[Gasping for the breath I don't need, I tried to look up at the face of my killer. I stared in horror as I saw nothing, but charred fragments of skin hanging off of bones. There were no eyes, no sockets to place them in; no eyebrows to give the man any features. The thing just had a thin line for an opening—his mouth. No lips. If closed, one wouldn't even think it existed.
'WAKE UP!' I shouted at my own subconsciousness. If I didn't wake up in the next few seconds, I would probably lose my mind.
"Did you have fun hiding?" I could just stare at the faceless figure. It was a growl of anger he let out when I didn't answer. "I'm tired of following you around. This is it. No one can save you, anymore," he said. "Any last wishes?" he deadpanned. Of course, I wasn't given a chance to answer. "Time's up, kitten. Now, you die." I saw his hands jerk against the trigger. I heard the sound of the thing go off. I felt the cold, hard material against my skin for the fraction of a split second. I felt the gut-wrenching pain as the bullet locked itself in place. I could smell the faint smell of burning skin from the firearm being held to close to the juncture of my eyebrows. Yet, I wasn't dead. I realized in a jolt that it was merely a dream; a painful one, but a dream. I was living the dream of a horrible death.
I couldn't even remember my mission at that moment.
My mission? What mission?
I couldn't remember.
All I could think of was Sean, the black car, and impending death.
I felt the pain after the deafening sound of twelve more bullets leaving the gun.
I weled death.]
.
The address to the private shooting range was sitting in my inbox when I woke up. I'd woken up altogether too early. I wondered how little I'd slept.
I had been drenched and in dire need of a shower. As the cold water rushed over me, I tried to remember the dream. Most of it was lost. It was all shock and terror and no real memories. I knew a bit about dreams. They could be three things; a manifestation of our subconscious, a long forgotten memory or a prediction of the future. I had ruled out the second option before I'd even thought about it, but then there was the last one. I never really did have dreams that told me the consequences—the future. I'd believed that I lived in the moment: one day at a time.
The first option gave me fort. I knew I'd been thinking of the black car that tailed me and the fear that someone had messed with my car. But how had Sean e into the scene? Was it because I'd given him a lift a couple of times?
Maybe.
As the time passed in the shower, I was determined to hold on to the memory of the dream, but with each drop of water that ran down my skin, the memories, too, ran in different directions; ran off until I just remembered the fear I'd felt and the blurred image of a faceless man holding the gun at my head.
It didn't matter anymore, I decided by the end of the shower.
I just stopped thinking about it and got down to work. I needed to get someone to check my car out and reach the shooting range in a few hours.
.
Standing in front of my car—the same one that induced that wretched dream, made me nervous. I could almost hear the ticking of a bomb, but I ensured myself that no one would be stupid enough to plant a bomb that would be easy to find.
As the mechanic checked over my car, he furrowed his brow and poked around a little longer than I would've liked and in the end with a sigh came back up to face me.
"Your car is in perfect condition." His smile didn't falter as I asked him to take another look. "There's no need. I realize that you were a bit worried, but you have a beautiful car. I think it was just some kids who wanted to check it out."
It made sense, but I was adamant that it wasn't just that. I was suspicious by nature and this was definitely suspicious. Maybe I could get my hands on the CCTV footage of the alley. I think they had a camera in the area. It was then that I remembered a fragment of my dream (so much for forgetting about it).
"Do me a favor, check the brakes again." He nodded, understanding my worries.
Proving that my worries were unnecessary, the brakes seemed to work just fine when the mechanic checked it.
I paid the man and with a final prayer to whatever god was up there. I entered the car and drove towards my destination—the shooting range.
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