Chapter 7
Jake half wakes and turns over in bed, trying to shake off a recurring dream that has kept him restless for the last few hours. But before he has woken enough to clear his head he is back in the trenches, sheltering in a shell hole in range of enemy fire. All around he can hear shells dropping, machine guns firing. The day is fading but explosions and flares light up the way in front of him. It is not far back to the home trenches, but as he tries to crawl his legs are heavy, he has to drag them behind him. He moves a few yards, too slowly, then ducks as a shell explodes nearby.
He turns again in his sleep, and is back in the shell hole, still trying to drag himself out. The earth is wet and warm beneath him, and smells of rotten flesh and gunfire. He drags himself slowly through the mud, anxious at the slow pace. Ahead he can see something on fire. A building is burning, he can hear and smell the fire, he needs to rescue someone, someone is dying in the fire, trapped, screaming. Alex, he needs to find Alex, he needs to get her out.
In his dream he stands, and staggers a few paces forwards. It is dark now, the trench has gone and there buildings around. It is raining, he can’t see where he is putting his feet. The ground is uneven, slick with rain and blood. He is on his knees again, crawling. Someone calls to him, calls his name, but he can’t hear what they are saying, doesn’t know where they are.
Jake wakes again, and this time he sits up in the dark. It is a warm night but he is cold and wet with sweat. Alex is asleep beside him. He gets out of bed and goes into the bathroom. There’s some light coming through from outside and he reaches the toilet just in time to be sick into the bowl.
His breathing is irregular, and he slows it down, counting to five on the in-breath and again as he exhales. After a few minutes he crosses to the basin, washes his face with cold water and brushes his teeth. He is wide awake now. There is enough moonlight coming in to see where he is putting his feet, and crossing the bedroom he goes out onto the landing and downstairs. The sounds from his dream have faded and he can hear the sound of a cello playing. He walks around the house trying to locate the sound, but it is all around and within him, as if he is the one playing, creating the sound. He stops and closes his eyes, and can feel the music run through him more clearly.
He pulls on a fleece and goes outside onto the terrace. It is cold, but the outside light comes on and he feels more comfortable here, and he breathes deeply. There is someone else here, a man. Jake can’t see him, but can feel him, can hear him move. For a few minutes Jake stands still, his eyes shut. The man is walking across the terrace. He hears the man cross to the wall of the house and knock. The man is waiting for someone to answer; waiting for Alex.
Jake goes back through the kitchen door, shutting it behind him, and walks through the house into the living room. There’s a draft coming from one side, as if a window is open. The outside light is coming in through the windows, and they are all closed. But as he passes it Jake can feel cold air coming from the old bricked-up doorway; and then it is gone, as if the door has been closed. He senses someone coming upstairs with him. The man smells of sweat and cigarettes; but it is not an unpleasant smell, rather a comfortable, familiar smell.
Back in the bedroom he sees that Alex is still there, asleep, but waiting for him, and he feels an overwhelming sense of relief. She is safe, she is here. He crosses over, kneels by the side of the bed, kisses her cheek. She wakes, and looks up. In the dim light she reaches her arms up and he hugs her close.
“What is it?” she says.
“It’s OK, I just need to hold you, I was so worried.”
“Worried?”
“I found you, you’re safe now, we’re together.”
Alex reaches across and turns on the bedside light. In the glare Jake moves back, shielding his eyes with his hand. His face is blotchy, his hair stuck to his head.
“What is it? You’re scaring me, what’s going on?”
He blinks and shakes his head, disorientated now. Slowly he gets to his feet and sits down on the bed.
“I was having the strangest dream.” He pauses. “And you were in danger. You weren’t here, I was trying to reach you. You didn’t come to the door.”
And then he stops, and after a moment he wipes his face on his sleeve and turns to her. “It felt in my dream as if I was someone else. And I couldn’t shake off the dream. I keep feeling that there’s someone else here, following me. Haven’t you felt anything? It started with the sound of the cello. Something’s happening here that I don’t understand.”
They sit together on the bed for a few minutes, holding hands, not speaking.
“I don’t know what it is,” says Alex, “I’m not sure what you mean, but there is something about the house. Let’s not talk about this now. I’m tired, it will make sense in the morning. Come back to bed, I can’t think about this now. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”