19861007

This story contains themes of spousal abuse and mental illness.

Darlene Turner, aka Darcy Barrows nee Grainger, stood in her kitchen, filling her electric tea kettle with filtered water. A chamomile and lavender blend teabag lay beside her bone china mug adorned with forget-me-nots. Its gold rim made it unsuitable for the microwave, but Darlene was willing to accommodate the inconvenience. China carried a special magic, and Darlene needed all the magic she could get.

She flipped the power switch on the kettle and retired to her overstuffed chair in the living room. The sky blue upholstery was starting to show wear and tear, but it was just as comfortable as it was the day she spotted it at the yard sale down the street. Thirty dollars, plus another ten for delivery. Worth every penny.

She clicked on her TV remote. The screen lit up in a swirling kaleidoscope of colour, with music to match. It was time for the Dreams Unlimited lottery draw.

The Dreamscapes Corporation was an international conglomerate with Fulfilment Centres in almost every big city in fourteen different countries, a partnership between federal governments and a resourceful billionaire. Dreamscapes administered a dozen different lotteries, supported by seductive advertising campaigns assuring hopeful gamblers that perfect bliss was only one ticket away. Ticket prices started at a dollar, all the way up to ten dollars for the ultimate opportunity – Dreams Unlimited. 

Dreams Unlimited tickets were available only at select outlets. They were custom printed by the Dream Machine with hypnotic sound effects. Buyers chose their own eight-digit number. They would receive a free play voucher for each digit that matched the master number chosen by the Dream Generator. Any contestant who matched all the numbers would collect the accumulated jackpot (minus 16% administrative charges). If more than one person had chosen the correct number, the jackpot would be split. But more often than not, no one would strike it rich, and the prize would balloon accordingly. No limits.

Dustin’s Ready Mart beside Darlene’s apartment building was equipped with a Dream Machine. The lady who was usually behind the counter, Mrs. Tourette, had a lovely smile. She had come to know Darlene and her monthly ritual of hope. When Darlene asked for a Dreams Unlimited ticket, she would ask, “The usual number?” Darlene would reply with “19861007”, just to be sure.

Darlene’s birth date was October 7, 1986. It seemed as good a number to play as any, one she could easily remember. Her theory was that consistency was the best policy. If she entered a different number and the lottery demons decided to choose her tried and true one, she would never forgive herself.

Her ticket was lying on the tiny glass-topped round table beside her chair, weighed down by an amethyst paperweight. Half a dozen obsolete tickets kept it company. She hated shredding anything she had paid ten dollars for, even if it was worthless.

Her number would come up some day. It had to. She just had to be patient.

Darlene clutched her ticket while the Dream Generator spit out the numbers at its agonizingly deliberate pace, allowing the tension to grow. Even though she knew her number as well as she knew her own name, she liked to have hard copy in hand to avoid errors.

1-9-8-6. So far, so good.

1. Check. 

0. Check.

Darlene’s chest tightened. She could hardly breathe.

0. Check. She braced herself for the inevitable let-down. The first seven matches were meaningless unless the final one was correct. Come on, lucky seven!

7! YES!!

The Dream Generator burst into loud music as it searched its data banks.

“We have a winner! One ticket, purchased at Dustin’s Ready Mart. Lucky Dustin will receive a thousand dollars. The ticket holder will be richer by…”

(Drum roll.)

“TWENTY-TWO MILLION, SIX HUNDRED AND NINETEEN THOUSAND, SEVEN HUNDRED AND FORTY DOLLARS!!!!”

(Dramatic pause.)

“Holder of ticket 19861007, if you’re watching, congratulations! You have twenty-one days to come to the nearest Dreams Unlimited Fulfilment Centre to claim your prize. If you’re not sure where that is, visit our website, DreamsUnlimited.com.”

Darlene didn’t hear a word the announcer said. She was too busy checking and re-checking.

She said the numbers out loud, one my one. 

“One – nine – eight – six – one – zero – zero – seven.”

There was no doubt about it.

She was a winner.

Twenty-two million dollars and change.

Enough to buy everything on her Amazon wish list.

She looked at her watch. She wanted to know the exact time the miracle happened.

At 9:17 PM, on Friday, June 14, 2024, her life was transformed.

Something had gone right for a change.

Some mysterious force had flicked a switch, as easily as she had switched on her tea kettle, and changed everything.

She wasn’t a loser anymore.

She had options.

She could buy a house or a condo with ample space to enjoy her new purchases. Somewhere beautiful – mountains, or a beach, or maybe even both.

She would never have to worry about logging in to work again, or sweat over her less-than-inspiring customer satisfaction ratings.

She could stop dreaming and start doing.

She switched to the Nature channel, sat back, and waited for her heartbeat to slow down.

Her head was swimming with visions of the life waiting for her.

She would be rich. Nobody would dare to ignore her or patronize her. Nobody would dare to call her a liar to her face. She would be Somebody to be Reckoned With.

There was only one problem.  She couldn’t walk into Dustin’s and ask Mrs. Tourette for a cheque for twenty-two million dollars. She would have to visit the Fulfilment Centre.

There would be photos, interviews and flurries of unwanted attention, footage that would appear in the next series of Dreams Unlimited commercials. For a few days, she would be the person everyone wanted to be. She would be visible, exposed, vulnerable.

Daniel would find her.

She had managed to hide from him for over two years. Covid had been an unexpected ally, allowing her to wear masks in public, work out of her apartment, and have almost everything delivered. She had cropped her glorious Celtic copper hair (her crowning glory, the only part of herself she really liked) and dyed it an uninspiring dirty walnut colour. She had bought enormous horn-rimmed glasses which distracted form the contours of her face, and gone through the ordeal of a legal name change. No one from her previous life would recognize her.

