Chasing Imagination

Casper

As if to mark the significance of our arrival, Matt pulled off his fashionable jumper to reveal his tight-fitting black top underneath. After all, black on t-shirts was incredibly frowned upon this season. I felt myself doing the same, unzipping my jacket to reveal the check shirt and black slogan top I wore underneath it which were so much more 'me'.

‘We’re here,’ I told Amy, glancing behind me. Her hand was caught up in her curls, and her brow was set low in concentration. But when I spoke she began to relax, breaking into a perfect smile.

‘We made it,’ she whispered, as though we had just completed some giant task. In reality, it really wasn’t that hard—I’d been several times before, and so had most other people, but I wasn't about to say that. The first time doing anything, especially something where you were risking your life was, after all, so much more terrifying.

As we continued further along the tunnel for at least twenty minutes, it opened up into a giant room, fitted poorly with lights in an attempt to make it brighter, and with posters crudely stuck all across the wall to make it seem more homely. Inside, there were several people milling around—this was like some small common room away from the main activity. Officially, this was where the Dreamer base began.

We followed the others through more small rooms, which all looked very much like the base back in Kingston—the lighting a little dim, everything a little shabby and in need of a clean, but otherwise not too bad.

Matt stopped in front of the door to Nightshade’s office, hoping, of course, that she was actually in there, and knocked.

The door half opened, and a man with short hair dressed all in black opened it.

‘Grant,’ said Matt cheerfully.

‘Hey guys,’ Grant replied. ‘You here from Kingston?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘We’re here to see Nightshade, if that’s possible.’

‘Who’s there?’ came a female voice from the other side of the door.

Grant pushed the door open further, revealing the reception room with a door on the far side, making Nightshade’s study. That door was open far enough for me to see Nightshade from here, and she beckoned us with a hand gesture and a smile to come in.

We all milled into the little study. She sat at a shabby oak table, a computer far too advanced for the rest of the decor down here in front of her. It was much the same as I had seen it last time we were down here, although the posters of last season’s favourite bands—Bullet for my Valentine and Green Day—had been replaced by the current choices—Nightwish and Disturbed, as the names said on the posters; both bands I’d heard of from my illegal CDs.

Nightshade leaned on the desk, her chin resting on her immaculately painted nails; deep purple today, similar to the shade of her hair, which was also a dark purple, almost plum colour, completely artificial of course, hanging in completely straight layers all the way to her waist.

She was not an old woman; in fact she was probably only in her mid to late thirties, but she had a mature, sophisticated look about her, even underneath the wild makeup. To complete her look today, her almost unnaturally green eyes were outlined in thick, dark eyeliner and purple, smoky shadow, and there was a small silver stud in the side of her nose; completing the classic Nightshade look. Her black t-shirt was sleeveless, which allowed me to see the swirling, mystical tattoo that started at her right shoulder and descended in elegant twirls most of the way down to her elbow. I was positive that this was a new one; I hadn’t seen it before.

‘So,’ she said, frowning her carefully plucked eyebrows and pulling a comical face that didn’t quite match her mysterious, almost gothic exterior. ‘Remind me of your names again?’ she pointed one of those long nails at me, narrowing her eyes and smiling casually. ‘You know I’m terrible at remembering stuff. You’re Casper, right?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, impressed that she remembered me.

She looked around. ‘Don’t know,’ she said casually, glancing past Amy. ‘Don’t know,’ she said a second time, and then a third, looking at Imogen and Felix in turn, ‘and you’re...Matthew? Matt?’ she said to Matt. ‘The Cartwright kid.’

‘Yeah,’ Matt said with a gentle smile. ‘I’m Matt.’ Suddenly I wasn’t so honoured—she could remember Matt. Well, everyone knew Matt; the golden kid.

She gave an apologetic look, first to Amy, and then to the other two. ‘Remind me of your names again?’

‘I’m Imogen,’ said Imogen.

‘Of course!’ said Nightshade excitedly, as though we were friends meeting up for a night out instead of here on serious business. ‘I knew it was something beginning with I. Or possibly J; I thought. You’ve changed your hair!’

‘Yeah,’ said Imogen, suddenly going self-conscious as all girls seemed to do, playing with her dead straight short layers.

‘Looks good.’

‘Thanks.’

‘And what about you two?’ Nightshade said.

‘I’m Felix,’ Felix told her, ‘and that’s Amy. She’s new.’

