I dreamt I was bound
to a rickety old chair, hands behind my back, restrained by my wrists and
ankles. Before me lay the most ghastly scene. I was affronted by an expansive
castle-like room of marble masonry. Centrepiece in this room was a king-size
four poster bed draped in heavy red satin. The satin overlapped onto the floor
all around. Four bright arc lights highlighted it, shining down onto the
lustrous fabric from all sides. The radiance stung my eyes, making it difficult
to see anything else in the lurking shadows. But I could see the film crew –
shady characters poised behind tripod-mounted Panasonic video cameras, mixed in
with a couple of sound guys with microphones. There was one man set apart, he
looked like the man in charge, sat on a barstool overlooking proceedings. He
wore an expensive-looking suit and he was smoking a cigarette. There was an
undeniable wickedness emanating from his aura. His face was cold as stone, yet
he sported a cruel grin of humour. He was young, and devilishly handsome. An
agent of Satan.
Next I noticed the wall behind the
bed. It was wallpapered, but the wallpaper was amorphous, like shifting waxy
sludge. It seemed to be both alive and rotting at the same time. There was a
figure caught within its constantly reshuffling hues. The figure of a woman
with a nest of snakes as hair. I recognised her with something like
disappointing disdain. She had evolved from her human shape on the beach. She
was now like more of a creature, closer to her true demon form. She seemed to
be fighting to be freed from behind the wall itself, like an enraged prisoner
within an abstract cell. It was phantasmagorical. I could hear her snarling and
grunting like a beastly monster.
There was an open doorway to the far
right, swamped in windswept drapes. Beyond it lay a high balcony bathed in pearly
moonlight.
Lastly I noticed that the bed was
not empty. Upon it lay a frail and exposed naked female form, huddled up in the
foetal position.
Bailey Clay.
She looked drugged. I could sense
she was drugged. Because she was well out of it, with no idea of her
surroundings. She could never have fallen asleep with no clothes on in front of
onlookers. She had no idea of her surroundings. Or her precarious predicament.
My heart panged for her. I shook in
my chair but it was nailed down and I couldn’t budge a muscle. I felt inclined
to cover her nakedness with the satin and hide her body from all the vulgar
perverts staring in her direction. Then I had a desire to keep her safe,
because it dawned on me that she was in mortal danger. Something was going to
happen, something terrible, but I didn’t know what. Whatever it was, I
concluded that the man on the stool was going to stream it live on the dark web
to an unknown debased audience. Hence the camera crew.
I wasn’t ready for the depravity
that was to come. I could only taste it from afar, but had no real stomach or
appetite for it. It would be grossly offensive and ungodly. Not knowing was the
worst thing. I just wanted to hold her in my arms and face whatever was coming
together, at least. But I couldn’t, because I was strapped to a bleedin’ chair!
Was this some kind of ritual? Were
they summoning the demon from out of the wallpaper so it – she – could defile
my Bailey? Or did the corrupt man on the barstool have his own plans for her?
He introduced himself to me then. He
stood up, walked over, and offered me a cigarette. I shook my head.
“My name’s Samil,” he said. “I don’t
believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before. You are Anton, correct?”
I nodded. “You’re her ex-boyfriend,
aren’t you?”
“I was never her boyfriend. I fooled
her. Cunned her. She’s nothing but an experiment to me. I refer to myself as
her handler.”
“What are you going to do to her?” I
could barely constrain my anger. He had a face I wanted to punch. I was
familiar with all the suffering he’d put her through. She’d told me just last
night on the sofa drinking wine.
“I’m undecided yet. I do what I want
with her. I give her schizophrenia, you know. I induced it with psychotronic
weapons.”
“Psycho–what?”
“Psychotronic weaponry. Mind
weaponry. Brain manipulation weaponry. I had her chipped when she was a child.
There’s an implant in her brain. I control her mind, I control her nervous
system, I control her optic nerve, her ears, her emotions, everything. She’s
nothing but a puppet. She belongs to me. I own her. She’s my slave. And she’ll
never forget me, because I give her nightmares. The most explicit, grotesque
nightmares.”
