AS I DREAMED YOU LAY DYING
In the deepest middle of the night, those hours when the whole world feels still and lifeless, an eleven-year-old boy awoke to the sight of a single pair of eyes hovering in the air above his face.
Peter choked back a cry. He remained where he was. At eleven, he felt a little too old to go running to his mother and father at the sight of strange shapes in the dark. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the eyes attach themselves to a face, then to a head, then to shoulders and finally a body as, with both relief and shame at his initial fright, the boy realised that his younger brother had perched himself upon the very edge of the bed and was staring down upon him.
"Edmund." Peter let out a small chuckle. "You gave me quite a fright. How long have you been sitting there?"
"Almost an hour," was the seven-year-old's reply.
Peter felt his eyes widen. "An hour? Ed, why?"
"Bad dream," muttered his brother. He seemed to shrink into himself and lowered his eyes to the quilt, as though hoping that by gazing upon it he would disperse some of its protective warmth inside himself.
Peter frowned. All of the children had nightmares occasionally, of course, but Edmund seemed to get them a tad more frequently than the others. Since the age of three or four his brother had complained of recurring dreams which involved a "scary woman." Time and again this scary woman would crop up to disturb Edmund's sleep. Peter always knew when SHE had made an appearance because afterwards, Edmund resolutely refused to tell him anything more of the content of his dreams when the "scary woman" had invaded them. His other nightmares he would regale to Peter as he lay clasped in the older boy's arms, his brother soothing the monsters away with gentle whispers and strokes, but when the scary woman appeared, Edmund made himself deal with his demons alone.
Never, however, had Peter awoken to his brother simply sitting there staring at him like that. If he was honest with himself, it made him feel a little uncomfortable. That gaze – it had been as though Edmund had been trying to reassure himself that Peter still existed.
"Do you want to tell me about it, sweetheart?" he asked softly.
Edmund shook his head. Ah. So SHE had resurfaced.
"Do you want to get into bed with me?"
Edmund scrambled under the blankets in response. Peter pulled the smaller boy close to him and felt his brother trembling. Brushing locks of dark hair out of the way, he placed a kiss to Edmund's forehead. "It's all right, Edmund. You can relax now. I'm here and I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
For his part, Edmund snatched at Peter's pyjama shirt, scrunching the material so tightly, Peter was afraid it would rip. After a few minutes his grip relaxed and, nestled against his older brother like a duckling snuggling up to its mother, Edmund allowed himself to close his eyes and sleep once more.
A week later, Peter, Edmund and the girls were at the bottom of their garden playing 'War'. Edmund still found it somewhat surprising that, although girls, Susan and Lucy quite enjoyed pretending to be soldiers – crawling through the grass, spying and launching attacks.
On this day the children had divided themselves into two teams, Peter and Susan on one and Edmund and Lucy on the other. Being four years older and far stronger, Peter sometimes good-naturedly let Edmund win their play-fights, but on this occasion, after a particularly rambunctious scuffle, Edmund actually beat him for real. He lay panting on the grass as the younger boy stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Normally a victory like this was what concluded their game but Lucy, in an excitable mood, insisted that on this occasion they be more realistic.
"You beat him, Edmund!" she shouted. "Now you kill him. Here, take this." She handed him a twig.
The smile slipped a little from Edmund's face. "What's this for?" he demanded.
"To kill Peter, of course." The six-year-old made a jabbing motion at her oldest brother's stomach. "Poke him with it."
Edmund scowled. "That's not the way we play, Lucy."
"Oh, what does it matter, Edmund?" sighed Susan. "If Lucy wants to add rules of her own, let her."
"It's only fair, Ed," Peter agreed from below.
Edmund tensed, his shoulders tightening. "No. I'm not playing any more. I've finished."
"Oh, go on, Ed!" Lucy cried. "It's just for fun! Go on, kill him – "
Edmund grabbed her shoulders roughly. "SHUT UP, YOU LITTLE IDIOT!" he yelled at her, making both Susan and Peter jump. "I'm NOT killing him! I'm NOT! You're so stupid, you don't understand ANYTHING!"
