Chapter twelve
“We’re not going.” Matt said. He could feel Ron looking at him, but it was Richard’s reaction he was most concerned about. It was just a shame that the man had a preference for remaining calm in a time of storms. He sat on Ron’s bed with a straight face and a strange tranquillity in his eyes.
“You have no choice- you have to come,” he said. “What you do have a choice in is how you come- either consent or don’t. Quite frankly, it would be better if you consented because then I wouldn’t have to do this.” He clicked his fingers and the filament in the light-bulb above burst. It hadn’t been on before, but the short, tinny snap did extinguish any thoughts Matt had about escaping. The dark curtains Richard had summoned had blocked out any light from the window, so the room should have been pitch black. But it wasn’t. There was a strange light emanating from somewhere. A strange, low, purple light...
“OH MY GOD!” Ron cried, terrified. He scrambled back on the bed, staring at Richard’s hands. Matt looked- Richard was still holding the piece of paper with the winged scroll on it. Matt didn’t think anything of it until he realised: purple light, purple paper. He gasped and jumped back on the bed to join Ron pressing himself against the wall.
Richard stood up, dropped the paper and advanced towards the cowering boys with fire in his eyes.
Matt sat bolt upright in his bed. His first instinct was to look at the window- it was closed and unconcealed by curtains. Through the window, he could see the dark sky and a small moon. He looked over at Ron’s bed and found his brother staring at him. Matt’s chest was hurting. Realising that he had been holding his breath, he pulled in a lungful of air and forced himself to breathe. He was shaky and covered in cold moisture. His blankets felt heavy and claustrophobic.
“Nightmare?” Ron asked.
Matt nodded and kicked the covers back. He breathed and the feeling of claustrophobia slowly crept away. He huddled back and tried to steady his breathing, tried to shake the feeling of unease that kept a hold of him. When he had calmed down, he turned back to his brother and asked if he’d had a nightmare.
“Yeah,” he answered, “What was yours about?”
“You go first,” Matt said.
“You’re the one with experience,” Ron told him, “you go first.”
“Experience doesn’t make it any easier to tell people,” Matt said. “We’ll both go on the count of three, okay?”
Ron nodded, “One.”
“Two.”
“Three!” They said in unison.
“Dad tried to kill us!” Ron said, then, realising Matt hadn’t said anything, added “We were supposed to go together!”
“It doesn’t matter!” Matt said. “I had the same dream!”
The look of shocked realisation which crossed Ron’s face was enough to confirm two things: 1) Richard was playing with them, and 2) It had something to do with magic. Matt felt something in the air earlier in the day when he and Richard had gone shopping. Stashed beneath his bed were the presents he had bought, plus a book on the history of magic. The last thing he remembered was stashing them there, but he vaguely remembered being caught doing something by Ron. He remembered crying, but who could say that it wasn’t part of the dream? The curtains had definitely been a part of the dream, hadn’t they? When had he fallen asleep?
“Richard is playing with us,” he told Ron. “I don’t know how or why, but he is.”
Ron nodded, more out of obligation to reply in some way than out of agreeing, and kicked his blankets off. He turned so that he was sitting on the bed. Matt followed suit and rubbed his eyes.
“What should we do?” Ron asked. “Dad said something last night about going out, didn’t he?” he sounded confused.
“I think so,” Matt said. “Something about us having to go with him?”
“Yeah, that was it,” Ron said, “and he was cooking yesterday. Didn’t you smell it?”
“No- I came straight in here after we got home.”
“How couldn’t you have smelled it?” Ron asked, sounding more confused. “When I was in the kitchen, it was so pungent and he was coated in flour. Did you at least see the flour?”
“I saw the flour,” Matt said, “but I didn’t smell cakes or cookies.”
“There wasn’t a smell in the corridor, was there?” Ron asked, confused. “Damn it! The kitchen smelled so good! Why didn’t the corridor smell good?”
“I have a theory,” Matt said, “and it’s going to sound crazy.”
Ron cocked his head to one said, smiled and said; “Given the dream we’ve just had, crazy sounds pretty normal.”
