Just a Dream
Tied. Tied to a chair . . .

It's dark . . . too dark. Like I'm underwater . . . or drugged . . . or something . . .

There's a lone figure coming towards me . . . slowly. A shock of red hair acts like a beacon as she advances. Her face is still blurry . . . her dark suit melting into the shadows.

The echo of he high heels on the floor is the only sound . . . the only sound.

Her face materializes slowly as if she were being pulled from the background of shadows through a strainer . . . Dana . . .

Her arm is rising slowly . . . Maybe she is reaching out to help me, comfort me.

The gun. The gun is all I can see now. The long black barrel sleek and shiny . . . it's her gun. Pointed directly at me. A well polished gun . . . aimed at my head. A tiny white flicker starts at the back of the gun . . . and explosion. Noise fills the air. The bullet . . . flying through the barrel and into the air . . .

Alex Krycek's eyes flew open, a cold sweat coating his face and bare chest - gleaming a soft blue in the strips of moonlight filtering through the blinds. He swiped a hand across his brow, removing the layer of moisture. It was just a dream . . . just a dream . . .

His eyes fluttered shut, returning his mind to the peaceful state of blackness . . . a solace from the world around him.