The Dream Place

Chapter 3 - Siobhan

Warning: Chapter contains sexual material. For mature audiences only.

My vision blurs back for me to see the Dream Place again. The tall black tree swaying in the still wind. Strange that the tree can sway though no gusts are blowing, then again, a lot of things are strange here. I feel the weight of the apple in my hand, refusing to look at it. I kneel down gently, keeping my eyes on the tree carefully. I feel the rumpled curves of the ruined apple slip from my fingers to sit on the grass. I stand slowly, deciding to move on to the next apple. These girls, they just want to tell their story, to have someone listen and mourn for them. I feel such remorse that I'm willing to be that someone.

I walk to the next apple, picking it up. I analyze it. Something a bit strange catches my eye. This apple is not quite as tainted as the others. It doesn't exactly shine as the ones on the tree, but it isn't so dull. There are no scrapes or rotten spots where the skin has fallen off. The only noticable thing is one large bruise covering the bottom, it's such a deep black that you'd think someone bruised it with a bat. I run my fingers over it, feeling how soft the spot is. I press down a bit in curiosity to the reaction. A screech echoes through my head, not around me, but in my mind. I drop the apple, grabbing my ears in vain for that would not stop this noise similar to nails on chalkboard. It rolls forward a bit, stopping two or three feet away. I clench my eyes shut, crying out in pain. Suddenly, the sound stops. I wait for a moment, lowering my hands once I was sure that the screech has stopped and I haven't just gone deaf.

My eyes slowly open, a small girl standing in front of me. She appears to be as young as the others, eight or nine. Her skin is an ivory so pale, snow seems yellow in comparison. Sweat beads over her forehead, but the drops appear frozen in time, never falling. Her golden blonde hair is curly and shining, appearing as if it might have been neat once. Now, it's knotted and wild, tangles sticking out everywhere. She shakes violently, almost as if she'll collapse at any moment. She is petite, wearing a pink ballerina suit with a tutu, stockings, and the flats that lace up the legs. There's a large rip in the bottom exposing parts of her that aren't yet ready to be seen. She has wide, sea-green eyes such a light color that they're almost transparent. She has a small nose and full, pink lips. Her bottom lip is laced with bite marks so deep and dark, it wouldn't take much to push them through. She only stares forward blankly. No emotion fills her eyes, no anger, no pain, just emptiness. Her mouth isn't smiling, it isn't frowning, it's simply a flat line. If she weren't shaking, I'd think her to be just a ruined porcelain doll.

I look to the apple, then to the girl, then back to the apple. How could the apple look this healthy, but the girl look this sick? I bend to one knee, hoping to meet eye-to-eye with the child. Our line of vision connects, but she's not really looking at me. It's like she's looking straight into me, to my insides. I feel fragile now, like my skin is glass and if I move, I'll break. I only sit there, staring back, feeling caught in the swirling whirlpools that are her eyes. After a moment or two, she begins to stir. Her head shakes back and forth so swiftly that it's but a pale blur. My eyes widen, what's she doing? Her head stops abruptly, for a quick second I see her grin. The grin isn't for happiness, but it seems almost insane. Her eyes grow wide and white to help create the wild look. Then, her expression goes back to empty. She moves strangely, walking forward slowly and menacingly for a few steps. Then just being a bit further, as though she disappears where she is and reappears in a closer spot. I glance to what she's heading for, the apple.

A shiver glides up my spine, goosebumps covering me in an instant. The others didn't do this, a bad feeling floods my gut. I stumble for the apple, falling over myself and reaching for it. I crawl for nothing, as she's moving twice as fast. My hand is but an inch from the apple when she lifts it from my reach. She turns it in her hand, inspecting it as I had done with the first apple. Her eyes land on the nail, glaring at it steadily. She flicks her eyes to me for only a second, then back to the nail. Her hand lifts to it, gripping it slowly. She tears it from the side of the fruit. In a milisecond she blurs to kneel right in front of me, rising the nail above her head. She brings it down,

"Wait!" I shout, just before it reaches my temple. I breathe heavily, gasping almost. My heart fluttering in my chest, I feel the color flush from my cheeks. I calm myself, seeing the girl frozen, staring through me with her vacant eyes. "What's your name?" Is the only question I can think to ask that might be essential,

"Siobhan." She whispers, pressing the nail into the side of my head. The pressure fills the side of my face. I scrunch my eyes shut to the feel of it.

