5. Dreams

When I got inside I realised just how cold it was outside. I went to my room to get a jumper and was astounded by the time. It was almost six and beginning to get dark. I figured it would take all of five minutes to make dinner so I decided to read. I'd always liked reading but hardly had the time. Now I had all the time in the world and not enough books to fill it. If there was anything I wanted, it was no time. Because time meant I could think. Thinking meant remembering and remembering meant pain.

I found my favourite book, deciding I hadn't read it in a while. It wasn't well known or a classic. Just a favourite. The black cover with simple design made it seem boring, the blurb even more so. But the content was so amazing and emotive it captured me ever time I read it.

After reading a few chapters, I went to the kitchen and heated up two of the dinners I'd bought. I put the food on a plate and carried them to the dinning room. I'd changed into some nice jeans and tight red shirt that I'd worn on my father's birthday at a flashy restaurant. I didn't reminisce. River was already sitting at the table in the same position he was in yesterday. I handed him his plate and sat down opposite him. My eyes swept past the scaled ridges over his endless blue eyes, the pale skin, deep blue veins, calluses, cat teeth and black tongue, instead finding the fairy sculptures on the mantle above the fire place. They were beautiful, each one hand crafted with such delicacy the sculptured looked as if they could, at any moment, turn their heads and fly away. Each fairy looked blissful and happy, some sitting, standing, lying or leaning. All unaware of their dreadful surroundings and horrible circumstances.

"How is your hand?" River asked as I pushed my chair in.

"Fine," I answered.

"When a woman says 'fine' I always seem to notice it is never a good thing."

"That's probably true," I muttered.

"I see your angry defiance did not get in the way of you taking the brace. That is good. Foolishness should not result in pain." He spoke so strangely. As if normal conversation was difficult for him. He didn't speak like… a human being. His words weren't conversational, they were… strict and formal.

"I just didn't see the need to suffer in order to prove a point you wouldn't get."

"That is probably true," River answered. I only slightly stunned by the dark look in his eyes.

I only nodded.

"I saw you in the garden today. Did you find it to your liking?" River picked at his plate.

"It was very pretty. Huge."

"Yes, it was designed that way."

"Who's Jocelyn?" I asked in a casual way, just to irritate him, and took a bite of my food.

River's head snapped up and he beared his teeth unconsciously. "No one of your concern. Do not ask questions to which the answers mean nothing to you."

"Why? Is she some other maid you killed off because it was convenient?" My words were angry; full of venom. "Another toy. Another worthless human for you to use and abuse." Before I knew what was really happening, in the blink of an eye River had managed to get out of his chair as well as pull me from my chair and push me up against the far wall holding me up by the neck. My back and head slammed against the marble, knocking the wind from me and disorienting me for a moment. River's cold blue eyes brought me back to the present as he bared his teeth and pushed his face close to mine.

"You know nothing of my life other than the tiny glimpse you have seen. You do not hold the right to judge me. You are nothing." River's voice held so much malice and bitterness the breath caught in my throat. His body was pressed against mine and all my brain could cope with was remembering to breathe. Even that was a task. The coolness that I had seen in River was gone. That casual manor had left him to be replaced by the truly cold-hearted monster he was. River dropped me, letting me fall to the ground, clutching at my throat. "I need you to run some errands for me tomorrow," River said indifferently, standing over me like a casting shadow. Then he turned and left, leaving me sitting on the floor of the dinning room, hyperventilating, tears streaking down my face, tyring to get air in my lungs but finding it incredibly difficult. My heart was beating too fast and sobs were coming from my chest at uneven intervals as I tried to breathe at the same time. My body was shaking and going into uncontrolled spasms as the fear and desperation overwhelmed me. Normally, I didn't panic, but this wasn't panic, this was total and utter terror, dread and a desolate feeling too terrifying for words.

In the middle of my breakdown, as I tried to get myself under control, I heard a soft footstep. Immediately my brain made my body recoil in fear of River. But when I looked up, it wasn't River.

