G THE GIFT

She 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.