not be able to.’ His voice has risen slightly, becoming upset. ‘What if I can’t help it, I may need. Why?

‘I’m learning Robert, about you, about active dreaming, I’m a psychologist, and more. Do you remember what you told me, about that vulnerable girl in the mall. I think you took advantage of her, and that because it was “only in her dream” you didn’t considered it regrettable.’

His eyes hardened. ‘Dreams aren’t real.’

‘So what happened to those who died wasn’t real?’

‘You don’t know how they died?’

‘No, so tell me. If I know what happened: how they died and if anyone else was involved, I might not be so reluctant?’

‘There’s no-one else. I have a purpose.’

‘A purpose? what to kill anyone you consider a bad person?’

He doesn’t want to talk about this, admit anything. But he wants to be heard, it’s all he’s ever wanted, to be listened to.

‘Why are you like this Mel? We’re friends. I trusted you.’

‘Trust is not a one-way thing. And I work for the government Robert. None of this is on your terms.’

‘It might be.’ Bang; there it is, the threat, laced with a hint of a smile.

‘Let’s call it a day Robert. We can both think about what we’ve said, meet tomorrow?’

His confidence is back, he’s scheming. ‘Tomorrow. At your office?’

‘Yes, eleven-thirty. I have client at ten.’ I look at my phone and tut. ‘I’ve must sort these messages out, been on silent, never stops does it.’ Taking the hint, he gets up, walks away. Breathing a sigh of relief I press a speed dial number.

‘Hi Mel.’

‘Get me a meeting with the Director today.’

‘I don’t know if that’s possible, perhaps tomorrow.’

‘It must be today Spencer; I’ve just met Robert. It’s very urgent.’

‘Call you back.’

Another cup of coffee and a divine slice of cake; a rush of happiness blossoms from its taste.

My phone vibrates. ‘This evening, seven-thirty. I’ll meet you at reception.’

An upper office, lots of windows, beautiful evening views over a historic part of London. My wonder disturbed as the Director enters, followed by three others; another woman; older than me; expensive clothes, and two men. They’re comfortable, important. A round table with a spider phone and exactly the right number of chairs and another small, rectangular table are the only items of furniture in the room. Spencer pulls out a chair for me, sitting to my right. The Director smiles. ‘Mel.’ Wow, first names, very informal, good sign. ‘We’ll skip introductions; nothing will be minuted. You asked for this meeting urgently, presumably to present a final assessment of subject R. We’ve read the file and have rising concerns. I know it’s unusual but I’d like you to start with your conclusion and then outline your assessment.’

No messing then. ‘I’ve met the subject on a number of occasions, as you are aware from the files. I met him again this afternoon. I pause, remembering the instructions. ‘My conclusion is that subject R is a psychopath who has killed multiple times. I considered narcissism, and sociopathic behaviour, but now firmly assert that he is an extremely dangerous psychopath. There is indisputable evidence that his modus operandi, despite being highly unusual, is genuine and has perturbing implications beyond the murders he uses it to commit.

‘One moment Mel. I realise no refreshments have been procured. It’s been a long day and I personally would welcome some.’ The Director presses a button on the spider phone. ‘Jane. Can you dig up some refreshments please, Costa’s across the road will do. Yes, as quickly as possible. Sorry Mel, Jane should have considered it before we started, but all a bit of a rush. Carry on.

Not sure they need the full assessment, having read the files. Just an abbreviated version and a detailed analysis of his behaviour today; cunning, manipulation, fear and the final overt threat.

‘Did I do alright?’

Spencer nods, ‘More than alright, some very important people there.’

‘The woman; a psychologist?’

‘Not just a psychologist, The psychologist- numero-uno. And you really don’t want to know who she or the others are. Just forget them. Fancy a drink?’

‘More than one, lead on Macduff.’

Two double gin and tonics haven’t anesthetised my nervousness. It’s just half an hour since the meeting ended.

‘What’s up? you did really well.’

I can’t keep the dread to myself. ‘I don’t want to go home Spencer; I don’t want to sleep tonight. I’m scared.’ Fuck, I’ve lost his attention; bloody phone.

He looks up, It was important. ‘I’ve got a spare room. You can stay at my place tonight. But before you answer. He’s dead.’

Shock and the most relief I’ve ever felt. ‘When? How?’

‘Mel, why did you ask for a meeting today. So urgently? And why so afraid? You look and if you’ve won the lottery?’

He knows. I have to be sure. ‘We only left the meeting half an hour ago.’

‘Jane’s isn’t a PA. Forgot refreshments, doesn’t happen. She’s David’s right hand; he can’t function without her. It was a signal, that’s why he asked for your conclusion. All set up, ready for the signal. It’s over Mel, finished. It never happened, none of it, just a dream, pun intended. Another drink? Or fancy a meal?’

‘Yes, and yes.’

A month later.

The first glimmers of dawn frame the bedroom curtains. Close my eyes again, back to darkness. It was a lovely dream; exciting, weird. I’m getting used to it. The insistent draw, the journey; one landmark to the next, the sudden arrival. This time a shy young boy; jeans, and shirt from another era, buttoned up to his neck. My clothes familiar to the girl he remembers; not me. Mid-teens. Walking together to the old, neglected orchard behind a derelict mansion, it’s our secret place. The summer air alive with insects and birds I don’t recognise. Holding his hand, away from teasing schoolfriends. Leaning in, kissed gently on the side of my lips, so lovely, so innocent. Blushing. Another stronger kiss. A shudder passing through me; his remaining life-force. Moments ago, somewhere else. Turning away from the morning I’m not ready to meet, I brush my lips against the top of Spencer’s back, gently kiss his shoulder. The waking world is real. Dreaming; a deadly secret. If I ever meet his memory, would I thank his shadow, his imprint? How could I? I condemned him.Dreamers

1 The people named below will die during the week commencing 24/3.

The first line of a typed, sealed letter, sitting on the top of a file in front of me. It had been posted to a leading British newspaper one month before the date mentioned. Those named, all male except one, resided in the UK or USA. All had, by one means or another, avoided incarceration for despicable crimes. The letter was passed to the police who quickly identified where the letter had been posted and who had sent it. He has no criminal record. They all died within that week. He was interviewed and it was established that he couldn’t have been personally involved. Moreover, it was confirmed that all the victims had died of natural causes, in their sleep. The police, advised by the CPS, shelved the case. The newspaper; not told his identity, reluctantly dropped any further investigation.

