Scrivener’s Tale. Fiona McIntosh
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to stir and change: the grey nothingness seemed to swirl and move as though reshaping itself, but even before it had fully formed, he knew what the dreamscape was showing him. He tried to pull back but he was trapped. Angelina’s lips held him, and he was sure if his ability to smell or taste were available to him, he would be surrounded by the fragrance of violets on her breath. The scene continued to sharpen. He wanted to scream but could not.
He mentally shook his head. Did not want this. Did not want to face the memory of the wreckage of his car because that would mean confronting the wreckage of his wife and son trapped inside. Dying, if not already dead.
‘Release me!’ he was sure he pleaded.
But just as the smell of petrol fumes and the tang of spilled blood assaulted him and he felt a cry of anguish racing to his throat, the scene changed. In a heartbeat, he was in the calm of his cathedral — or so he thought. It felt right, the atmosphere was right, but he saw in the shadow a man.
It looked as though it could be him but the figure had his head thrown back in agony.
The link was cut and Gabe snapped back to reality to find himself staring into the smoky eyes of Angelina. Her legs were still wrapped around his hips. She was smiling guiltily, knowingly.
‘What did you see?’ she asked, unable to mask the smug tone.
‘You … you promised the cathedral.’
‘I decided to let you choose and demonstrate just how connected we truly are. You seem upset, Gabe,’ she said softly, sounding offended now as she gently touched his cheek. ‘Are you frightened by the vision?’
‘Did you see it too?’
She nodded. ‘I don’t understand it though — it’s obviously something very personal to you. I smelled petrol. I assume the image was of the motorway accident that killed your family …’ He didn’t want her to say another word about it, and perhaps she sensed this. ‘Who is the man in the second vision?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘He’s your dream.’
‘That may be. But I still have no idea.’
‘It’s obviously very powerful if it can override not only your nightmare of the accident, but more importantly, what I intended to show you,’ she remarked.
He frowned at her. ‘What are you?’
‘I am what I am. I have skills.’
‘Skills,’ he repeated evenly, gently disengaging her arms from his neck. She obliged by releasing her legs and sitting back on the bed. ‘Explain them,’ he said, deliberately getting up and walking away from her.
‘I can’t.’ Angelina shrugged, wrapping her arms around her knees, looking like a child again, and uncaring of her nakedness. ‘But it’s a reason why Reynard keeps me under such close guard.’
Gabe picked up the quill at the mention of Reynard. He stroked the soft swan feather and once again wondered at its significance. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said to her but also to himself about the strange gift.
‘No,’ she said in a slightly bored, dismissive tone, ‘but that’s because you’re not really listening to me.’ Her expression flared into something simmeringly close to anger, and she got up to pace near him. ‘I am not of this world, Gabe. You should trust that now. How else can I take you into your world of dreams and nightmares? I can take you to the cathedral in your mind palace. But you need to believe me when I tell you that it’s not just a dream or a fiction. It is not of your own mind. It is real. And it’s calling to you.’
‘And all I have to do is kill you,’ he said, flatly, his tone now dripping with disdain. ‘Are you aware how your request sounds to any sane person?’
‘You see? You don’t respect anything I say.’
‘Angelina —’
‘Well, Reynard can have me then. That’s his plan. He will kill me and he will travel to Pearlis.’
‘Then why did he involve me?’
‘He needed your skills to unlock what he believes is my mute mind and make it possible. He’s a fool if he thinks he can outwit me. He’s using you, Gabe, not just to provide “access” to me but making sure he can trust my magic. If you now tell him what you’ve seen, he’ll know it’s Pearlis. But he doesn’t want you to be the one to travel. He wants to go. He will be the one who has your cathedral. And the raven spy will have you!’ she snapped viciously, as she turned away from him.
It was too convoluted and so little was making sense. He grabbed her, the quill still in his hand. He didn’t want to lose her even though all of this was wrong; everything about Angelina and his relationship with her was wrong and yet he didn’t want it to end — not like this.
‘Wait! I need to understand, to know about you.’
Before he could say another word, she was holding him again, kissing him again; hard this time and angrily. But the sensation of his lips being bitten and bruised disappeared as he was thrust into the frantically busy market square surrounding … no, it was impossible. Impossible! Yet Gabe stared in hungry wonder at the huge doors and the façade of the cathedral he knew so well.
He felt the instant calm of close proximity to it. It was real. He realised he was walking up to it, desperate to lay his fingers on the stonework but his hand passed through its soft grey shimmering walls. Drifting through the open doors, he found his familiar place. The safe place. He had sat in here so many times in his mind. But it had never been real. Now he could actually feel the worn timber of the pew he sat on, hear the click of the flagstones beneath him, feel the cool of the grey stone around him. It wasn’t imagined. He was actually here! Gabe looked around in awe, but just as his thoughts turned to the famed mythical creatures, he was yanked rudely back to his apartment as Angelina’s lips withdrew from his.
‘Do you believe me now?’
In spite of himself, he nodded, lost for words, staring at her as though she were an alien.
‘I can take you there. I can put you physically into the cathedral you yearn for.’
He shook his head like a child trying to blot out a nagging parent. ‘I built that place. Its architecture is mine! My specifications … simply to please me.’
‘No, Gabe! If it was just a product of your imagination, how can I know it so intimately? You have never discussed it with anyone, have you … least of all me?’
‘It is private,’ he murmured.
‘Exactly!’
‘I don’t know,’ he bleated, confused, frustrated.
‘How can I know exactly the scene of your car pile-up if I was not able to tap into your mind?’
He shook his head. He could feel a migraine coming on and dropped the swan quill onto the bed. He rubbed at his temples.
‘Touch me,’ she demanded, pulling one of his hands to her and placing it on her chest. He could feel her breastbone and her heart thumping. ‘Do I feel real?’
‘You are real,’ he answered.
‘You’re a sane, smart man, Gabe. You know I’m real so I can’t be in your imagination. Even if you think I’m delusional, you know you’re not. How can I show you what I just have and not be telling you the truth? I have no reason to lie to you.’
‘Let me be clear about this … I will not be killing anyone or anything, Angelina,’ he said, flicking her hands away.
‘It’s ridiculous!’ he snapped, coming back to himself, regaining his equilibrium. This wasn’t the way to speak to a patient, but then neither was being naked alongside her. He’d broken every sacred rule of being a clinical psychologist.
Gabe hadn’t realised he’d aired this