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He thrashed around, hitting something soft. Ropes! Ropes all around him! He had to escape! Now! "No, no! Not Julia! Take me.leave her!" Suddenly a hand clamped onto his shoulder. "Spike! You've been having a dream! Shh, it's okay. Spike, it's okay." He clung blindly, like a small child, to whoever was talking. The voice was familiar. He reached a trembling hand out to stroke her hair.it was long. Silky. "Faye?" A soft laugh. "No, silly. It's me, Julia." "Julia? But y-y-you died!" A light went on, and the room was bathed in a soft glow. He looked over, and saw-Julia. Just like she had been before she died. "Spike, I'm right here. I never died. You've been tossing around all night. Should I get you some tea?" He shook his head, confused. "What time is it?" She looked at him. "About five. You should go back to sleep, it's too early. I'm going to make some tea." She slid over the sheets, leaving a warm spot that Spike rolled over to smother with his sweaty chest. He stared at the ceiling, pupils contracting in the light. Why was he here? He scanned the walls, eyes moving slowly over all the objects that were there.he belonged here, that was the thought at the front of his mind. But a nagging fly batted at the back of his mind: You've never lived here. It's only a dream again. Again. He tried to shove it away, slap that back to where it belonged. He turned to his side, examining the expanse of white sheet. Individual fibers, woven together. He heard a sudden rustling, and looked up. A tiger-striped cat was perched on the windowsill, staring at him, large eyes glittering in the half light. He made a guttural sound in his throat, begging it to go away. It cocked its head, giving him a quizzical look. "Go away." He pleaded. For some reason, this cat stirred up feelings that had been buried deep inside him somewhere. Another noise alerted him, and he looked unwillingly at the door, which slowly opened. Julia entered the room, cradling a steaming cup of tea. "Spike?" The cat silently padded away. The tea slopped slightly over the edge of the cup. One burning drop traveled downward, hitting the ground with a plop that seemed a thousand times magnified to his ears. "Spike?" She repeated hopelessly. "Hmm?" He looked at her, giving a long glance. "Go back to bed. You've got work today." Work? He couldn't remember that. Wait.work.Vicious.work.Vicious.who was Vicious? He tucked that in the back of his mind for later. He'd ask Julia. "Right. It's a big day ahead of us!" Even to his own ears the words sounded forced, like the overly-sticky sweetness of cheap sherry. Ugh. Not even noon and he needed a drink. Julia was sitting in the rocking chair that had been there forever.wait. No, it hadn't. Only a few days ago he had been aboard a ship. Devoid of furniture, metal, blank.why was he remembering this? It was not his life, he was sure. But it had all seemed so real.he remembered one line the man that was him had said-"I'm just living in a dream I never wake up from." That man had been him. Or someone like him. He felt disoriented, unreal. Slowly, he shut his eyes and watched the blackness until stars flew quickly to the center of his pupils.
He thrashed around, hitting something soft. Ropes! Ropes all around him! He had to escape! Now! "No, no! Not Julia! Take me.leave her!" Suddenly a hand clamped onto his shoulder. "Spike! You've been having a dream! Shh, it's okay. Spike, it's okay." He clung blindly, like a small child, to whoever was talking. The voice was familiar. He reached a trembling hand out to stroke her hair.it was long. Silky. "Faye?" A soft laugh. "No, silly. It's me, Julia." "Julia? But y-y-you died!" A light went on, and the room was bathed in a soft glow. He looked over, and saw-Julia. Just like she had been before she died. "Spike, I'm right here. I never died. You've been tossing around all night. Should I get you some tea?" He shook his head, confused. "What time is it?" She looked at him. "About five. You should go back to sleep, it's too early. I'm going to make some tea." She slid over the sheets, leaving a warm spot that Spike rolled over to smother with his sweaty chest. He stared at the ceiling, pupils contracting in the light. Why was he here? He scanned the walls, eyes moving slowly over all the objects that were there.he belonged here, that was the thought at the front of his mind. But a nagging fly batted at the back of his mind: You've never lived here. It's only a dream again. Again. He tried to shove it away, slap that back to where it belonged. He turned to his side, examining the expanse of white sheet. Individual fibers, woven together. He heard a sudden rustling, and looked up. A tiger-striped cat was perched on the windowsill, staring at him, large eyes glittering in the half light. He made a guttural sound in his throat, begging it to go away. It cocked its head, giving him a quizzical look. "Go away." He pleaded. For some reason, this cat stirred up feelings that had been buried deep inside him somewhere. Another noise alerted him, and he looked unwillingly at the door, which slowly opened. Julia entered the room, cradling a steaming cup of tea. "Spike?" The cat silently padded away. The tea slopped slightly over the edge of the cup. One burning drop traveled downward, hitting the ground with a plop that seemed a thousand times magnified to his ears. "Spike?" She repeated hopelessly. "Hmm?" He looked at her, giving a long glance. "Go back to bed. You've got work today." Work? He couldn't remember that. Wait.work.Vicious.work.Vicious.who was Vicious? He tucked that in the back of his mind for later. He'd ask Julia. "Right. It's a big day ahead of us!" Even to his own ears the words sounded forced, like the overly-sticky sweetness of cheap sherry. Ugh. Not even noon and he needed a drink. Julia was sitting in the rocking chair that had been there forever.wait. No, it hadn't. Only a few days ago he had been aboard a ship. Devoid of furniture, metal, blank.why was he remembering this? It was not his life, he was sure. But it had all seemed so real.he remembered one line the man that was him had said-"I'm just living in a dream I never wake up from." That man had been him. Or someone like him. He felt disoriented, unreal. Slowly, he shut his eyes and watched the blackness until stars flew quickly to the center of his pupils.