Peter had leapt to his feet but had no time to comfort his youngest sister. The little girl pulled herself free of Edmund's grasp and ran back into the house, crying. Peter and Susan stared at one another in amazement. Edmund and Lucy had their squabbles, of course, but he had never spoken to her like that over something so trivial. What was going on?
"Susan, go after Lucy," Peter commanded.
"But…"
"Just do it."
She obeyed. The brothers were left alone.
"What's got INTO you?" Peter shouted. "Upsetting Lucy like that! She was only trying to play! What were you thinking?"
"None of your business." Edmund made to follow his sisters but Peter seized his shoulder in the same way that the younger boy had manhandled Lucy.
"I want an explanation!" Peter yelled. "I'm not going to let you get away with talking to Lucy like that! She's our sister! How DARE you make her cry?"
Edmund burst into tears himself. He wriggled out of Peter's grip and ran to the tree standing just behind them. He scrambled up to the nearest branch and curled himself up, sobbing.
"Ed!" His brother had not climbed very high, but Peter knew that if he were to fall he could quite severely bruise himself. "Edmund, come down!"
Through his tears, the boy shook his head.
"I won't shout any more! Just please come down and tell me what's wrong!"
No response.
"Fine," Peter decided. "If you won't come to me, I'll come to you." A few strides and some brief hauling later, and he perched tightly next to Edmund on the branch. Worried about his brother's sense of balance, he placed his right arm around Edmund's shoulders, holding the younger boy securely to him. He used his other arm to give Edmund's hand a tight squeeze. "Edmund, something's bothering you, isn't it? Is that why you shouted at Lucy? What is it? What's got you so upset?"
"You don't…want…to know," sniffled Edmund, wiping his nose with his sleeve. On another occasion, Peter might have chastised him for the habit, but now wasn't the time.
"Yes I do, Edmund. What's more, if you're distressed about something, I need to know."
"It's too horrible," his brother moaned. "I can't tell you."
"Yes you can, Ed. Please try." Peter pulled his brother tighter. "Besides," he added, giving Edmund a small grin, "nothing's too horrible or dangerous for Sergeants Peter and Edmund Pevensie, heroes of the British Isles, saviours of the world."
Edmund swallowed a sob. "Promise me you won' tell anyone else."
"Cross my heart and hope to die."
His brother's flinch was so violent Peter was worried that he would fall out of the tree. "Don't say that!" Edmund hissed, as Peter practically smothered the younger boy against him. "Don't say – anything – about your death. Don't!"
"All right, I won't." Peter regarded his brother with surprise. "Is that what's upsetting you so, Ed? Lucy telling you to kill me? But you should know she's just making it part of the game. She doesn't mean it for real."
"It was my dream," Edmund whispered.
For a moment Peter didn't know what Edmund was referring to. Then he remembered the night of the previous week, the night of Edmund's nightmare. A curious frown passed over his face. Was Edmund finally going to reveal the events of these recurring dreams?
"What happened in your dream, darling?" he asked gently.
Edmund was silent for a few minutes, seemingly trying to figure out how to speak the words that were forming in his mind. When he did open his mouth, he was no longer crying, but instead spoke in a strange, detached voice, as though a part of him had been transported back into dreamland.
"I dreamed you lay dying, in a field, in a place…it was new to me, but I felt like I'd known it all my life. Susan and Lucy were there too, alive, but taken prisoner. They were tied up and gagged and I remember the fear in their eyes. And…there was something horrible in the way they looked at me.
As I dreamed you lay dying, the most horrible feeling that it was my fault came over me. I don't know what I'd done or how I'd done it – if we'd been fighting, if I'd shot you or stabbed your or strangled you or what – but what I was absolutely certain of was that I was the cause of it. I'd done something terrible and it led to your death."
Edmund shuddered and Peter realised he was crying again. He longed to reach over and wipe all of Edmund's tears away, to drown out Edmund's sorrow with all the love and hugs he could offer, but he knew Edmund had more to tell and that he must wait.
"As I dreamed you lay dying, she came – you know who I mean – the scary woman."
