Sand trickles through my bare toes as I slowly walk across the deserted beach, not daring to raise my 'ead just in case what happened last time 'appens 'ere. My surroundings are deathly silent, again free of people, birds or life. Waves violently crash against the sea shore, stopping just before my feet like there's a wall there stopping them reaching me. A chilly wind blows through my clothes, a thin batwing top and 3-tiered colourful knee-length skirt, my hair long and wavy and flowing down my back. It's thin material, the wind penetrates it without any effort. I shiver violently, wrapping my arms around myself in a pointless attempt to stop the chills creeping up my spine.
The clouds above me swirl, deep grey ribbons streaking across the sky with flashes of white that threaten to strike at any moment. I slowly move backwards, familiar fear rising in me again. Not again, please not again.
A blinding flash of light occurs in front of me, I cover my face with my hands as I squint to see the rest of the beach. The crash of thunder occurs only a few milliseconds later, deafeningly loud as it echoes around the bay. I cast my eyes out to the murky grey sea, waiting for the figures to appear in front of me again with their blank faces leering into my soul. My heart thuds in my chest, my palms clammier than they've ever been as my fear feels at breaking point.
"Sharon!"
My head whips round, searching for the owner of the voice. I scan the beach over and over again, the rain wetting my hair from behind and the wind ripping through my thin clothing. My eyes land on a figure near the wall separating half the beach, long locks of chestnut hair covering her face. I squint my eyes for a moment before I realise that it's the woman I met yesterday – Alex, I think her name was. She's bent over, holding the rise of her stomach and I can see that her breathing is quick and heavy.
"Are you alright?" I call to her.
She looks up, her hair plastered to her face in the haze of rain and her luminous eyes full of fear.
"The baby, I think it's coming." She lets out a horrifying scream of pain.
I attempt to run over to her, but with the wind and the rain battering me I only manage to slowly stagger. The gusty winds whip my hair as I gently kneel down beside her, taking her hand as I push my back against the wall. She looks fearfully at me, her hand trembles in my own.
"What's going on? Where are we?" She asks desperately.
"I don't know." I tell her simply.
She looks at me with hurt and betrayed eyes for a second, before letting out another scream that echoes across the bay in horrific tones.
"I can't give birth now, Sharon." She pleads with me. "I'm only 6 months gone."
I'm unsure how to react, the last time I can recall someone I know giving birth is mum having James back in '84. I was too little really to actually know what was happening, one day I was the youngest and the next I was one of the middle ones.
"You'll be fine, I promise you." I feebly reassure her.
She still looks absolutely terrified, the two of us looking at the swirling rivers of grey and blinding white that swirl above the two of us. She looks down towards the actual beach and I hear her gasp, her grip tensing for a moment.
"Can you see that?" She breathes, leaning forward slightly.
I look towards the spot where she's staring, but it's as empty as the rest of the beach.
"Who? There's no one there." I say, turning back to her.
She looks me right in the eyes and grabs my arm like she's trying to steady 'erself. 'er eyes bore into my soul, fear so evident inside them. I feel 'er hand become as light as a feather, I look down for a millisecond and see that 'er body is disintegratin' right in front of me, turning into large flakes of dust and spreadin' up and up her. I watch as it casts off and floats into the breeze in a swirling tornado, rivers of tears pouring down my cheeks as 'er face and beautiful hazel eyes are transformed and carried off to my horror and despair.
I turn my head towards the rest of the beach, breathing heavily and trying not to let my fear and tears overtake me. A thick mist has settled, the only parts of visibility the sand around my toes in a perfect circle. I stand slowly, cautiously, I've learnt that at any moment in this hell hole danger and terror could strike and hit me where it's hardest. I look around in limited sight for any sign of life but I can't see anyone or anything.
The floor opens, a gaping dark hole in this version of reality. Time stops for a second, gravity glitches and I float for a millisecond and forever before I begin to fall. I fall so fast my vision can't keep up, images surrounding me. Record sleeves, fragmented memories, snippets of faces. I open my mouth to scream, to let no one know that I'm in trouble, but no sound comes out of my mouth.
A floor comes out of nowhere as burgundy carpet meets my face and bruises my body. I don't take it away for a couple of minutes, scared to see what's above my head. I lift my head up and look straight ahead only to be faced with… me. My reflection stares back at me, surprised, fear evident in her eyes. I sit up and so does she, and as I look around I see that many other reflections have as well. I'm in one of those dressing rooms you sometimes see, surrounded by mirrors that reflect my every angle. It's me, It's definitely my face that stares back at me, but I don't look like myself.
I'm wearing the outfit I was wearing at the beach; the cloth kits skirt that mum used to have and the white batwing top, but I haven't been able to see myself. I look dated, at least a decade out of date if not more, my hair long and looking a bit like Farah Fawcett. I crawl up to one of the mirrors, touching it and stroking my face on the glass. I make eye contact with my reflection, greeny-hazel on greeny-hazel, and out of the corner I see my outfit change. New Romantic, jumpsuit, clothes I wore as a teenager. My hair gets longer and shorter with every outfit change, travelling through the 80s in a haze of clothing. I enter the 90s, too many outfits to count from Uni and time spent on pub crawls getting smashed in early adulthood.
