Dreamside - By Graham Joyce Page 0,17

to say. Ella brightened, or perhaps her aura expanded, but anyway she proceeded to map out the dizzying geography of her psychic development over the past twelve months. In a matter of minutes she alluded to astrological configurations and Zen Buddhism; the Tibetan Book of the Dead and Hexagrams of the I Ching; Tantric Lore and Cabbalistic Law; primal screams and astral projection; rebirth experiences and regression into former lives.

Lee thought he might be talking to a Martian.

"In the end you're just chasing your tail," said Ella. Lee nodded in sage concurrence. "Which is why I'm interested in this dream thing. I want to leave all that clutter behind, trust in my own resources. I want to get inside my own head."

I just want to get inside your pants, Lee thought. "Exactly why I'm interested," he said.

Coffee had gone cold in the bottom of cups, incense had burned itself out. Ella was silent for the first time since they had walked through the door. Lee tried to keep the conversation on the boil by casually declaring that he was thinking of dropping out of university so that he could travel overland to Tibet.

"Do it," she said simply. It was the second time she had used the phrase that evening. There was something dismissive about the way she said it which twisted the knot in which she already had him tied.

Lee sat squirming on the corner of the bed, trying to think up a way of making the next move when she suddenly said, "Now I'd like to go to bed."

Lee stared at her, dumbfounded. Was that an invitation or what? He made an assessment of Ella's breezy self-confidence. "OK," he said, and started to untie his shoelaces.

Ella watched as he kicked off his shoes. Then she spoke.

"What the hell are you doing?" For a moment she looked flustered and a little wide-eyed: an apprentice Sibyl lost for words, a novice Circe frightened by a piglet.

"You don't want me to stay?" asked Lee.

"If ever I do," she said, recovering slightly, "you'll be the first to hear of it."

Lee pulled his shoes back on, trying to model a win-some-lose-some look as Ella opened the door. At the last minute she tore a book from the shelf and thrust it into his hands, simultaneously propelling him forward. "You really must read this and let me know what you think of it OK goodnight." She closed the door just a little too hurriedly behind him.

Lee took a short cut across the university lawns, philosophical. The book Ella had given him must have been a way of saying that the door would be open another time. He was half-way home before he looked at it. It was a battered paperback copy of Alice in Wonderland. The university clock-tower rang out the hour in the distance. It was 2 A.M.

THREE

Why, sometimes I've believed as many as

six impossible things before breakfast

—Lewis Carroll

The silence was embarrassing. The second meeting of the lucid dreamers had convened in Professor Burns's own lounge in a large house close to the university and across the road from a sprawling Victorian graveyard. They had turned up at staggered intervals, and after being warmly greeted by the professor were seated in one of the assorted armchairs drawn into a circle. Lee arrived late and suffered agonies on seeing Brad Cousins ensconced on a small, cosy-looking sofa with Ella Innes. Lee took a seat next to the shy Irish girl.

"Had any premonitions?" she whispered as soon as he sat down.

"Not one."

At last the group became aware that the professor was patiently awaiting their silence so that a start could be made. The whispering diminished in tiers until they were left gazing upon Burns, waiting for session number two to begin. But he didn't speak.

The professor remained with his gaze fixed steadily three feet above the head of a girl immediately opposite him. His face carried a perfectly neutral expression, neither hostile nor friendly, neither impatient nor uninterested. Fidgeting began and increased as the period of silence extended. A sigh, a scratch, a cough, the sound of someone twisting in their seat all punctured the embarrassing hiatus before it was immediately sealed up again with silence. After an agonizing five minutes of nothing, Brad Cousins spoke.

"If this is a psychological exercise designed to make us all feel uncomfortable, its working."

All eyes were turned on the professor, who did nothing to acknowledge the remark or deal with the implicit criticism. His expression remained consistent, as did his