Alisaura
Blue Crack Supplier
But wait, there's more! And free steak knives with Chapter 30. 
Disclaimer: Don't know the band, this is all harmless fiction... well, maybe not to the characters.
end of chapter 25:
--------
But then there were always those niggling doubts (or illogical certainties, or the fear of them)... what if he did find that knife where he expected to? Ed said it would prove to him that it was all real. It could be a co-incidence, although an exceedingly unlikely one, if he just happened to dig in the exact place where a knife was buried that resembled the one in his dream. Would I be able to tack another co-incidence on the ever-growing chain and pretend it all still meant nothing?
I didn't know what to think, and that was discomfiting as well.
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Chapter 26:
-----------
----------------------------------
"You're going there AGAIN? For feck's sake..."
"We've got work to do, that has to take priority over this obsession of yours."
"Obsession? Because I'm the only one here who has things to do outside the band, am I?"
"That is not the point..."
"So what are these things you have to do? And why must you do them right now?"
"I just need to find something out. To confirm something. It won't take long."
"Is it to do with these dreams o' yours?"
"Now you want to talk dreams, Dr. Freud?"
"I didn't think you were serious then. I know better now – you sent one of those emails to me accidentally."
"What?"
"You did; he showed it to us."
"He what?!"
"Are you meetin' that Lisa woman again?"
"... And what, exactly, do you mean to imply with that tone of voice?"
"Ease up, Lar..."
"Look, we're worried, that's all."
"God! If you all worried less about me, maybe you'd be making more progress. Give that a try while I'm gone, it wouldn't bloody hurt. And it's not what you think! I just need to do this, and I'm going to."
"Don't slam the... Shite."
"He left his notebook here last night."
"... And you read it, I suppose?"
"Just enough to know that it's not songs he's writin'. And that geologist's card was in there, too."
"Just leave it. He had a point, you know – it's all very well if he wants to run off on personal quests, but we're no better if we spend all our time fretting over him. He'll sort it out. Don't scowl at me like that, either. Your face will freeze."
-------------------------------------------
My renewed work ethic was serving me well, and the daydreaming at work had been sharply reduced. This was perhaps partly due to the supervisor peering into my work space at least once an hour, every day. I began to recognise her footsteps from the other end of the corridor.
I had no idea when Ed was planning on making his expedition. He hadn't asked me along, which was just as well. I planned never to set foot within twenty miles of the place again. Clearly it was something he felt he had to do for himself... all the same, I wondered every day when I would get another email from him. But during work hours, I pushed it all aside.
Glen was out with his mates one evening, making up for the fact that he'd spent New Year's Eve at his parents' house. I was reading a book on the couch (no, not the Stonehenge book. That had gone onto the bookshelf, next to the other impressive-looking books that we never read), when the phone rang. I was half expecting an intoxicated Glen to tell me he was taking a taxi home... or possibly thinking that I was the taxi service.
"Drunk too much already?" I asked without preamble when I picked up the phone.
"... Is this Lisa Erikson?" An unfamiliar, male, Irish voice. So much for feminine intuition.
"It is," I said cautiously. "I'm sorry, I was expecting a call from someone else." It might be about work, after all, although those calls usually came during business hours. "May I ask who's speaking?"
"Who were you expectin' a call from?" The voice sounded distinctly hostile. I was pretty sure this wasn't about a job, and even if it was, I didn't like the sound of this guy at all.
"I don't believe that's any of your business, sir," I said in my frostiest English voice. "If you don't identify yourself, I am going to terminate this call."
"I'm a friend of E... Dr. Evans. I don't know what you've been sayin' to him, or what happened out in Wales, but you can stop it right now. He's got a wife and kids, and he doesn't need you harassing him and fillin' his head with all this hippie shite. Or worse. Just leave him alone."
That stunned me into a brief silence. Then I got mad.
"Listen here, O Anonymous Friend. You've got it all backwards. He's been harassing ME. He's the one who wouldn't shut up about these bloody dreams, and he's the one who had me half convinced they were real. And I know he has a wife, and trust me, she has no cause for concern. I don't go for raving loonies who wear beanies indoors in summer."
