Dreamland

I regained consciousness in the ambulance and declined to be admitted to the hospital. I was now wrapped in a borrowed blanket, using a borrowed mobile phone to call for assistance.

Flo was reluctant to cast any spells. She mentioned that as long as her magic was tainted by that cursed fog, it would backfire badly. Although she was still feeling partially incapacitated, at least she had recovered enough to give me the lead. Cala's resilient body and swift recovery had empowered me to stand and prevent the paramedic from taking me inside the hospital.

Not wanting to traverse the streets in those tattered clothes half-naked, there was only one solution left: seek help.

So, whom did I call at midnight for help? Matt. Not Lola, not Clara, not Constance, even though I contemplated reaching out to her. Not Helen or Gonzo. Yes, I did attempt to call Joe, but I ended up leaving a message on his voicemail.

“Matt? It's me, Dolores.”

“Dolores? You are not at the concert?”

“Hew, is Matt there? Can you give him the mobile, please?”

I heard him yelling:

“Matt! Dolores on the phone!”

Then I was glad to hear Matt's voice:

“Hello? Dolores?”

“Matt? I am at the Saint Anna Hospital. Can you please come here fast? I'm in the park just near the entry on the left side?”

He hesitated a short moment.

“Ahm, Yes? Did something happen?”

He sounded worried.

“Please bring me one of your training suits!”

“One of my training suits?”

“Yes, I need a pair of trousers and a jacket... Ahm, a blouse would be fine too." - I hesitated, then added - "Maybe a pair of panties. How fast can you be here?”

“Thirty minutes! Panties? I could take some of my mother's panties... but... ”

I heard Hew behind him wondering.

"Panties?"

I sighed and then answered.

“No, no, your mother's panties must be way too small for me. One of your underpants should be fine; please hurry up!”

I don't believe I'm asking Matt for panties, but damn, what else should I do? I cannot think of wearing trousers without panties.

I gave the mobile back to the paramedic. He gave me another worried smile.

"Are you sure you don't want to come inside for a check? A radiograph to ensure you have no broken bones or internal injuries? The insurance covers it! Only a small 5 percent part is not covered, and there are special programs you can enroll in to cover that."

“I only got some bruises; nothing is broken. You saw that I can move well.”

He watched me incredulously.

“There could be lesions, internal ones. That would be very dangerous.”

I shook my head.

He sighed and shrugged.

“If you change your mind, just come in, OK?”

I nodded.

I did ask him about Joe, but they had no patient with that name and none who would match his description.

I breathed a sigh of relief when he left. I don't want them to start making all those analyses for me. That could lead to a lot of problems; I have no clue what they could find. Lucky me, Flo recovered in time.

Waiting for Matt, I learned from White Flower that Mephisto's dark fog reacts strongly with white magic. It had been specially designed as a weapon against white mages and unruly masses during the human revolts in his domain.

The uprisings in the human villages had been organized and led by priests. With the help of the fog, a small mercenary group could quickly pacify a vast area.

I did not know this. As an assassin, I did not have that much of a problem with the fog. It was no exaggeration when she said run. Even my hard skin and body were affected by its combination with White Flower's white magic. At least the paramedics did not have much difficulty putting a transfusion into my veins, so it had its plus points.

Soon, Matt came. He was riding his bicycle with a bag balancing over his rear wheel. As soon as he saw me, he waved and came closer, his eyes looking worried at me.

After a short greeting, he handed me the bag, and I went barefoot to the toilet to dress. I fucking forgot to ask him to bring me shoes.

I handed the blanket back and came back to him. It was late in the night. I hung on his arm. I was still feeling a little groggy; Flo said it was the fog in my veins.

“Can you bring me home?” - I asked.

"Did they allow you to go home?" - he wondered - "Are you OK?"

I raised my browses.

"Home?"

“Sure,” - he said, nodding, then asked - “Should I leave the bike here?”

That's why I called Matt. I knew he would not panic, would not ask stupid questions and do fast what I asked him to do.

I shrugged.

“That's not a bike, but a bicycle." - he shrugged at my correction. I continued -"We walk; I have no money for the taxi.”

He looked at my bare feet.

