The Gift

he came up from the nightmare gasping, like a drowning swimmer breaking the surface water. She sat up quickly, hugging her knees to her chest and drawing in great lungfulls of air, trying to slow the ferocious rhythm of her heart. When her breathing had calmed a little, she swung her legs out of bed and padded over to the window and lent her brow against the cool glass, stricken eyes staring into the gloom beyond. Vivid remnants of the dream still clung to her mind. She could still feel the acrid smoke stinging her eyes, smell the bitter stench of hot twisted metal, mingled with the faint coppery odour of blood. She thought of the child's hysterical voice screaming 'Mummy!' over and over again and began to cry impotently. She groaned at the thought that it was actually happening somewhere, at that very minute and there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

The dreams had always been part of Karen's life. Graphic episodes, of which she seemed to be a part. At first they had been innocuous, tiny dramas played out during her sleep, she had thought that everyone had them. She found out the truth the year she was nine; that was when she dreamed of the barn.

She could still remember the sweet moist odour of the hay, overlaid by a musky animal scent. There had been another smell too, but at first she hadn't known what it was. By the light of the torch, the cobwebs hung like ghostly chandeliers from the high beams. She was aware of hands unscrewing the cap of a tin can, then wet sloshing sounds and the unknown smell was suddenly much stronger, obliterating the other odours. It was sharp and acrid, making her eyes sting and run. She heard the rattle of the matches before she saw them. In the beam of the torch, now wedged into the hay, the black gloved hands trembled slightly. When the match scraped across the sandpaper the noise seemed very loud. Then everything was fire, savage tongues of flame devouring all that they touched. Bubbles of panic began to form inside her. Looking down she saw the fire engulf the gloves, melting the fabric, greedily seeking the tender flesh beneath.

The voice had reached deeply into the nightmare and pulled her, struggling, to consciousness. She had known that she was screaming, the sound tearing agonisingly at her throat, but she couldn't seem to stop. Her mother's arms had clasped her tightly as she rocked her, gently and slowly, until the screams had faded to whimpers. On the fringes of her vision, she had caught glimpses of her father's face as she sobbed out the grotesque details: the noxious smell of the petrol, the hay, the black gloves and the terrible sight of the flesh as the fire gorged upon it, making it blacken and split like over-ripe fruit.

" Just a bad dream, sweetheart. It's over now." Eventually, the repetition of her mother's voice and the gentle rocking had soothed her. The trembling had left her body and finally, exhausted, she had slept.

Later, when she had awoken, the dream had faded into unreality. Her mother's further reassurances had comforted her and driven away any lingering dread. Then her father had returned. Something in his face had alerted her and she had listened as he talked to her mother in the kitchen. His voice was urgent and low, but she caught enough of the words to piece the story together.

His dogs had awoken a local farmer in the middle of the night. By then the barn had been well ablaze. The fire brigade had fought hard, but as daylight broke, all that remained was a smoking ruin.

"Arson," her father had whispered. "Looks like he made a mistake though; they pulled a body out, just before dawn." Just then, her mother had glance over his shoulder and gazed at her with worried eyes. Karen felt a thin needle of fear pierce her heart and knew that her life had changed forever.

As the years passed she, somehow, learned to cope with the dreams, though each one left her physically and mentally exhausted. There were long stretches of time when her sleep was trouble free. At one point, almost two years had passed without any of the horrors and Karen had begun to hope that she was finally free. Then there were three, in as many weeks, leaving her reeling on the verge of madness. As always, she could match the precise details with the newspaper or TV reports.

She had met Stephen Banks in her first year at university. He had placed an article in the student magazine, asking for volunteers, to take part in a study he was conducting for his psychology degree. He was particularly interested in precognitive dreams. Karen had rung the number straight away. She liked Steve immediately and for the first time in her life, found someone that she could talk openly to about the terrible visions that invaded her sleep.

"Couldn't you talk to your parents?" Steve had asked, that first night. She had shaken her head.

" I think that they were more afraid of the dreams than I was. They seemed to think that if we didn't talk about it, the problem would miraculously disappear. I told my grandmother about it just before she died. She said I had a 'gift'. I look on it more as a curse." she laughed harshly.

She spent three dreamless weeks, hooked up to the monitors in the sleep laboratory, before she fell into the next nightmare. When she had pulled herself back to sanity, Steve was waiting with the tape recorder. Two days later, all of the morning papers carried front page stories about the train derailment. There was no need to read all of the graphic details, they already had them on tape.

"What's the point of being able to witness all of these dreadful things, if I can't do anything to change them?" she had asked Steve miserably .