It was Mix. The slightly plump figure and heart shaped face. It was Mix, my Mix. The short dark hair and freckles. The broad earth-shattering smile of a confidence no fat jokes could dispel. She stood over me – the whole four and half feet – looking at me with her don't-cry-it'll-be-all-right smile.

"Mix?" I asked.

"It's okay, Giselle," she soothed, sitting beside me and putting my head against her shoulder, stroking my back and hushing into my hair. The feel of her body against mine was so real I fell into the hallucination easily. I guess in the back of my mind I always knew it was a hallucination; I just didn't want to be reminded. The body and voice felt so good, I didn't want to recognise that Mix wasn't really there. In my mind, she was.

"I miss you, Mix," I whispered.

"Me too. But it's okay. It'll be okay. You just have to get out of here. You need to leave and run from River. Run as far and fast as you can."

"But he'll hurt Adam or you."

"No, he won't. Trust me. I'm your best friend. I always have been." Mix then stood, kissing my forehead and leaving the room.

I stayed sitting on the ground contemplating what Mix had said. To leave. To leave River and this house and this life. To be free. I stood, not really aware of what I was doing. I took a breath and walked out of the dining room. I walked down the main corridor, ignoring the paintings of previous maids, and into the lobby. From there I opened the front door, without hesitation, and walked away from the house and into the bitter air of the night.

As I walked over the steps I heard a voice, but it was neither Mix's nor River's. It sounded more like two stones being run over each other, but it said harshly, "Orion." I suppose I didn't acknowledge it – I was too caught up in hallucination and fear.

It wasn't until I had gotten deep into the trees of the driveway did I brain begin to piece together what I saw of Mix. Yes, it was her, but how did she know about River, and his name? How come he didn't do anything to stop her from entering the house? How come she remembered? I realised it was Mix, but it was a Mix I created. The Mix that told me everything I wanted to hear and how to achieve it. It wasn't real, and River would hurt my family if I tried to leave. Slowly, I turned and made my way back up the driveway to the house, dreading every footstep that brought me closer to the monster of children's nightmares. I passed the water fountain, the dragons guarding the stairs and went inside the house, to the lobby. As I shut the door behind me and sighed, leaning against the chestnut wood, a voice startled me.

"They always come back," River muttered, leaning against a side wall, looking too casual for the tone of voice he'd just used; cold, hard, resentful, indignant.

"Don't flatter yourself. They don't come back for you," I said, before brushing past him to go to my room. But as I left, I swear I heard River mutter under his breath,

"They never do."

That night was the night the nightmares began. My nights became something of horror movies. More often than not I would lie awake, trying to prolong sleep for as long as possible. The dreams killed me.

Huge trees surround me, gnarled and black, they curl over me, stopping my escape. I run, my feet pound on the ground as my heart beats in my ears. The wind bites at me, pulls at my jacket and catches my hair, running the strands through its fingers. I don't know where I'm going but that doesn't matter. The path seems never ending. All I can see ahead is the darkness of the trees. Although, somewhere in the distance I know there are the wrought iron gates and a slightly chubby figure that waits behind them. I just know it. I run faster, dodging the fallen tree debris and various imperfections in the path. The balls of my feet are beginning to hurt and I can feel the beginnings of blisters on my toes. It seems to get darker and my eyes are straining to see.

I keep running, trying to get away. My mind clicks. From what? What am I running from? This scares me even more than not knowing where I am running too. I am running to anything familiar. I am running from the unknown. I cry out, my body shakes and lurches with fear. I fall to my knees, tumbling forward; the wind helps me just a little. It rushes through the tunnel of trees and passes me like a car on a highway. The sound is deafening; the sound of a speed. The trees and branches creak and groan. I look behind me, then back in front. I've forgotten which way I've come from. It's all black. The wind seems to only have one direction: towards me from either side – all sides, all around me. I cry out again, fairly sure my words are incoherent. I try to stand but the wind and tree branches press down on me. What am I running from? Why don't I know? What is it? What is it? WHAT AM I RUNNING FROM? There is a gust of wind and I hear a loud crack just early enough to look up and watch the huge contorted black tree branch fall–

