He didn't even bother to let out a cry. Once again, his eyes were
wide open and seeing nothing. Julia-his Julia-was lying by him, breathing
deeply. Blindly, one hand groped for her familiar warmth. It was only after
that dream this had started-that one damned dream! It had all seemed so
real, the man named Jet, the woman Faye. The ship. Vicious. He shivered
even at the name-Vicious. What normal human had a name like Vicious?
Vicious wasn't normal, his brain reminded him. Why did Vicious remain? He
was just another character in the dream, gossamer body fading as the sun
rose. But Spike could nearly touch him. Julia's long sigh and slight
movement suddenly cut into his thoughts, scattering them like so many loose
beads. He checked the clock lying on the bedside table: 6:20 AM. It was
only a little too early for him to get up, start the day. Life was a
nightmare.he turned back over, searching for relief in this desert of
insomnia.
An hour later, he was up, frantically pawing through a jumble of clothes on the floor. "Shit!" Julia stirred slightly and turned, stretching luxuriously. "Honey, what's wrong?" He didn't bother answering. It was already 7:40-nearly time for him to leave for work. His respectable, well- paying job. The very thought sickened him. He would stay out after work today, go to a bar. Get a drink. Drown his sorrows, or something like that. Absentmindedly, he pulled on a faded blue jacket and added a tie. He examined himself in the mirror, liking the effect. Without a backward glance at Julia, her angelic hair fanned out in a halo, he left the room. His black shoes made soft thuds on the floor.
As he sat at the metal desk, staring blankly at the screen in front of him, one of his coworkers poked his head in. "We have a staff meetin' today, remember?" He was barely aware that he nodded, mind still pursuing the dream. It had been nearly two weeks now since it had started coming. Every night, he relived the entire drama again and again, until he awoke. He tried to shake himself free of the dream, but no.he never would be.
He entered the bar known as the "Black Crow". The outcasts of society seemed to stay here, suspended in time, only breaking the rhythm to gesture for another round of sake. Ignoring the probing stares by the other men, he slumped at a bar stool and lifted a hand. The bartender walked over, still polishing a glass. He had a mousy, unwashed look about him. "So what'll it be, pardner?" "Gin and tonic." The man nodded, and giving Spike a long glance went off to concoct god-knows-what in the back room. Someone stalked over and sat down by Spike. He registered slightly, until he looked out of pure boredom. Shock slashed itself across his face and he uttered a wordless moan. The stranger looked over at him and smiled easily. "Y-y-y- you look familiar," He stuttered, trying to collect himself. "Like someone in a dream I once had." "And why wouldn't I? After all, I had the same dream, Spike." ".you know my name." There was no question in his voice now, only a steady beat of something.resentment? Anger at the past being shoved in his face so crudely? Anger that the dream was still alive? "Don't you remember me?" The stranger looked at him, an unnerving gaze that was covered by mirrored glasses. The bartender set down a glass, ice cubes clinking against one another . He ignored it, his eyes traveling unsteadily from long, porcelain-pale legs, a short brown coat, white neck, red lips, and finally, the eyes still covered by the sunglasses. "Tell me, what's your name? Please." This last word held almost a begging note. Slowly, with a smile, she reached up and removed the sunglasses, revealing familiar eyes. Eyes that held chords of the past, ringing true. Eyes that had made promises. Betrayals. Eyes that had long ago lost their owner to hatred and loneliness. He remembered those eyes. "Faye." he said, his voice shaking. "Faye Valentine."
An hour later, he was up, frantically pawing through a jumble of clothes on the floor. "Shit!" Julia stirred slightly and turned, stretching luxuriously. "Honey, what's wrong?" He didn't bother answering. It was already 7:40-nearly time for him to leave for work. His respectable, well- paying job. The very thought sickened him. He would stay out after work today, go to a bar. Get a drink. Drown his sorrows, or something like that. Absentmindedly, he pulled on a faded blue jacket and added a tie. He examined himself in the mirror, liking the effect. Without a backward glance at Julia, her angelic hair fanned out in a halo, he left the room. His black shoes made soft thuds on the floor.
As he sat at the metal desk, staring blankly at the screen in front of him, one of his coworkers poked his head in. "We have a staff meetin' today, remember?" He was barely aware that he nodded, mind still pursuing the dream. It had been nearly two weeks now since it had started coming. Every night, he relived the entire drama again and again, until he awoke. He tried to shake himself free of the dream, but no.he never would be.
He entered the bar known as the "Black Crow". The outcasts of society seemed to stay here, suspended in time, only breaking the rhythm to gesture for another round of sake. Ignoring the probing stares by the other men, he slumped at a bar stool and lifted a hand. The bartender walked over, still polishing a glass. He had a mousy, unwashed look about him. "So what'll it be, pardner?" "Gin and tonic." The man nodded, and giving Spike a long glance went off to concoct god-knows-what in the back room. Someone stalked over and sat down by Spike. He registered slightly, until he looked out of pure boredom. Shock slashed itself across his face and he uttered a wordless moan. The stranger looked over at him and smiled easily. "Y-y-y- you look familiar," He stuttered, trying to collect himself. "Like someone in a dream I once had." "And why wouldn't I? After all, I had the same dream, Spike." ".you know my name." There was no question in his voice now, only a steady beat of something.resentment? Anger at the past being shoved in his face so crudely? Anger that the dream was still alive? "Don't you remember me?" The stranger looked at him, an unnerving gaze that was covered by mirrored glasses. The bartender set down a glass, ice cubes clinking against one another . He ignored it, his eyes traveling unsteadily from long, porcelain-pale legs, a short brown coat, white neck, red lips, and finally, the eyes still covered by the sunglasses. "Tell me, what's your name? Please." This last word held almost a begging note. Slowly, with a smile, she reached up and removed the sunglasses, revealing familiar eyes. Eyes that held chords of the past, ringing true. Eyes that had made promises. Betrayals. Eyes that had long ago lost their owner to hatred and loneliness. He remembered those eyes. "Faye." he said, his voice shaking. "Faye Valentine."