Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It’s Monday evening, and Una and I are sitting in Baldazzar, a Turkish bar on the outskirts of the city. The tables are full, the chatter rowdy as lavish lamps drench the room in a cosy warmth I could happily bask in all night.
Pierre sent his apologies earlier today. It’s his mother’s birthday, and the family have gone out for a celebratory meal, so Una and I have the conversation to ourselves. Taking the opportunity of our time alone, I tell her a little bit more about my dreams, leaving out the intimate details.
“I’m still having these crazy dreams about this guy. It’s literally every night. And they feel so real. When I wake up, I feel like I’ve done the things in my dreams. It’s like it’s an actual memory.”
Una toys with the paper straw protruding from her tall glass. “Are you ready to tell me who you’re dreaming about yet?”
“No.” My reaction is sharp, my cheeks heating.
Una side-eyes me, and I know she’s picked up on the guilt on my face. I focus on the long cuffs of her emerald top where they dangle onto the table, then slide back to reveal the gold bracelets adorning her wrists. Her dark hair is crimped and flowing over her shoulders as part of her medieval goth look.
“It could be several things. Stress making you overtired. Maybe you’re working too hard,” she suggests.
I heave an internal sigh that she isn’t going to push me to reveal who my mystery dream-man is. There have been whisperings in the newsroom about Valdemar’s release. I knew it wouldn’t be long before Dupin got hold of that story, but as expected, no one is talking about it around me with obvious reason. Even Una hasn’t broached the subject, which suggests they’re all handling me with kid gloves.
“I don’t think the lame stories Captain has me covering can be referred to as ‘hard work,’” I tut. “I just wish I had a bit more control in the dreams. I seem to lose myself in them.”
Chewing on the straw, Una regards me like I’m a fraction that needs converting to a decimal. “Maybe it’s more than a dream.”
I look up from my drink. “What do you mean?”
“Have you heard of astral projection?” she asks.
“Yeah, but I’ve no idea what it is.” I shrug.
“It’s an out-of-body experience where your astral self, or your soul, leaves your earthly body and goes on rampages throughout the city,” Una explains.
“That doesn’t sound possible,” I tell her as I consider the likelihood of seeing your dead relatives, foreseeing the future, or being able to track people through touch alone.
“Some cultures think so. They believe your consciousness can function separately from your physical body. It’s an ancient belief, but one I’m here for, although I’ve never been able to accomplish it.”
“I don’t think this is a case of astral projection. Surely I would remember seeing myself asleep on the bed or hovering above myself.”
Una shrugs, the straw losing its appeal. “If it isn’t astral projection, then I’m out of ideas.” She looks sad for me. This is the Una people don’t see, the one who doesn’t rear her head very often, the one who cares, who empathises, who takes on everyone else’s problems and tries to solve them.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?” she asks.
“Dragging down the mood of our Monday night pick-me-up drinks.”
“Hey, don’t apologise.” Una pats my hand. “I love a good mystery. Besides, it beats talking about how my cat woke me at three in the morning, coughing up a furball.”
“Just one of the reasons I don’t have pets.” I laugh.
“I wouldn’t be without him, though. Pluto is my only companion at home.”
This reminds me how lonely Una is and how much we’ve come to rely on each other over the years. In the five years I’ve known her, she’s never spoken about her family, other than telling me she was brought up by a strange aunt who passed away when Una was nineteen. She’s had a string of boyfriends, but none of them have stayed for the duration, probably because they found the sting in her tail too sharp to handle.
My thoughts stray to my dead mother, who, at one time, was my only evening companion. But now there’s Valdemar, and as much as I hate him, he doesn’t cough up furballs.
“Say, do you want me to sleep over? I could do a night-time stakeout and see if I can see your astral self leaving your body. I don’t mind.”
I balk in my seat. There’s no way I can have Una watch me orgasm in my sleep.
“Thanks for the offer, but it’s fine,” I say quickly.
She doesn’t look convinced.
“I can’t put you out like that,” I demur, hoping to mollify her, “but you have given me an idea. I have a security camera I can set up. It’s an old one from when I shared a flat with some fellow students and was convinced one of them was stealing my food. I don’t know if it’ll pick anything up, but it’s worth a try. I might see a hazy mist coming in from under my door or the sandman in my room.” I laugh, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
“Just as long as you share your findings. I want to know what’s going on,” Una says.
You and me both, I want to say.
Every night this week, the dream has followed its usual course.
It begins in the maze and ends in the pool.
I dug out the security camera and set it up on the tall drawers opposite my bed, but all it’s shown is me sleeping, nothing more, until I wake once I’ve cried out Valdemar’s name in the dream.
There’s no sandman, no shimmering mirage of astral projection.
And I’ve given up fighting the dreams, fighting Valdemar. There’s no point, as no matter how much my waking self despises the man, my nocturnal self can’t get enough of him.
On Wednesday night, the dream unfolds like it has every night this week.
I run through the maze until I reach the fountain, where Valdemar guides me into the water and his embrace. I spread my legs, and he holds me under the thrashing of my tears as I gaze at the stars and lose myself in the abyss of bliss.
“There’s nothing more beautiful than the sight of you laid bare for me, angel.” His words cut through the drumming of the water, working their way to my centre and the mounting orgasm about to rip through me. “I love to watch you come undone, to feel you writhe under me.” His hand tightens around my throat, and my head falls to the side as pleasure devours me, clawing away at my insides and crying to be let out.
I whimper and moan as Valdemar holds me until my climax snowballs and hits me in my core, my orgasm ravaging me.
“Say my name, angel. I want my name on your lips as you come.”
And as his name is carried on my breath, his feather-soft kisses along my collar transform into a hot burst of pain.
His teeth sink into my neck, the bite hard and bloodthirsty.
Waking with a start, I sit up, the throbbing down my shoulder burning through my T-shirt. I leap out of bed and make my way to the bathroom, where I pull the neck of my T-shirt to the side—and there they are.
Teeth marks.
Perfectly formed, red teeth marks embedded into the crook of my neck.
“What the fuck?”
No one answers me as I stare into the mirror. But even as I ask the question, an answer is forming, one that makes me want to vomit, one I can’t believe I didn’t think of before. And now that it’s here, I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been.
Returning to my bedroom, I check the time, working out how many hours there are before I’ll be sitting in front of Valdemar Montresor, asking him what the fuck is going on.