The Ñame In A Dream

THE AWAKENING WITHIN:

BOOK ONE — EMILY'S ECHO

Chapter 4: The Name in the Dream

Sarah had always liked the rain.

There was something comforting about it on ordinary days. The steady rhythm against windowpanes, the way it softened the sharp edges of Manchester’s red-brick terraces and turned the grey pavements into mirrors that reflected the city’s quiet moods.

The way it made the world feel smaller and more contained, as if the streets had pulled a damp blanket over their shoulders and decided, for a few hours at least, to rest. She would often sit by her bedroom window with a book open in her lap, letting the sound wash over her while the words carried her somewhere far away from the ordinary routines of St John’s Secondary and the crowded corridors where she preferred to observe rather than join in.

Tonight the rain did none of those things.

It struck her bedroom window in uneven bursts, restless and insistent, like fingers tapping out a code she could not quite decipher. The droplets raced each other down the glass in jagged paths, distorting the orange glow of the streetlamps outside. Sarah sat at her small wooden desk, the one her father had brought back from a trip to Lagos years ago. Its surface was worn smooth from years of homework, secret late night reading sessions, and the occasional doodle when her mind wandered. An open notebook lay in front of her, the pages illuminated by the soft glow of her bedside lamp. The rest of the room remained in shadow, curtains half drawn against the night as if trying to keep the outside world at bay.

The page contained only four things, written in her careful, slightly slanted handwriting.

White room.

Metal table.

E-17.

Live.

She had written them down the moment she got home from school, her hand still shaky from the lingering effects of the collapse and the strange visions that had followed her like shadows through the rest of the day. The headache had dulled throughout the afternoon and evening into a persistent, low throb behind her eyes, but the memory refused to fade. Most dreams dissolved by morning, fragile as soap bubbles caught in a breeze. Most strange thoughts lost their power once ordinary life pressed back in — the comforting smell of jollof rice or fried plantain drifting up from the kitchen, Jack’s loud laughter echoing down the hallway, the familiar creak of the stairs under her mother’s feet as she moved between rooms.

This had not dissolved. If anything, it felt sharper now. More real. As if something deep inside her chest had cracked open and refused to close again, leaving her raw and exposed in ways she could not name.

Sarah pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and rubbed her temples with the heels of her hands. The house around her felt both too close and too distant all at once. Downstairs, she could hear the faint sounds of her mother clearing away the dinner things, the clink of plates and cutlery carrying up through the floorboards. The television murmured with the evening news, a familiar blend of a Nigerian accent discussing local community stories mixing with the crisp tones of the BBC presenter covering national events.

Their home had always been like that a warm, vibrant blend of two worlds that somehow made sense together. Nollywood films playing on weekends, Sunday roasts when her mother felt particularly British, the scent of spices lingering long after meals had been shared around the table. It had always been enough to anchor her. Until today.

She picked up the mug Jack had brought her earlier. The hot chocolate had cooled to lukewarm, but she took a small sip anyway, letting the sweetness settle on her tongue. It grounded her for a moment, a small act of normalcy in a day that had felt anything but.

The knock at her bedroom door had come softly at first. Before she could answer, Jack had pushed it open, his tall, lanky frame filling the doorway. At sixteen he already moved like someone who knew exactly how much space he occupied in the world confident without being overbearing, with that easy grin that could disarm almost anyone in their family or at school.

"Hot chocolate", he had said simply, holding the mug out like a peace offering or perhaps a shield against whatever was troubling her.

Sarah had looked up, genuinely surprised. "You made me hot chocolate?"

"I know. Shocking." He placed it carefully on the desk, avoiding the notebook as if sensing its contents were private. "I figured collapsing at school earned you at least one free drink. Mama was already asking questions downstairs. I told her you were just tired from studying too hard. She bought it, but barely."

Despite herself, Sarah had smiled, a small genuine curve of her lips. Jack dropped onto the edge of her bed, the springs creaking under his weight. For a long moment neither of them spoke. The rain filled the silence between them, drumming steadily against the glass in a rhythm that felt almost conversational.

Then he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his expression turning more serious. "You wanna tell me what’s actually going on, Snickers?"