I woke screaming into my pillow, clutching at the sheets, sweat pouring off me. I rolled over, my body still shaking, suddenly blinded by the small slit of sunlight that steamed through the tiny crack in my curtains – right onto my face – where I'd pulled them shut last night. I put my hands to my eyes, remembering that feeling from the dream – that fear and panic which was so unfamiliar to me. Sure, I couldn't panic in reality, but my dreams were limitless. Limitless and daunting. I sat, running a hand through my hair and taking a breath. The room was fairly dark still, with only the small slit of light, and gave it that day-time-darkness look. I shuddered. River said he wanted me to run errands today.

I got out of bed slowly and had a shower. I wanted to wash the nightmare away. I wanted to wash the nightmare off. Off my skin. Out of my head. It didn't work, and by the time I got out of the shower I felt no better than when I'd got in, except that the sweat I'd woken up in was gone. I pulled the sheets off my bed and threw them into a pile beside me. The dream clung to them, and I couldn't handle it. The dream clung to the whole room. I moved to the window and threw the curtains open all the way, letting the light spill into my room and take place of the nightmare's darkness. I left my room, taking my sheets and any dirty clothes I had, down the three flights of stairs to the bottom floor. I remembered River saying that the laundry was outside where the servant's quarters were. It made sense considering the servant's would've been the ones to wash all the clothes. River had told me the only reason the kitchen was inside was because the meals needed to be taken to the dining room so it made no sense for the kitchen to be outside.

I found my way out to the servant's quarters through the west wing. I'd sort of worked out the planning of the mansion, though only barely. The house was basically a big rectangle and the wings were four main areas inside the house. The left and right side were separated by the long corridor that led to the ballroom (the one with all the paintings hung up). In the centre of that corridor were two double doors that lead off left and right. They separated the wings. The two wings at the front of the house were the west wing (on the left side) and the south wing (on the right – I was forbidden to go there). The two wings at the back of the house, separated by the ballroom, were the north wing (on the left) and the east wing (on the right). tr

The east wing was where the kitchen was, on the first floor, with the dining room. The entire east wing was basically just corridors and corridors of rooms, sort of like a hotel, that I assumed would've been used when the owner of the house had guests. It was understandable my room was on the third floor. Though, it was definitely one of the nicer rooms. In fact, I hadn't yet seen any other room that had the same blue marble I had.

The library was in the north wing and spanned over the four stories (the room I'd walked in on the other day was only the first level, I hadn't noticed the stairs that led up) and basically covered the whole wing. The south wing was off limits to me, and it was natural I was curious as to what River may've been hiding, but I wasn't quite curious enough to look yet. Maybe some other time.

The west wing was full of what I thought to be random rooms and corridors but realised they were games rooms. Sort of. There were various sized drawing rooms, sitting rooms, sewing rooms, smoking rooms, and rooms with dartboards and card tables. On the fourth floor of the west wing there was also an armoury with old style weapons and body armour. I'd only just had a quick look at the west wing, but from what I'd seen I was fairly sure it was for entertainment purposes.

I found the door that lead to the servant's quarters and saw the contrast immediately. I stepped outside, into the cold winter breeze and had to follow a short gravel pathway, surrounded my short shrubs and a sea of green weeds and vines that snaked over the grass and to the side of the mansion walls. The servant's quarters were probably as big as my house would be, but only one story. It was made of the same black dense stone as the mansion, but it was nothing compared to the Manor. At the front of the quarters was one single wooden door, and a few windows splayed across the walls. I opened the door gingerly, and was met by a surprisingly clean house. It was obvious the last maid had kept the quarters nice. The room was fairly well lit from the light coming through the windows and it definitely had a homey feel about the place. In front of me was one large room. To the left were everything needed for washing clothing and linen, and to the right were everything needed for cleaning the inside and outside of the mansion. To the back were gardening and tools needed to do small handy man jobs around the house. On the far wall were two doors in each corner. I dumped my laundry on the ground and moved to the door in the left. Opening it I found a corridor that ran parallel to the room I'd just been in. There were five doors along the wall and as I turned the corner, I found another five, and as I turned another corner, I found another five, then found the door that led back into the workroom – the corridor led around the main room in a square shape. In each of the doors were dorm style rooms with four triple bunk beds (nailed to the walls) in each. In one of the rooms there was a kitchen, right next to the bathroom. Thinking about the lives the servants must've had to live made me a little sick.

