The Book of Dreams
“I knew you’d come,’ she said. ‘There was no way you could resist.’
“Please…’ he whispered. ‘Don’t call the police.’
“Oh, I won’t.’ He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was smiling. ‘You want it don’t you? The key?’
“He took a step forward. ‘Where is it?’
He heard a grunt of laughter. ‘Oh, I don’t have it. The book was my grandfather’s, remember? He never let anyone near the key. He kept it with him always.’
He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, as though he’d just been punched.
“And he’s dead. It could be anywhere!’
“Yes, it could.’
Anger flared in him. He wanted to hit something, make some noise, but he didn’t know who else might be here.
“Why did you give me the book? Why? If you knew it would make me like this.’
He heard her laughing quietly in the dark, and couldn’t stand it any longer. He turned and bolted out of the door, down the steps and across the clearing to where he’d concealed his bike. He dragged it up from where it lay on its side, and swung himself on to it. He jerked the handlebars around in the direction of the path.
Just once he looked back at the cabin. The girl was standing in the doorway, watching him, face unreadable beneath the blanketing shadows.
&&&
‘Ask her out, go on,’ Pete implored him.
‘Yeah, she’s new, got no friends yet. Easy,’ Lenny chipped in.
He looked from one face to another. Neither Pete or Lenny would dare ask the new girl out, of course. They were dorks, perennial followers. It was up to him.
‘You might be able to … you know, do .’
He glanced back at the new girl, on the back row of the science class, head down in her textbook. She was cute behind the glasses, she wore a nice, short skirt. There were other girls around like her, and all of them were paired off with other sixth-form boys. He had a couple of days at most.
He felt desire rising up in him.
&&&
He woke the next morning with what felt like a hangover, though of course he had drunk nothing. The book was across the room, on his desk, sitting on top of a pile of summer homework waiting to be done. He had gotten it out after he returned from the cabin last night, and hadn’t bothered to put it back. He’d tried one last time to force it open, failed, and now realised what must be done.
He hid the book in his school bag and cycled down through town to the harbour. There was a pier near there, jutting out into the bay with an old, disused games arcade at the end, all boarded up and bolted shut. Last year, with exams just over, him, Lenny, Pete and a couple of others had broken in and got drunk for the first time, on a couple of bottles of vodka that Pete’s older brother had bought for them. Later, on the way back, Lenny, who’d drunk the most, had slipped and fallen over the railing and into the harbour. Ten minutes later he was hauled out by the police, one arm broken from where it had caught one of the concrete stands on the way down, but otherwise okay. He had endured a couple of days in hospital, and Pete had received a nice, brotherly black-eye from telling the police where they’d got the vodka.
Now, he stood on the end on the pier, on a small path around the back of the disused games arcade, not visible from the pier or the promenade or the harbour, only from the sea, and the only boats were too far out to see him. Waves cracked against the concrete supports jutting up out of the water below him, spray catching in the breeze and cooling him off against the summer heat.
He held out the book. A couple of seconds and it would be over. He shut his eyes, not wanting to see where it landed.
He screamed as he let go, and fell back against the wall behind him. He glanced quickly over the edge, but it was already gone, lost in the waves.
Over, all over.