‘Yes, strange. He’s lived quite a complex life, but manages to avoid attention. I suppose you want me to see him?’

‘Yes, he sent the letter from some reason. I want to know what he expected would come of it.’

‘An appointment with a psychologist?’ I wonder if he’s ever seen one. Somehow I doubt it.’

‘There’s definitely something. Might be a loony looking for attention, but how did he know. Told him you’re a psychologist and he just smiled; expected it.

‘You sent the letter, Robert?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Why did you send it?’

‘Because it was true.’

‘How did you know?’

‘I just did.’

‘Let’s not play games Robert, you’ve got the attention you wanted.’

‘I’m not sure how to begin.’

My reply is a hard look.

‘No, I mean it. I don’t want to come across as some sort of crazy.’

‘Thank you, I don’t see it as just wanting attention. I’m not sure what I want. I need to tell you a story?’

‘Ok, would it be facetious to say, “are we sitting comfortably.”’

‘No, it is quite a long story.’ A slight smile shows my little joke wasn’t lost on him.

‘Tea or coffee?’ I’d arranged refreshment, it always helps.

Taking a sip of his tea, his eyes lose focus. He’s remembering something.

If this is put on, it’s really convincing.’

‘When did this happen; it’s not a story is it, you believe it actually happened?’

He smiles. The right question. ‘About thirty years ago.’

‘And it’s a dream, not a story. So what is so significant about this particular dream?’

‘It’s the first one when I was aware of what was happening, I had some control.’

‘You could control what was happening?’ Damn, slow down.

‘No, the old lady controlled the dream. The strength of her final memory drew me to her, a sort of parasitic response to her call, but I controlled my awareness, if that makes sense.’

‘We all learn, make mistakes, learn from them, develop, hone our skills. It’s impossible not to, Don’t you agree?’

I ignore his question. He acknowledges this with another smile, guessing how it works; that I ask the questions. ‘Do you enjoy dreaming?’

‘What do you want Robert?’

He sucks air in between his teeth, rests his chin on his hands. ‘I’m not sure. I’m not lonely, I have a family. What do you think I want?’

‘Sadly, you may be right. So what do I do?’

‘I’m not here to give you advice Robert.’

‘So what are we here for?’

And there it was. I cursed inwardly; hiding it. I smiled, touché.

‘What is he?’ Not who is he.

As he’s escorted out, I begin expanding my sparse conversation notes with more detail spinning around my head, I’ll listen to the recording and write a preliminary assessment.

‘Why do you think he sent the letter to a newspaper.’

‘Attention.’

‘You’re sure that’s all, has it occurred to you he may be part of something bigger.’

‘Yes, but if he was wouldn’t you have found something? Have you found anything?’

‘No, but it’s all so improbable.’

‘Not yet. We need to know more. For now, the consensus is to get to the bottom of it.’

‘Not at the moment, we don’t know what we are dealing with. Do you think he’s dangerous?’

‘Anyone can be dangerous. But surveillance isn’t necessary, not at the moment, could be counter-productive until we know more.’

It’s been two days. She smiles. ‘Robert, please call me Mel; Mellanie.’

‘Thank you, I do feel more comfortable talking to a person than an occupation.’

‘I’m still a government psychologist. I want you to feel comfortable, but I’m not your friend and won’t pretend to be.’ Still that smile.

‘I’m quite aware. Perhaps, as you get to know me?’

‘Maybe, because I am going to know you? I really want to know you Robert. Everything?’

‘Can you communicate with other people you meet in your dreams?’

‘Ah, Well that’s complex. Those I meet in my dreams are in their own dreamworld. If I enter their dreams I’m not sure it’s me they’re seeing, maybe if they already know me but I am not sure even then, because I can’t ask them when they’re awake. I’m whoever they see me as. I don’t even think some of them see me, others interact but their awareness is dulled, mine is sharp. It’s only when someone I know or have known enters my dream the interaction can be almost normal. Particularly with family members, even those who have passed. I’m sure you understand that everything is different. As I’ve already mentioned; time, reality, perception, it’s all different. Every time its different.’

‘How do you navigate it then; how do you make sense of it?’

‘Practice; years of it, memory, accepting the impossible, adapting. Memorising dreams that matter.’

‘Answer my question properly Robert?’

‘Passed. Dead?’

‘Of course, haven’t you ever talked to someone, a family member or a friend who has passed away in your dreams?’ I see her eyes flicker. Of course she has – don’t smile.

He saw it. He saw my reaction; acknowledgement. I’m not comfortable but I’ll have to accept that this may happen. Time to take charge again.

‘I’ve been looking into your past.’ I take his file from the drawer and place in on the table. Not really necessary, an old trick, unsettling. I get a brief shrug.

‘I been around for a long time.’

‘It didn’t last long, but it was interesting.’

I leaf through the file, slowly for effect. ‘You spent a long time training, then was sent abroad to short detachments for a year or so, working mainly on your own, few details though.’ I pause.