The Soft Whisper of Dreams Read Free

heart thumped against her ribcage. The dream had returned. Maddie groaned. ‘Not again, please,’ she whispered, but she knew that no one would be listening to her plea.
    It was a dream which had plagued her as a child, and later as a teenager, playing out the same scenario night after night. It was always incredibly clear and always followed the same pattern. Afterwards she remembered every minute detail even though she didn’t want to.
    Each time, she was in a sunny garden surrounded by rose bushes, bearing flowers of every hue. There was a swing hanging from the stout branch of an old apple tree, and somehow she knew it was hers. Whenever she looked at it she felt a sense of ownership and pride. Possessiveness even. The dream always began with her rushing towards it.
    She was small. She knew that because she could never climb onto the swing unaided. Sometimes a pair of strong arms lifted her up and pushed her to dizzying heights, making her squeal with laughter. More often, though, she just hung on top of it, face down, and twirled round and round endlessly until the vertigo forced her to pause for a while.
    If she stopped she could see the house. White, with windows that were pointed at the top – Gothic architecture, she assumed – and it was almost completely covered in wisteria, honeysuckle and various other climbing plants. It was a happy place, at least that was the impression she had. But in the dreams she never went inside. She always stayed in the garden.
    Sometimes a giant with red hair and a beard came out of the house and walked towards her, smiling broadly. Then she would run to him, arms outstretched, and he would lift her sky-high, dancing around with her aloft. She laughed out loud, bubbling over with happiness.
    That was where the dream ended most of the time, and she would wake up feeling bereft as if she had lost something infinitely precious. She had no idea what it was, but more often than not she cried, unable to halt the flow of tears.
    Occasionally the dream ended differently, however. In her mind, she called it the dark version. The one that absolutely terrified her. The red-haired man would come out as before and she would run towards him, but soon after he would turn away and go back into the house. Then she was grabbed from behind by a pair of dark, hairy arms. A hand clamped down over her mouth, causing her to struggle in panic, fighting for breath. Twisting, turning, arms flailing, legs kicking frantically, she tried to catch a glimpse of her assailant, but there was only a fleeting impression of dark hair and eyes, a black beard and anger. Hatred even.
    At that point she always woke herself up with a strangled scream for help, and she knew that was what had happened this morning. She had dreamed the dark version and the images were particularly vivid, leaving a bitter taste of menace in her mouth. It took her ages to still the frantic beating of her heart.
    The dream hadn’t recurred since she’d moved to London several years previously, but it would seem she’d been wrong about thinking she’d grown out of it. Perhaps it had been brought on by the recent pressure she’d been under? Maddie sighed.
    It seemed so real. Could it mean something? ‘Stop being an idiot,’ she told herself sternly and headed for the shower. The mind was a wonderful thing, but it could also behave irrationally. Dreams were only that, dreams, and she’d do best to try to forget it and hope it didn’t happen again.

 
    Chapter Three
     
    Alexander Marcombe stared out through the bars on the window and thought longingly of the sea. The day was hot and muggy, and he could feel little rivulets of perspiration pouring down his back. A refreshing swim in the Atlantic would have been perfect, but he would happily have settled for just a breeze. He sighed. The tiny cell was unbelievably stuffy.
    Prison was definitely not a bed of roses, but then it wasn’t supposed to be, he thought ruefully. Despite