Riding the Unicorn

An Extract

Franks' face was six inches from his own, the eyes boring into his. They were brown eyes, flecked with grey. 'Mr Willoby. John!'

He drew in a deep breath. The shrink's hands were fastened on his shoulders. The foppishness had gone from him and he was alert, professional, clinical.

'Oh, shit, Willoby thought. Right on cue. I've done it agin.

'Back with us? Franks asked. The grip on Willoby's shoulders eased.

'Yes- yes I am.'

'Where were you John? Where did you go?'

If it was an odd question, it did not seem so at the time.

'I was away, in that other place. With- with other people. Someone else.'

Franks nodded. 'This has happened before.'

It was a statement, not a question. It was Willoby's turn to nod.

'You said something as you came out of it. Can you remember?'

'Merrin. That's her name. She's lovely, like a princess.

She's in trouble, some deep part of him said.

Franks sat back on the desk. 'What did she say to you?'

'She... nothing. She just looked at me. She hasn't said anything.'

'Who is she?'

'I don't know I tell you!'

'Do you know where she is from, where you are when you are with her?' The questions came like missiles.

'That other place- another world, damn it. It's all mountains and hills there, open country, and they're trying, trying to colonise it I think. They came over the mountains and they're settling down, now…'

'Who are? Who are they?'

'The people! Men and women, old and young. I don't know. They have horses, and tents. They're building something. A city, perhaps. But they're trouble, fighting. Monsters.'

'Monsters...' Franks held his neatly shaven chin in one long-fingered hand. Willoby longed to strike him.

'Do you go there often, John?'

'Where? There? How the hell should I know? It's some crazy thing in my head, some kind of dream that hits me even when I'm awake. I'm a loony. Go on, tell me. Get the guys in the white coats and lock me up. That'll please everyone.'

Rage and self-pity were choking him, but they were not the worst things. It was the lingering grief, the feeling that he had lost her: worse, that he had thrown her away. Why had he done that? What was it for?

She didn't fucking exist!