I washed the clothes and bedding quickly, finding a clothesline outside and hanging everything up. It was as I was turning to take the washing basket back inside that I saw River leaning against the wall of the servant's quarters. I shivered at the sight. I also noticed how he stood in the shadow of the house, keeping out of the direct sunlight. He'd mentioned something about sunlight being a problem and it made me wonder. I thought of all the various fairy tales of the monsters that turned into animals or dust when they were hit with direct sunlight. Were they true?

Today he was wearing black jeans and a loose white v-neck t-shirt. The cold obviously didn't bother him. Once again he had the metal bands on his upper left arm and the long twisted sliver on his right forearm.

"I need you to run an errand," River said, once he'd caught my gaze.

"Yeah?" I muttered. His eyes narrowed, obviously not liking that he was being spoken to so informally. Good.

"Yes. These need to be delivered to a faery." He held out a few sheets of paper and some herb looking things.

"I thought fey didn't like you," I said casually, walking into the servant's quarters. I heard an impatient sigh. River also didn't like to be walked away from. Another small piece of info for my new data bank of all things that annoy River.

"They do not particularly like me, but they very much like my knowledge."

"Uh huh," I said, disinterestedly. I think I could almost hear the sound of River gritting his teeth. It made me smile. That is until I felt his cold fingers wrap around my right forearm, spinning me to face him.

"You need to go the closest park, Jasper Park, and find the trees that are entwined." His face was close to mine, making me hold my breath for some reason. But it was his tone that made me grit my teeth. The cold ice that radiated sick, sadistic confidence and dominance. Damn him.

"With that stuff?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yes. Someone will come for you. Give him the items, then place one hand on your forehead." River took a step away from me, letting go of my arm and demonstrating. "Then your chest." His hand moved to just below his collarbone. "Then, hold your hand out in front of you, like this." Again he demonstrated. "He shall give you something in return. Then return directly home."

"Is that all?" I asked, reaching for the stuff he was holding. River frowned, creases appearing within his ridged eyebrows.

"You must be there at midday. In direct sunlight."

"Direst sunlight," I mused. "Is that why you can't do this? Direct sunlight."

"Something like that," River answered stiffly. "And whoever comes, will not look normal, but do not panic."

"Fine," I muttered, tempted to say something like, 'If I could panic would I be within two feet of you now?' But I held it back. I wondered if River could read minds. If he could change memories and all that, would he be able to read minds?

"Good," River said, sounding all but. He handed me the items and turned away, without a word, leaving the servant's quarters. This irritated me. He expected me to treat him like some sort of god, yet he treated me like I was some sort of scum. Some part of my brain acknowledged that that was possibly true, but I pushed it aside.

I stepped into the park hesitantly. River had just said to stand in direct sunlight where the trees were entwined. Well, gee, as if there weren't a million trees in this place. Jasper Park was a lot bigger than I'd first thought. And it had a whole lot more trees too. How was I supposed to find one with entwined branches? The park was set in a strange place, in the middle of suburbia, a square block that looked like it had been cut out of a Lord of the Rings film and stuck here, in the middle of my dead end town. But then, I wasn't really sure why I was surprised, wasn't I the one who trapped in a nightmare of huge mansions and creepy faeries.

The trees in the park were those large almost-pine trees with the straight trunks, various branches sprouting out the sides at sporadic intervals, tall as anything. They'd been planted in straight lines, and depending how you looked at it they could be diagonal, vertical or horizontal. Every now and then there was a small clearing and a bench. The strange thing about this park was that there wasn't a path. At all. Just the trees. It freaked me out a little.

