Dark Dream

13. The London Eye

The need for money

comes from our need for change

and control

over what would otherwise be

a tedious string of days.

Just months after speaking to Davo outside the hospital, the dreams had come back. No more visions, if that's what they were, but plenty of dreams.

He'd given Davo his mobile number before leaving in a taxi but he'd not heard from him since. It had been over a month now, so he doubted they'd speak again. Shame, really. They'd talked about events that none of them would even consider talking to anyone else about. It was as if they were both party to some strange reality that no one else knew of.

Charlie supposed that Davo was back on the streets, hustling for money with his friend, Spud.

Strange that he couldn't remember Spud. Even now, it bothered him. It wasn't something he'd gone out of his way to remember; it being a chance meeting; but he still only recalled talking to Davo that night. But then maybe they did look too much alike to tell them apart? If Davo had kept far enough back from him, just out of his line of sight, he supposed it was probable that he missed him. It still struck him as strange though, because it was his job to recognise the mood of a crowd and the body language of an individual. In the time he'd been working the doors, he'd gotten pretty good at it. He was sure he would have noticed Davo's buddy, even if he'd kept himself from notice.

Wiping the grease and crumbs from his hands, he manoeuvred his high-tech wheelchair from under the low-slung breakfast bar and headed for the bathroom. Leaving behind the cool granite tiles of the kitchen diner, with ceiling to floor windows that overlooked the Thames River, he almost gasped at the view of the sun going down over old London. The warm glow of the sun filled his mind he felt frozen in time as dustmotes weaved their way through his world. He felt enclosed in a bubble of his own making, safe from the ever changing elements and the harshness of life beyond his windows. Without his fortune he would be at the mercy of the world, living in a damp council flat on some dingy estate. Kids whose parents were down the pup or watching X Factor would be banging on the door and shouting through his letterbox, while he did his best to keep his mind and body ticking over until its eventual demise. Death would probably be a blessing and the only escape from the hell that would be his life.

He hated way-out disability adaptations but some things just had to come down to his level. The toilet was higher and the basin was lower, so aiding in their use. An open shower allowed him easy access for his wheelchair. It made his life that much easier.

The bathroom light had blown a few nights back and he'd informed  the building's maintenance. He briefly studied his pale expression from the light that came through the door to his right and felt detached from the image that hovered before him and resisted the opportunity to study it. In the gloomy light, crouched so low to the floor, he could almost imagine himself  to be a child.

After his half hour shower his carbon fibre wheelchair dripped wet jewels of water as he went in search of some fresh clothes.  He snagged these from the walk-in or roll-in wardrobe he'd had been built, to exacting specifications, next to his bedroom.

He wheeled back into the Cathedral-like living area with its panoramic view of the Thames and the London Eye. One of the reasons he'd bought the flat was for the view. After reading about conspiracy theories, it struck him as very much symbolic. The concept of the London eye and the Eye of Ra or Eye of Horus, as it was also known, seemed to go together so well. And there it was, right now, staring at him.