"I don't think there is a point," Steve had replied. "Look, think about time as a sort of moving walkway, like the ones they have at airports. Only this one is a giant loop. On the far side of the loop, the future is already happening. You and lots of others like you, somehow have the ability to see across the loop. That's why I do all of this research, to find out if we all have this ability, to a greater or lesser degree. But as for the future, I firmly believe that it's set. Nothing anyone can say or do could ever possibly change it."

She thought about what Steve had said as she stood by the window, crying softly. If it was true, then the event she had just witnessed was totally beyond her control. So why did she feel so guilty. She wished that Steve was here to talk to her and hold her. He had become such a big part of her life, but the conference he was attending would keep him away for another two days. She would ring his hotel later, just hearing his voice would help her to get things in perspective.

When she spoke to him, later that day, his words brought her the comfort she craved. His conviction, that she had never had two consecutive dreams, allayed her fears for the coming night, so she was totally unprepared for what came next.

She was in a car, travelling along a country lane, banked by thick fruit laden hedges. Everything smelt of late summer. On the radio, the voice of Meatloaf was crooning that he would 'do anything for love'. Through the drivers eyes, she could see the incredible blue of the sky, dotted with flimsy swirls of cloud. The road curved and opened out, becoming the approach to a town. A sign loomed up proclaiming, 'Andersley', and below the large red 30, the message, 'Please drive Carefully'. Something tugged at her memory, some shadow of knowledge that eluded her. The streets were busier as they moved deeper into the town. They turned into the bustle of a main street, littered with people and shops. At the far end of the street stood an ancient church. The hands of the clock, set in its high tower, stood poised at three fifteen. As they slowed for a crossing, the drivers hand began to rub at a point in the centre of his chest. She heard him mumble, ' Dammed indegestion', then the lights changed and they were moving again. As they began to accelerate, the driver groaned loudly, his hand flying back to his chest. This time, she felt a faint echo of the agonising pain that gripped him. His other hand left the wheel, clutching at the one already pressed to his chest. The car travelled on for a short way, then began to slew to the side. There was a small bump as it mounted the pavement. Shoppers were already beginning to scatter and between fleeing bodies, she could see a newsagent's, directly in their path. In the unreality of the moment, time seemed to be suspended. Outside the shop, a man was beginning to turn, alerted by the confusion around him. She had a split second glimpse of his face, as he saw the car almost upon him, it was Steve.

She bolted upright in her bed, her heart thudding sickly, her hand reaching urgently for the phone. Her fingers were trembling so badly that she had trouble pressing in the number. It seemed to take hours before anyone answered. Almost sobbing, she asked the receptionist to put her through to Steve's room. She heard a click and then the ringing tone again.

" Come on, come on, " she urged the receiver as she chewed savagely at her fingernail.

" I'm sorry Madam," the receptionist broke in. " Mr Banks is not answering. Could I take a message?" Her heart sank, she had to reach him.

" Please ask him to ring Karen as soon as possible. Tell him it's very urgent," she added. She put down the receiver, unsure what to do next. The clock next to the phone blinked at her. ' Eight thirty', the time in the dream had been ' three fifteen. She could drive there, find him; stop this terrible event from taking place.

The drive seemed interminable, she found it difficult to concentrate, her mind returning again and again to the dream. But eventually, she found herself on the familiar approach road and a few minuets later, pulled up outside his hotel. While the receptionist paged his room, she glanced anxiously at the clock. Two forty five, thank God she was in time. The receptionist's voice broke into her thoughts.

I'm sorry, but Mr Banks has gone out, we are expecting him back for dinner though." Karen felt panic begin to rise. Her mind raced as she gave another anxious glance towards the clock. Almost ten minuets had passed, time was running out. Back at her car, an idea formed. She would go to the street where it happened, he would be there somewhere. She would find him and make sure he was miles away from that awful place.

Where was the street? She could almost hear the seconds ticking by and she couldn't find the street. Despair was beginning to nibble at the edges of her stomach, the suddenly she turned a corner and the familiar scene stretched before her. She pulled in at the kerb, stopped the car and got out quickly. A rapid glance at the church clock confirmed her fears, she had five minutes. She began to run towards the newsagents. Halfway there she looked over her shoulder. The black car was just turning into the street. Alarmed, she scanned the faces of the crowd, 'Where was he?' Then miraculously he appeared, strolling towards the shop. She began to run again, screaming his name as she when. He looked around, a puzzled expression on his face. Behind her she heard the car begin to accelerate and knew she was going to be to late. The decision was made in a split second. Still running, she turned into the path of the car. There was a second of utter agony and then her body became strangely numb. She fell back onto the bonnet of the car with great force, but in her mind, it felt as if she had floated there. She was aware of her body beginning to close itself down, as life trickled out of it. Far away, she could hear someone screaming her name, but her vision had become so blurred that she couldn't see who it was. Her last conscious thought was that Steve had been wrong. The future could be changed.