Author Note: Yes, I know that this has been a long time in coming, but I wanted this to be just right before I put it up. The last story didn't go too well because I think that I was too hasty in trying to get stuff written. I don't know how long this story will take, or how it will end up, but I think that it is an intriguing enough beginning. Bear with me, I'm thinking of things as I go along.

Standard Disclaimers Apply. I borrowed one line from the Edgar Allen Poe poem, "The Raven".

Rediscovered Dreams

Chapter 1

The green grass contrasted sharply with the dull brown earth piled on top of it. The pile was slowly becoming smaller as the cemetary hands filled in the jagged hole in the earth, shoveling the dirt over the gleaming wooden casket that was also occupying the hole. A woman stood at the foot of the grave, silent. Her eyes pulled in every detail, every memory that it could, as if she wanted to burn the image into her brain. Many of the people who had attended the funeral shook their heads at the lone figure dressed in black. So young, and yet so sad.

After a few minutes, the woman slowly backed away from the grave's edge. One last look, and she turned away from all of the pain that the sight was causing her. Not a tear had she shed since that morning, and she could feel her resolve starting to break down. She knew that it would be natural for her to cry, but somehow she didn't want the others to see her that way. She had been the very picture of collectiveness when he was alive, why should his death break her? She was still her own person, wasn't she? She had lived before him, she could go on after him, right? She steeled her emotions against the breakdown she knew was inevitable, even as silent tears splashed down her cheeks. Her long strides took her back to the limosine waiting at the edge of the cemetary, the driver swiftly opening the door and depositing his passenger in the back.

The limo pulled away from the cemetary after all of the mourners had gone. The bright summer sunshine spilled through the windows, but fell on blind eyes. The single passenger in the backseat was not looking at the sun, nor of the scenery now a blur on the other side of the glass. She had yet to say a word to the driver or to anyone for that matter, so he silently returned her to the house. Such a tragic thing to happen to someone who was so young....

After the silent drive, she quietly stepped through the house that they had shared. With cat-like grace she moved through the rooms, carefull not to disturb anything that he might have held or used. All over were signs of him; the smell of his aftershave hung in his closet along with his suits, his reading glasses lined up alongside a volume of Shakespeare on the bedside table, his collection of antique keys hanging motionless on the ring near the kitchen door. She went from room to room, taking in every memory, every scent, every essence of him that she could. Stopping here and there to look at a photograph or pick up a book, she thought about him, about them, about their lives together.

Their life had been happy, almost too happy. They fought only to make up again. Their lives were peaceful and content-him the chairman of the English department at the university, her the independant and spirited acting coach. Their imaginations had fed off of each other, not only intellectual but spiritual as well. They adored one another, and it was clear that they were as in love now as they had been the day they got married. They were the envy of the staff at the university, each having found that perfect someone in their lives. They had even jokingly talked about giving seminars on how to have a happy marriage.

She could hear the phone begin to ring from far away. It sounded as if it was at the end of a tunnel, a jarring intrusion into her silent and still world. Tears stinging in her eyes, she ran to the source of the noise and yanked the cord from the wall, ending the incessant ringing. Still holding the cord in one hand, she began to slid down the wall and sob, the noise having finally broken through the last bit of resolve she had left.

* * * * * * * *

It wasn't long after the funeral that the dreams started. They were always the same, distant screams, fear, running, terrible pain. And eyes. Always a pair of emotionless grey eyes. They unnerved her more than anything else. Those eyes haunted her when she woke screaming in the night. She saw them staring at her from every corner of the bedroom, only to fade and disappear once her vision had cleared. If he had been there, he would have held her like child until sleep would claim her once again. But, never again would she be comforted by his touch.

The dreams came so often that she thought that she might have gone crazy. She still felt perfectly sane, although who knew what was perfectly sane anymore? Her world had been turned upside down and shaken, and she was left to pick up the pieces and reorder her life. She had to get back to living, to breathing, to being her own person, without him. The trouble was, she didn't know how to be her own person anymore. He had completed her.

Alcohol numbed her brain to the point where the dreams didn't come anymore. She hardly ever drank, but was willing to try anything to make her forget. The first time, it burned in her throat and settled like hot lead in her stomach, but it gave her the sensation of floating. She knew that she should stop, so it was easy to put the top back on the bottle and go to bed. The first time, it was easy. A dreamless night had followed, so she was willing to try it again the next night, and then the next, and then the next, until not a night went by that she didn't open up the cabinet above the refridgerator to seek haven from the dreams. Not that she didn't dream, but the dreams were different. Soft music and lots of people, a meadow with people riding horses through it, a crackling fire in the woods, a red-headed woman, and Toby. Always Toby. The scenes varied each night, but he was always in the dream.

Her family had suggested that she seek professional help for her depression. They had no idea of the other problems that had popped up in her life as of late. She kept her secret well hidden. She made sure that she was alone every night before the bottles came out of their cupboards. No knew about those, not even her psychiatrist. She had begun to see him some time after the funeral, begrudgingly at first. Then, her life began to regain a sense of normality again. School was to start soon and she had lesson plans to work out and exercises for her classes to create. Amidst all of these things, she had begun a diary of her innermost thoughts and feelings, for the benefit of Dr. Morris.

On a balmy night near the middle of August, she had return home to the empty house. Every night she though that maybe she would come home to find him in his reading chair, grading papers or pouring over a favorite book. Quote the raven, Nevermore, she thought to herself as she snapped on the living room lamps. Leaving a trail of shoes, keys, and clothing across the room and down the hall, she longed for the comfort of her bed and a tall glass of heaven that would make the world fall down....

A few minutes later saw her changed into her pajamas with a brandy glass in her hand. Realizing that she owed Dr. Morris a new entry, she sat at her computer to write whatever was coming into her head.

'I can still sense him every now and then. My green sweater smelled of him when I put it on the other day. I let a
single tear escape, but that was all. I passed the bed and smelled the cologne that he wore. Even though I knew it was
just the sheets that I haven't gotten around to changing yet, I still toyed with the thought that he was still here,
telling me not to be afraid. I saw the print off the bottom of his shoe in the carpet of my car, like he was sitting
next to me, invisible. I'm afraid of what he would say if he knew how I have become. What have I become, really?'

She sighed and looked out onto the darkened street outside. Taking a long drink out of the glass, she turned back to the screen to write more. The combination of the mugginess of the room and the alcohol was proving to be too much for her, and the words began to blur together on the computer screen. They danced and fluttered in front of her eyes, wavering slightly, then changing positions completely, forming nonsense sentences and unpronouncable words. She rubbed her eyes with her finger tips, then stared at the now-white screen in front of her. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open at what she saw next.

On the sreen before her, words began to form sentences.

I move the stars for no one.

Just fear me...

love me...

Who are you? She typed out.

Do as I say...

"What do you want from me?" She cried out at her computer screen.

I will be your slave...

"Why are you doing this? Go away!"

As soon as it had started, it was over. The compose screen for her email account came back up, and she hit the send button without looking at the message that she had sent the Dr. Morris. She knew that he liked them to be longer, but she was feeling the alcohol just a little bit too much to write anymore for the evening. She shut down the computer and nearly collapsed into bed. The breeze outside of the window was playing through the trees, almost creating a laughing voice that was gently calling out to the slumbering form on the bed.

Sarah........