"Is he there?"
"What? No, he is not here! Are you deaf as well as stupid? The last I heard, he'd buggered off to Ystradffin again to dig up a knife. I'd be just as happy to never see him, or that place ever again. You're not doing much to dispel the stereotypes, are you," I added, stung into bitchiness. "Furthermore, you are also harassing me, and if you call here again, I will get the police involved." That was admittedly unlikely, as I'd said to Glen earlier, but it couldn't hurt to put this idiot off.
"So you say," the Irishman said, sounding sullen to my biased ear. Whether he was responding to the threat of police action, or everything else I'd said, I didn't know. "Wait, he didn't tell us where he was goin'. How come he told you?" Now his tone was suspicious. More so.
"How the hell should I know? He's been spamming me for weeks with emails about his bloody dreams."
There was a brief pause. "Are you really...? No, forget it, it doesn't matter. I don't wanna know. You could be makin' all this up anyway. It's all a bit too convenient, if you ask me, him havin' to rush off to Wales all the bleedin' time."
"Whatever. It's very sweet of you to warn me off your mate, but there's really no need." I was tired of the whole thing.
"Well, you would say that, wouldn't you."
"Why did you call me, then? You've made up your mind that there's something going on, so I've got no chance of dissuading you. You've made your point, although I'm not sure what sort of dire consequences I could expect, if there WAS something going on and I failed to heed your warning."
"Just stop it. That's all I'm sayin'."
He hung up.
I stared at the handset for a long moment, perplexed and residually angry, then put it back on the charger.
Something niggled at my memory for some time afterwards – I had a feeling this mysterious friend's voice wasn't as unfamiliar as I'd thought at first. I didn't know very many Irish people, but that didn't mean much, because I clearly didn't know this person either. Finally it struck me that I'd heard the voices of some of Ed's co-workers when I'd phoned him, months ago. This guy must be one of them... probably the one who'd complained about Ed's work being interrupted. He sounded like something of a busy-body, to me, and probably a supervisor as well.
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-------------------------------------
"How much longer are we gonna put up with this?"
"Have either of you heard from him?"
"Nope."
"He's not answering his phone."
" I don't like this at all. His family's worried sick."
"We definitely need to have a talk with him when he gets back. He can't just take off without telling anyone where he's gone."
"He told that Lisa woman. She said he's gone back to that Welsh village to dig somethin' up. I'm not sure I believe it, myself."
"Did you call her?!"
"I'm not sure that was wise."
"Maybe you're right, but it's done now. I didn't like it before, and I like it even less now."
"It's only been a few days... let's give it a few more before we start the world search and mass hysteria, shall we?"
-------------------------------------
Two or three days after that vaguely threatening phone call (which I, again, kept to myself), I was back at work. Well, my body was there at least, but once again my mind was refusing to stay put. It wandered incessantly, and the supervisor had to bring me back to earth more than once, to my humiliation. By the time I got home I was in a foul mood, furious at myself for not being able to focus on such a straightforward task. And for jeopardising my future employment prospects at the same time. I was too old to be succumbing to daydreams, for god's sake!
I didn't want to take out my anger on Glen when he got home, or any of the household furniture in the mean time, so I cranked up some loud music and spent half an hour beating the hell out of Glen's old punching bag in the garage. Every so often he'd decide to get fit and spend some time pummelling it himself, but it had been a while, and so I was sneezing at all the dust by the time I'd worn myself out. I did feel better, at least – and one side benefit of exercise is that you can switch your brain off. I decided I need to get to bed earlier... maybe if I got enough sleep before the dreams woke me up, I wouldn't have so much trouble concentrating.
I was starting to wonder what was keeping Glen, when the phone rang. I picked it up.
"Hello?" I wasn't taking any more chances, regardless of who I was expecting to call.
"It's me," said Ed, in his by-now familiar voice.
I paused, not very surprised, and half dreading what he was going to say. "Well?"
"I found it."
