Jack woke up, again. But this time it was for real, he felt the couch beneath him and noticed the smell of the office. Opening his eyes he looked around, everything looked the same. He was finally sure he wasn't dreaming. Taking a deep breath he got up and looked for the clock in his office, it said 3 o'clock.

The light outside was dark so he concluded it was 3AM. But what day was it? He hoped he'd only been asleep for 9 hours. He'd never slept that long as long as he could remember. Looking around his office he hoped to find a newspaper that was still dated Friday the 30th of October and not Saturday the 31st.

He found a copy of the New York Times on his desk dated October 30th and breathed a sigh of relief. Then he also found something that he didn't expect, the strange obituary from his dream with the name Jeffery Buntz.

Jack was relieved and confused at the same time. Did he really leave the office and not know it? At first he thought it was a dream, but now he wasn't sure. All his life he was skeptical of these kinds of stories when he heard them. Wishful thinking, or a hyperactive imagination, he would say ti himself, no real proof to this paranormal stuff. But here he was looking at something he couldn't explain. One thing he knew for sure, nobody would believe him if he mentioned it to anyone. He didn't want the grief.

Sitting down at his desk he stared at the piece of paper not knowing what to do. For the time being going back to sleep wasn't an option, his mind was going a million miles an hour. So he got and moved to the couch to watch TV. Flipping through cable news channels he remembered something else from his dream, the TV broadcast he saw about John Campbell.

Jack got up and grabbed the piece of paper, looking at it he read the last few words; Jeffery Buntz was murdered by John Campbell 2003. But Buntzs' murder was unsolved in that there was no body found. It was a rare win for the prosecutions office, purely circumstantial. John had Jeff's blood on his clothes and they recovered a possible murder weapon, a candlestick holder. Jack remembered a funny feeling that day, he couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe this was it.

It was 3 in the morning but the prisons don't close. He put in a call to Riekers to inquire about John Campbell. After being on hold for about ten minutes Jack got the news he didn't expect. John had died earlier that night from injuries received in a prison fight. He hung up the phone with a muted thanks and remembered his dream when the man in room 207 said "This is all that's left." Confused and bewildered, Jack didn't know what to do or think. Sitting back down on the couch he realized he was very tired and laid down, within a minute he was asleep again.

Standing in front of an apartment building that he'd seen before he headed for the front door and made his way to number 207. He needed to know something. Needed to verify something. He wondered if the person he saw was familiar or not. Had he seen him before? If so, where?

The door with 207 on it opened and there stood the same man Jack had seen before. Standing with an empty expression, waiting for nothing waiting for something, just waiting.

"Where did you die, Mr. Buntz?" The words came out of Jack's mouth as matter-of-factly as they ever had. Jack wasen't even sure he moved his mouth.

"At a packing plant in Jersey." The expression remained blank, like it wasn't there at all. Jack looked at his face. It struck no chords of familiarity, no flashbacks to another setting, nothing.

A thought for another question came to mind, it made no sense, but then neither did this whole dream thing.

"Mr. Buntz, where is your body?" Jack didn't know what to expect.

"In several trash bags in a landfill in...Jack...Jack..."

He was just about to get something when he realized he was being woken up. Jack focused on Jeff's mouth hoping he could make out the shape of the word. Everything faded and he was back in his office, on his couch.