[Running Dream][28th June 1972]

[Redbook1:259A-G][19720628:0000][Running Dream][28th June 1972]

19720628

            Through the grey streets, behind the ‘swish-swish’ of the wipers, I became hunted.  Sometimes passing a side road I glimpsed the menacing shape of a blue patrol-car; but always the old Citroen escaped detection, to roam the streets, moving continuously, pursued and unable to rest.

            Finally I had to stop.  I pulled in by the pavement, hoping to sleep unnoticed.  But shortly the police arrived, and surrounded me, standing silent.

            We moved into a nearby building to negotiate.  In a small auditorium I was surrounded by people.

            ‘What shall I say?’ I asked in despair.

            ‘Tell them to release you or let you go.’

            ‘What do you want?’ I asked the police chief.

            ‘We would like your help.’ It seemed to me that he was for some reason playing me softly, understating his concern.  ‘We would like you to come with us.’

            ‘Are you going to arrest me?’

            ‘We would like you to come with us.’

            ‘Tell him of your fear of assassination.’ I was advised.

            The police chief looked at papers behind his desk.  ‘Our calculations lead us to believe that you are in greatest danger of assassination at two o'clock this afternoon.’  The implication was clear: Come with us and you will be safe.

            Panic rose in me.

            I turned.  The girl behind and above me seemed to be holding a knife.  She lunged.  Twice I held her off; the third time I mistook, and she slipped upwards past my guard.

            Suffering no pain, I distinctly felt and saw my own throat cut, the air pipe severed and exposed to the air; awkwardly, and in fear, I became aware of the impossibility of my living.

            In a deserted and dusty classroom of my first boarding school I read the newspaper account of what had happened next.  I had quite suddenly slaughtered a number of the people around me in the auditorium.  There were references to an earlier, similar offence.  I did not remember either occasion; but I accepted that they occurred.

            Clearly there was only one thing I could do.  I had to give myself up and attempt to make some amends for what I had done.  I had also to try to find out what exactly I had done, and why.

            I went to the door.  A man was passing in the passage outside.  I stopped him.

            ‘My name is Richard Collins.’ I saw fear rise to his eyes.  ‘Would you please inform the Police that I am here?’

            But when they came, blue-uniformed and menacing, I became frightened.  The old hunted feeling returned.

            In a room somewhere in my second boarding school, I searched among piles of umbrellas.  I was helped by the little Chinese boy I had known in my childhood -- still as friendly and inscrutable as ever.  I found an umbrella I had lost many years ago -- my name was on the handle -- and an old walking stick, which I abandoned.

            I set out with my umbrella unfurled.

            In Lincoln's Inn I find a fair-haired child, little changed, who was a younger friend of my own youth.  As a police patrol-car comes in by the Gate, we go out over the Wall.

            In Lincoln's Inn Fields I test my powers in a small way, vaulting the fences with no effort.

            My companion is the only person apparently unafraid of me.

*          *          *

           

            Or, possibly, he is desperately afraid – more so as I explain my ‘blank periods’ and the destruction worked in them -- but he overcomes his fear, to try to help.

           

            The whole thing seems horribly logical -- especially if my murderous ‘blank’ periods are triggered by fear, causing the power to be given rein under the control of only of basic instinct.  But what causes the fear?  I suspect a telepathic element.  This would fit in with my illusion of being killed when in fact it was I who was unwittingly doing the killing.  My own fear might then be the result of other people's intentions towards me – or (and this hardly bears thinking about) the reflection of other people's fear of me.

            Clearly I am gaining control of the power which was used in (and caused?)  my blank periods.  But I am afraid of the unreliable element which may remain when the fear arises in me, since I cannot see any prospect of controlling that fear.

            My companion is disturbed most by the thought of my telepathic powers.  With great intensity, he insists that when I experiment in use of this faculty, I must not use it on him.

Piecing together previous events, and calculating future probabilities, I begin to see why the Police were so wary of me, and why an attempt was made to kill me.

... If it was made.

[This was the write-up of a genuine dream which I noted down on waking and, I believe, wrote up very soon afterwards while the memory was still fresh.]

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