Where was he? Why was he here? I should remember. He thought. But he couldn't, huddled in a corner in this dank, dark….What-ever-it-was he listened to the sounds around him, trying to bring up the memory of how he got here and, more importantly, how he could get out.

Drip, drip.

A leak played a steady background noise to the low howling of the wind that blew angrily through the small room.

Ooooooh.

But there was no breeze against his skin.

Oooooooooh.

That isn't the wind. He thought, tuning his senses to locate the source of the moaning. It's a person! He instantly rose to his knees and began crawling slowly towards his left, towards the injured being. He stopped when his hand hit something. Gently he traced his fingers along the rough material as it curved away from him and he felt the brush of soft hair beneath his hand. Keeping one hand on the person's shoulder he reached out and clasped the other, realising the being was on it's back and very carefully rolled it over to face him. A young girl, no older than ten or eleven stared back at him, her eyes glazed over in pain and a trickle of blood running down her face from a deep wound on her forehead. Looking down at his hands he saw more blood, wet and sticky and rolling her over slightly discovered what appeared to be stab wounds, several of them, on her front and back, all of them were deep, deliberate and looked as though they had been very recently done. Immediately his senses became alert to any other presence in the room. Finding none he looked back down to the girl. He drew himself down to her eye-level and willed her to acknowledge him. As he watched a look of pure terror crossed the girls face and she began to squirm as far and as fast away from him as she could. Confused, he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her. She looked at his hand with the same look of horror and fear and then snapped her gaze back to his face. As soon as their eyes locked memories came rushing back………………………….

He had been angry, so angry he felt his blood would boil. About what didn't matter anymore, he just needed someone on which to vent this anger. As he charged down the crowded streets he became aware someone was following him. Dodging down a side street he waited until his pursuer followed him into the narrow alley. Grabbing it by the collar and slamming it up against the wall he saw it was Kayla, an eleven year old he vaguely knew and remembered seeing just before he stormed out. "Why are you following me?" He hissed into her face, his rage radiating off him in waves.

"I w-was w-worried about y-you," Kayla stammered "I've n-never s-seen you so m-mad, I-I wanted t-to m-make sure you w-were ok." She squirmed in his iron grasp. "Well thanks for your concern Kayla but I'm a big boy now and I don't need little brats like you stalking me constantly." Kayla's eyes widened as he tightened his hold on her. "Al-r-right I'll l-leave y-you alone." She squeaked, squirming again. "Oh no you don't, you need to be taught a lesson about respecting other people's privacy. Oh no, you aren't going anywhere.

Then he remembered dragging her into the nearest sewer, into a small adjacent room and then taunting her with a knife pulled from his belt. He remembered the screams, pleas for him to stop and let her go. "But Sweetie, if I let you go then everyone will find out about this and I'd be sent to jail for the rest of my life, you wouldn't want that. Would you?" He had coldly replied and set to work jamming the knife into her skin. She screamed and begged and cried until her voice gave out and then she stared silently into space as he sat back and waited for her to die. As the memories of how he had tortured this girl and slowly let her drift towards death came flooding back to him another emotions emerged; Desperation. If she survived this he was going down, for a very long time. He was truly sorry for what he had done to her and though he still could not remember the reason he had been so mad in the first place he knew that it was definitely no reason to kill an innocent person. Which was what he was about to do. He knew she needed medical attention and he knew he should get it for her immediately but his desire to save himself was more important to him at that time. "I'm sorry." He said, leaning towards her and gently brushing back the hair from her face. "Truly I am." And he reached back and felt for the knife lying by her side. Her eyes screamed at him to stop and tears began to race down her face. He ignored her and calmly slit her throat, watching with satisfaction as she bled and choked. He was safe and she would die. Now she couldn't tell anyone. She couldn't talk from beyond the grave. He laughed out loud at his victory. His booming voice covering the sound of Kayla's choked sobs as she slowly bled to death, her tears mingling with blood and her eyes still wide with shock, despair and fear.

Obi-Wan Kenobi sat up in bed startled awake by the nightmare, his bedclothes were drenched in sweat and tears coursed down his face. He slowly lay back down, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his pounding heart. It was just a dream, He told himself.

Just a dream.