Daniel had counted twenty-six seats arranged in a horseshoe around the large glass doors: twenty-five of them empty. Behind the chairs the walls were a soft brown and the hard-wearing carpet beneath them was green, the colours carefully chosen to complement the view.
Through the floor to ceiling windows that ran the whole length of the entrance he could clearly see the path that led away from the building, winding its way behind a large weeping willow that swayed in the wind that had begun to drive itself against the large panes of glass. The transparent sheets, four of them dusted with fine dirt and tiny leaves, hummed as the air buffeted them. Inside the waiting room Daniel could hear the wind but not feel its affects, instead he saw them twisting the bowed branches of the willow tree in a sad swaying dance.
He had waited longer than most would find acceptable, but by nature he was a patient man. Even if this patience was to abandon him his gratitude to the doctor for finding a last-minute appointment for him would have stayed any anger.
Actually, feeling anger might have been a sign of improvement.
He would have to ask the Doc.
Directly over his head and out of his line of sight was the clock. He could not see it, but he could hear it. Its sound was a rhythmic mechanical snap each second the hand swept around its dial. He wanted to count them but forced himself not to, he wanted to look but forced his eyes to the swaying tree. He knew what time it was anyway because that was when he heard the catch on the door behind him, the one that led deeper into the practice, as it clicked open.
“Mr. Vale? Would you like to come through?”
Daniel Vale decided that he did.
He followed the young woman down a narrow and unusually dark corridor to a sparse and familiar room. The walls of this room were a pale blue and apart from three thickly upholstered chairs and a coffee table the room was bare. At least it usually was. Today a whiteboard sat in one corner in front of the high narrow windows. On it were uneven circles drawn in black marker pen and indecipherable notes obviously made by a doctor’s hand.
Daniel walked in and the receptionist paused a moment at the door, perhaps unsure if she should leave him alone. She was a tall woman more than a few inches taller than Daniels five foot eleven and her hair was styled in a cute pixie cut that made her already large eyes seem even larger.
“Aaron will be with you in a minute or two.”
“Thanks…”
“Do you need anything?”
“No, thank you.”
She closed the door and Daniel found himself alone; but he found that he didn’t remain that way for long.
Aaron P. Richardson was also taller than Daniel and as he made his way to the seat in front of him Daniel watched an ungainly dance of knees and elbows. The Doctor folded himself into the seat and dug into the postal bag he carried, the notes he pulled from it were written in a spidery hand on loose leaves of paper torn from reporters’ notebooks.
“You okay Doc?”
“I’m fine, yourself?”
“Fair to middling.”
Aaron arranged the notes on the table in neat piles, fussing with the corners in a way that made Daniel wonder if he had ever seen a therapist himself.
Daniel glanced at the window over his shoulder.
“I love this kind of weather.”
Aaron stopped what he was doing and looked up at Daniel, then at the scene through the window behind him.
“Yes? Why is that.”
Daniel shrugged a reply.
“I don’t know; the drama of it?”
Aaron made a note then flipped back through the notebook a few pages.
“So last time we spoke a little about the dreams and what they meant to you… Are they still causing you distress?”
Daniel barked laughter, a harsh abrupt sound that was filled with less humour than it was cynicism.
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“But they’re just dreams Daniel, they…”
“No…”
Daniel shifted in his seat and, leaning on one elbow, he placed two fingers over his lips as if self-silencing. He breathed in deeply then began.
“When I was a kid, I thought they were just dreams. I used to think they were unconnected; in fact, it took a long time before I saw what was happening at all.”
“So, when was the first time it happened?”
“A pencil falling from a desk was the first one, a 2B pencil in art class; I was about twelve. I knew it was going to fall because I had dreamt it was going to fall, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop it; I just needed to see it happen.”
Daniel paused and his brow wrinkled slightly. Aaron made another note.
“I had dozens like that, all little things; but then I had the one about the war; and I started writing it all down.”
Daniels words were replaced by the scratching of pen on paper, so he waited and watched. Aaron’s hair was light brown, approaching blonde, and in the harsh light from the fluorescence above them Daniel could see his scalp clearly.
“Which war was this?”
Aaron spoke without looking up, he was unaware of Daniels scrutiny. Daniel thought about the thin layer of skin and bone between the would world outside of Aaron’s head and the world inside.
“The gulf war, the first one.”
Daniel thought of how easily that barrier could be breached.
“What happened in this dream?”
“I was talking in a language I didn’t understand, and a woman was trying to stop me from doing something… Trying to lead me away from something… I manage to get my arm free, and I ran in the direction of smoke. A week later I saw the woman’s face again on the news. She was screaming over the body of a man.”