“What if Richard has magic powers?” Matt suggested. “Hear me out: what if he made us think we were dreaming? In the dream, he tried to demonstrate that he had magic powers, but we were scared. If he does have magic powers, why would he stop at making curtains appear?”
“But why would we wake up if it was anything but a dream?”
“How could we wake up if we don’t remember falling asleep?”
“Does anybody actually remember when they fall asleep?”
“At some point,” Matt argued, “everyone remembers the moments before they fall asleep. They remember their last thought, they remember going to bed. But most of all, people tend to remember how it feels to fall asleep. Heavy eyelids, slow breathing, that sort of thing. Do you remember getting into your pyjamas, getting into bed and closing your eyes to go to sleep?”
Matt watched Ron think it over, but after a few seconds it became clear that the latter’s mind was beginning to implode. Ron turned to his brother with worry in his eyes.
“No,” he said. “Do you?”
Matt shook his head.
“What now?” Ron asked.
“What do you think the dream meant?” Matt said.
“Huh?”
“I think that dreams always have messages,” Matt said, bending over to reach under his bed. He searched for a few moments before sitting back up and pulling out a white, hard-back book.
“What’s that?” Ron asked, eyeing the book. It wasn’t thick, but to Matt it felt heavy. The cover was white, but in the darkness it appeared silver. There were several symbols covering the front and back, and the words spelling out “Dreams and Divination” were written in neat, cursive script.
“It’s a dream guide,” Matt said, opening the book to the first page. “It has pages dedicated to recurring symbols, Freud’s psycho-sexual theories, and some studies on people who have specific dreams, but what I think we’re interested in is the divination. That is, did our dream have anything to do with our future?” Matt flicked through the pages searching for the chapter he needed.
“They don’t,” Ron said, “and even if they did, we would expect anything we might figure out to happen.”
“The greatest ideas come from dreams,” Matt said, slowly turning the pages in the book. “And those ideas create the better futures.”
“So the guy who invented the car had a dream about a car?”
Matt shrugged. “Who knows?”
“While I admit the car has given us some benefits, it basically screwed us over because we’re tapping the world’s oil supply dry.”
Matt looked up from the book and stopped turning the pages.
“All I’m saying is,” Ron started, “there is no way we can keep waging wars because we need oil for fuel- it takes an inordinate amount of fuel and finance to get the oil anyway, and the amount of fuel it takes to patch up oil spills can sometimes equal however much you might have been able to drill in the first place. The guy who invented the car could not have foreseen that, even if he did have a dream about a crazy contraption called a ‘car’, since any consequence of his inventing the car would have had to show itself in the initial dream.”
“Would it have?” Matt asked. “Or should it have?”
“It would have,” Ron said, “because then he could have made an informed decision before inventing the car. Since he invented it anyway and now we’re suffering the eco-destructive consequences, it’s safe to say he didn’t see that part of the dream.”
“But hybrids were invented to curb those same consequences,” Matt said.
“And they still use fuel made from the same oil we’re waging wars in order to get!”
Matt sighed and returned to the book, flicked a few pages and settled on the page he needed. He smiled as he read it.
“What’s that smile for?” Ron asked.
“I’ve found something,” Matt said, with a slight chuckle. “It says ‘Dreams wherein a family member is aggressive suggest a conflict within the immediate family,’”
“Go on.”
“‘Dreams in which a conflict is presented are resolved only by confronting said conflict face-on. It has been suggested that a paternal parent who may appear the aggressor or the victim of aggression is suffering from a form of pseudo-sexual repression brought about by a recent tragedy. Children who see their fathers as aggressors in such dreams are advised to seek the root cause of any conflict they may have.’” Matt looked up from the book and said; “Basically, Richard’s horny.”
“Or we are.” Ron mumbled.
