‘Sit down, Mr Williams,’ came the stern voice inside Oliver’s head.
He complied, putting himself onto the smooth chair before him. He rested his hands on the empty metal desk and leaned forward in anticipation, sweat dripping down his sides.
That instant, the augmentation ran, and the blank room was transformed before his eyes. Vibrant wallpaper trickled to the floor, and the table turned to lush wood. Oliver ran his fingers across the surface. It remained icy to the touch.
Oliver blinked, and a man appeared opposite. He wore a plain grey suit and a plain grey smile.
‘Good afternoon Mr Williams,’ said the man. ‘I am The Invigilator. I will be handling your case today.’
Oliver shifted in his chair. ‘What’s this all about?’
The Invigilator’s face remained impassive. ‘There have been a few anomalies in your sleep animations Mr Williams. We simply need to ask you a few questions to clarify things.’
‘If you insist.’
‘Excellent. First, have you been taking your Sleep Cloud prescribed uploads every night?’
‘Of course.’
‘We have records that some of your scripts weren’t uploaded.’
Oliver wiped his forehead with his sleeve. ‘Maybe I forgot one or two. No harm in that, is there?’
‘Normally no. Enough only to warrant a warning or perhaps a small dock on your data allowance. But the nature of what has replaced them is… disturbing.’
‘I haven’t been replacing them.’
‘I see. Do you know of a person called Heather?’
Oliver froze. His heart quickened. ‘Who?’
‘It’s a name that has been recurring in your dream scripts.’
‘Oh. She’s a friend of my daughter. From her new school. She’s been popping by the house a lot recently. Lovely girl.’
‘Are you aware of her age Mr Williams?’
‘I imagine she’s the same age as my daughter. Around eighteen, I’d say. Why does it matter?’
‘It matters a great deal. Based on what we’ve seen.’
Oliver felt his face flush. ‘There’s nothing to see. My dreams aren’t anything special.’
The Invigilator’s eyes darkened. ‘We’ve seen everything, Mr Williams. There is no use in lying.’
‘Listen, I never did anything to her. Not really. It was just a dream. I can’t control what I dream.’
‘She’s only seventeen, Mr Williams.’
Two sturdy hands clamped down on Oliver’s shoulders.
‘You can’t do this. I haven’t done anything!’
‘You will be removed from the Sleep Cloud and installed with an inhibitor.’
‘But…’ Oliver whispered. ‘I’ll never dream again.’
‘We cannot have your filth on our servers, Mr Williams. In addition, your name will be placed on the Sex Offenders register. C-bracket, medium risk.’
Invisible hands hoisted Oliver to his feet. ‘But… I haven’t…’
‘Eighty-three per cent of dream crimes are actualized if not prevented.’
Tears streamed down Oliver’s cheeks as he was dragged towards the door. His whole body numb. ‘You… can’t…’
‘Good day, Mr Williams.’
The Invigilator scrambled into a flicker of pixels and vanished.
THE FOLLOWING IS BASED ON REAL EVENTS – TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR LANGUAGE, HATE SPEECH, ABUSE AND EVERYTHING AWFUL
I leap on board as the doors close behind me. I breathe out. The last train of the night.
‘You were lucky there mate,’ says the man standing in the way. He hasn’t moved to accommodate me. I shuffle backwards.
‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘Just in time.’
The man is tall, taller than me and heavy looking. He wears a bright orange turban, a shabby green jacket and gardening gloves. A thin orange satchel hangs off his shoulder, its shape hinting at a long object inside. He’s straddling an orange electric scooter. He has a thick, short beard. I assume he’s a Sikh.
He says something else, but I’m already smiling politely and looking for a seat. I can pick anywhere.
‘You should have done a forward roll. Like in the army.’ His voice is soft and clear, confident.
I laugh and smile along, then sit down five rows away.
‘You look like you could be in the army,’ he continues talking over the seats between us. He has to raise his voice to be heard. ‘I saw you on the telly, on one of those army reality shows.’
‘I’m not… I’ve never been on TV.’ I’ve engaged him. He doesn’t break eye contact now. It’s too late.
There’s a pause.
‘Ever shagged five girls at once?’ he says. ‘I tell you there’s nothing else like it. You haven’t lived till you’ve done it. There are more things than you know what to do with. Just fucking ‘em all. Amazing.’
I’m glad the carriage is empty, for other’s sake more than mine. I don’t mind his candour myself. It’s both amusing and terrifying, exhilarating even.
He carries on. ‘I’ve got five girlfriends. ‘It’s exhausting though. They really drain your sack don’t they?’
I smile, but this time insincerely.
‘Have you had five women at once?’ he asks.