“Some time ago,” Aaron shuffled through his notes, “last month; we were talking, and I suggested you read The Probability Principle. Did you…?”
“Yeah, not exactly a riveting read, but yeah I did.”
“So, what did you…?”
“I thought I’d resist taking book recommendations from you in the future, but yes, I understand that coincidence is everywhere.”
“So, you can see a person might take a coincidence or two and extrapolate a deeper meaning from it?”
“Yes.”
Daniel’s eyes moved from the notebook to Aaron’s face and for a moment Aaron was taken with the intensity in them. Daniel was calm, he was always calm, but he was sad too, a beaten kind of sad. Slowly a smile formed on Daniels lips and as it reached his eyes he looked away.
“But science also tells us that life is a coincidence; or at least a random event that may not have happened but for a small change here or an otherwise inconsequential absence there.”
“Well, yes, but I don’t think it’s the same thing Daniel.”
“But I think it is I think I’m beginning to understand why I seem to know… inconsequential things about the future. I think it’s because there is nothing that’s inconsequential. I think that everything has meaning, everything has worth. Do you at least believe that Doctor?”
Aaron thought for a moment and then nodded.
“Honestly?”
“Yes. I can at least agree with that.”
“That’s good… Because I also think I’m starting to understand why bad things happen; and why I can’t seem to stop them.”
For a moment, the two men pause in tableau; Daniel’s breath came in short bursts as if he had just exerted himself. If he saw the cast of concern in Aaron’s eyes, he didn’t acknowledge it.
“You see; you can’t change one thing without changing everything that follows it. I would change the bad things, I would, but some bad is necessary… Everything is already in its rightful place.”
“If so, why do you see it at all?”
“Well now, that’s the real question isn’t it.”
He shook his head, he didn’t know.
Aaron’s pen scraped across the paper.
“Well, it’s clear to me Daniel that you’ve had some real improvement over the last few months.”
Daniel noticed that Aaron didn’t hold his gaze as he spoke.
“Do you really think so?”
Daniel reply was flat.
“Absolutely. Your stress levels have dropped; your depression had eased; you still have some distress from he dreams themselves, but the ancillary symptoms seem to have improved considerably. Do you still do your exercises?”
Daniel nodded.
“That’s key to a successful life with problems such as yours Daniel. Do not do battle the problem itself but manage the stress the problem causes. Perhaps then the root of your issues will present itself to you.”
“You ever hugged a tree, Doc?”
Aaron smiled then rubbed his eye absently.
“I’ve been known to swoon over the odd Douglas Fern.”
Daniel smiled back, “The dreams are real.”
Again, Aaron smiled, and Daniel wanted to scream. Instead, he leaned forward and said two words as clearly as he could.
“It happens…”
Aaron nodded; his face still filled with his good-natured certainty.
“We’ll talk about it next time; can you make two weeks?”
Aaron searched through his papers, not finding what he is looking for.
“I have no appointment slips; do you need one for work?”
Daniel nodded.
“One moment, I’ll just go and get one from Marnie.”
Aaron rose and placed his notebook on the table before leaving the room. Daniel waited, then leaned forward and plucked the paper from the tabletop. Across the page in a near indecipherable scrawl were blocks of notes, each meticulously time stamped. At 14:30 on the 12th of May Daniel can make out the word “delusional”, a week later he can see “paranoid” and today he saw the words “possible schizophrenia?”
Daniel smiled that smile that didn’t reach his eyes and then placed the book back to where it was. After a moments inspection he nudged it slightly until it was in exactly the same position from which he took it. He sat back, in the silence the wind outside moaned like a bad dream.
His eyes would not move from the notes and his mind would not move from what he saw written in them. Would he know if it was all true? Would he see his delusions as real despite the cracks in logic that threatened to tear them apart?
Was it a delusion to believe; or was Aaron’s denial of it a delusion?
Is life just a dream within a dream?
The door opened and Aaron returned, a small card in his hand defaced with his indecipherable scrawl. Daniel took it.
“What’s Marnie short for anyway?” He heard himself say, his voice distant and maddeningly normal.
“You know; I don’t know. I’ll ask her.” Was the reply, upbeat and filled with all the insincerity inherent in Aaron’s profession.
Daniel rose.
“I’ll see you later then…”
“Two weeks.”
“Yeah, two weeks…” Daniel moved to the door and felt the moment click into place. He had to speak, even if the words fell on deaf ears.
“Sometimes bad things happen, but then we find that they are the start of something good. It starts something, or stops something, or sets something in motion that… needs to be done.”
“Sounds rather like therapy doesn’t it.”
“Yeah, I guess it does.” Daniel smiled that smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It won’t hurt for long…”
“You’re…” Aaron hesitated. “You’re getting better all the time Daniel.”