It stops on my uniform. Dark blue jersey, bowler hat with curly strands hanging down the front of my face, the exact way I was wearing my hair on Friday. Behind me the room darkens, dark red and orange lighting behind my head, flickering like flames. It glows brighter and brighter, colours setting alight my hair and eyes. A shadow of a face appears behind me, growing clearer and clearer until I can make out the outline of the face, the hair, the mouth, all shadowed in deep burgundy and flames.
The eyes surrounded by distinctive, familiar horn-rimmed spectacles.
"For the tape, I am showing the suspect a photo of WPC MI 174."
The sky is pitch black outside, only me and my cup of tea are in the office. The desk light is bright beside me in the dark, the pen in my hand sketching absentmindedly as I listen to the tape recorder.
"Do you recognise this officer, Robert?"
The doors open and in steps Tabby, large green eyes visible even from here, her blonde hair flyaway. She doesn't notice me; I turn off the tape and watch as she dumps a load of files on the desk opposite. She's just about to walk out again when I work up the courage to call her name.
"Tabby." I say.
She stops and turns around, noticing me finally. I flash her a weak smile and put my pen down.
"Oh. Hi, Sharon." She walks over, her arms full of files that she clutches to 'er chest.
"How'd your date go?" I ask, leaning back in my chair.
"It went well." She says. "We 'ad dinner, went back to my place and… well, you can guess." She winks at me.
I can't believe she did it with 'im.
"Anyway, 'ow are you doin'? I've barely seen you." She asks, a warm smile on 'er face.
"Oh, I'm alright." I force a smile and try not to look her in the eyes.
"You sure? You look drawn." Her eyes are bright green in the soft light of the lamp and I avert her gaze.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just not been sleepin' well, that's all." I run my hands through my hair. "I've been 'avin' weird nightmares."
"You 'aven't been eatin' cheese before bed, 'ave you? That's always supposed to give you strange dreams, and you love cheese." She says.
"No, I don't think it's that." I never should 'ave brought it up. "Anyway, I'll be fine. It'll pass."
"Well, I'll see you around. Drink soon?" She asks, kindly.
"Definitely." I say, smiling at her as she walks out before collapsing my head into my arms.
I reach out and snap the tape player back on, raising my 'ead as I continue listen and twiddling my pencil in my hands.
"I've never seen her before in my life."
Tabby was different. She's not normally this friendly and agreeing, she's outspoken and never takes no for an answer. I've gone round protests with her and she always said she was never going to marry a man, but now she's dating the one man we agreed we 'ated more than anything under the sun.
"We've got CCTV footage from Garrett Street showing you attempting to stab this officer. We recovered a screwdriver from the scene with your fingerprints on the handle and fibres on the tip that match with a police officer's jersey."
"I've never seen her before in my life."
"Admit it to me, Robert. The evidence is plain to see here. It'll make it a whole lot easier."
A couple of moments pass, my ear pressed so close to the cassette player that I can hear the breathing and the sigh of him giving in.
"Fine. Yes, I did attempt to stab WPC thingy."
"How did it happen?"
"She went after me. I reacted using the tools I had. I lost my grip and she arrested me."
"She says that it was like someone had distracted you from behind her."
I can feel the tension in the room even though the interview took place hours ago.
"There was no one there. I told you what happened."
I turn the player off. He's said that 'e attempted to kill me, that's a start. I was sure that there was someone behind me, even I could feel their presence, like you do. I didn't see them though, and that's the big problem. I wonder who it was though, who could have stopped a killer in their tracks. I'd been about to die, a thought that's still hard to deal with.
I put the tape back in its case and sling my raincoat over my arm as I prepare to leave for home. It's supposed to be my refuge, a place that's safe, but everything that's going on around me is seeping into there like a flood. I place my headphones over my head, the Sundays' You're Not The Only One I Know warming my body like a warm hug and keeping the everlasting worries out of my head for a few hours. Harriet Wheeler has such a wonderful voice, I fell in love with it the minute I first 'eard it.
I 'and the tape back to the desk sergeant with a smile, 'e takes it from me as I sign myself out in the book and walk out of the building into the chilly April air. I stuff my hands in my pockets and I hurry along the lit streets, passed by loud roaring cars and laughing people on their way to the pub. The newsagents round the corner should still be open, I'd like a chocolate bar to keep my company tonight just in case anything happens. Mum always says that chocolate makes everyone feel better, it's what she used to give us when we'd had a bad day or been hurt and I happen to agree with her.
I grab a bar of Dairy Milk from the shelves and I'm digging out my wallet from the deep pockets of my coat before I notice the magazine in a plastic wallet above his head. It's elderly, well-worn and well-thumbed but I recognise it as the one Ray was readin' last night at the beginning of my dream.
"'scuse me, but what's that magazine up there?" I ask sheepishly.
"Didn't 'ave you down as a lesbian, Sharon." The shopkeeper says, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm… I'm not. I'm just curious about the age of it." I wince inside and look to the floor.
