S. Bolton - Dead Scared

‘Well, that’s just it, she couldn’t really tell me. When I was here – and you’ve probably noticed, I’m not here that much – she’d wake me up moaning and screaming. One time I found her in the room here.’ She nodded towards a spot on the floor. ‘Very early in the morning. She was stark naked, huddled up, crying and yelping. Woke the whole block up. It was like one of those night terrors you hear about kids having.’

‘Was she taking something?’ I asked.

‘Well, that’s what we thought, to be honest, which is why we didn’t call an ambulance. One of the boys sleeping over was a third-year medical student. He checked her heart rate, her pupils and everything and we put her back to bed. I sat in the doorway until I could see she was more settled.’

‘And in the morning?’

‘She felt like shit, couldn’t remember a thing. That was the worst episode, but I’m not sure she was getting any real sleep towards the end. Kept talking about noise in the night, people talking, phone calls waking her up. Have to say, it never bothered me.’

‘I heard the police found evidence she’d been smoking something pretty powerful the night of the accident. Did she do that a lot?’

Talaith looked down at her toes for a second, then reached out and rubbed away an imaginary smudge. ‘Not that I saw,’ she said. ‘But she was pretty jumpy about people going into her room, so she could well have had something to hide.’

‘Who would go into her room?’ I asked.

Talaith shrugged. ‘She thought I was coming in at night, while she was asleep,’ she said. ‘She talked about how things were being moved round. How she’d go to bed leaving things in a certain way and when she woke up they were different.’

I figured I’d pushed as far as I could for now. My room-mate was a long way from stupid. I sat back in my chair, finished my coffee and stretched my arms behind my head.

‘So why does everyone but the vicar call you Tox or Toxic?’ I asked.

‘Family nickname,’ she replied. ‘My older brother gave it to me on account of my unusual flatulence as a kid.’

‘Oh?’

‘Don’t panic. I outgrew it.’

‘So what are you studying?’ I asked her, expecting something like psychology or sociology. Talaith (Tox) had shown a pretty thorough grasp of the human psyche.

‘Aeronautical engineering,’ she told me, then laughed at the look on my face. ‘I am a rocket scientist.’

I laughed and we said goodnight.

That was the night I started having dreams.

Thursday 17 January (five days earlier)

I WOKE UP late, feeling like I’d aged a decade overnight. I got out of bed and my body told me to get back in right now. Couldn’t be done. I had a lecture at nine and I’d have to hurry to make breakfast.

Tox was just getting back from the Buttery when I opened the block’s front door, wondering how long it would take me to get used to walking through freezing January air to get hold of a bowl of cornflakes. She held eye contact for just a second longer than seemed natural. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘How you doing?’

‘Good,’ I replied. ‘You OK?’

‘Oh, I’m fine,’ she replied, emphasizing the I . At that moment, another girl left the block in a hurry and Tox stepped inside. I made my way to the Buttery, pushed open the door to the main building and joined the straggling remnants of the queue, wondering if getting out of bed had been the right decision after all. My mouth was dry, my throat felt as though I’d swallowed wire wool and my eyes could barely stay open. I hadn’t drunk alcohol last night but this felt like the worst hangover ever.

Then the room went dark and the floor seemed to fall from beneath me.

*

‘You all right? Can you hear me?’

‘Can someone get a chair?’

I was on the floor of the Buttery serving area with no memory of having reached the front of the queue. A boy and a girl were crouched next to me; behind the counter several kitchen staff looked more interested than concerned. Nothing they hadn’t seen before.

A chair appeared and I let them lift me up and put me on it. ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I said to the pale-faced girl with scarlet glasses who’d helped lift me. ‘Don’t miss your breakfast. I’ll just stay here for a bit.’

Gradually, they left me alone. An older, kind-looking woman behind the counter offered me a drink. After a few minutes I felt better.

I caught Tox just as she was about to leave.

‘Sorry about last night,’ I said. ‘Did I scare you?’

She shook her head, but didn’t quite meet my eyes. I’d scared her. ‘It must have been talking about what happened to Bryony,’ I said. ‘It must have been playing on my mind. I don’t normally dream at all.’

She glanced at her watch. It was ten minutes to nine. She’d have to rush to make nine o’clock lectures. ‘Bryony could never remember anything in the morning,’ she said.

‘I didn’t at first,’ I said. ‘I just felt rough, like I’d drunk too much and slept too little. It started coming back to me just now.’

‘What?’ she said.

‘I was awake,’ I said. ‘In my dream, I mean. But I couldn’t move. I knew exactly where I was, I just couldn’t move a muscle or open my eyes. And someone was standing over me, watching me. Was I noisy?’

‘Not as bad as Bryony could be,’ Tox replied.

But bad enough, judging by the look on her face.

‘I remembered something about Bryony’s dreams,’ Tox said. ‘There was this one time when she was sobbing that someone had cut her face to ribbons, that blood was pouring out of her. It wasn’t, of course, she was perfectly fine. Just freaking out.’

At that moment my phone buzzed. A text from Evi wondering if I could see her at noon, in her rooms. There was something she needed to talk to me about.

‘I’ll see a doctor this morning,’ I said. ‘I’m sure it’s just being in a new place, talking about what happened to Bryony and that business with the boys on Tuesday night. But if it happens again, I’ll move out.’

At that, Tox looked a little ashamed of herself. Which was exactly what I’d planned. ‘You don’t need to do that,’ she said.

‘You should go,’ I said. ‘Thanks for being so sweet. I’ll catch you later.’

‘NICE ROOM,’ SAID Laura Farrow, standing just a pace or two inside it, looking round at the walls of pale, uncovered stone and arched stone-framed windows.

‘My official room in college,’ said Evi. ‘Where I see my students, as opposed to my patients.’

‘Who’s the stiff?’ asked the detective, her eyes rising to the oil painting above the hearth.

‘Some twit in a black gown and curled wig,’ replied Evi, as a spark jumped out of the fire and landed on the worn rug. Before Evi could even move, Laura had stepped forward and crushed it under foot. Then she almost lost her balance, stumbled and recovered.

‘There’s a hook behind the door,’ said Evi. ‘Have a seat. You might need a notebook.’

Laura took off her jacket, gloves and scarf, sat on the winged chair opposite Evi’s own and took a student pad and pencil from her bag. When she looked up, her pupils were too large.

‘Are you OK?’ Evi asked.

‘Of course,’ said Laura, a little too quickly. ‘Don’t I look it?’

Evi took her time. Natural poise aside, Laura really didn’t look well. Her make-up seemed to sit on her pale face, rather than blending in naturally.

‘I didn’t sleep well,’ Laura added. ‘The student blocks can be quite noisy at night.’ Then she seemed to force a smile. ‘And the truth is I’m not nearly as young as I’m pretending to be.’