They stared at each other with blank expressions for about a minute before Ron laughed, and Matt joined him. The comment should have made them feel uncomfortable, but the idea was so ludicrous they just had to laugh. Just by laughing, Matt felt relieved. His heart lifted and he was actually smiling what he felt was a real smile. He felt a warm tingling under his skin and his spirits lifted as he just sat with his brother and laughed about their dream. He hadn’t felt this comfortable and contented with anyone except... Ryan. The memory of it came rushing back. The cuddling, the kissing, the strange feeling of security he got while lying there with his friend. Matt could remember the look of disappointment and pain in Ryan’s eyes as he watched the former leave. His heart sinking, Matt stopped laughing and felt the resentment settle in his stomach. Ron continued laughing, and worried that he was being laughed at for the weakness he felt, being Ryan’s one-day lover. He hadn’t seen his friend in a couple of days. Was there some kind of protocol where Matt had to call Ryan to check if everything was alright? Given the incident with the bus... Damn it! Did Matt actually fly over Blackheath? He had to have, given the other events which had occurred over the past twenty-four hours. On the other hand, whenever he remembered it, it was with the slow-motion replay one tends to experience when trying to recall a dream. Yet Matt was certain that it had to have been real, because when he woke up, he could smell salt water. He knew that the boating pond in Greenwich Park wasn’t salt water, but the smell was definitely enough to bring him back to reality and ground his belief that he was not going insane, despite what was implied when he was just reaching his adolescence.
The warm, tingling feeling had not faded, and it seemed to intensify the more Matt thought about Ryan. Looking back, despite Matt’s protestations, Ryan had been a good friend. The only friend, it seemed, to have been kind to Matt. Of course, Matt had had friendly acquaintances while at school in California, but none of them had never really been friends. There were no secrets exchanged between the members of their group. Sure, a few of them had branched off and became best friends, most of the girls got boyfriends and a few of the others- once they found out a little bit more about Matt- had been divided. The boys tried to steer clear of him during gym class and didn’t bother coming to him unless they needed help picking an outfit for the upcoming prom or any dates they had planned. The girls who remained single or had broken up with their boyfriends competed with Matt to have him as their best friend, but that was the problem: a person cannot force a friendship. One girl, Alaina, had more or less bitched about her ex-boyfriend in the hope that Matt might understand. She invited him on numerous shopping trips and spent so much time with him that the other students had begun to question Matt’s sexuality. Eventually, Alaina grew tired of Matt’s despondence and sought someone else to befriend. Matt was unbothered by this- there were few homosexuals in his school anyway, and at the time he thought that the few there were didn’t want him as a friend for fear of attracting the wrong attention- bullies, homophobes, Catholic priests, exorcists and the like.
Matt had known his sexuality since he was fifteen, finding out after a blindfolded game of spin-the-bottle at his first boy-girl party. The person who spun the bottle had to put on a blindfold before spinning the bottle, and whoever it landed on would have to- silently- lean in and kiss the spinner. The spinner would remove the blindfold after the kiss, and the humiliation could begin. It was during this game that Matt found the boys’ kissed more comfortable than the girls’. Not only that, but Matt’s first crush began to develop- Simon Grene. Unfortunately, the smitten glances Matt had been giving Simon had been picked up by one of Matt’s acquaintances, who had passed on the information and gradually- like a tree sprouting branches in high spring- the entire student body knew, which ultimately included Simon, who got a girlfriend within days after hearing the news and always tried to stay away from Matt, even in classes they shared where partnering was necessary, like Biology. Alphabetically, Matt usually chose first. Out of courtesy to Simon, he would choose another boy or a girl. The boys tried to work as fast as they could so that they could get back to their own desks. The girls often spent most of the lesson endlessly quizzing Matt about his sexuality, how to attract boys and other things they thought he would know about. Matt just kept quiet and continued with the work. He was quite glad to move to England, actually. He would be away from the students in his class, and since he was sixteen at the time he might have been able to enter a college. He had to take an admissions test, of course, to check his suitability and general knowledge before he could apply to anywhere. Since Richard had connections, Matt was placed in a sixth form college where Richard knew some of the teachers and where Matt would be closely observed, and Ron was placed into a secondary school a few minutes away so that they could travel together. Richard probably thought that this would be a safer way for the brothers to travel, but what he didn’t know was that they sat as far away as possible from each other on the bus.
