Red Dreams

Chapter 6

Dylan's POV

Scoring for Liverpool. What an achievement. To me, there's no other feeling like it. I could use all the cliche's in the book to describe the feeling. But I won't. Because right now is party time!

"You forgot to wear aftershave," I sniffed the air and grimaced at Stewart sat in the front of the car.

"I...don't have an excuse. I did forget to wear some," he frowned, smelling his shirt.

"That's nasty, man. You're gonna be denied tonight, we can so totally tell," Jordan slowly pulled the car into a space and turned off the ignition.

"Personal question: was Lexa the last person you had sex with? Or your hand twenty minutes ago?" I cheekily asked, playing on the misfortune of Stewart's singleness. I knew I'd get a wound up response from him.

"Rude," he shook his head, an emotionless expression on his face.

"It's just you and your hand tonight," Jordan sang under his breath and I high fived him for his sudden outburst of P!nk lyrics.

"I hate you both," Stewart opened the passenger door and hopped out, slamming it as he began to walk over to Daniel, Suso and Pepe who had already arrived.

"Are you gonna text Bea? Tell her we got here okay?" Jordan asked, turning around in the drivers seat.

"Yeah, will do," I began to fluff my hair in the rear-view mirror and Jordan chuckled at me. "What?"

"You scored a stunner of a goal today, lad. No one will care what your hair looks like,"

"Jordan, please," I said pretentiously. "Unlike a sad, engaged man like yourself, I know what looking good requires, okay?"

"Cheeky git," Jordan then rudely ruffled my hair and grinned. "Come on."

We both exited the car, Jordan locked it securely and we wandered over to the now growing group of lads.

"There's the main man!" Joe grinned at me.

"The golden boy of the Kop!" Jose called, holding up his hand. I high fived it and smiled.

"Alright lads?"

"We're more than okay, man. We've got you, haven't we?" Martin Skrtel hung his arm around my shoulder. It was so awesome how my lifestyle had turned out to be. Half of these players who I sat in the changing room with, who I went to if I needed advice, whose numbers I had stored away in my phone contacts were players I'd watched from a young age. Jamie Carragher: an absolute legendary servant to the club and a hero on that famous night back in Istanbul. Steven Gerrard: leader of men and one of the most beloved players in the game. Luis Suarez: the tactful magician and goal scoring extraordinaire. Daniel Agger; the beastly defender with a bullet of a header. Pepe Reina: an absolute God between the sticks. As a kid I dreamed of playing with world class players just like these guys. At youth team level I had no idea I would make it to the place I am today; to Liverpool FC and straight into the highest tier of English football. Though, here I was, stood over the road from a fancy and upmarket bar with Martin Skrtel's arm slung around my shoulder on the day we'd just thrashed our Merseyside rivals 3-0.

"First round is on you by the way, lad," Glen said, a grin plastered on his face.

"Piss off!" I answered, making the gang of lads chuckle.

"Let's get going," Jamie and Luis began to lead the way towards the row of brightly neon coloured bar signs, each dancing and flickering in the dark of the high street.

"Hold on lads, I'll catch you up," I shouted at them all as they crossed the road. I pulled my phone from my pocket and began to type a message to Bea. Truth is, I couldn't walk and text at the same time. I'm a shit multi-tasker.

I sent off the message to Bea, a smile stretched across my face. But it didn't last for long. Like a moth to a flame or a swarm of bees attracted to a batch of honey, I was surrounded by a group of hooded youths. It was hard to tell how old they were. No words could leave my mouth as I was rocked back and forth, pushed and pulled from side to side like I was on a sickening fairground ride. I heard the insults that they flung at me. But that's not what I was worried about.

I saw the flash of the blade before I felt it. Then an intense piercing in my chest followed by a twist and then a release. And then the gang was gone, the muffled shuffling of their feet is all I heard. I looked down at the dark liquid now pouring from the wound in my chest. It drenched my shirt, I could feel a trickle of blood running down my abs. A groan escaped my lips as I tried to swallow air but the pressure on my chest wouldn't let me. That's when the stumbling began and my vision started to swim, I could make out the lads on the other side of the road, I could see Stewart looking over his shoulder, his eyes widening in horror as I toppled to the ground.

The pain was immeasurable, like someone was pinning my body down and pressuring themselves on my chest. I choked and gasped as the world around me began to bow out.

"Dylan, keep with us. It's okay," the lads evidently were at my side now as I could just about make out the strained voice of Stewart.

"Come on lad, breathe for us," captain Steven Gerrard took my hand in his, squeezing it tightly.

"Don't leave us Dylan. Please don't," that was Jordan whispering in my ear, my other hand in his now.

Different accents of all the lads, the team mates who I once played football with began to slowly become hollow muffles to me. The lights of the nearby nightclubs began to dim. Someone was giving me CPR, I couldn't tell who though.

All of it became a distant memory as I sunk into the metaphorical ground. It seemed peaceful here, tranquil even. Yet I could see something in the distance, a pinprick of golden yellow light. With every second it hopped a little closer to me, revealing an old wooden door, kind of like the one back at my old house in London. There was a woman stood next to the door, a calm expression on her face. Yet I knew who this woman was and that scared me. Her thoughtful expression gave me the chills and made me jump on several occasions as she tilted her head from side to side. The light and the door and the woman would sometimes fade away from me yet I would not be pulled from this unconscious state. The woman then held out her hand to me and I took it willingly. It felt like I was holding emptiness, her palm weighed nothing yet she was definitely stood next to me.

"Dylan," the woman's voice echoed through my head.

"Bea?" I asked anxiously.

"Don't be afraid Dylan. It's all okay," she nodded at me.

"Where am I? What's happening?"

Bea didn't answer my question, but instead the door behind her began to open on its own accord. "It's time."

I didn't want to walk through the door that was bursting with dazzling white light but something inside of me began to move my feet towards it. I didn't resist, as much as I wanted to, and I held my breath as I walked over the threshold.

Bea's hand was still in mine yet she didn't follow me in. I turned to looked at her glowing complexion, opening my mouth to tell her all the things I never had the chance to but no sound exited my mouth.

"Go on brother. You're in a better place now," with both of her hands she stroked my face. "This is a place where you'll never walk alone. I think you'll like it."

And with that, she took a step back and the door closed with a soft click. She'd left me forever.