Sarah looked away toward the window, tracing the path of a single raindrop with her eyes as it zigzagged down the pane. "I’m fine."

"Snickers." The nickname carried a gentle warning this time. Not angry. Not demanding. Just honest, the way only Jack could be with her. He had called her that since she was little, back when she used to sneak his Snickers bars from the cupboard and hide them under her pillow like treasure. The name had stuck through the years, a tether between them that reminded her he was always in her corner.

She sighed, her finger tracing the edge of the notebook absently. "I don’t know."

And that was the truth of it. How was she supposed to explain something she barely understood herself? A sudden, violent headache in the school corridor that had warped the world around her. A fleeting vision of a cold, white room that felt more like a memory than a dream. Restraints. A desperate presence that had reached into her very being. None of it sounded real when she tried to form the words aloud. It would sound like she was losing her grip on reality, or worse like she was inventing drama in a life that had always been quietly ordinary. Sarah Smith, the observant girl who noticed details others missed, suddenly collapsing and babbling about impossible things. No one would believe her. Not even Jack, perhaps, though he would try.

Jack studied her quietly, his dark eyes patient and perceptive. He had always been good at that, waiting her out without pushing too hard, giving her the space she needed while making it clear he was there. After what felt like an eternity, he nodded once. "Alright."

That was it. No lecture about seeing the school nurse again or dragging their parents into it. No demands for more details or explanations she could not give. Just trust. The kind only an older brother could offer, forged through years of shared secrets, quiet solidarity, and the knowledge that in their busy household with parents working long hours to keep everything afloat ,they often had to look out for each other.

Before leaving, he paused at the door, one hand resting lightly on the frame. *If something’s bothering you..." He hesitated, glancing back at her with that protective glint in his eye. "...you don’t have to carry it alone. I mean it, Sarah. Whatever it is. Day or night. I’ve got you."

Then he left, closing the door gently behind him. The room felt emptier without his presence, the silence heavier.

Sarah sat alone with the rain and the notebook. The four words stared back at her, stubborn and unyielding, refusing to let her mind settle. She flipped to a fresh page, intending to write something else anything else but her pen only hovered uselessly above the paper. Memories of the school day intruded instead: Lily’s worried face in the nurse’s office, the way Jessica Robbins had watched her with that strange, unreadable intensity, the concerned murmurs from classmates as she tried to pretend everything was normal during lessons. The details she usually loved noticing now felt overwhelming, each one layered with questions she could not answer.

Eventually exhaustion crept in, heavy and insistent, pulling at the edges of her vision. Her eyes burned from the strain. The throb in her head had settled into a dull rhythm that matched the rain outside. She closed the notebook with a soft thud, clicked off the lamp, and crawled into bed, pulling the duvet up to her chin. Sleep claimed her faster than she expected, dragging her down into darkness.

The dream came immediately. No drifting. No gentle transition through layers of unconsciousness.

One moment there was darkness, warm and familiar. The next white. Brilliant, searing white. Cold white that pressed against her skin like winter air seeping through cracks. The room.

Sarah stood frozen in the centre of it, her bare feet on a floor that felt unnaturally smooth and chilled. It was exactly as she remembered from the corridor collapse, yet more vivid now, every detail sharpened to a painful clarity. The walls were seamless and institutional, lined with faint scuff marks and darker stains near the base that she did not want to examine too closely. Harsh lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting no shadows, leaving nowhere to hide. In the middle of the room stood the metal table, bolted heavily into the floor, its surface gleaming coldly under the unrelenting glare. Restraints dangled from its sides, open and waiting like patient predators.

Only this time the room was not empty.

A girl sat on the floor beside the table, knees drawn up tightly to her chest. Dark hair fell messily across her face, matted in places. Her pale skin was marked with bruises along one arm and collarbone shades of purple and yellow fading into each other, evidence of repeated rough handling. She looked exhausted, hollowed out by some unseen ordeal, but undeniably alive. Her breathing came in shallow, controlled pulls, as if even that small movement cost her dearly.

Slowly, the girl raised her head. And looked directly at Sarah. Not through her. Not past her. At her. As if she had been waiting for this exact moment, for someone , anyone to finally see her.

Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. "You."

The girl smiled faintly. A sad smile. A relieved smile. As if she had been waiting a very long time for someone to arrive.

