Shadow Play

28

Without the events of the last week, I would have dismissed the mutation of the dream as a product of watching too many horror movies, and gone back to bed. As it was, the dream had me worried and it would be a while before I could go back to sleep. I sat back on the bed and lowered my head onto my raised knees when I sensed a drip trickle from my nose. My fingers dabbed gently at my upper lip and even in the darkened room, I could see that they were now smeared in blood. Seeing the blood after the dream was still so fresh in my mind made my head swim with dizziness and I was suddenly dangerously close to getting sick. I stumbled for the bathroom and stood for some time over the toilet while my stomach churned. Once the nausea had settled, I splashed my face with water and stared into my reflection in the mirror. Aside from the unnatural paleness of my features, nothing about my appearance was any different than it had been before the dream. I wasn't sure what I was searching for, but I needed the assurance that nothing about me had changed. I switched off the light and went back to bed, burrowing under the covers. I lay awake for some time weighed down by the feeling that regardless of what the mirror showed, everything was different. Throughout the day that followed, I couldn’t shake the melancholy that had come over me after the dream. I went through the motions at work but was lost in my head, attempting to reconcile my entire belief system with the events of the last week. Suddenly things that were important to me before were now minor in comparison to finding out that there was a magical race of beings in the world. Were any of them friendly? What could we learn from them? Would they try to take over Earth? My questions were endless, and the potential answers were a lead weight resting on my shoulders. At noon I took my packed lunch to the small break room and warmed up my leftovers. I had only taken a couple of bites when Cat came in with her sack lunch and asked to join me at the table. “Of course, have a seat,” I said with less enthusiasm than I meant. “Are you sure? I can just head to the café if you’d prefer to be on your own.” She started to turn but I quickly reassured her. “No, please sit. I just had a rough night’s sleep and I’m dragging today, I’d love for you to join me.” She sat and spread out her lunch. “So, did you make it to the Huntsman on Friday?” she asked, with a curious glance in my direction. “Yeah, we did, but you were right, we should probably have listened to you and found somewhere else to go that night.” “What happened? I hope nothing too bad.” “Well, it wasn’t necessarily the club’s fault. We just happened on bad luck after we left. When Ash and I were leaving, we were pulled into a nearby alley and got mugged. She ended up with a broken arm but otherwise we’re okay—it was just a pretty upsetting experience.” “Oh my goodness, Rebecca, I’m so sorry! I hope Ashley’s okay.” I could tell she was genuinely upset and her concern made me feel bad that I couldn't tell her the truth, and at the same time warmed that I had a friend here when Ash headed home. At least not everyone was out to intimidate or harm me. “Thanks, Cat. I’m sure in the future I’ll be much more careful.” “Actually, that reminds me.” She dug in the bag that she had carried in with her. “Here it is. I dabble in making jewelry and this was a little something I made, it’s yours if you want it.” She slid her hand across the table and inside was a soft, light brown leather bracelet with ties on either end. The band was about half an inch wide and decorated with a repeating design of lines and dots that had been artfully burned into the leather. “Cat, this is gorgeous—you made it?” Fingering the delicate markings, I wasn’t sure I had ever seen something so simple and yet so beautifully crafted in leather. She nodded and offered hesitantly, “Would you like some help getting it on?” “Definitely.” I extended my left wrist, and with deft fingers, she tied the strings into an intricate knot and then took out a small pocket knife from her bag to cut the excess strings. “Thank you, Cat. I was thinking that I’d love to go get some coffee or have a drink after work with you. I want to hear more about your jewelry and any other hidden talents you might have,” I suggested in an attempt to return her offered token of friendship. “I’d like that, but right now, I’d better hurry up and finish or Fergus will have my hide.” “I don't think Fergus could harm a fly if his life depended on it. He certainly wouldn't get upset with you, you're like family to him.” “You've just never been on his bad side, it doesn't happen often, but when it does, look out!” She shook her finger at me and I couldn’t help but laugh at her and the image of Fergus on the rampage. He was firm and had high expectations, but he was all marshmallow on the inside. Not long after lunch, the man in question offered to finish my tour of the exhibits that had been cut short on my first day. I jumped at the chance to learn what he knew about the remaining artwork in the museum. We picked up at the bronze stallion sculpture that I had admired on my own walk through. Fergus explained that it was a permanent piece in the museum created in the Japanese Meiji Period in the late 1800s. From there we made our way to a temporary exhibit on loan from the National Galleries of Scotland as part of an ‘Artists of the UK’ exhibit. “This first piece is The Quarrel of Oberon and Titania painted by one of my Scottish kinsmen, artist Joseph Noel Paton in 1849.” “I remember this one from my studies, it’s a depiction of the argument between the king and queen of the Faeries from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” I had not paid particular attention to the painting on my first trip through the museum, but in light of recent events, I was much more intrigued this time around. I quieted the questions bouncing around in my head to pay attention to what Fergus was teaching me. “Indeed, the couple fought over the custody of a child. Each wanted to keep him for their own reasons and Oberon, doubting the veracity of Titania’s reason for wanting the child, tricked her into thinking she was in love with a man with a donkey’s head to punish and distract her. You can see the child, who was rumored to be an Indian king’s son, hiding behind Titania. Eventually the two reconcile and forgive one another but only after Oberon has taken the child.” “To be his henchman, or knight, I believe.” I tried to recall the details of the story, but I had studied the literary elements more than the mythical legend, and would have to review the writing again to refresh my memory.