I suddenly feel warm arms surround me, holding me. The melancholy of the Dream Place is sucked out from around me and replaced with the feel of air conditioning. Bright lights paint my eyelids pink before me. When I open my eyes, I'm in front of the girl again. This time, the girl looks beautiful, her hair is in luscious curls, not tangled and wild. Her eyes are bright and they glisten. Her cheeks are rosy and she's giggling wildly with small, pouted, pink lips. She wears the same ballerina suit, but there is no hole. The woman holding her seems to be an older version of her. The woman's hair is longer, her cheekbones more defined, she's thin and lovely with pouted lips, coloured red with lipstick. She wears a form-fitting red sweater and tight blue jeans, showing off her hourglass figure. Her eyes are a pale sea-green.

"Who's the pretty girl in the mirror?" She asks in a sing-song voice,

"Mommy!" I say in a voice that could remind anyone of anything joyous in the world,

"No honey!" She chuckles, "I meant you, but thank you."

"Welcomes Mommy." I smile as big as I can, showing straight, bright, white teeth. I glance around at the white room, the porcelain tub/toilet set, the light blue wall borders and matching shower curtains. There is even a crystal light shining through the entire room, making everything seem flawless. That hospital-sanitary smell drifts through the air. I would've hated it, scrunching my nose in disgust, but apparently Siobhan loves it. I take a deep breath, ravishing in the feel of it stinging my nostrils.

"Come on baby, let's get you ready for bed." She carries me from the bathroom, setting me on the floor at the foot of the door. I gaze around in amazement. The living room is enormous! The carpet is a relaxed tan, white walls reach up to twenty-three feet, at least. There is a large, half-circle tan couch that is placed in front of a fourty-two inch plasma screen that spreads across the right wall. A small, glass coffee table sit between them, a silver remote laying right on top. The far wall, right across from me, is all glass. Looking through it, there's a beautiful view of what seems to be the skyline of Detroit. On the left wall is a brick-red fireplace gaurded by a cage with instruments for poking and prodding in their holding places to the side. A small loveseat is set about three feet away, an end-table next to it. A stack of children's books lay on the end-table, this must be where mum reads me stories. There were four doors in the room. One is on the far left wall, I feel this as an exit, so Siobhan must know it to be. One is the very bathroom that we're standing in. A third door is a bit to our left on the same wall, Siobhan knowing it to be her Mother's bedroom. The last is on the far right, next to the plasma screen. From what I sense, it's Siobhan's bedroom. "Come on, Honey." Mum smiles, turning and heading for the door next to the television.

I rush ahead, walking in first. I'm met by bright pink walls and shag carpeting that's only a shade darker. The room is filled with all sorts of teddy bears. Some wear hats, some are adorned with bow ties, some are simply bare, all are fluffed to their softest. In the midst of it all sits a large teddy bear in the shape of a bed in the middle of the far wall. A pink dresser stands on the left side of it, a pink end-table with a teddy bear lamp on the right. I rush into the room, snuggling into the soft of the teddy bear bed, no doubt made of memory foam. A warm cover lays on the bed, I pull it over my shoulders as I lay down to ready myself to sleep. Mum glides over, tucking the cover in on both sides and kissing me once on the forehead,

"Goodnight, my sweet angel." She whispers with a smile,

"Nighty-night, Mommy." I send her off with one last grin. She turns the lamp on, sneaking out quietly. The lamp is dim, only lighting a small portion of the space beside me. It's just enough nightlight, not too much to where I can't sleep, but not so little that I'm afraid to go to sleep. I press my face to the gentleness of the pillow, feeling the mattress below me shape to my small body for maximum comfort and the faux fur of the blanket that lay across me, shielding me from the air conditioning. Still, for some reason, I can only toss and turn. Then it occurs to me that this is not my life. This is not my house, nor my bed, nor my mother, no matter how much I wish it to be. I'm here to hear Siobhan's story, not make my own. I lay perfectly still, listening to every other sound of the night. I can only hear the faint noise of television, some fake news reporter smiling and informing us of a rape that's just happened without sympathy.

A few knocks invade the home, making me alert. I hear light footsteps, then a clicking sound like the turn of a doorknob. The door is silent as it opens, the only sound being the air that's pushed aside by the door's force. The guest on the other side is not so gentle.