Matt’s initial plan for college had been to lie low and get through the two years by being unseen and unknown. It hadn’t worked out, since a young man called Ryan decided to show him around the college- which happened to be a partner college of his secondary school- and around the town. Matt took care to stay away from Ryan, but since they had similar timetables, it was a difficult task. Richard’s pushing Matt to befriend Ryan was the only reason Matt relented to the young man’s efforts, and found that he and Ryan were surprisingly alike. A small, soft smile formed on his face and he looked up to see Ron looking at him.
“What are you thinking about?” Ron asked, seeing the smile.
“Stuff.” Matt replied, the smile maintaining its position on his face.
“What kind of stuff?”
“Mom, friends, Christmas. The kind of stuff that tends to make people happy.”
Ron smiled widely and laughed. “Do you remember,” he began, “when we were kids, before Kevin was born, when Dad tried to cook? They invited so many people over, and Dad got an eggplant stuck in the oven.”
“How could I forget?” Matt laughed. “Grandma and Mom had to barbeque the replacements.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, just remembering that one holiday.
“They never called it ‘Christmas’, did they?” Matt asked. “They called it ‘Yule’, didn’t they?”
“Yeah.” Ron said. “Twelve days of food for everyone, alcohol for the grownups and small gifts for the kids.” He dug under the covers and pulled out the cuddly dog toy. “Mom gave me this when I was six, before she died.” He looked at the dog for a while, alternating between turning it over in his hands and cuddling it. Without looking up, he asked Matt; “Did we dream that you told me how Mom died?”
“No,” Matt said. “Not even a nightmare could make that up.” He frowned.
Ron nodded and said; “Maybe that was the conflict the book suggested.”
Matt looked at the book and mumbled a few words of agreement, closed the book and put it back under the bed.
“So the magic was real?” Ron asked, sounding distant.
“Yes,” Matt said. “I’ve seen magic in the making. I’ve seen my bike and your chair and books disappear, and I’ve been on a flying bus. Last night, when Richard made the curtains appear, it was real. Maybe,” he said, a thought forming, “you didn’t smell anything earlier because he didn’t want you to. He was cooking, for sure, but maybe he didn’t want us to know he was cooking.”
“If that’s true, then why didn’t he kick me out of the kitchen?”
“He might have been using his magic skills,” Matt elaborated, “to enhance the flavours or something. I don’t know- I’m just guessing- but maybe the food he was making has something to do with where he wanted to take us?”
“More to the point,” Ron proposed, “where did he want to take us?”
“It had something to do with the food,” Matt said. “It’s definitely-” he stopped talking because he had a sudden realisation. He gasped half in surprise, half in pride because he had figured it out so quickly. “There’s a feast tonight!”
“What?”
“How much was he cooking yesterday when you saw him in the kitchen?” Matt asked quickly, excited.
“A lot.”
“What was he cooking?”
“I don’t know. Casserole, soup, roasted vegetables. Winter food, mainly.”
Matt’s smiled broadly, and the tingling feeling beneath his skin became more of a buzz of energy.
“When we were kids,” he started, “we had huge dinners around this time of year, right? What if, this year, Richard is over at someone else’s house joining in? He said something about taking food somewhere, right? And he needed extra hands to take it there, right?”
“And he wanted us to be there,” Ron said, catching on to what Matt was suggesting, “because it’s an important date and everyone there is celebrating some kind of magical occurrence! And he wanted us there because whatever’s happening has to do with us!”
“Or kids in general,” Matt said. “Richard told me a couple of days ago- now, there is no way that this could ever have been a dream- that there’s something his bosses are trying to find. An ancient something or other... And there was something about angel-like creatures. What if tonight’s the night those creatures are revealed?”
“So we’re the angels?” Ron asked.
“Maybe,” Matt said, still thinking. “Unless something else is happening, but I’m not sure.”
“We need clues.” Ron suggested.
Matt nodded in agreement and said, “If we need clues, we’re more likely to find them in Richard’s bedroom. Let’s go.”
They stood up and left their bedroom, Matt walking in front. The corridor was dark, but the adjoining rooms- the living room, the bathroom, Kevin’s bedroom and Richard’s bedroom- gave off some light, either from electrical light or from streetlamps which shined into the room. The light cast some shadows from the end tables and plants and pictures which decorated the corridor walls. The shadows stretched towards the boys, stationery and longing to grab at their bare feet.
