The Dead

   Three of us sat on the battered sofa that Mick found outside his building a few weeks back. He and Jill sprawled on the single-seater across the room by the window; she sitting sideways on his lap, taking care to keep her skirt from riding up. She the only one sober. 

   Sarah sitting at my side with her legs tucked up under her, leaning on the arm of the sofa. She passed to me. I drew and passed to Dean who was asleep, head back and mouth open as though preparing to suck the air out of the room. When I motioned to Mick he shook his head. I drew again and leaned over Dean to stub it out on the ashtray perched on the arm of the sofa.

   I leaned back into the cushions letting my head fall back, looking up at the ceiling. Minutes passed, an hour maybe. I was thinking about the part in The Great Gatsby when Tom breaks Myrtle’s nose with the palm of his hand and Nick goes along with the photographer. I always think about that when I'm high. And how Nick goes to bed, and what happened there.
   A moth the size and shape of a bottle-cap flew in through the window and made for the light. It struck the bare bulb a few times with its body making a fizz before resting on the wall. I had never seen one so big.

   A book struck the wall catching the moth flush and fell to the ground. It left a fat brown stain on the emulsion that streaked down about an inch.

   Jill flinched.

   “Couldn’t do that again if I tried,” Mick said.

   “That’s one use for a book,” I said. A grin spread across his face as he leaned back in the chair. Jill sighed.

   “Sorry,” she said. 

   “Jill’s all on edge,” Mick said.

   She smiled at me. It was a forced smile.

   “Go on and tell him why,” Mike said, flicking her ear.

  “Don’t be an asshole,” she said, still looking at me. Sarah's had fallen asleep too, her head slid along the cushion and onto my shoulder with a bump.

   “Jill’s all worked up over this dream she had.”

    She was looking at the stain on the wall. 

   I started to feel uncomfortable. I was about to excuse myself when Mick started on her. It was probably a good thing. I wasn't sure if I could stand.

   “Go on and tell him. Tell him about the dream you had.” He spoke directly into her ear like an imp.

   Jill took in a deep breath. She was looking at Sarah, who had started to snore loudly.

   Mick put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. 

   “It’s silly,” she said. It seemed like she was apologizing for what was to follow, but there was worry in her tone too. As she spoke, her eyes never left mine.

   “It's...silly. It was about my brother, Peter. I dreamed that...that there was a breakthrough of some sort. Some pill you could take that would let you be awake in your own dream with a loved one who has...passed...for a few hours. So you can see them one last time, you know. Brought them back in your dream, as they were before they died. Apparently I had applied and been accepted to take part in the trial. There was a condition with the drug, something about a chance of the person in your dream knowing that they are supposed to be dead. This was a rare side-effect, and was something the drug company was refining. It meant that when you took it you had to be monitored by a psychologist. I used it to bring Peter back. You know we lost him last year. I had so much I had wanted to say to him, things that I wish I had said the last time I saw him. We didn't know. It just happened so suddenly." 

   “Well the pill worked. It was...it was awful. He looked exactly as I remember him - tall, slight, his hair combed to one side. He was like a man brought by light to another planet, he just gazed wide-eyed around him. But soon he became distressed - he was screaming that he knew he was dead, and that this wasn't real. He started writhing on the ground, and when I tried to approach him he...he turned on me. He was on top of me, screaming and throwing punches, pushing my head into the ground..." 
   She trailed off. 
   "I felt myself go unconscious. I could hear the psychologist shouting something. And then I woke up."

   We sat quietly. Jill was looking up at the stain on the wall.

  Mick had fallen asleep. His mouth was in a crooked, nasty grimace. His head was back. 

   “I’m sorry,” Jill whispered to me.

   I realized I was leaning forward on the sofa. Dean was still asleep on the arm of the sofa. Sarah had slid behind me and was face down in the cushions. She was drooling.

   I knew the dream, of course. She had told it to me one night as we lay together in my bed. Mick was out of town for the weekend. She had woke up screaming. It had bothered her enough that that bastard Mick had forced it out of her.

   Mick spluttered and sat up abruptly, forcing Jill to stand and readjust her skirt. He sat upright for a moment, his left hand coming up automatically to his face, his fingers spread out as though he were measuring up to catch a pitch. He slumped back into the chair, his eyes closed.

   "Nice dream, you prick?" I asked him.
    He had began to snore.
   For a while, minutes maybe, Jill and I looked at each other across the room. She had the prettiest grey eyes, and through the haze of smoke she looked like an angel.

   “It’s all pretty far-fetched,” she said, sadly.

   She smiled and through the smoke I could see tears in her eyes.