"Where is she?" The voice slurs, it's a deep one, probably male and probably drunk,

"Where is who?" Mum asks,

"You know damn well who!" The man yells, a crashing sound is heard,

"Frederick! Calm down!" Mum shouts,

"Let me see her." He grumbles, "Let me see my daughter."

"No." She states firmly,

"You can't deny me my own child." My apparent Dad replies,

"I won the custody battle, the judge said you can visit every other weekend." Mum snaps, "Last time I checked, today is Tuesday."

"I don't care!" Dad yells, "She's partly mine too! Let me see her!"

"No!" Mum growls. Large thumps and rumbles could be heard, sounds like a fight. After a few moments, the struggle ends. It's quiet for only a second, then another crashing sound is heard, glass crackling. A scream echoes through the condo, then silencing to the sound of honking car horns and shouting strangers. I stand immediately, rushing to the door and creaking it open a crack, peering through. There sits a tall, thin man, black hair slicked back, his skin ivory, his eyes appearing as coal. He has a long, pointed nose above thin, white lips. His left eye is blackened and blood drips from his nose, down his upper lip, disappearing into his mouth. He wears a black leather jacket with matching t-shirt and jeans. There is now a jagged opening in the glass that made up the entire north wall of the condo. 'Father' stares out of it, down upon the busy city streets. Mum is no longer in the room and I quickly connect the dots. As he occupies himself with his newly late ex-wife's body four miles below, lying in the street, I creep away swiftly behind his turned back. The door on the western wall is open, an elevator sitting right outside. This must be where the drunken man entered. I rush to the elevator before the man in black notices, pressing the down button. My eyes twitch back and forth nervously between the glowing lights of the numbers above the closed elevator shaft, showing which floor the elevator is on at the moment. The man in the condo now limps for my bedroom door.

"Please! Please hurry!" I whisper to myself, praying to hear the chiming of the elevator's arrival bell.

"Siobhan!" Dad shouts, "Siobhan, where are you?" His yells travel out to me, causing my heart to pound furiously. The adrenaline branches out into my veins, sweat forming on my face.

"Please, dear God, let this elevator come!" I say in a hushed tone, trying to prevent the man from hearing me. The man emerges from the bedroom and his eyes automatically connect with mine. I jerk them shut to avoid his drunken gaze.

"Siobhan, I've found you!" The man screams, I feel my heart skip a beat as I jump to the sound of his hurried, thumping footsteps toward me. I rush to the front door of the condo, slamming it shut in his face. He can't stop quickly enough, the force of his body slamming against the door is enough to rattle the wall and break one of the door's hinges. A ding fills my ears and a relieved sigh passes my lips. I turn and board the empty elevator, pressing the lobby button. The shiny, steel doors close in front of me as the now broken condo door opens. I wave goodbye to the drunkard, grinning in triumph. My reflection connects in front of me when those metal doors finally meet, myself still beautiful and not the least bit disheveled. How, then, how does the girl look as she did when I got around to her apple? I suppose I have yet to find out. I watch the numbers on the digitized elevator sign count down as it heads for the lobby. A bell dings and those shining doors reopen for me.

I scurry into a large, empty lobby. I drag my gaze across the room, seeing no one. I step from the elevator and the shaft closes behind me. The numbers go up again and I'm sure that Father is after me. I scream for help, but no one comes to aid me. I rush to the front counter, climbing atop it and furiously banging on the summoning bell. The sound fills the entire space and yet no one appears. I slide from the top of the counter, running to the revolving door on the north wall of the room. I push through it, into the bustling sidewalks of the Detroit night. Cars honk at the lifeless, blood-spattered woman lying in the center of the street, strangers gather around to stare down on her corpse. One was on the phone, giving the authorities directions. I only take one step forward when a pair of bony hands slide over me, one over my mouth, the other over my waist, and pull me in the opposite direction of my deceased mother.