‘Ah yes, I remember a Felix,’ Nightshade mused. ‘Amy? You’re new?’

‘Yeah,’ Amy replied shyly.

‘Welcome to the Dreamers!’ Nightshade said enthusiastically, clapping her hands together and smiling through her dark lipstick. She stood up, holding out her fist to do a ‘respect’ sign as though she was thirteen years old.

‘Thanks,’ Amy murmured.

‘Anyway,’ Nightshade said. ‘I’m guessing you want news. Well, first of all, I heard about the train station raid a couple nights ago; were any of you involved?’

‘Yes, we were,’ I said, ‘Amy, Felix and I.’ I felt Matt’s envious eyes upon me, but it felt good to be the victorious one for once. We never openly acted like we disliked each other—at least, not in front of Imogen; it was all just to do with our thoughts. I never liked him taking over from me, so the signals I gave off were enough for him to dislike me back. It was all just immature really, but we couldn’t help it.

‘Well done,’ Nightshade said, speaking quickly and briskly, as though she had a lot to say in not a lot of time. ‘I know you guys do that sort of thing a lot, but we seriously need some more semi-organised resistance around here—how else is anyone going to know that we still exist?’

‘Yeah, I think Markus is keen on doing it whenever he can,’ I said.

‘Mm,’ Nightshade mused, her eyes gazing up at the ceiling, perched on top of her hands, adorned with rings and with bracelets on both her wrists. ‘I agree, but with a bigger colony here, it’s harder to organise it.’

‘Markus normally gets us to do it ourselves,’ I said. ‘He’ll just assign someone, perhaps give them a date or a destination or something he wants achieved, and leaves it up to the rest of us.’

‘That’s not a bad idea actually,’ she said, seriously contemplating it. I felt quietly proud of myself for suggesting it, which was not a feeling I was allowed to experience often. ‘You’re having an election soon?’ Although she was talking to all of us, she mostly seemed to address me.

‘Yeah,’ we all mumbled, apart from Amy, who I’d forgotten had no idea what we were talking about. I’d explain it to her later, but there was no chance now.

‘But I think Markus is going to win,’ I added. ‘Everyone seems to like him.’

Nightshade raised her eyebrows. ‘You voting for him, Casper?’

‘Probably,’ I said, refusing to commit to anything just now. All Dreamer bases held elections every two years. Essentially, anyone who was mostly based in Kingston could stand to become leader of the base, but there would only be a few who got a significant proportion of the votes. Quite simply, whoever got the most, was in charge. It seemed so easy really—governments used to do similar things back in the olden days, called a democracy, but ever since dictatorships and fascism took over, there were no more elections and no more democracies anymore.

‘I don’t even know who’s standing to try and become leader,’ I said. ‘But anyone can if they want to.’

Nightshade glanced around at us in turn, her almost unnaturally green eyes fixing on each person in turn like a snake ready to pounce. She kept a smile on her face, her chin resting casually on her hand, as though this entire meeting was just one big girly gossip session.

‘Any of you standing for leader?’ she asked, the gossipy side to her voice growing even stronger.

I glanced around, especially at Matt, wondering if he was going to say anything.

‘I was considering it,’ he said, voicing my worst fears, ‘but I don’t think I’d get many votes.’

Imogen smiled up at him in a sickeningly sweet way, and, whilst she said nothing, I could see the phrase of ‘you’d get my vote,’ going through her mind over and over again. It actually made me want to puke.

‘Well, it would be excellent to see you up there, Matt,’ Nightshade said, revelling in the sheer ‘drama’ of the situation, like an avid fan of a long running soap. (I’d seen a couple of episodes of so-called 21st century soap operas, and they weren’t really my thing, but I still understood the basic idea of them.) ‘It would be nice to have some young blood.’

He laughed, and I glanced away, meeting Amy’s eyes. It seemed she had cottoned on to what we were discussing—in about two weeks, we were going to have a vote, as we did every two years, about who should lead the Kingston Dreamers for the next two years. Anyone could stand for a leadership role, and people could stand as many times as they wanted. We were the best example of a democracy you would find now anywhere in the world.

‘I think Markus will win too,’ said Matt, continuing my point. ‘He’s really popular, and he’s done so much for us.’

‘He’s a good guy,’ Nightshade agreed, ‘but don’t let me influence your decision. All of you’d better make sure you vote with your own opinion. Now, is there any more news?’