Mike Shevdon - The Road to Bedlam

"Thanks," she murmured, but the disquiet was still in her eyes.

"I have a message for you."

"For me? How? I mean… do you?"

"And a question."

She shook her head. "This is strange…"

"Let me get this right. The message is that there's a young man who's desperate to hear from you and wants to do the right thing, not just because it's the right thing to do. He's waiting for you."

"How do you know this?" Hope had lifted her voice.

"And Greg, the vicar, would like to know whether it's a boy or a girl, though I think I already know the answer to that question."

She smiled for the first time. "He's called…"

"Shhhh! Do not name him here. He's too young and far too vulnerable." I turned to the glade. "Let her go now. She has what she came for. Release her."

"Release me from what?"

I ignored her. "Let them go."

"It's only a dream," she said. "It'll finish when I wake up."

"Release them. You'll get nothing else from me."

When I looked back, they'd gone.

"It doesn't matter who you bring. I'm not feeding from them and neither are you. Now send me back."

The only answer was the deepening silence.

"You can't force me to stay. Send me back where I came from."

A new voice. "Where did you come from? Kent, wasn't it?"

The voice from behind me startled me, partly because it was male. I turned and found a man, dressed in shirt, tie and trousers, watching me.

"Who are you?"

"You don't recognise me? That's weird, because I recognise you. How is it that my dreams don't know who I am?"

"Your dreams?"

He started walking slowly around the ring of thorns, speaking as he went. "Yeah. I'm dreaming. I must be. It's the only way I'd come up with this weird shit."

I turned, following his movement. I was beginning to think I did recognise him.

"We did meet, didn't we?"

"Course we did. You were with that weird woman at the hospital, the fake witch."

I remembered then. This was Claire's friend who had been at the hospital last year when the Queen's Remembrancer had been taken ill. He was the friend who'd been in charge of security, the one with connections.

"You still think she's a fake?" I asked.

"You're not trying to tell me you think she's for real? I mean, I know you're a dream, but try and stay a bit believable."

"Claire's friend. The secret squirrel. Sam Veldon." I had the name at last.

"Friend no longer. Your witchy woman saw to that. Claire rang me the other day, you know?"

"I know."

"Course you do." He continued walking.

"How did you know I come from Kent?" I asked. I was sure it hadn't been mentioned in our original encounter.

"It's in the file. When she mentioned your name, I looked you up. She said you needed my help. Bloody cheek if you ask me. Personally I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire, but I wanted to know why she was asking."

"And what did you discover?"

"Red flags. You're quite the celebrity these days, you know. Apprehend with caution, may be armed, possibly dangerous. You don't look dangerous."

"It says armed?"

"That's what it says on the file. I didn't write it." He completed his circuit around the glade, and continued without breaking step. "You were tagged amber after that policeman died last year. I didn't know you killed a policeman."

"I didn't. They didn't even charge me."

"Not what it says now. You've been hiked to red, possible murder, possible terrorist. Notify if seen."

"Will you tell them?"

"What, that you were in my dream? You think I'm nuts?"

"You're talking to me now," I pointed out.

"Got nothin' better to do. I'm asleep en't I?"

"Are you?"

"Course I am. Coulda done with prettier company than you, though. No offence, like."

"None taken. What else did the file say?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Well, me, since it's about me."

"Can't say. I've signed the official secrets." He tapped the side of his nose knowingly.

"Not even in your dream? I could be an extension of your subconscious, here to help you reach some hidden insight."

"You could be full of bollocks, sounds like." He laughed.

"Why do you think you're here then?"

"To puzzle it out, I s'pose."

"Puzzle what out?"

"The file references. They don't make sense."

"Which file references?"

"The one on your file and the one on hers."

"Who?"

"Alexandra, this daughter of yours. The one who's missing."

"She has a file too?"

"Course she does. Major incident, three dead at the scene. Sewer explosion. Biological contamination. It's all in there."

"Did it say where she is?"

"That's the thing. It's a B reference. So's yours."

"What's a B reference?"

"A reference starting with B. Other than that, no idea. Never come across one before. I asked one of the archive bunnies."

"You have bunnies?"

"The girls in Archives, or Knowledge Management, I think they call it now. Pity you're not like one of them. This could be a very different kinda dream."

"Think you're in with a chance, do you?"

"Nah, they're all married. Makes things difficult, doesn't it?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Yeah, right. Her indoors might look in her tea leaves and put the eye on you."

"Tell me about the archive bunnies."

"What, the blonde or the redhead?"

"No, about what they said."

"You're not much fun, are you?"

"You said they were B references."

"Yeah, I thought they were messing me about, y'know? B references? Load of bollocks, like a long stand, or a left-handed screwdriver."

"They like to wind you up, do they? I can see why."

"Turns out it's kosher. The file references are all centrally allocated. They usually go with who owns the case, or the suspect. I know the ones for criminal investigation, terror suspects, organised crime, military, drugs, counter-intelligence – all of that, but I'd never seen a B reference before"

"So what did they say?"

"They have this whole Mulder and Scully routine, you know? Alien spacecraft, ghost stories, spooky houses, telepathy? They reckon it's all in the files if you know where to look."

"And that's what's in Alex's file."

"They reckon all the B files are weird shit. They all have some unexplained thing, going way back."

"Way back where?"

"Into the stacks. Into the paper archives before they computerised everything. They have B files going back so far you have to go into a special room to see them. It's all temperature-controlled and humidified."

"So what's a B file?"

"Oh, they're into the full act now, aren't they? Rolling their eyes and telling me I don't have clearance, they'll have to kill me if they tell me."

"They wouldn't tell you, would they?"

"No. But I found out anyway."

"You did?"

"Sure. What do I look like? Cabbage?"

"So go on then, tell me."

"Why? I don't owe you anything. You've never given me anything but shit."

"I'm just a dream, though, aren't I?"

"Yeah, well, I don't owe a dream much either. Go screw yourself."

"No, Sam. It's you who's screwed."

"Yeah? You and whose army?"

"I don't need an army. You've forgotten where you are."

I moved to intercept him. He stopped, stepped back, balanced on the balls of his feet. I knew enough to know that he was ready to fight, even if it was a dream.

"You've got the wrong idea, Sam. I'm not going to punch you. I don't have to."

Standing facing him, out of range of fists or feet, I reached inwards and connected with the core of magic within me. It flared into life, dark shadows spilling outward. My skin went black and lightless, reflecting not even the dim light of the pinprick stars. Dappled moonlight swirled across the grass where no moon shone. Sam backed away, an expression of disbelief and distaste on his face. It was the wrong thing to do.