"What is she like, Ed?" Peter murmured. "What did she do?"
"She's…she's very tall and slim, and she's…she's got pale skin, a bit like me, only even paler. She's almost always wearing a white cloak. She usually bullies me in my dreams. Sometimes she shouts at me, sometimes she sneers at me. She tells me I'm no good, that people don't like me, that no one loves me…and this time she was…gloating at me. She knew…she knew I'd done something awful and caused so much trouble, including your…your…death…" Edmund almost vomited the last word out. "She laughed at me and said, 'It's all your doing, isn't it, boy? Someone's done something very naughty, haven't they? Someone's gone and got his brother killed. How does it feel, little one, to have murdered your brother?' She kept saying it, circling me, taunting me, laughing loudly. And as I dreamed you lay dying, I looked down on your face, stared into the last seconds of your life, and the look you gave me was…it was the most horrible thing I've ever seen in my life. I hope I never see you look at me that way again. You weren't angry, you didn't even look like you were in much pain – but your feelings were hurt, so very hurt. You gazed at me with so much bewilderment and disappointment in your eyes…it was unbearable, Peter! I couldn't stand it! I couldn't stand it!"
He buried his head into Peter's shoulder and sobbed loudly. Peter rubbed his back soothingly, stroked his hair, kissed his brother's soft cheek, wet with falling tears.
"But I'm not dead," he said in the most reassuring tone he could muster. "I'm right here. Alive and kicking. It was just a dream, Edmund. I know they seem very real, but they're not."
"But that's just it." Edmund lifted his head up and met his brother's eyes. "When I woke up, it felt like more than a dream. It felt almost like…I'd seen a glimpse of the future…"
"Oh, Ed. Poor Ed. It was nothing of the kind. You just had a bad, nasty dream, that's all, and it's all over now. It's all over."
"I wish I could believe that," Edmund said thickly, "but in the back of my head something keeps saying it wasn't a dream, that I saw a part of my future. And…and I don't want to be the cause of your death, Peter! I can't! I can't! I love you the most out of everyone. You mustn't die, Peter, please don't die!"
"I'm not going to die, Edmund. I'm going to stay here and protect you. Protect you from all your nasty nightmares."
Peter's soft, calming voice finally seemed to have the desired effect and Edmund's sobs gradually started to lessen. For ten or so minutes, the boys stayed wrapped in each other's arms before Edmund turned again to Peter.
"Maybe it was silly of me to get so upset when Lucy said I had to kill you. I know she was only having fun and I didn't mean to upset her. But even so, Peter, I can't make even a pretence at killing you, even if it's only in a game. I can't let myself do that. Please understand, Peter. I just…it would make me sick. I can't."
"Of course I understand, Ed. You won't have to. I'll have a talk with the girls. You won't ever be put in that position again."
"Promise?"
"I promise." Peter pulled Edmund in for one more hug, then nodded towards the house. "Come on, let's go inside and find the girls. You can apologise to Lucy and I'll have a word with them later on. Everything's going to be all right. You'll see."
As the brothers made their way into the house, Peter thought of Edmund's dream and could not help feeling a chill in spite of himself. What a horrid nightmare for one so young. Edmund was only seven. It was only natural that he didn't yet quite understand the difference between a dream and reality. Peter himself still had dreams that felt shockingly, frighteningly real, that left him shaking and sweating in bed. His poor brother. How awful to dream that you were responsible for the death of the person you loved most in the world. What on earth was it about Edmund's mind that seemed to attract those kind of images anyway?
Perhaps it was all those books he read. All the children liked to read, but if you had to pick an avid reader of the family, it would be Edmund. He could curl up for hours with his favourite books and only the promise of food could disturb him from his position. The boy had a lively imagination and could come up with the most wonderful stories. Peter had always considered this to be a wonderful talent of his brother's, but now he wondered if it might also be a curse.
That was it, he decided. It was just Edmund's imagination. What more could it be? Certainly his brother wasn't seeing into the future. That was impossible. Wasn't it?
Just his imagination. That's all it was.
Of course.