"I lost my shoes." - I answered.

"You did not say anything about shoes." - he retorted, ashamed, probably asking himself if he should offer me his shoes. I shrugged.

"I forgot."

There were no late buses in this part of the town, so we walked silently towards my house while he was pushing his bicycle.

“Does your ma know you are out?” - I asked with a tired grin.

He shook his head:

“No, she thinks I am still there in the other room with the boys. They sleep at my home today.”

I laughed and stepped on a sharp stone. I cursed, jumping on the other foot.

He looked at me:

“I could take you on my bike.”

I laughed then I saw that he meant it seriously. Oh well, why not?

Soon I was sitting on his bicycle's bar, and he embraced me with his hands to get to the handlebar. I held myself with my right hand on the handlebar and my left hand around his back. I rested my head on his shoulder, balancing my bare feet in the air.

There must be a power up there taking care of the distressed, drunkards and all those people that return late at night to their homes. Nothing bad happened, and we arrived about half an hour later in the park beneath my window.

“Should I help you climb?” - he asked when he saw me hesitating.

“Yes, please.”

He was surprised to hear that but even more surprised when I asked him to climb too. I whispered in his ear.

“I just need you to stay with me. Will you do that? Please?”

Soon he was in my room. Lucky me, Lola was not there. I think last time I was too heavy on her. I asked him to make himself comfortable, and then I went to take a long shower. Finally, I was starting to feel almost OK. I could probably even try to heal myself, but Cala's regeneration had already done most of the work.

When I came back, he was reading a book. I turned the light off, dressed in my pyjama and pushed myself near him.

“Can you please just hold me tight?”

“What happened?” - he finally asked.

I was afraid I would relive the nightmare if I told him. The agony of seeing how I am trampled and not able to move. I only asked him:

“Just hold me tight, please.”

He did that and did not ask further questions.

Surprisingly, I slept well. In the morning, Lola came running into my room with a newspaper in her hand.

“Dolores! Dolores! Have you seen, there's been a stampede at the concert! Have you been there?..”

I raised my head to look at her, with Matt still sleeping, embracing me.

“Oh!” - she giggled, seeing I was not alone and left, dropping the newspaper as she hurried out of the room.

Five minutes later, Matt left in a hurry as the boys called him, telling him that he needed to appear at breakfast soon or they must say something.

I went to the toilet and then came lazily back to my room with the intention of going back to sleep. I collected the newspaper to have a look.

What a difference a day makes!

After our success at Stavros, I dared hope that we would make a name for ourselves. I hoped that now at least some local media would put a picture of Fata Morgana on their site, that an online or paper newspaper would publish an article about us and put there a photo with me. I am photogenic, so it would come out good.

That was yesterday.

I was thinking of sending an email to ma and telling her proudly: ma, look, this is me, ma! Can you believe it?

And indeed, I got my wish fulfilled. My picture covered half of the first page of a major newspaper! The image was a work of art; the photographer was undoubtedly a person who could grasp the moment and transfer it into that picture. Or maybe he had been lucky with that photo?

My picture in the red dress remained ingrained in many people's minds as the symbol for the Blue Cauldron stampede.

I must say the photo looked... special. I was not looking sensual – how I thought the red dress was making me look - but fragile, vulnerable and... OK, I can say beautiful and even sexy. No, not sexy, even if it revealed much. The red dress, or rather what remained of it, covered some non-essential parts of my body. The rest was naked but covered in so many bruises, traces and dirt that they looked like a tattoo. OK, that was probably blood that came from my broken nose, not dirt.

I was barefooted, my right foot tense, in symmetry with my right hand that was pointing towards the entry with a small puddle of blood and other liquids around me.

Very few people know that it was me who 'posed' for that picture where I was transformed into a doormat, inclusive of what remained of my beautiful red dress.

My face was not recognisable. Too much blood, dirt and hair were covering it. Probably how I was stretched there, I was the most photogenic of all trampled girls and guys; that's why my picture was top of the article.

103 wounded and 13 dead. Some people said those numbers were not just happenstance but a symbolic sacrifice. I call BS. It just happened.

I could not sleep anymore after looking at that picture and the memory of the night came back to my mind.