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hearrrtofgoldIn dreams
[I Dream of Jeannie]
[Possible item: cell phone]
You sit on a step to the lighthouse, elbows braced on your knees -- not for comfort, but because you doubt you could keep yourself upright otherwise. You look down at your hands, the thin wrinkled liver-spotted skin over your tendons. Your spine aches, your hearing and eyesight are dimming, and even your consciousness is beginning to fade.
"Come on man, stay with me," the man behind you says, and you blink to focus.
"Do you really hate me?" As you ask your voice is breathy and cracked, like wind through split reeds.
"Hate's a strong word," he answers, but you barely hear him as you groan and resituate. Your body is breaking and fading, weakening, decaying, a thousand tiny pains running through you as it begins to shut down.
"I'm dying," you croak, staring straight ahead. "I can feel it. Generally I liked being alone." Your tone's bitter. "But I didn't want to die that way."
"You're not gonna die today," he replies. "When you die it's gonna be 'cause I killed you myself."
You don't believe him but you smile, just for a second. It's all you can manage.
A woman's scream of pain rings out from the lighthouse, and everything goes gray.
The dream switches; you hear a baby crying, and then it's replaced by a woman's voice. She's looking at you, eyes solemn.
"A daughter. Her name is Jean." She places a cell phone in your hand, a picture displayed on the screen.
"But you can never see her," the woman says. You're still staring at the picture, but you can hear the regret in her voice. "'Cause she's what made you so sick."
Something in you breaks, and it's not your body.
[Kill the Killer (Season 3 spoilers)]
[Possible item: unloaded handgun]
"You're a bad liar."
You whirl around to face the man, the gun he gave you cocked and at the ready, eyes on his. "You're the Bolt Gun Killer. Nathan figured it out. That's why you killed him."
"'Bolt Gun Killer,'" the man repeats thoughtfully, then grimaces. "I don't like that. It's too on the nose."
"Why are you killing women?"
"It is my turn," he says calmly. "You and Audrey. Did you find the Cogans?"
"Dad was dead," you say. "Mom's got Alzheimer's, doesn't know anything about the Colorado Kid." For a second you see panic flash through his eyes, and it strengthens your anger. Your voice is icy as you ask "Why're you so interested in a drifter that died almost thirty years ago?"
"Shut your mouth!" he snaps, and your aim stays steady as he begins to advance on you. "Put the damn gun down. It's not loaded."
You look at him and shrug. "I know."
Spinning the gun in your hand, you aim a blow to his head but he catches your arm, twisting it until you think your elbow might wrench from its socket. The pain makes you drop the empty handgun, and you reach for the loaded gun in his holster.
He twists harder, shoves, throws you to the floor. You land hard on your back but come up with your fists raised. Your first punch connects and he rolls with it. For a second you two stare each other down, fists raised like prizefighters, and he jabs for your eye. You duck the second blow and slam your elbow into his face, following it with your fist. He staggers back and you glance down.
The blood on your knuckles seeps into your skin, absorbed like water in a sponge. Power rushes through you like water from a burst dam, and you stare. "You're Troubled?"
He tries to run but you grab him, throw him across the room. He crashes onto the floor, tumbling against the wall. You advance, and he scrambles to his feet.
You have the strength, but he has the loaded gun pointed right at you.
[Video]
[Yes, Duke looks as tired as anyone. He's leaning on the bar in the pub, a large mug of coffee in hand and the pot percolating behind him. He's trying to keep up his spirits, despite the haunting dreams that afford no rest.]
This is getting ridiculous. For those of us who choose insomnia, I'll be here making coffee for the rest of my life.
[I Dream of Jeannie]
[Possible item: cell phone]
You sit on a step to the lighthouse, elbows braced on your knees -- not for comfort, but because you doubt you could keep yourself upright otherwise. You look down at your hands, the thin wrinkled liver-spotted skin over your tendons. Your spine aches, your hearing and eyesight are dimming, and even your consciousness is beginning to fade.
"Come on man, stay with me," the man behind you says, and you blink to focus.
"Do you really hate me?" As you ask your voice is breathy and cracked, like wind through split reeds.
"Hate's a strong word," he answers, but you barely hear him as you groan and resituate. Your body is breaking and fading, weakening, decaying, a thousand tiny pains running through you as it begins to shut down.
"I'm dying," you croak, staring straight ahead. "I can feel it. Generally I liked being alone." Your tone's bitter. "But I didn't want to die that way."
"You're not gonna die today," he replies. "When you die it's gonna be 'cause I killed you myself."
You don't believe him but you smile, just for a second. It's all you can manage.
A woman's scream of pain rings out from the lighthouse, and everything goes gray.
The dream switches; you hear a baby crying, and then it's replaced by a woman's voice. She's looking at you, eyes solemn.
"A daughter. Her name is Jean." She places a cell phone in your hand, a picture displayed on the screen.
"But you can never see her," the woman says. You're still staring at the picture, but you can hear the regret in her voice. "'Cause she's what made you so sick."
Something in you breaks, and it's not your body.
[Kill the Killer (Season 3 spoilers)]
[Possible item: unloaded handgun]
"You're a bad liar."
You whirl around to face the man, the gun he gave you cocked and at the ready, eyes on his. "You're the Bolt Gun Killer. Nathan figured it out. That's why you killed him."
"'Bolt Gun Killer,'" the man repeats thoughtfully, then grimaces. "I don't like that. It's too on the nose."
"Why are you killing women?"
"It is my turn," he says calmly. "You and Audrey. Did you find the Cogans?"
"Dad was dead," you say. "Mom's got Alzheimer's, doesn't know anything about the Colorado Kid." For a second you see panic flash through his eyes, and it strengthens your anger. Your voice is icy as you ask "Why're you so interested in a drifter that died almost thirty years ago?"
"Shut your mouth!" he snaps, and your aim stays steady as he begins to advance on you. "Put the damn gun down. It's not loaded."
You look at him and shrug. "I know."
Spinning the gun in your hand, you aim a blow to his head but he catches your arm, twisting it until you think your elbow might wrench from its socket. The pain makes you drop the empty handgun, and you reach for the loaded gun in his holster.
He twists harder, shoves, throws you to the floor. You land hard on your back but come up with your fists raised. Your first punch connects and he rolls with it. For a second you two stare each other down, fists raised like prizefighters, and he jabs for your eye. You duck the second blow and slam your elbow into his face, following it with your fist. He staggers back and you glance down.
The blood on your knuckles seeps into your skin, absorbed like water in a sponge. Power rushes through you like water from a burst dam, and you stare. "You're Troubled?"
He tries to run but you grab him, throw him across the room. He crashes onto the floor, tumbling against the wall. You advance, and he scrambles to his feet.
You have the strength, but he has the loaded gun pointed right at you.
[Video]
[Yes, Duke looks as tired as anyone. He's leaning on the bar in the pub, a large mug of coffee in hand and the pot percolating behind him. He's trying to keep up his spirits, despite the haunting dreams that afford no rest.]
This is getting ridiculous. For those of us who choose insomnia, I'll be here making coffee for the rest of my life.