And there also weren't any people. It was quiet and eerie, like it was some sort of sacred place. I hated it.

After wandering the ten-acre park and not finding the entwined trees I got frustrated. It was almost mid day and I truly wanted to hit something. Although with my already broken knuckle I got the feeling that might be a bad idea (yes, I'd learnt my lesson). I still had hot pain whenever the painkillers wore off. It wasn't unlikely that all the trees were intertwined anyway. But being planted so close together their roots would surely be entwined.

That's when it hit me. All I needed to find was a spot where direct sunlight hit the ground. Anywhere the tree's roots would be entwined so it probably wouldn't matter. Of course that could just be my mind wanting to find some sort of easy way out; and not bothering to look for the stupid entwined tree.

I found a clearing and stood in direct sunlight. Actually, I sat, my back leaning against a tree, because I couldn't be bothered standing. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sunlight on my face. That is, until that sunlight was blocked out. I opened my eyes, only to see nothing. I was suddenly in shade, but nothing was blocking the sun. I could see it. There weren't any clouds, just shade. Rather than panic or fear, I felt annoyance. Damn fey, was all I could think.

"Is there someone there?" I asked softly. A rustle of wind answered me. Did I mention how little I like the fey?

"We don't particularly like you all that much either," a voice answered. It was soft and boyish, with a teasing tone. Unlike River, it was obvious this faery used contractions. I wondered it that was simply a generation gap or something. "You are very observant," the voice said. Oh goodie. A mind reader. Perfect. As if I hadn't been violated enough.

"And yet I still can't see you," I answered tiredly. I stood. As I did, I felt the shadow over me move. It still covered most of my body, but it only covered half of my face. This worried me slightly.

"You only can't see me because you don't have the Sight."

"That means nothing to me," I sighed.

"Oh," the voice said, sounding confused. "Didn't River tell you?"

"You're the mind reader. Does it look like River told me?"

"I guess not," the voice said with a hint of laughter. "Your mind is confusing though. You don't have the Sight. That is obvious. But you seem fearless. No, that's wrong. You don't panic. Your mind acts very rationally. Logically. You think very clearly and are able to weigh up options before panic. Or push it aside altogether. Perhaps this isn't always a good thing."

"You think I didn't notice that," I answered bitterly. "So, are you going to tell me about the Sight?"

"I suppose. Only some humans have it, and they tend to be very disturbed individuals. Seeing fey all the time can really mess up someone's mind."

"So humans with the Sight are able to see faeries?"

"Yes," the voice answered. "Usually it means they've had some sort of faery blood in their history somewhere. But you, you're very clearly human. Nothing about you smells like faery. Well, apart from what I can smell of River.

"Then how come I can see River?" I asked.

There was a laugh. "Because he wasn't born one of the fey. No. No. He was born human."

"Did he trade his soul to the devil?" I muttered under my breath.

"Almost," the voice answered. I ignored that answer.

"Well, is there some way I could have the Sight? Or a way to see you?"

"Yes, but it hurts," the voice said.

"Why is that?"

"I must inject you with some fey blood. You need fey blood – magic blood – running through your veins to see fey."

"I think I'll pass," I said, holding out the package I held.

"Oh no," the voice said. "River requested me to do this."

"Do what exactly?" I frowned. That was when I felt the jab of something in my neck. I tried to move, but found that I couldn't. I really, really hated faeries.

Then my thought process stopped. It stopped because pain took over. Starting from the place where I felt the needle jabbed into me, a fire spread through my veins. This wasn't right. It wasn't. This blood was wrong. And my body didn't want it. It rejected it. I could feel it burn under my skin as it spread throughout my body. My muscles tensed and I fell to the ground. I could feel the blood being pumped by my heart. To my lungs and brain. It was taking over. I thought I felt the blood vessels in my eyes burst as my vision became cloudy. This was wrong. I began to shake. Spasm. The pain. It wouldn't stop. I was going to die.

I was going to die.