But Daniel had X-ray vision. Once he realized who she was, he would also know the name she had adopted, and it would be easy for him to track her down.

He’ll find me. He always does.

He’ll tell me that my place is at home, by his side, and I’ll buy into it because he’s unleashed all his persuasive powers and I think no is a four-letter word. Even if he has no interest in me anymore, that twenty-two million dollars will be irresistible. He’d be able to pay his debts, expand his business, and look like a devoted husband in the process.

That’s his narrative, the one everyone is buying into.. He’s a devoted husband protecting me from myself. No matter what I say or do, no one will believe me. 

I can’t go back. I’d rather die.

There has to be a way I can pick up that money without being on TV. I have 21 days to figure it out. Best thing to do is go to bed and sleep on it. Things will be clearer in the morning.

Maybe I’m jumping the gun here. It could be that none of this is really happening. What if I fell asleep in front of the TV, and this is only a dream? That time that I dreamed I was married to Robin Williams, it took almost a full day to shake off the memories. 

I’ve dreamed of winning before. But never this vividly. Maybe I’m slipping into psychosis, and I should be calling 911 instead of worrying about non-existent millions.

She pinched herself. It hurt. Did that prove anything? She tried to remember everything she knew about dreams and delusions and wish fulfilment. Her thoughts raced in a circle, faster and faster, spiraling into a black hole, sucking her into darkness.

She jumped to her feet and started ransacking the apartment, rifling frantically through boxes and bags and drawers in hope of finding even one unused anti-anxiety pill. It would make the black hole go away, make all the difference in the world. She hadn’t been to the doctor for six months because he was asking too many pointed questions. She knew that every pill was long gone, but she had to do something to give her the illusion that something could be done.

Maybe Daniel will leave me alone. He might have divorced me in absentia and re-married. Is it possible to get divorced in absentia? What do they do in cases of abandonment when the spouse can’t be found?

Maybe he won’t even recognize me. He’s not a magician, just a very evil and determined person.

Even if he figures out who I am, he can’t force me to go back. They discharged me, said I was cured. I am free to do whatever I want.

Things will be different this time. I can hire a security guard. Or two, or however many it takes to feel safe. If Daniel wants to go to court again, I will have a nine-hundred-dollar-an-hour lawyer and my very own psychiatrist to convince the judge that I am telling the truth. My burns and bruises were never self-inflicted. Then everybody would know what kind of person Daniel Barrows really is.

It would be hell, but so worth it.

I want him to know what it feels like to be me.

She found no pills anywhere. Camomile tea would have to do.

The water in the kettle had cooled to lukewarm. She flicked the switch again and went back to her chair to wait.

She scooped up the Dreams Unlimited tickets on the table. Nine of them, all identical except for the date. They were high-tech, shiny paper with lots of security features. They were so beautiful, each one a potential dream come true. She hated the thought shredding them.

Without warning, her resolve collapsed like a burst balloon.

What was I thinking? I have an anxiety disorder. There’s no way I can handle all the fuss and fury at the Fulfilment Centre without heavy-duty meds, and the doctor will never give me what I need unless he thinks I’m really crazy.

I’ve proved, again and again, that I can’t face Daniel. Once our eyes lock, it will be game over.

I never could stand up for myself. I thought Daniel would protect me from the abusers, but it turned out that he was one of them.

What makes me think I could manage twenty million dollars? The responsibility would drive me crazy. There are all kinds of stories of lottery winners who end up worse than they started.

I have to face reality. No amount of money can make me a winner.

This is the best life I can manage. Here and now. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than an institution. I can’t risk losing it.

She scooped up the tickets and marched to her desk. Her shredder snarled and devoured her dreams.

There. I’m free.

The water in the kettle was boiling. The automatic shut-off clicked. She filled the mug with water, waited for it to warm up, and emptied it into the sink. Then she re-filled the mug and added the teabag. She set the timer on the stove for four minutes and waited, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Everything is back to normal. When I wake up tomorrow, the whole experience will seem like a dream.

Tomorrow will be a day like any other, just as I planned.

When the tea had steeped, she added a touch of honey and took it to her chair.

Nothing to worry about. I’ll have my tea, read a bit, go to bed, sleep off this craziness.

I really need to stop wasting money on that lottery. I never win anything.

She finished her tea slowly, mindfully, trying to convince herself that she had done the right thing. Not just the right thing, the only possible thing. Part of her was still protesting, questioning her wisdom.

When she stood up to take her cup back to the kitchen, she noticed that one of the tickets had fallen onto the floor. She picked it up and stared at the date.

June 14, 2024.

It wasn’t over.

By some insanely improbable coincidence, some cosmic force was inviting her to change gears and take charge of her life..

She was not alone after all. She didn’t understand why, but believing that made all the difference in the world.

After a long minute of reflection, she fetched her purse from the closet, opened it and carefully put the winning ticket in her wallet.

She would not be logging in for work tomorrow. She would dress in her favourite suit, put on some make-up, and take a taxi to the Dream Fulfilment Centre to be initiated into her new life. She would do her best to relish being an instant celebrity. She would echo the enthusiastic responses of previous recipients, breathe in the scent of the bouquet of roses every winner received, then relax and enjoy the limo ride to the bank. 

When she was safely home, she would shut off her phone and rest. Then she would go to a posh hair salon and get her hair dyed back to its natural colour.

Darcy was dead. It was Darlene’s turn to shine.