"Can you hear me?" The voice was not spoken aloud. It appeared directly inside Sarah’s mind, warm yet edged with raw desperation, like a hand reaching through thick fog.

Sarah took an uncertain step forward, the cold floor biting into her soles. "Who are you?"

For a moment the room flickered. The lights dimmed and surged erratically. Somewhere far away, beyond the thick walls, alarms began to sound a low, rising wail that vibrated through the floor and into Sarah’s bones, setting her teeth on edge. The girl’s expression changed instantly. Fear. Urgency. She pushed herself up with visible effort, one hand braced against the metal table for support.

"You don’t have much time."

"What is this place?" Sarah’s voice echoed strangely in the chamber, layering over itself in unsettling ways.

"I can’t explain yet." The girl’s image wavered, like a signal struggling to hold through heavy interference. "They’re coming. The watchers."

"What do you mean yet?"

The alarms grew louder, piercing and relentless. The room trembled. Small cracks appeared in the walls, spiderwebbing outward from hidden points of stress. The girl looked over her shoulder as if something massive and terrible approached from the other side of the reinforced door. Then she looked back. Straight into Sarah’s eyes. And for the first time, Sarah saw the full depth of the terror there ,not just fear of pain or death, but of something far worse: endless, clinical erasure. Of being reduced to nothing more than a subject. A number. Forgotten.

"Find me."

The room shook violently. The dream began collapsing in on itself with terrifying speed. White walls fractured like breaking ice under pressure. Light exploded outward in blinding shards that stung Sarah’s eyes. The metal table screeched as it tilted dangerously. Sarah reached toward the girl, desperation surging through her like a current.

"Wait!"

The girl opened her mouth. One final word formed, pushing through the chaos with impossible clarity before everything came apart.

The dream shattered.

Sarah sat upright in bed, gasping for air. Her heart hammered against her ribs so violently she could feel it in her throat and temples. Sweat dampened her nightshirt, making the fabric cling uncomfortably to her skin. The room was dark, but the familiar shapes slowly reasserted themselves: her posters on the walls, the bookshelf crammed with dog eared novels, the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains. The rain was still falling outside, softer now, almost apologetic in its persistence.

Everything was normal.

Except for the name echoing through her mind like a bell tolling in an empty cathedral. A name she had never heard before. A name she somehow knew was real, as certain as her own heartbeat.

"Emily."

Emily.

That was the only word Sarah wrote beneath the others when she finally dragged herself back to the desk, switching on the lamp with trembling fingers. The notebook lay open again under the light.

White room.

Metal table.

E-17.

Live.

Emily.

She stared at the page for a long moment, the ink still fresh. Outside, rain slid down the glass in steady streams. Across the street, half-hidden beneath a streetlamp, a faded infinity symbol had been painted onto a brick wall. Sarah noticed it, her gaze lingering on the simple curved lines. For some reason, she could not stop looking at it. It felt out of place, yet somehow connected to the weight in her chest.

Then, somewhere deep inside her mind, she felt the faintest echo of someone else’s fear. Not her own. Not imagined. Real.

And she realised something that made her blood run cold.

The girl in the dream was real.

And she was still alive.

Sarah closed the notebook slowly, her fingers lingering on the cover. The house was quiet now, save for the rain and Jack’s faint snoring drifting from down the hall. She climbed back into bed but sleep stayed distant, hovering just out of reach. Questions swirled in her mind, too many to count, but one name anchored them all.

Emily.

She did not know who Emily was or why their paths had crossed in this impossible way. She did not understand the white room or the fear that had reached across whatever divide separated them. But she knew, with a quiet certainty that settled deep in her bones, that something had begun. Someone needed help. And for reasons she could not yet fathom, that someone had reached out to her.

Sarah lay in the dark, listening to the rain, her glasses folded neatly on the nightstand. The pull inside her faint but growing ,refused to let go. Tomorrow would bring school again, and Lily’s worried questions, and the ordinary routines that now felt like a fragile mask over something much larger. But tonight, in the quiet between heartbeats, she held onto the name.

Emily.

And somewhere out in the rain soaked city, unseen forces stirred.

To be continued.

--

Roviel

Testimony Aigbe

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