“Why?”
“Because I like to. Because I’m
evil.”
My will deflated. He had justified
himself. In his own twisted mind, he was doing nothing wrong. Although there
was something wrong – with him. He wasn’t right. He was disturbed. Although
from his cool exterior, you never would have guessed. He looked just like any
other government official.
“That’s no excuse. She doesn’t
deserve it. It’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, Anton. You of all
people should know that. I’ve done my research, since you came into Bailey’s
life. I know all about you. You can’t imagine the power I have over the general
public. I’ve uncovered all there is to know. I know, for example, that you’re
hurting.”
“Leave my family out of this! And
let her go! Pick on somebody your own size!”
Samil chuckled. “I pick on who I
like, and I like Bailey a great deal. You think you can steal her away from me?
She’s mine.”
“Nobody owns anybody. She’s not a
commodity. She’s a human being!”
“She’s government property.”
“That’s nonsense.” I could already
see that trying to bargain with this gentleman would be a waste of time. He
couldn’t see beyond his own nose. “Nonsense,” I repeated. “You’ve got to leave
her alone. You’ve got to let her get on with her own life.”
“Her life is my business. I need
people to test my technologies on. Long-term subjects. I was hoping you might
understand, Anton.”
“I don’t! Never! It’s wrong! Let her
live!”
Just then my angel walked into the
room, materialising out of thin air. It was the normal-looking bloke from my
lucid dream after Lucid. Only this time he had wings. They sprouted off his
back like a safeguard. They quivered with divine power. One flick of them would
send Samil flying across the room. The camera crew backed away, leaving their
stations. Samil retreated back towards his stool, nervous.
“Get behind me, Satan,” the angel
told him. Then he began to untie me. Within moments I was free. I thanked him
and run towards the bed, crouching beside Bailey. I shook her, and she
grimaced, slowly regaining her consciousness. I shook her again, harder. She
opened her eyes and recognised me.
“Anton,” she moaned. “What’s
happening?”
I wrapped her body up in the red
satin and escorted her to her feet. The wallpaper behind the bed bulged
outwardly in places, the snake-haired demon withinside protesting vehemently.
The angel ushered us towards the
doorway. Meanwhile, Samil went over to the wall and started pulling a claw out
from the wallpaper. He was helping set the demon free. Bailey moved slow and
clumsily and needed me to hold her upright. She was looking around the room
with both trepidation and awe. I bundled her through the doorway and out onto
the moon-soaked balcony beyond.
We were met by a ferocious wind
coming off the sea below. Roaring waves stretched from horizon to horizon.
The angel protected us with his
wings. “Jump,” he said. “Jesus will do the rest.”
“What about that thing?” I asked.
The demon was now free and in the room, looking our way and advancing forward. Samil
cowered behind her like a coward behind his guard dog. Whether she wanted me or
Bailey, I had no idea.
“Let me handle this,” the angel
said, and walked towards the demon. Cameras clattered the floor as they started
fighting, rolling around and beating each other.
I edged Bailey towards the precipice
of the castle ledge. We both stared down into the depths of the raging sea with
fear. “Are you ready,” I asked.
She nodded bravely. We jumped as
one, an awfully long drop down, and splashed into the water. We seemed to sink
forever into its chilly clutches, finally rising to the surface and being
thrown about by the current.
“Bailey!” I shouted.
“I’m here!” she shouted back.
I swam to her and held her briefly.
“Swim!” I said.
We swam, but it felt like we weren’t
getting anywhere. The waves were too strong. They rocked us to and fro like
rubber ducks in a washing machine. We were losing stamina, and fast.
“Look!” I said. “There’s a boat!”
A small fisherman’s boat drew up
alongside us. It was Jesus. He extended a long staff which we grabbed hold of
and pulled us up into the boat, one at a time. We collapsed together once
inside. I huddled Bailey for warmth, but there was a warmth coming off Christ,
a fatherly warmth that promised comfort and healing. Doves circled overhead. Jesus
opened his mouth to say something, but it was then that I woke up…
