Josephine Cox 3-Book Collection 1: Midnight, Blood Brothers, Songbird. Josephine Cox

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      ‘So, what else did your mother say . . . about the drawing you did, and why the teacher was so very angry?’

      ‘When we got home, she kept asking me what the drawing was. When I said I didn’t know, she got into a rage, yelling and screaming, demanding to know what it was that I’d drawn, why I had drawn it, and if it really was like the teacher said. She demanded to know where I had seen such a place as the teacher described. She said I’d better get these bad things out of my head, or they might have to put me in a home.’

      ‘Did she tell your father?’

      ‘I think so, ’cause later on I had to see the school psychologist. But I never told him the truth.’

      ‘Did you ever talk to anyone else about the nightmares?’

      ‘Only Libby, just once. She said I should just forget about it, that it wasn’t real.’

      ‘Was that a hard thing to do, Jack? Keeping it to yourself?’

      ‘Very hard, yes.’

      ‘Tell me about Libby.’

      ‘She lived near us on Bower Street.’ Jack’s face broke into a smile. ‘She was very pretty, and she was good-natured. All the boys liked her but she wasn’t interested in them. She preferred to hang out with me. She was a tomboy. I think that’s why everyone liked her. She could play football, and run like the wind. She climbed trees and swung from the branches, like a monkey.’

      He gave a small chuckle, ‘Libby was fun. She made me laugh. Sometimes, she even made me forget the bad things.’

      ‘But you never again spoke to her about the bad things?’

      ‘She didn’t want me to.’

      ‘And you never told anyone else?’

      ‘Never!’

      ‘Was that because you thought they wouldn’t believe you?’

      ‘I didn’t want the other kids to think I was weird.’

      Mr Howard opened the top drawer of the desk, from where he collected a larger writing-pad.

      ‘You’re doing very, very well, Jack,’ he said, his voice warm and encouraging. ‘Now, just let yourself go back, to when you were inside the dream. My voice will go with you. I’ll be with you, every step of the way . . . Now, Jack, I want you to tell me how you feel . . . what you see. Describe the scene Jack.’

      Jack let the other man’s voice lap over him, invasive yet hypnotic, and incredibly comforting. ‘Tell me where you are back there, Jack,’ the voice continued. ‘When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting to bring you home. But first, you need to tell me everything.’

      For a long moment the silence was palpable. There, in that dim, quiet room, nothing else existed for Jack except what was happening in his mind at that moment. He felt his arms grow heavy, sensed himself going even further back in time, before his school-days, back to the source of his fear. Yet this time, he was not so afraid. This time, he had someone with him. This time, they would see. They would know what he knew.

      Still in his boyish tones, he described his surroundings. ‘There’s a window, high up. I can’t reach.’ He raised an arm to indicate the window. ‘The skies are black. There’s a big, golden moon, but there’s no light. It just hangs there, like a shiny ball.’ He caught his breath in fear. ‘Oh, look! Something else is here.’ Pressing into the chair, he curled up and began to cry. ‘Go away! Leave me alone!’

      ‘Who else is there, Jack?’ Mr Howard was drawing feverishly, his voice was calm, authoritative but ready to call a halt if need be.

      ‘They’re looking at me!’ His voice shook with terror. ‘They’re looking at me!’

      Like a child in pain, he called out, over and over: ‘Mummy!’ He was trapped here . . . there was no way out. ‘I want my mummy!’ The eyes had seen him. They had seen him – and now his cries heightened to hysteria.

      ‘Jack!’ The voice was firmer now, insistent. ‘I’m going to count from three to one, and when I reach one, you’ll be back in this room with me, safe and sound. So here we go: three . . . two . . . one. Now open your eyes.’

      Jack clung onto the hand that now reached out. But the shock, the fear, was like a living thing inside him.

      It took a while for Jack to realise he was back. Even when he opened his eyes and saw that he was safe, the relief was not instant. He felt heavy inside, as though someone, or something, was holding him back.

      ‘It’s all right, Jack.’ The same easy voice that had brought him back spoke again. ‘Take another minute now, Jack. Just relax.’

      The curtains were opened to let in more light, as Jack told Mr Howard about the eyes watching him. And the awful feeling that he was in danger.

      The two doctors listened intently as he explained where he had been and the things he had witnessed. ‘Same as always,’ he told them. ‘It was like before, but today I felt as if there was someone else there – someone gentle who did not wish me harm . . .’ He then fell silent, and Mr Howard wisely did not press him further.

      After a while, because he thought Jack had endured enough for today, Mr Howard rang his assistant for some coffee and biscuits. A few moments later, while the other two men enjoyed the refreshments, Jack himself had no appetite. All he wanted was to get as far away from there as possible.

      ‘You did well, Jack.’ His GP had been fascinated by the session, although at times he felt out of his depth.

      His colleague was satisfied with the way things had progressed. ‘It was an excellent beginning,’ he declared, sipping his coffee.

      Drained and nervous, Jack listened to what he had to say.

      Mr Howard began pacing the floor. ‘Fascinating!’ He said it twice. ‘A first session is usually a probing experiment, but this one was very graphic. Very telling.’

      ‘In what way?’ Jack was sceptical, yet in the strangest way, he believed Mr Howard understood.

      ‘You gave an amazingly vivid indication of what you were actually feeling. Now, Jack, I’m going to ask you a very important question. Think before you answer.’

      Jack was instantly afraid. ‘What kind of “question”?’

      ‘During any of your nightmares, can you ever remember calling out for your mother?’

      Jack was surprised by the question. ‘No, never!’ He was certain of it. ‘Why do you ask?’

      ‘Because today, in the midst of describing what you saw, you became extremely distressed and you called out for your mother. You began to panic and cried out for “Mummy”, just as a very young child in trouble would do. Are you sure you don’t recall ever doing that before?’

      Intrigued, Jack cast his mind back. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t remember thinking about my mother. All I ever wanted was to be out of there.’ He was struggling to understand the other man’s thinking. ‘What does it all СКАЧАТЬ