Tim woke up in a sweat, the traces of his nightmare already leaving him as he panted (he would deny it was crying) hard against his pillow. It was the same nightmare every night since he came back; the same dream where he was surrounded by nothing but cacti, sand, a scorching sun-

-And death.

The sound of rain pounded against his bedroom window and a quote chanted in his mind like a beating drum: "If I am going to be drowned, if I am going to be drowned, if I am going to be drowned-"