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revolution ... they killed my driver. I was alone and they were all
"Science fiction," she cooed and stroked his hair. "I think it's a good
sign. All you ever read, for relaxation, was science fiction. Your dream
was probably a story you once read and your mind put you in the hero's
He sat up and looked at her. "Did I cry out?"
"You were mumbling. I couldn't hear what you said. Then you began
sobbing and thrashing about."
Nick ran his fingers through his hair and over the back of his neck, the
reality of the dream almost too much for him. It wasn't an ordinary
nightmare where he would be running, with a huge monster panting in
pursuit. This was frightening. Like a memory. Like some damned fantastic
He stood up and patted her shoulder. "Go back to sleep, Beth," he told
her gently. "I'm going downstairs."
"Shall I turn on a light?"
"No. It might cause the neighbors to wonder." He walked to the door of
the bedroom. "The moon is bright enough."
He walked into the hall, feeling his way in the dark places, and down
the stairs into the living room. As he sat in the chair near the window,
he thought about the dream. It bothered him, because it was unlike a
dream; it had the weird consistency and logic of a memory, yet seemed
almost supernatural ... Hell, what kind of thing had huge, yellow eyes
and stood nine feet tall? What sort of a world had a violet sky and
grey-green rocks? The whole damned thing had the scent of a Walt Disney
movie, the colors vivid and sharp, the landscape seemingly done by a
Apparently it was some kind of planet and he hoped that Beth was right.
Would it be possible for a man to get so confused via a crack on the
head, that he believed he had lived through the literature he'd once
read? What would he dream about next? _Macbeth?_ _Treasure Island?_
Christ, what a world!
If he could get to a doctor, a headshrinker, it might all be ironed out.
They would get things squared away in a short while, but hell ...
suppose I'm Public Enemy Number One, or something. Thirteen months! In
thirteen months kings have been broken, dynasties crushed ... What had
happened to him in the thirteen months that he had been out of touch?
One thing he was sure of; he hadn't been laying around. In a stretch of
time like that, he had worked, eaten, slept, loved ... Maybe he had
married again! An almost comical thought, compared to the possibility
that he could be a killer, a bank robber; there were a million things
he could have done.
A psychologist? Nope. That was out of the question, until he knew more
about Nicholas Danson. And learning more about himself would be a real
problem. The cabin that Beth had spoken of would probably show him
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