I'm bi, I know I'm bi, I just ain't told many people apart from Tabby and the odd boyfriend/girlfriend. I've been rather unlucky in love, compared to some.
"This is mint, from January 1980." He tells me in a bored voice.
I must look like I've seen a ghost because his eyes narrow at me.
"Right. Thanks." I force a smile and place a couple of quid on the counter.
I unwrap the chocolate as soon as I step outside, leaning against the window as I absorb the melt-in-the-mouth goodness of it. I slide my headphones back on and press play, trying to let myself fall into the music and forget everything around me. It doesn't work, my mind still races and all I can think about is why 1980 is stalking me. Did I do something stupid or illegal then, at the age of 6/7, that I've forgotten and now it's coming to the surface in droves? I'll have to ask mum, but she's always been a little scatter-brained so I'm not likely to get anything out of 'er.
I wander home, kicking a coke can up the road as I walk and wandering upstairs to my flat at a snail's pace. I feel strange, spooked, nothing feels right anymore. Like I'm standing still and everyone's moving around me, getting on with their lives. Like I'm invisible.
I pour a glass of wine and take out the single I bought yesterday, Vienna, placing it on the turntable. The needle goes down and immediately I'm transported back to my childhood, with TOTPs in the background and imported American sci-fi books in hand. I see in crystal definition the weakly sunny sky outside as I read, singing softly as the sun goes down at half past 4. My brothers were making a racket in the other room but I was alone, just me and the world. Privacy for once in a place where there wasn't much. I remember it as bliss.
A knock comes from the door, just as the song ends. I place my wine on the end table and walk up to the door, pulling it open to find Alex standing there. Her arms are crossed and her face pale, the thin cardigan covering her not offering any warmth. The look on her face is stormy, conflicted and confused.
"Oh, Hello again." I say.
"Hello. May I come in? It's freezing out here." She looks round to see if there is anyone in the deserted corridor to overhear us.
"Yeah." I hold the door open to her and she steps in.
I shut the door behind me, leaning against it as she takes a look around the small flat I call home. It's not too messy, there are a few magazines on the sofa and it's not immaculate, but it's alright to show people. She stands there for a couple of moments, the expression on her face unchanging.
"Tea?" I put to her, picking up the kettle and running it under the tap.
"Please." She replies quietly.
I dump a couple of tea bags into mugs, clicking on the kettle and taking a deep breath.
"'ow do you know where I live?" I turn around to face her.
She shrugs. "I have my sources."
I narrow my eyes at her and turn around to pour the water in the mugs.
"What happened last night?" She asks after a couple more tense seconds.
I whip round to face her in shock and surprise. She's looking towards the floor with her eyes on one of my misplaced books.
"What do you mean?" I ask cautiously.
"On that beach."
My 'eart stops. 'ow could she possibly know about that? I haven't told anyone, unless… no, she can't. It was only a dream, wasn't it?
"The beach from the dream." She continues, answering my question.
"'ow-'ow could you possibly know about my dreams? They're only dreams after all, I mean…"
"It seemed real to me." She hits back, "Especially when I appeared to be in labour with my child, on a beach with a woman I'd met only the day before."
"It can't be real." I tell her in a shuddering whisper.
She sighs deeply, edged with sympathy and exasperation.
"Look, I'm qualified to be psychological profiler. I'm not at the rank yet, but… maybe I could offer some insight into this… Shared hallucination."
I raise an eyebrow at her, because it doesn't seem like a shared hallucination, but nod.
"How long has this been going on with you?" She asks.
"Since Friday night. 19th April." I tell her.
"Every night since?"
"Yeah."
"What happens in these dreams?"
"They're more like nightmares. I see people, things relating back to my childhood. Once there was a man and a voice that said that I was the only thing 'e needed." I finish.
"Did anything happen on Friday that could be causing these dreams? Something significant?"
I don't say anything for a minute, knowing what I have to say to her but not able to bring myself to speak it aloud.
"I almost died. Is that significant?"
Her eyes widen a second before she begins muttering psychological terms that I haven't heard since A-Level under her breath. Terms like "repressed memories" and "subconscious trauma" she throws around, most of the concepts I've only studied fleetingly. If she's qualified to be a profiler then she must have done psychology higher than I did, so knows more than I do.
"How, may I ask?"
"Almost stabbed by a car thief. How is this relevant to the dream?" I ask.
"Because you may have repressed that trauma and it's manifested itself in your dreams. And meeting me means that I've assimilated your fantasies." Her eyes are lit up like Christmas baubles.
"I've only met you once before though- "
"That doesn't matter, we've both seen similarities in each other and because of that I've assimilated your fantasies- "
"I don't think they're dreams or fantasies or whatever."
"It all makes sense-"
"I don't think they're dreams."
She stops in her sentence, meeting my stormy gaze and relaxing her body.
"What do you mean?" She asks carefully.
I take a deep breath, shifting my feet slightly as she anticipates my response.
"I'm goin' to sound mad, but I think they're somethin' more than dreams. And you're connected some'ow."