A Slumber Did My Spirit Steal: Chapter Two

The phone continued to trill above him as Ash peeled back heavy eyelids and sluggishly moved an arm upwards to grasp at the handset. After a couple of half-hearted swipes, he managed to knock it off the receiver and placed it next to his ear. "Sorry," he mumbled into the phone. "I'll have to call you back in a minute."

"Hey! Wait! Don't hang up on me! I have to-" the annoyed voice on the other end of the line never got a chance to finish that sentence before Ash hung up the phone and winced. His body felt like he'd slept on the floor for a week instead of a few hours. A glance towards the wall where his clock hung revealed the time to be approaching seven. Ash groaned and rubbed at his face. He really needed a long soak in a hot bath, but it seemed he'd only have time for a shower.

Rising awkwardly to his feet, Ash stumbled his way up the stairs and into his bathroom. Then he remembered that the clean towels were still sat at the bottom of his wardrobe where he'd left them yesterday after the laundry. With a sigh at yet another delay, Ash made his way into the bedroom and began to hunt amongst the piles of neatly folded washing for his towels.

"Why weren't you answering your phone? Do you have any idea how hard it was to even get your number?"

With a startled cry that fell somewhere between a scream and a squawk, Ash spun around to confront the unknown voice. The sharp movement was too much for his balance in Ash's current state of wakefulness and he fell back amongst the laundry in an undignified heap. "Where the fuck did you come from?"

Standing in his bedroom, or rather leaning heavily against the wall; was an extremely thin looking man cradling a badly bleeding arm to his chest. He glared at Ash with green eyes narrowed in mixture of pain and annoyance through hanks of hair that resembled no other colour so much as that of dried blood. The wasted frame and obvious neglected state of his hair sent Ash's warning systems blaring, especially when he noticed the sheer amount of scars on the man's arms. He was trapped in the house with a crazed heroin addict.

Trying not to make any sudden movements or act in any way that might provoke the stranger, Ash slowly raised his hands. "Uh, the only money I have is in my wallet on the table there. If you're after drugs, the best I have are sleeping tablets."

The man's frown deepened, clear to see despite the ill-maintained strand of hair that fell haphazardly across his face. "What?" he demanded curtly. "Why would I be after your money?" He glanced down at his arm, which was continuing to bleed freely, and then back at Ash. "I should probably do something about this. Where's your bathroom?" He glanced in the direction Ash pointed and left the room with a final glare at the trembling man on the floor. The spot where he had been leaning on the wall was smeared with blood, if Ash didn't know better, he'd have said the man had actually wiped his arm across it or something, but why anyone would do something so strange was beyond Ash's comprehension. In fact, there was an awful lot about the current situation that defied belief now that Ash came to think about it. Was he really sure that he wasn't still dreaming?

For sheer lack of anything better to do, Ash found himself trailing after the stranger into the bathroom. The man had already sat himself down on the toilet seat and was quickly and efficiently wrapping a length of bandage around his arm. Noticing the deep red already seeping through, Ash cleared his throat slightly. "That cut looks deep. Are you sure you wouldn't be better off going along to the hospital and getting it seen to there?"

An irritated green glare convinced Ash that silence was the best course of action. The stranger returned his attention to the wound and tugged at the wrappings, obviously making the bandage as firm as possible. "It'll be fine, I've had worse. Now if you'll just get Dream while I finish off in here, we can all be on our merry ways."

Ash blinked as his brain struggled to process the information. "What? Who are you anyway?" The stranger showed no sign of paying even the slightest attention to Ash, giving the blond the boost he needed to address some of the other issues. "How did you get in here and what the bloody hell did you do to my wall?"

Rising to his feet in order to reach the medicine cabinet above the sink, the injured stranger began to rummage through the contents, pulling out a bottle of aspirin with barely concealed frustration. "Don't you have anything stronger than this? And your wall will be fine. I'll wash it off before I leave so you'll never be able to tell the difference." Opening the bottle, the newcomer tipped several of the pills in his hand and glared at them in distaste. "Don't you even have ibruprofen?"

Ash marched forwards and grabbed the bottle from the man's hands. "No! Sorry to disappoint, but I am not some drug addict hooked on morphine. You'll have to get your fix elsewhere. Now tell me who you are and how you got into my house!"

Raising an eyebrow, the bandaged man studied Ash's face, now just centimetres from his own before turning back to the cabinet. "Tranquillisers," he muttered.

"I don't have any of those either! I'm not the chemical head here!"

A roll of green eyes persuaded Ash to bite back the rest of his diatribe and the stranger looked at him with a vaguely amused air. "Shame, you look like you could use a valium or two." Closing the cabinet with a small sigh, the man swallowed the pills he still held in one hand and turned to face Ash. "Lock."

Completely confused by now and harbouring more than a sneaky suspicion that his medication had more than a helping hand in the current situation, Ash failed to anticipate the latest change in topic. "Lock what?"

Another sigh as the stranger shifted his weight and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm Lock. Now could you get Dream for me? I don't want to hang around here any longer than necessary." Glancing down at his blood-stained clothing, Lock pulled a face and glanced up at Ash. "And while I'm here, could I grab another shirt? This one's pretty much ruined."

