City Lights and Empty Skies
It was a lovely crisp night. The city was brimming with life. She herself felt lighter than air. Her hair swung in a neat curve just below her shoulder, making a silken line against the flecked oatmeal colored linen jacket. She shivered; something more practical would have been a good idea, but a heavier coat would have ruined the look of the slim brown dress and tall brown boots, and tonight was special. It was more than special, it was extraordinary. She was literally standing across the street from The Abbey Theatre: The National Theatre of Ireland. She stared at the neon blue sign and fairly glowed. Turning as he called her name, her smile deepened, flowing all the way down to her toes. They were going together. He had brought her to Dublin, and Fiona had given her this gift. The one experience she most wanted and she was sharing it with someone who would truly understand what it meant to her. How much better could life possibly get? She took his arm and they crossed the street, grinning like children headed to the fair. At the lip of the sidewalk he kissed her, the warmth spreading like fire through her veins. Somehow they were both breathless with anticipation. His eyes were dancing as held the door open for her.
She stepped through and found herself holding the silent phone in the dark. Its emptiness echoed so loudly in her head that it felt like the roar of a passing freight train. The phone fell from her limp hand. The sudden light was blinding.
She found herself at the park. The party was in full gear and she was surrounded by virtually everyone she knew. All of her loved ones and friends milled about, and he was there at her side, smiling and laughing. But he was not really there at all, not in ways that could matter. Quick flashes, like a slideshow of broken moments flew past, punctuated by conversations with the boys and explanations never given. Then she was back in Dublin across from the theatre, her heart beating wildly. She ran through traffic, urgently pressing to get to the door. She wrenched it open. It was empty. The only light was a small pinlight focused on the golden shield decorating the lobby wall. It drew her like a moth to flame. She walked to it, reaching out to do the unthinkable, to touch this old theatrical relic. As her fingers grazed its cold metallic surface, her vision blurred and she felt as if the room started to spin. She could sense herself losing her balance and sinking to the floor, knowing there would be no one there to catch her.
The wet sand tangled in her hair and left grit in her teeth. She pressed herself up. Ian and Sean stood not more than a hundred feet away near the sea's edge. Seeing them gave her new energy. She scrambled to her feet and ran toward them. They were here. As she neared them, she could hear their voices. Her heart swelled with the joy of seeing them, of hearing them. She was gulping air, tears streaming. She was completely unable to speak. Almost stumbling in her frantic gait, she reached out to touch them, but as she did so the sea rose. The wave was a tower, easily as tall as the boys. It crashed down, soaking the trio, blinding her. It receded, leaving only Lin and the impression of eight deep prints in the sand. The clear impression of two wolfhounds that no longer stood on the shore.
The wind whipped around her, sending her long tresses into a wild dance and kicking her skirts into a frenzy. She was shivering with cold, standing at the edge of a stand of oaks. Before her was a view of rolling hills, lush and green and an impressive fortress that could only be Tara. At her side was Grainne. The Irish setter broke from the cover of the woods, her lithe form moving swiftly across the green, the red-gold silk of her fur streaming as she ran toward him. Lin turned in confusion and stumbled back into the woods. She instantly smelled the blood.
It filled her senses completely. The light filtering through the canopy was creating dappled shadows that made the paths appear fractured and somewhat inpenetrable. She followed her instincts, moving with an abundance of caution, or perhaps it was trepidation. Gradually the scent became overpowering and she slowed. She peered out from the foliage and noted the thin line of a creek and the old warrior kneeling at its edge. Beyond him lay the man from the field. The man from the street? His life was pumping out in spurts between the fingers he held to his side. She watched as the old warrior carried water cupped in his hands to the younger man and then let it slip through his fingers to dampen the earth below just a few steps shy of reaching him. The look they exchanged was clear, it signaled death. Repressing a sob, she retreated. The scene was played out. She held her hand to her mouth to force the sounds to stay in and tried to retrace her steps. Looking up she saw Grainne in the distance. The red-gold hide was unmistakable even through the filtered light. She moved toward the setter, the dog an anchor in this forest of the macabre.
