Dayle - The Dreamshifters: Parallel One

PARALLEL ONE

Harry Dayle

Note To Readers:

This book is as British as its author. Readers used to American English may find some spellings and phrases differ slightly from those they are more familiar with.

One

T HE MAN POURED himself a generous measure of whiskey from a crystal decanter, which he replaced on the pristine counter. He eased himself into a low white chair, carefully positioned to enjoy the best of the view from the huge window. Soft leather creaked beneath him.

He gazed out over the Thames, its sparkling water throwing off reflected moonlight like a mirrorball, and smiled to himself. His day had gone well. Very well. Exactly as he had planned. Finding Lars had been easy. He had done that a week earlier, on his own. The man preferred working alone. Killing Lars though, that had required help. He disliked asking for help. Of course, he hadnt really asked for assistance, he had simply taken it. Everyone had a pressure point, a secret that opened them up to manipulation, and he was good at discovering peoples secrets.

Richardson had been easy.

It had been laughably simple to obtain the photographs that persuaded Richardson to do what he wanted. And he hadnt wanted much. Just an hour of work was all he asked. One hour, doing what she did every day of the week. One hour, and she could keep the pictures her secret safe. Naturally the man had retained copies of those images. After all, he might need Richardsons help again one day. They were stored away with hundreds of others, a liberal dose of leverage to be applied as and when necessary.

Now Lars was dead, it would soon be time to move on to the next stage of the plan. The man was looking forward to this part. It wouldnt be long now before he would have the ultimate prize. Soon, he would never need anyone elses help again.

Two

S OMETHING WASN T RIGHT , Jessica was sure of that. She couldnt put her finger on quite what it was. No matter, she was happy, so why worry about something she couldnt even explain?

Jessie? Are you ready to go, love?

It was Lars calling. Sweet, wonderful Lars. Loyal Lars. Dependable, but never dull. He would do anything for her, and she for him. He stepped into the bedroom they shared, smirking.

I know youre gorgeous, but if you dont stop staring at yourself in that mirror, were going to be late for dinner with the Chapmans. Not that Im in any hurry to see them, mind you, he exclaimed. Dont go thinking Im going soft on them. Theyre your friends, and Im only coming for the booze. That and the fish course.

Jessica finished applying the bright red lipstick that so contrasted with her pale complexion, set it down, and, taking handfuls of her long dark chocolate hair, she turned to him.

Up? she asked, pulling her hair into a tight high ponytail. Or down? She opened her hands and shook her head lightly from side to side, letting her mane tumble across her shoulders.

Lars came closer and embraced her from behind, engulfing her small frame.

Down, he said. Always down.

She looked at his reflection and smiled. Come on then, you. Lets get this over with. And for the record, theyre not my friends, theyre colleagues. Its important that I make the effort to go.

She pulled open a drawer in the dresser and pushed at the wooden base. As if by magic, a false bottom popped open to reveal a collection of jewellery. She selected a shimmering butterfly brooch and carefully pinned it to her plain white blouse.

Jessica took Lars hand and they left the room, crossed the sparsely furnished modernist apartment together, and headed for the door.

Seconds later, they were seated opposite each other at a round oak table in a vast Edwardian dining room. Jessica gasped, shaken to find herself suddenly in this place. She had no recollection of travelling there. She didnt even remember opening the apartment door. Some of the others at the table looked at her with expressions of concern.

You alright, lass? asked the rotund gentleman sat to her left. Youve gone very white. Whiter than usual, even for you!

Everybody probably seemed pale to him; his own face was redder than a late summer sunset.

Im fine thank you, Jeff, Jessica replied. Honestly, I justI dontit doesnt matter. I just need some water, thank you.

To her embarrassment she discovered she was already holding a glass of water, which probably accounted for the anxious expression Lars was wearing. She drank too quickly, coughed, and placed the oversized wine glass back on the table.

The fish really is excellent, Amanda, she said, keen to change the subject, and to stop everyone at the table from staring at her. What do you think, Lars? Beautifully moist and tender.

Yes, lovely fish, he said, concern still etched on his face. Then, relaxing a little, You must give me the recipe, Mrs Chapman. Jessie loves seafood, and I do so enjoy cooking for her. For us.

Please, dear, call me Amanda, said the woman sitting opposite him. She was fluttering her eyelashes and occasionally flicked her bleached blonde hair over her shoulders. Jessica watched the pathetic display, partly amused by the older womans attempts to seduce her beloved Lars, and partly annoyed that she would do so so blatantly in front of her. Lars was playing along, making the poor woman believe he was interested. When she wasnt looking, he stole a sideways glance at Jessica and winked. She had to stifle a giggle with her napkin.

Jessica still couldnt shake the feeling that the scene was somehow wrong. As they ate, drank, and chatted, she felt apart from the group, like she didnt belong there; like they were all strangers.

As the last of the dessert was being devoured, music began to play from an unseen source. Madonna. A strange choice, she thought, for such a classy dinner party. It wafted over the table, becoming louder with every beat until it drowned out the conversation entirely. Jessica glanced around, expecting one of their hosts to go and turn it down, but nobody was taking any notice.

The music got louder still, so loud that it crowded out her own thoughts, making it impossible to concentrate. Her head became heavy, her mind muddled and confused. The voices of the assembled guests faded completely. The song dominated. It reached into her head and rattled her brain.

Jessica opened her eyes. She was in bed. Her semi-conscious mind fumbled around awkwardly, trying to pull itself out of the dream and reassert reality. With great effort she managed to bring an arm to life. Then a hand. Encouraging the two to work in unison, she reached over to the bedside table and switched off the radio alarm.

So that was the source of her confusion: she had been dreaming.

The reality of Monday morning crashed into her head. Forcing her eyes into focus, she looked at the clock. 5 AM. Time to get up and prepare for work. As she clambered out of bed, washed, and dressed, the memory of the dream, and of sweet, wonderful Lars, was already fading away.

Good morning, Jessica, you look so beautiful today! cried the man behind the counter.

Jessica gave him a sarcastic smile.

What, you dont believe Ciro? But Ciro speaks only the truth!

Ciro speaks whatever you want to hear, Jessica said.

She rounded the stainless-steel counter and disappeared into the back room. It was a small space, just big enough for an old school dining table that was used as a desk, some shelves stacked with supplies, and a space to stow outdoor clothing. She took off her coat and hung it carefully on a peg. Her name was written above it on a piece of masking tape.