Past Imperfect

'Thirty-six… thirty-five!'

Outside, the alarm bell suddenly stopped ringing. Only the sound of the bleep remained, slowly counting down the seconds Trichot had left to save his patient's life.

Chapeau found a bar three blocks from the hospital and sat over a Pernod while he pondered what to do. How long would the boy be in the operating theatre: two hours, three? Probably he would be returned to the same intensive care room, but then what? He couldn't use the same fire distraction again, he would have to think of something else.

Nothing came to mind quickly, and Chapeau sharply knocked back another slug of Pernod. He should have made the hit the night before rather than wait till the morning. His best shot had probably now gone; he was going to be hard pushed to come up with an alternative plan that would be so effective and carry such low risk. Worse still, if the boy died on the operating table, there would be no more chances. He finished his drink, paid, and headed out. He needed a walk to clear his mind.

Early morning, nine-forty, the streets of Aix were coming to life. But Chapeau was in his own world, oblivious to passers-by: planning, scheming, weighing options. He'd walked for almost twenty minutes, blindly window shopping between his thoughts, when a smile slowly crossed his face. It was cheeky and audacious, but why not? He'd always liked a gamble, and the prospect of shafting that little paedophile prick, Alain, somehow appealed to him. He thought it through once more for possible pitfalls, but it was perfect: the timing matched almost exactly.

But he would have to wait over two hours to deliver the news: two pre-arranged phone kiosks and times. One in Le Luc for the midday call, one in Brignoles for the ten o’clock call. Chapeau decided to drive back to Marseille to make the call. At one point on the drive, the audacity of what he was about to do tickled him again, and he burst out laughing.

By the time he made the call, he'd managed to control his mirth. It rang only twice before Alain answered. 'It's done,' said Chapeau.

'When was this?'

'Just this morning. I created a diversion, pumped the boy with a syringe, and last thing I knew they were in the operating theatre trying to save him.'

'Are you sure he's finished?'

'Don't worry, he won't make it. Also, they won't suspect anything: it will look like he died from complications arising from his coma and the initial injuries.'

They made arrangements to meet and settle payment at six o’clock the next day at Parc du Pharo. Chapeau was sure Alain would probably phone the hospital that afternoon to check, but it was a reasonable set of odds. If the boy made it, he would just have to come up with another plan. If not, for once he'd get paid without having any blood on his hands.

ELEVEN

Third Session.

'…And when you fell back asleep, did the dream return?'

'Yes. But the wheat field had changed, it was different…'

A large reel tape whirred silently in the background. Eyran's eyelids pulsed gently as the memories drifted across. The second session had been disappointing, details of the dreams scant, so Lambourne had decided on hypnosis. The practice had become increasingly outmoded in his profession, he used hypnosis on less than four percent of his patients: only in the case of deeply repressed thoughts or where normal transference was poor or non-existent. And hardly ever on children.

But with the main clues buried in Eyran's dreams and so much either faded or selectively erased — he'd seen little other choice. He hadn't expected anything significant from the dreams until Jojo appeared after the coma — then suddenly sat up sharply as Eyran started describing a dream just before the accident: his mother folding out a map and Eyran staring at the back of her hair, willing himself back into a previous dream.

'In which way was it different when you went back?' Lambourne pressed.

'It was flat, not on a slope how I remembered. And suddenly it got dark, I couldn't find my way back. Everything was too flat — I couldn't pick out anything to tell me which way was home.'

'Was it important that you reached home?'

'Yes. I had the feeling that if I didn't make it back, something terrible would happen. I might die. Finding my way out of the darkness and home was my way of staying alive.'

Lambourne clenched one hand tight. If there was a significant gap between the two dreams, the accident could have already taken place by the second dream! Its later corruption after the coma and the introduction of Jojo could speak volumes. 'When did you first start dreaming about the wheat field?'

'I don't remember exactly. Quite a few years back.'

'Was it when you first went to California and started missing your friends?'

'No, I'd dreamt of it before. When we first moved into the house in East Grinstead and I walked into the field, it felt familiar. I had the feeling I'd been there before.'

'And did the dreams always feature the wheat fields?'

'No, sometimes it was the copse and the pond they led to, sometimes the woods at the back of the old house that led to the field.'

'Did you ever dream of the house itself?'

'I don't remember exactly. Perhaps once before. Then the dream recently where I was looking out of the back kitchen window and saw my parents, and met Jojo again in the woods.'

So, the wheat field and the copse were more significant than the house itself: his own private play areas, whereas in the house his parents were dominant. The house started to feature again only when he was trying to find them; he took the search partly to their territory. 'In the dream about the time of the accident, when you feared you couldn't make your way back home — how long did you feel had passed since the last moment in the car you remembered being awake?'

'It seemed to come almost straight after. But I don't know. The other dreams seemed to come with little gap, yet they told me when I awoke that I'd been in a coma for three weeks.'

Lambourne scribbled a quick note: Timing inconclusive. First significant dream could have occurred before or after the accident. Probably they would never know. 'And was there anyone else in the dream, any of your old friends from the copse?'

'There was someone, but not really a friend. It was a boy from my old school, Daniel Fletcher. He died just a year before we left for California. And then my father appeared, saying that I didn't belong there, that I should start making my way back. But it was suddenly dark and I couldn't make out anything familiar; and by then he'd disappeared and left me to find my way back on my own.'

'What was the stronger emotion? Anger that he'd deserted you, or fear that you were suddenly alone and lost?'

'I don't know, I felt both. Maybe more confused than angry. I just couldn't work out why he'd left.'

'And was your fear just because you were alone and it was dark, or was it also because you felt you should do as your father said. You were equally afraid to disobey him.'

Eyran frowned; he looked vaguely uncomfortable. 'It was because I was alone. I wouldn't purposely disobey my father and upset him, but I wasn't afraid of him. He was a very good father.'

'I know.' Lambourne noted the defensive tone; he changed track. 'Which was the first dream that Jojo appeared in?'

Moment's silence. Eyran's eyelids pulsed. 'It was the dream straight after that, again in the same place. The small pond in the copse.'

'And in that dream, tell me what you saw. What happened?'

Eyran's eyelids pulsed more rapidly. Only grey outline at first, hazy. But gradually the images sharpened, became clear…