Oh, no. No you didn't. Instead I said, "I see. And how many holes did you have to dig?"
"Just one. It was a big one, though." His tone was calm, conversational. "The village is buried about four feet down. At least, Ewain's hut was. I obviously haven't dug up the whole place."
"Obviously," I said, still a little stunned. "So, you're convinced? Hook, line and sinker? No more doubt or dilemma?"
"More or less."
"What does that mean? Either you believe you're Ewain re-incarnated, and all the dreams are true, or you don't."
"It might not be re-incarnation," Ed said reasonably. "It might just be his memories."
"For heaven's sake, what difference does it make? It's still hocus-pocus!"
"Do you really still believe it's all just a co-incidence? You know we've dreamed the same events. You know what happened out there... and I dreamed, I remembered where the hut and the knife was, and I found them. I've got it in my hand right now. It even feels familiar."
"You do realise it's probably illegal to remove artefacts from an archaeological site, or something, don't you?"
"Well, it probably is... Ow! Shite, it's still sharp. Dammit..."
I tried not to laugh. It was pretty easy, because something at the back of my mind was skittering around nervously at the thought of that knife drawing blood.
"Maybe a bit flaked off recently and gave it a new edge," I said.
"Hmm? Yeah..." He didn't seem to be listening.
"Well, thanks for letting me know," I said. Yeah, thanks for undermining my grip on reality again. Bloody hell, he actually found it. Or else he's making it all up. Argh. "Sorry, what was that?"
"I said, You're welcome."
"Right, well, I'd better go. Oh, by the way, tell your anonymous friend to back off, will you? He seems to think... well, all sorts of things. Warned me off you and everything."
"... Is that so? Someone called you? Who – no, never mind. Bloody... I must have left your card lying around. I'm sorry, I'll talk to them."
"Okay then. Goodbye." I had the faint hope that this would be the end of it – no more emails, no more phone calls. No more dreams.
I was still staring into space when Glen walked in. He was grumpy about having to stay late at work, so I put the conversation out of my mind.
---------------------
Disclaimer: Don't know the band, this is all harmless fiction... well, maybe not to the characters.
end of chapter 25:
--------
But then there were always those niggling doubts (or illogical certainties, or the fear of them)... what if he did find that knife where he expected to? Ed said it would prove to him that it was all real. It could be a co-incidence, although an exceedingly unlikely one, if he just happened to dig in the exact place where a knife was buried that resembled the one in his dream. Would I be able to tack another co-incidence on the ever-growing chain and pretend it all still meant nothing?
I didn't know what to think, and that was discomfiting as well.
-----------
Chapter 26:
-----------
----------------------------------
"You're going there AGAIN? For feck's sake..."
"We've got work to do, that has to take priority over this obsession of yours."
"Obsession? Because I'm the only one here who has things to do outside the band, am I?"
"That is not the point..."
"So what are these things you have to do? And why must you do them right now?"
"I just need to find something out. To confirm something. It won't take long."
"Is it to do with these dreams o' yours?"
"Now you want to talk dreams, Dr. Freud?"
"I didn't think you were serious then. I know better now – you sent one of those emails to me accidentally."
"What?"
"You did; he showed it to us."
"He what?!"
"Are you meetin' that Lisa woman again?"
"... And what, exactly, do you mean to imply with that tone of voice?"
"Ease up, Lar..."
"Look, we're worried, that's all."
"God! If you all worried less about me, maybe you'd be making more progress. Give that a try while I'm gone, it wouldn't bloody hurt. And it's not what you think! I just need to do this, and I'm going to."
"Don't slam the... Shite."
"He left his notebook here last night."
"... And you read it, I suppose?"
"Just enough to know that it's not songs he's writin'. And that geologist's card was in there, too."
"Just leave it. He had a point, you know – it's all very well if he wants to run off on personal quests, but we're no better if we spend all our time fretting over him. He'll sort it out. Don't scowl at me like that, either. Your face will freeze."