They entered Richard’s bedroom and started to search. Matt looked under the bed and Ron took to the chests of drawers. After five minutes of slow, careful searching, Matt pulled out a thick photo album. In bold, gold lettering, “The Amsterdams” was declared on white leather. It was unfamiliar to Matt, and he was sure he hadn’t seen it. He opened the album and his breath caught. Butterflies started to dance in his stomach. The kind of butterflies that made him feel sick, light-headed and feeling guilty. The very first photo in the album was of Richard and Marissa. It was old, but it was a colour photograph. The plastic pocket had protected it, making it appear almost brand news. Unless it was a reprint. Richard was dressed in a black suit, white shirt, red bowtie and grey top-hat, while Marissa was wearing a fitted white dress which accented her hips. The dress had full-length sleeves and a lace collar with circled her neck, and a veil was pushed back on her head. They were sitting down on white chairs at a white table. On the table was a small, glass vase of blue and white roses. Richard had his arm around Marissa, and they were smiling. Genuine happiness shone in their eyes and they both looked young. Early twenties at the oldest. The caption beneath the photograph read ‘The happiest day on Midgard’.
Matt could hear Ron rummaging through the drawers and replacing anything that became disorganised. He could also hear something dripping in the background. A hollow, metallic dripping which echoed throughout Matt’s mind. The same dripping he had heard when Marissa died.
“Ron,” he said quietly. “I’ve found something.”
The rummaging stopped, and he heard Ron ask; “What?”
“Just get over here!”
Ron rushed to join him. The brothers knelt, side by side, looking through the photo album. It was arranged chronologically, like a timeline of when the family began to where it was now. Pictures of Richard and Marissa as newlyweds, touring Europe and the Middle East. Baby pictures of Matt, Ron and Kevin appeared periodically and were sorted by date. Matt’s ballet recital where he was dressed as a wolf for the production, Ron’s first school play where he played a farmer, Kevin’s first steps. There were snapshots of the first days of school. In several of the pictures after the three boys had appeared, Marissa’s belly showed signs of swelling. In earlier pictures, it was barely noticeable- one had to look quite hard to see- but in others, most notably the pictures where Matt had been eight, her belly was heavier. Then, after a picture of Marissa caressing her belly in the marital bed, she appeared no more. Matt closed the album and replaced it under the bed. Again, they sat in silence. The dripping sound had subsided.
“It’s nice to know,” Ron started in a hushed voice, “that he still thinks about her.”
“Yeah.” Matt whispered hoarsely, his eyes welling up.
“I found something in the drawers,” Ron said, handing something to Matt/ Matt took it and looked it over. It was packet of some sort. Square, containing something that felt like liquid and something circular.
“OH MY GOSH!” Matt cried, throwing it in the air. It landed somewhere behind him, but he didn’t check to see where. He turned to Ron.
“Don’t give me that look!” Ron said defensively.
“You just handed me a condom.” Matt said, composing himself although he still felt shaky. “What the hell am I supposed to think? How am I supposed to act?”
“I don’t know,” Ron said. “”It’s just nice that, although he has somebody else, he still thinks of Mom. He might not even have anybody else- maybe it was past-”
“Please,” Matt said, holding up a hand. “No more condom talk. Keep searching.”
Ron nodded and returned to the drawers. Matt looked in the closets, but found nothing other than shoes, shirts and suits.
“Got something!” he heard Ron whisper. He turned around and hurried over to Ron, who was holding a rectangular piece of card. They read it together: it was an invitation, addressed to Richard, to be at the abandoned biscuit factory for a party to officially commence the festival of Yule. There were instructions on how to get there, on how to enter the factory. Only invitees who understood the access code printed underneath the message would be able to access the factory. Matt didn’t understand what was written- it was in a foreign language- but Ron instantly knew what it said.
“It’s a poem,” Ron explained, “A blessing of sorts. We had to learn it in Gothic History. Didn’t you do anything like this for Lit Studies?”