‘I can’t say I have.’
‘Bullshit! You’re a handsome guy. I bet you have.’
I shrug.
‘You should try it though man. I’ve got five girlfriends all over the place. Had them all tonight. It’s too much though.’ He comes over, dragging his orange electric scooter with him and extends a gloved hand, still standing.
I remain seated, and we shake. His gardening glove is warm and rough.
‘What’s your name?’ he asks me.
‘I’m Arthur. What’s yours?’
‘I’m Lancelot Grithin. But I can’t call myself that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m a Rothchild.’
‘Oh.’
‘But I can’t call myself that either.’
‘I see.’
‘You know, from the billionaires? I said to him when we were on our private jet, Rothchild that is, you can’t go on like this. And look what happened?’
‘What happened?’
‘It all went to shit.’ He laughs heartily.
I’m confused, so I look for something normal to speak about. I only have to endure two stops. I can last that long in small talk. ‘So where do you live?’
‘I could tell you five places, and they’d all be a lie.’ He winks. ‘But I live in Kingston.’
‘Oh, lovely.’
‘It is! It’s where I knighted King Arthur, you know, in another life. Mordred was there too.’
I wonder if he’s joking because of my name, or if he actually believes what he’s saying is true. Maybe this was some kind of setup for YouTube. I don’t know how to respond, so I just smile.
He never breaks eye contact in the silence. He’s still standing over me in the aisle. There’s no escape.
‘That’s where I got mugged by the brotherhood, you know? They beat me up and took everything. They really kicked the shit out of me.’
‘Who?’
‘Don’t play dumb, you know.’
I insist that I don’t.
‘The men upstairs, the pyramids, the eye.’ He winks. ‘You know.’
He must mean the Illuminati. ‘Sure. Bastards.’
‘You’re a good bloke Arthur. I like you. You look like you’re in the army.’
‘I’m not.’
‘What’s your favourite gun? Walter PPK? Nine millimetres? Glock Seventeen? SA eighty?’
‘I’ve never shot a gun,’ I say. How has this guy lived more than me?
‘Bullshit!’ He shakes his head. ‘You’re a smart bloke though I bet. You’ve got the posh accent. My dad told me all about accents. You went to Harrow or Eton, and then Oxford or Cambridge didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t, honestly.’
‘Bullshit! You did.’
‘I don’t know what to tell you.’ Keep things normal. I look around for something normal to talk about. ‘What’s in the bag?’
‘I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.’ He grins but doesn’t elaborate.
Maybe it is a weapon. It is weapon shaped. Don’t Sikhs carry swords or daggers around? He’s got a sword. I feel a sense of dread.
One more stop.
‘What station is this?’ He bends down to look out the window. ‘Oh, my girlfriend lives here! She’s half Swedish, half Argentinian. Looks like you actually.’
‘Maybe she’s my sister.’ I joke.
He laughs. ‘Maybe! But I wouldn’t fuck you. Yeah, she’s gorgeous man, real gorgeous. She’ll suck your dick off. Like really. Man. You should look her up. She’s on electricgirls-dot-com, that site for escorts. Look her up. Her name’s Isabelle.’
I nod, making a mental note to look her up.
‘Problem is the n*gger’s controlling her.’
There’s that word. It’s painful to hear it.
‘He gives her free cocaine all night,’ he continues, ‘Then it stops being free, and in the morning she has to pay him back. Fucking n*ggers man. So she has to pay him back with sex. Five thousand pounds worth of fucking. He’s controlling her.’
I wonder how he knows all this. Did she tell him? Maybe he imagined it.
‘She won’t last a few months. I had a premonition you see. She’ll be dead in a month. I don’t know what to do though. I love her. What do I do? I would go round with a baseball bat and fuck that guy’s shit up, but then I’d get sectioned again. You’ve gotta help her Arthur. You could save her.’
Sectioned again.
‘You could tell the police,’ I say, weakly. ‘Anonymous tip-off? She’s not doing anything illegal, but sounds like he is.’
‘That’s it! A police watchdog.’ He lights up. ‘See I knew you were smart Arthur. Thank you. I knew it was destiny for us to meet. I knew it.’
My words may save her after all.
If she even exists.
He takes off a gardening glove and extends his exposed hand. We shake. It’s warm and clammy.
‘This is my stop.’ I say as the train slows.
‘Oh, I know this place. I go to the Weatherspoons round the corner. Maybe I’ll see you there, and we can get a drink?’
‘Sure thing.’ I stand up and walk to the train doors. ‘It was lovely to meet you.’
‘Have a great night Arthur.’
‘You too.’
I get off the train and am thankful I never go to that Weatherspoons.