I look down to these hands, they're pale, but not in a beautiful way, as Siobhan is, in a more sickly way. The fingers are thin, the knuckles the largest part of them. Long, crooked, blackened fingernails grow from them, chipping at the tips. I scream as loud as my small lungs allow, but to no avail. Not one of the people gathered around my Mommy look to me, so I can only let these hands drag me away and hope that someone finds my body when it's over. They pull me down the sidewalk, around a corner. The lights and noises fade slowly as my heels scrape on the ground. There are no cars on this street, only the echoing of crickets and twittering night birds are heard. I pray silently to myself for God to save me from this. The stars above twinkle small apologies to me, for they can't come down and rescue me. I look down in dispair. No one will save me. The hands jerk me into a dark alleyway, littered with rats, dumpsters, and garbage bags. I hear the pittering of the vermin feet around me, I whimper into the fingers that silence me. I never get to see the face of my attacker, for it is too dark. The only thing visible are glowing yellow eyes, but maybe I should be thankful for that. Those disgusting fingers have at me, ripping at my tutu and stockings. My eyes widen at the realization of what the hands are trying to do. I claw at them with my own fingernails, my screaming traveling through the alley and into the sky. I feel something cool and metal press to my throat, the edge of it almost piercing my skin,

"Shut up or I'll kill you." A deep, twisted voice cackles into the blackness.

"No! No!" I scream as the strange man uses his fingernails to rip a hole in the lower part of my ballerina suit. I feel pain as the twisted fingers enter, moving around and stretching me to widths that I am not yet ready to become. I scream loudly, all innocence now ripped from me. The pain surges through my entire being like a wave of inferno. My body writhes in agony as I feel the tears reach my eyes. "No! Siobhan, anything but this!" I have the horrid feeling that the attacker would not stop, "I plead of you!" I screech to the air as I feel the person's fingernails rip my insides. Then, suddenly, the malformed hands disappear from the space inside me and I feel something much larger that I'm sure is not a finger enter. "No! Please!" The stranger tears through me with such force that he presses my stomach and I feel my insides lurch upward. I cry out with each time he pushes in. My stomach feels as though it's about to burst as I'm sure of the blood that now drips from my secret spot. The man strings his twisted fingers through my hair, ripping at it. "Siobhan! Take me back, I beg of you!" I screech, "Get me out of here!" It is after I say that when the strange man leaves me. All sounds muffle to nothing, the birds, crickets, and passers-by shrink away. The pain dulls to nothing as I feel the blood around my personal area dry. My black surroundings leave in a bright flash of light. I clench my eyelids shut so that I wouldn't be blinded. I can feel the burning sensation that's filled my body dull to a tingling feeling. The agony of the ripped heimen slinks away, leaving me to breath a heavy sigh of relief. I'm sure I didn't die from that, so Siobhan must've saved me.

When I lift my eyelids once more, I'm sitting in the Dream Place, non-existent wind breezing through my hair and the blowing grass tickling my hands and knees that press to the ground. Never before have I felt so violated, so infuriated that a stranger had taken my innocence from me, although not in the sincerest form of the phrase. Technically, he'd taken Siobhan's virginity, but it still made me angry all the same. I want to get revenge, my throat burning in all my fury. I want to kill him, that wicked pedophilic man that attacked me. My fingers dig into the dirt with such force that they bleed from all corners and I can only wish that it were the rapist's blood on my hands. I move my glaring gaze slowly upward to find myself staring into the green eyes of a small blonde girl with fair skin and curly hair. She bends over my slumped body.

A cool tear of pure remorse drips from my eye, sliding down my cheek slowly. Siobhan reaches a hand out, caressing my cheek, wiping the tear away with her thumb. She looks at me sympathetically, smiling with what I feel in her aura as peace. She must feel relieved, allowing to share such a tragedy with someone. Still, I feel so angry, that the tears I shed are partly from frustration that I may never have vengeance upon the evil man. Her smile though, is somehow relaxing, as though she is telling me that she's fine now. She's just glad to have me. This sort of makes me feel like I've let her down, not being able to finish the scene. The air blows her soul away as it would a pile of dust.

"I'm sorry." I whisper quietly to her, though she can hear me no longer as far as I know, "I couldn't do it... I couldn't finish..." I choke on my own words, feeling cowardly. A warmth surrounds me as it had when Siobhan's mother held me in front of the mirror or when the soft blanket of the teddy bear bed wrapped me. It's sincere, making me feel comforted and reassured, a voice in the back of my head telling me to keep moving.

"Go on." It whispers, sounding much like Siobhan,

"Thank you." I grin, wiping the remaining tears from my eyes.