“Probably,” Matt said, “but I missed two days of college. Henshaw won’t let me catch up unless I do it in my own time.”
“You know we have to go to this thing, right?”
Matt nodded, said; “But let’s keep searching this place. Keep a hold of that thing- we’ll need it.”
Ron nodded and asked where they should search next. Matt suggested the living room, so they went there. They found that the coffee table was filled with fruit. Bright green apples, huge purple grapes draped over peaches, a large gold bowl filled with strawberries. There were other fruits there that neither boy could name, but they could smell the sweet, sweet juices the skins contained. Ron was attracted most to the peaches, but Matt’s eyes went directly to the strawberries: they were massive, beautifully red and darkly tempting. Matt’s mouth watered- he could taste them already, he could smell them. He swallowed and licked his lips, advanced towards the coffee table. There was a piece of paper, folded up and placed by the gold bowl of strawberries, next to a small pile of what looked like red plums. Matt picked up the paper and unfolded it. It was a note from Richard to the boys. Only a few lines long, it read:
‘Boys,
Won’t be home for a couple of days. Left you this fruit in case you get hungry- you never do eat enough. Matt, I know you like strawberries- these ones will last a few days. Ron, the same goes for the peaches. Make sure Kevin eats the grapes. You boys never eat enough fruit- try to finish this before I get back.
Dad xx’
Matt handed the note to Ron, who read it over while Matt gazed longingly at the strawberries.
“This has to be a set-up.” Ron said suspiciously, crumpling up the note and tossing it into the wastebasket by the door.
“Maybe,” Matt said, not taking his eyes away from the strawberries. He heard Ron shuffling about somewhere behind him. It took a lot of will power to pull his gaze away from the strawberries, to look over at where Ron was standing. He was by Richard’s armchair, holding Richard’s mobile phone and pressing a few buttons. He had a look of concentration on his face which suggested that he was reading something.
“What are you looking at?” Matt asked, wandering over to his brother.
“Listen to this,” Ron said, tapping a button. “It says ‘Got your invite? Cool. Try to bring the kids- ain’t seen ’em in a while, sept Matt when I pulled him outta the pond. Be there before midnight. Morgue, Demitri and me will be waiting. Tez agreed on a truce for tonight. Thom.’” Ron looked up from the phone and at Matt. “We have to go to this thing.” He said.
“Agreed,” Matt said. “Did the invite specify a dress code?”
Ron, putting the phone down and turning towards the door, said; “No, it didn’t, but I’m guessing smart-casual.”
“Then let’s get ready.”
It was nine-thirty in the evening, which they found out after a quick peek at Richard’s phone. They both took quick showers- Matt going second so that he could wipe away the excess water from the showerhead- and dressed. Matt wore a tan, button-down shirt with a tawny tie and brown jeans over black leather boots. Ron had opted for a purple sweater vest over a white shirt and blue jeans with white trainers. Just as they were about to leave, they remembered that Kevin was still in his room! Matt went to check on him, and found the youngest Amsterdam boy curled up, asleep underneath his blanket with the nightlight on. Matt sat on Kevin’s bed for a few minutes, stroking his hair. The poor kid looked like he was having a nightmare, so Matt kissed his forehead and the scrunched-up look of fear seemed to melt away from the young lad’s face.
“Sweet dreams, Principo Piccolo.” Matt whispered, leaving the room.
He joined Ron by the door, and they grabbed their coats.
His hand on the doorknob, Ron turned to Matt and asked; “Ready, bro?”
Matt’s mouth was dry, his stomach was knotting up, and his legs were shaking. He badly wanted to chicken out, to go back to bed and hope that he was dreaming... but he knew that this was real. Tonight, the nightmares would end.
So he nodded, and Ron opened the door. They stepped out onto the slush-covered balcony, into the cold, into the newly-falling snow. The sky was a deep blue, almost indigo, with a full white moon. It was quite large, and the shadows which embraced it made it look like a giant’s eyes. It reminded Matt of his early nightmares, but he shrugged off the feeling of power the moon possessed, although the warm tingling he felt early was still present, and he and Ron walked off into the night.