-------------------------------------------
My renewed work ethic was serving me well, and the daydreaming at work had been sharply reduced. This was perhaps partly due to the supervisor peering into my work space at least once an hour, every day. I began to recognise her footsteps from the other end of the corridor.
I had no idea when Ed was planning on making his expedition. He hadn't asked me along, which was just as well. I planned never to set foot within twenty miles of the place again. Clearly it was something he felt he had to do for himself... all the same, I wondered every day when I would get another email from him. But during work hours, I pushed it all aside.
Glen was out with his mates one evening, making up for the fact that he'd spent New Year's Eve at his parents' house. I was reading a book on the couch (no, not the Stonehenge book. That had gone onto the bookshelf, next to the other impressive-looking books that we never read), when the phone rang. I was half expecting an intoxicated Glen to tell me he was taking a taxi home... or possibly thinking that I was the taxi service.
"Drunk too much already?" I asked without preamble when I picked up the phone.
"... Is this Lisa Erikson?" An unfamiliar, male, Irish voice. So much for feminine intuition.
"It is," I said cautiously. "I'm sorry, I was expecting a call from someone else." It might be about work, after all, although those calls usually came during business hours. "May I ask who's speaking?"
"Who were you expectin' a call from?" The voice sounded distinctly hostile. I was pretty sure this wasn't about a job, and even if it was, I didn't like the sound of this guy at all.
"I don't believe that's any of your business, sir," I said in my frostiest English voice. "If you don't identify yourself, I am going to terminate this call."
"I'm a friend of E... Dr. Evans. I don't know what you've been sayin' to him, or what happened out in Wales, but you can stop it right now. He's got a wife and kids, and he doesn't need you harassing him and fillin' his head with all this hippie shite. Or worse. Just leave him alone."
That stunned me into a brief silence. Then I got mad.
"Listen here, O Anonymous Friend. You've got it all backwards. He's been harassing ME. He's the one who wouldn't shut up about these bloody dreams, and he's the one who had me half convinced they were real. And I know he has a wife, and trust me, she has no cause for concern. I don't go for raving loonies who wear beanies indoors in summer."
"Is he there?"
"What? No, he is not here! Are you deaf as well as stupid? The last I heard, he'd buggered off to Ystradffin again to dig up a knife. I'd be just as happy to never see him, or that place ever again. You're not doing much to dispel the stereotypes, are you," I added, stung into bitchiness. "Furthermore, you are also harassing me, and if you call here again, I will get the police involved." That was admittedly unlikely, as I'd said to Glen earlier, but it couldn't hurt to put this idiot off.
"So you say," the Irishman said, sounding sullen to my biased ear. Whether he was responding to the threat of police action, or everything else I'd said, I didn't know. "Wait, he didn't tell us where he was goin'. How come he told you?" Now his tone was suspicious. More so.
"How the hell should I know? He's been spamming me for weeks with emails about his bloody dreams."
There was a brief pause. "Are you really...? No, forget it, it doesn't matter. I don't wanna know. You could be makin' all this up anyway. It's all a bit too convenient, if you ask me, him havin' to rush off to Wales all the bleedin' time."
"Whatever. It's very sweet of you to warn me off your mate, but there's really no need." I was tired of the whole thing.
"Well, you would say that, wouldn't you."
"Why did you call me, then? You've made up your mind that there's something going on, so I've got no chance of dissuading you. You've made your point, although I'm not sure what sort of dire consequences I could expect, if there WAS something going on and I failed to heed your warning."
"Just stop it. That's all I'm sayin'."
He hung up.
I stared at the handset for a long moment, perplexed and residually angry, then put it back on the charger.
Something niggled at my memory for some time afterwards – I had a feeling this mysterious friend's voice wasn't as unfamiliar as I'd thought at first. I didn't know very many Irish people, but that didn't mean much, because I clearly didn't know this person either. Finally it struck me that I'd heard the voices of some of Ed's co-workers when I'd phoned him, months ago. This guy must be one of them... probably the one who'd complained about Ed's work being interrupted. He sounded like something of a busy-body, to me, and probably a supervisor as well.
----------
-------------------------------------
"How much longer are we gonna put up with this?"