Ash raised a hand to his head and rubbed wearily at his forehead, willing his subconscious to give up the charade and let him wake up. The stranger continued to watch him with those intense green eyes, yet despite Lock's crossed-armed stance, Ash didn't feel threatened by the other man anymore. Watching the way the stranger acted, it was clear that Lock was fairly hostile and suspicious but it seemed to be more defensive than aggressive. Giving into the situation for the moment, Ash sighed and wandered back into the bedroom, followed by cautious Lock. Making good on his promise from earlier, Lock duly crossed to the bizarre stain on the wall and began to wipe at it with the dampened sleeve of his existing shirt. As the marks faded, Ash pulled open a nearby drawer and removed a shirt from it at random. He passed it over to Lock, who held the garment with great care. Ash looked over at the man and sighed. "Go ahead and take it. Green's not really my colour anyway."

Lock didn't move. "What about Dream? Where is he?"

Ash blinked. "Dream? He's not here. Why would he be?" It suddenly occurred to Ash that there was no real explanation for Lock knowing about a completely fictional creation Ash had created only a few hours ago, and he frowned in confusion. "Wait a minute. How would you know about Dream anyway?"

Lock clutched the shirt closer to his chest, but made no move to change his stained garment for the new one. "Dream didn't leave with you?" He sighed in frustration and turned away from Ash to glare at the blood still smeared on the wall and now drying to a rust-brown shade. "What's the little idiot playing at now? He knows we don't have time for this." Apparently pausing for a moment to think, Lock spun again to face Ash. "Was he still in your dream when you woke up, or did he leave before then?"

Thinking back to the fragments of recollection that were already becoming clouded in his mind, Ash frowned in concentration. "He waved his hand about as if to leave, he definitely wanted to go. He wouldn't tell me why. But something was wrong, I think. The last thing I remember is him swearing." Pausing for a moment of thought, Ash was unable to stop the next comment; "That is, if I even woke up at all …"

Lock groaned. "I knew something like this would happen, I just knew it." With another sigh, he regarded Ash appraisingly. "Stop questioning your sanity for a moment and listen to me. I can't hang around here, Dream might have picked up on some observation that I didn't. I'll be back later. Don't sleep until then, okay?" Brushing past Ash, Lock walked down the stairs and let himself out of the front door without so much as a backward glance. Ash had followed the maroon-haired man down to the lounge and watched as the stranger had left the house. Now he sagged onto the plush sofa that sat nearby and buried his face in his hands, massaging his temples. He was asleep and still dreaming. He had definitely woken up and that last encounter had actually occurred. What the hell was happening to him?

First things first, Ash's home had been broken into and the intruder had told Ash he intended to return later on. Somehow, Ash found that concept less than reassuring. Sure, the guy may not have been violent during his encounter with Ash, but there was clearly something weird about him and he didn't seem all that mentally stable either. In any case, the next step seemed fairly obvious to Ash. A phone call to the police was in order. Dreaming or not, he needed to do something normal.

Feeling much more grounded now he had a rational course of action to follow, Ash headed towards the phone with an air of purpose and not a small amount of relief. No sooner had he closed his hand around the receiver than a loud ringing sound made him jump in alarm. Snatching his hand away from the phone as though it had bitten him, it still took a moment for Ash's beleaguered brain to realise that the sound was not his phone, but his doorbell. Wondering just what fate had in stall for him now, Ash crossed the entrance hall and pulled open the door.

"Ash, sweetie, just what the hell is going on with you?" A pair of brown eyes gazed at him critically from under a wild tangle of copper curls, the speaker's elfin face offset by the look of sheer mischief upon it.

Ash groaned, but opened the door wider, admitting his guest. He had to be awake, no doubt about it. His subconscious was a bastard but even it wouldn't inflict Áine on him in his current state. "Áine, what are you doing here? I thought you had a gig last night."

Áine bounced inside. "I did, but unlike some people, one night without sleep does not turn me into an antisocial zombie. And by the way, you owe me big time. I called into your work on the way here and told the manager you were sick." With a flounce, the redhead flung her petite frame onto the couch, somehow succeeding in occupying almost all of the ample space. "I said you came to see me sing last night and he accepted that as a legitimate excuse." Áine paused to huff in mock indignation. "Though what that says about my singing, I'm not sure I want to know."

Ash sighed and sank into a large armchair opposite his friend, unable to deal with so much energy while still on his feet. "Thank you, but that still doesn't explain what you're doing here."

A cushion sailed through the air to hit Ash squarely in the face. Pulling it away from him, Ash was able to see Áine glaring at him. "Christ, aren't you in a bad mood today! I figured I could get you out of work and we could head into town and chill. Plus there's some stuff in North Laine that I want to check out and I need someone nice and strong to carry it home for me."

Ash let his head fall back to stare up at the ceiling. "So I am excused from my work purely to serve as your packhorse?"

"Exactly. Now are you ready to go or are you going to put on some proper clothes first?"

Ash looked down at himself in surprise and noticed he was still in his pyjamas. With a small sigh at having to move himself, Ash pulled himself to his feet once more. "Give me half and hour to shower and get dressed. Make yourself some coffee in the meantime or something."

Áine rolled off the sofa and sprang towards the kitchen. "Sure, and I'll make some for you while I'm at it. You look like shit today, sweetie. Had a bad night?"

Ash rubbed a hand wearily through his blond hair. "Don't even get me started. Ask me again after I've got some caffeine in my system and am feeling a bit more human." Turning from away from the hyperactive and slightly manic redhead, Ash began to make his way upstairs. Before he did though, he unplugged the phone in his hallway. It was probably all in his head, after all, but it made him feel a hell of a lot better.

Free from the threat of more impending phone calls, Ash went to have a shower with a considerably lighter heart.