Free Night Terrors by Helen Harper Page A

she says finally. ‘But we need to talk.’
    I point to the side where there’s a small space. Together we move over and lower our voices.
    ‘Are all these people here for the same thing?’ I ask.
    ‘Most of them. I think there’s a broken arm and a kid with the flu as well.’
    I twiddle nervously with my hair. ‘That’s not good.’
    Her expression is hard. ‘No. No, it’s not.’ She reaches for my arm, her fingers curling round it. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
    I tense. ‘I’m not sure what I can do. I’m not a doctor.’
    ‘Look around you,’ she hisses. ‘Have you ever seen so many people in this surgery before?’
    I refrain from pointing out that it’s been a long time since I was capable of visiting the surgery and shake my head. ‘This is why you came round, isn’t it? You wanted to talk to me about this. Why didn’t you?’
    She mutters something under her breath. I hear the word ‘crazy’ and immediately understand. After speaking to the policewoman through her dreams when the Mayor was after me, I managed to smooth things over enough to make her think she’d imagined it all. A kernel of suspicion obviously remains but she thinks her idea is too far-fetched to voice aloud. I’m guessing that now she’s running out of options and is prepared to explore the unthinkable. Rawlins is the very definition of pragmatic realism. The fact that she’s considering my appearance in her dreams means something has her worried.
    ‘I need to understand what’s going on,’ I say urgently. ‘Explain to me exactly what’s been happening. I don’t even know what sleep paralysis is.’ I can guess but I’d rather be sure.
    It helps that Rawlins is a professional. She gives a miniscule shake and focuses. ‘For me,’ she begins, ‘it started about ten days ago. I go to sleep like normal and…’ Her voice falters.
    ‘And?’ I prompt.
    ‘Not long after I drift off, something heavy starts to pin me down. It’s like a huge weight on my chest. It makes it difficult to breathe.’ Unconsciously she rubs her hand across her body. ‘It’s suffocating. I can’t move. It doesn’t matter what I do, I can’t even wiggle my toes.’
    I stare at her. What she’s describing sounds similar to my agoraphobia-induced panic attacks. I know how terrifying they can be. To experience those sensations while asleep must be even worse.
    ‘That’s awful.’
    She snorts. ‘You think?’
    Shit. ‘There’s more, isn’t there?’
    ‘You’d better believe it. The weight on my chest moves. There are hands which hold me on. Legs which…’ She pauses and I can see her struggling for words, ‘…which knee me apart. Hot breath that covers my face. Then I feel the erection. My pyjamas are ripped off and…’
    I clench my teeth. ‘You’re assaulted.’ Sickened, I look away.
    ‘It’s not real,’ Rawlins says quietly. ‘It seems real when it happens but when I wake up I know it was a dream. I’ve never experienced fear like it, though. I’m so helpless, I can’t do a thing to stop it from happening. But,’ she repeats, ‘I know it’s not real. It’s only happening in my head.’
    The trouble is that I’m not so sure of that. Not knowing what I know.
    ‘Sergeant, have there been any physical signs?’ I ask urgently. ‘You said your pyjamas are ripped. When you wake up, are they still torn?’
    For a long moment, she doesn’t answer. Her eyes rake my face. ‘No,’ she says slowly. ‘They’re fine. And I’ve even checked myself over, as silly as that sounds. Whatever’s happening isn’t physical.’
    For now. And the mental anguish of that kind of experience is going to be more damaging. I let out a long breath. As long as Rawlins can still believe that what’s happening is only in her head, she’ll find it easier to recover. Much as I want to comfort her and tell her I’ll do what I can to help by visiting her dreams as soon as I can, it’s better for her in the long run if she