"Have either of you heard from him?"
"Nope."
"He's not answering his phone."
" I don't like this at all. His family's worried sick."
"We definitely need to have a talk with him when he gets back. He can't just take off without telling anyone where he's gone."
"He told that Lisa woman. She said he's gone back to that Welsh village to dig somethin' up. I'm not sure I believe it, myself."
"Did you call her?!"
"I'm not sure that was wise."
"Maybe you're right, but it's done now. I didn't like it before, and I like it even less now."
"It's only been a few days... let's give it a few more before we start the world search and mass hysteria, shall we?"
-------------------------------------
Two or three days after that vaguely threatening phone call (which I, again, kept to myself), I was back at work. Well, my body was there at least, but once again my mind was refusing to stay put. It wandered incessantly, and the supervisor had to bring me back to earth more than once, to my humiliation. By the time I got home I was in a foul mood, furious at myself for not being able to focus on such a straightforward task. And for jeopardising my future employment prospects at the same time. I was too old to be succumbing to daydreams, for god's sake!
I didn't want to take out my anger on Glen when he got home, or any of the household furniture in the mean time, so I cranked up some loud music and spent half an hour beating the hell out of Glen's old punching bag in the garage. Every so often he'd decide to get fit and spend some time pummelling it himself, but it had been a while, and so I was sneezing at all the dust by the time I'd worn myself out. I did feel better, at least – and one side benefit of exercise is that you can switch your brain off. I decided I need to get to bed earlier... maybe if I got enough sleep before the dreams woke me up, I wouldn't have so much trouble concentrating.
I was starting to wonder what was keeping Glen, when the phone rang. I picked it up.
"Hello?" I wasn't taking any more chances, regardless of who I was expecting to call.
"It's me," said Ed, in his by-now familiar voice.
I paused, not very surprised, and half dreading what he was going to say. "Well?"
"I found it."
Oh, no. No you didn't. Instead I said, "I see. And how many holes did you have to dig?"
"Just one. It was a big one, though." His tone was calm, conversational. "The village is buried about four feet down. At least, Ewain's hut was. I obviously haven't dug up the whole place."
"Obviously," I said, still a little stunned. "So, you're convinced? Hook, line and sinker? No more doubt or dilemma?"
"More or less."
"What does that mean? Either you believe you're Ewain re-incarnated, and all the dreams are true, or you don't."
"It might not be re-incarnation," Ed said reasonably. "It might just be his memories."
"For heaven's sake, what difference does it make? It's still hocus-pocus!"
"Do you really still believe it's all just a co-incidence? You know we've dreamed the same events. You know what happened out there... and I dreamed, I remembered where the hut and the knife was, and I found them. I've got it in my hand right now. It even feels familiar."
"You do realise it's probably illegal to remove artefacts from an archaeological site, or something, don't you?"
"Well, it probably is... Ow! Shite, it's still sharp. Dammit..."
I tried not to laugh. It was pretty easy, because something at the back of my mind was skittering around nervously at the thought of that knife drawing blood.
"Maybe a bit flaked off recently and gave it a new edge," I said.
"Hmm? Yeah..." He didn't seem to be listening.
"Well, thanks for letting me know," I said. Yeah, thanks for undermining my grip on reality again. Bloody hell, he actually found it. Or else he's making it all up. Argh. "Sorry, what was that?"
"I said, You're welcome."
"Right, well, I'd better go. Oh, by the way, tell your anonymous friend to back off, will you? He seems to think... well, all sorts of things. Warned me off you and everything."
"... Is that so? Someone called you? Who – no, never mind. Bloody... I must have left your card lying around. I'm sorry, I'll talk to them."
"Okay then. Goodbye." I had the faint hope that this would be the end of it – no more emails, no more phone calls. No more dreams.
I was still staring into space when Glen walked in. He was grumpy about having to stay late at work, so I put the conversation out of my mind.
---------------------
nice phone call!
so will we get a steak with those knives then?
Erm...I kinda missed it again...
No, I didn't think so.