For a moment it seemed as if Daniel intended to say more, then his eyes moved over the small room to the world through the window. Aaron followed Daniels gaze.
“Daniel…?”
But Daniel had already gone, leaving the door open and Aaron stared after him, a thinking statue, more than a little confused.
Aaron moved to the door.
“Marnie? Can you send Mr. Tedstone through please?”
The branch tapped against the windowpane behind him as the wind moaned its complaints.
What had captured Daniel’s attention?
Aaron looked the room over and watched the trees in the gardens outside sway; he didn’t see the man enter the room behind him. A large man in an equally large overcoat dotted with dirt and worn to threads at the elbows. The man’s hands were buried in deep pockets, his shoulders hunched as if he still battled against the wind outside.
Feeling a presence Aaron turned to greet his visitor, offering his hand, his visitor reaching to take it.
“Mr. Tedstone how are…”
Aaron saw something glint as Tedstone’s hand moved from the pocket of the overcoat, then he felt a blow to his ribs under his outstretched arm. He thought he’d been hit, he thought Tedstone had punched him, but he remembered the glint of steel and when he felt hot warmth against his side he knew something far worse had happened.
Then he saw the glint again, this time tinged with red and he felt the blade pop through the flesh of his stomach. It’s as if his flesh began to resist only to accept the blade like a reluctant lover. Then the pain hit, and his legs disappeared beneath him. The floor rose and struck the side of his head and the colour drained from his vision.
Tedstone, suddenly lacking any definition, walked from the room and Aaron was suddenly doubtful he was ever really there. He was a blur, as blurred at the world around him; was everything always so difficult to understand?
He heard a woman’s distant scream.
“My God… Oh my God… Someone phone an ambulance… PHONE AN AMBULANCE…”
The sounds around him became muted, Marnie’s voice – that was the woman’s name, Marnie – floated away.
Aaron remembered a man’s voice now.
“I think that everything has meaning, everything has worth.”
Slowly Aaron moved his head to the side, the branch of a tree brushed against the window. The sound was familiar and soothing; and Aaron decided it was time to close his eyes.
“You can’t change one thing without changing everything that follows it.”
The tree branch tapped against the window and the wind howled.
“Everything is in its rightful place.”
Over the sound of the wind and the tapping of the unseen branch Aaron’s world faded to black.
The darkness didn’t hold, sounds and images interrupted it. The interruptions were sporadic at first, merely flashes of light or murmurs of sound. There were occasional images he could describe: the corner of a window, a hand hovering close to his face, but mostly it was a haze of light.
The sounds were different, and they were nearly always the same. It was a man’s voice but the words he spoke did not make any sense; Aaron knew he didn’t have the knowledge to understand, but he thought he could perhaps acquire it.
Sometimes there was another voice, one he recognized and one he knew belonged to the person whose hand would sometimes squeeze his own in solidarity.
When he could he knew he would have to thank her.
When he woke the first thing he saw was the brightness of the sun streaming in through the large windows. Outside a band of grass stood between the hospital and the road and the sounds of the cars were little more than a whisper.
He found comfort in the sound.
Marnie was there beside him. Her eyes were rimmed with red and her usually perfect hair was disheveled; but she was a beautiful sight.
He tried to speak but his lips would not work, and she tried to reply but the words she produced were unintelligible. She left in a whirlwind and returned having caught a doctor up in it.
The doctor looked at this and prodded that and spoke words that sailed too far over Aaron’s head to sink in; then left.
The sun disappeared behind the buildings before he began to speak. It hurt when he did, his chest burned, and his stomach felt tight enough to tear if he took too deep a breath; he asked his question.
“What happened?”
Marnie pulled her chair close and gripped his hand in her own; the feeling felt familiar, and Aaron felt the pressure in his chest lessen.
A patient had attacked him, this much he already knew, and the police and ambulance were called.
Tedstone had returned to his bedsit and was eating tinned spaghetti on toast when the police arrived to arrest him. The single room in which he lived was littered with books on improvised weapons and homemade bombs, and on the wall over his twenty-year-old computer was a map of the city; with three locations marked in red.
“They were schools.” Marnie said with a note of confusion in her tone. “The police said they were schools.”
Outside the sky had darkened and the stars revealed themselves as Aaron watched. He could feel Marnie’s thumb stroking gently over the back of his hand and through the pain and fear he could not deny something also felt right.
“Marnie?”
“Mm…?”
“What is Marnie short for anyway?”
Marnie laughed a wind-chime laugh.
“Well, it all began when I was about eight or nine…”
Aaron listened as he watched the stars in their slow journey across the sky; and he wondered.