She heard a cracking sound, like a branch breaking underfoot and glanced to her left. She could just make out the form of a wild boar, one tusk missing or hidden from view. He was staring at her with menace. She hefted her skirts and ran, no longer worried about any noise she might make. She stumbled over roots and rocks. She felt the branches pull at her hair and scrape her skin. She could hear the pounding of the boar behind her, She flashed on the image of the dying man and ran harder, losing one of her slippers to the wood. Rocks were now slicing her foot as she bolted with desperation for the light that represented the green of the rolling hills, believing, however unrealistically, that her salvation lay simply in escaping the woods. She could see Grainne out on the green and feel the boar gaining on her.
She burst from the wood, sweating and panting from the heated run. Her clothing was glued to her body, her hair drenched. She stood at the top of one of the rolling hills, looking down at ruins. The fortress was gone. She realized then that her jeans and thin cotton shirt were no match for the cool of the night. The setter was gone. Only the cuts on her hands, face and foot remained from her frantic run through the woods. A bird screeched overhead. It sounded more like a human scream than anything else. It made her wince to hear it. She walked down the hillside toward the ruins, sinking into the grass. As she moved down the hill, the light of the moon left her until she found herself in darkness. She followed the curve of the hill in the dark toward the ruins she had seen. She emerged at the edge of the sea.
She walked directly to the spot where Ian and Sean had been. The pawprints were brimming with blood. She knelt in the sand between the two sets of deep impressions, overcome at last. The light of the moon was a single shaft of light that seemed to pierce her through as she stretched out to lie between the tracks and the blood. The icy-cold of the wave broke the dream or perhaps it was the ice-cold cloth that Fiona pressed to her forehead. Lin found herself being rocked in her mother's arms. She was soaked with sweat, as were the sheets her legs were tangled in.
"Thank goodness," whispered Fiona into her hair. "Hush," she breathed before Lin could speak. "It's over, whatever the nightmare was, it's over now."
"I don't think so," stated Lin bleakly, not looking at her mother. She leaned farther into the comforting arms. "I think we are living it." The pair rocked for several minutes until Lin's heart rate settled and she rested somewhat peacefully against Fiona. The cold rag had long since been discarded.
"Let's get you changed and see if we can straighten out this mess of a bed."
"All right."
Lin complied, moving slowly. Fiona helped, working to untwist the sheets and set her daughter free. Clear of the bindings, Lin made her way to the sink. remembering with a sudden flash her earlier visit that night; the taste in her mouth. She grasped the porcelain trying to gain her mental balance. Both dreams had been too vivid, too personal. The last had been brutally invasive. Dreams, she reminded herself, were not life, she could just let it go. Steadier she turned on the tap and splashed her face. Then she rummaged through her pack for a tee shirt she could wear. She changed, using the discarded cloth to wipe down quickly. Dreams, she reminded herself again as she looked in the mirror, there was nothing that had to be remembered and nothing to gain in the memories. Let it go. By the time she was done cleaning up and dressing, Fiona had removed the top sheet and laid out the blankets that remained. She had put one over the bottom sheet, leaving one to use for cover. It would be a cooler night, but that was fine. Lin doubted that sleep would come again. She wasn't about to risk another dream this night.
"What was it?" Fiona asked softly.
"It was nothing really. It was mostly just the boar and Grainne, only this time the boar chased me. I ran, ran to Tara, but it was all ruins. Then you woke me." Lin was not about to go into all of it, not the first dream or the fullness of the second.
"Grainne and Tara again? Well, I guess that settles where we need to go tomorrow. Try to sleep, dear. I know it won't be easy, but tomorrow could prove to be a trying day," Fiona lay back attempting to follow her own advice.
Lin stared into the darkness reliving portions of her dream. Somehow at that moment, Tara seemed like the last place she would ever want to go.
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