CHAPTER ONE

I awake, sweating deliriously, my throat parched, as though I haven't drunk any water for months. Shaking, I reach for the glass of water beside my bed, and almost cry aloud as I feel the cool, refreshing water gush down my throat.

What just happened? I wonder, picturing it all again in my mind. The darkened capsules, the cold malevolence of steel, the glint of light reflecting from Morpheus's sunglasses, the pain of my first graze inflicted by Morpheus during training...all of it was so vivid! But it's not true. Is it? I still feel the ache. I still feel the shriek of terror rip through my mind. And I still feel the mind-blowing emotions I experienced when with Trinity. Trinity....

I fall back against my pillows, sighing. I'm so happy it was only a dream, yet disappointed...if it was a dream, then why am I still so in love with Trinity? I experienced so much. I was born, I lived, I died and I experienced pain and grief like no other. I experienced Trinity's death, and that was the most mindblowing part...I feel tears prickling my eyes as I recall the mind-numbing, all-consuming ache I felt when watching her die. But what am I saying all this for? It was only a dream. It didn't happen! It's like The Wizard of Oz, I think dryly - I've returned from Munchkinland, except without my ruby slippers...I sigh. Trinity is my ruby slippers.

I settle back to sleep, relieved yet wishing it were true. What do I do? What has happened to me? I really don't know....Lord, I am so tired....what...happened....

* * *

'What's the matter with you, Anderson?'

I look up from my papers. I rub my eyes. 'Eh?'

'I said, what's the matter with you?' He's getting angry now. My boss is relentless.

'Oh.' I yawn. 'I had a rough night.'

'Get out of the booze, boy, or don't come to my office. I have a business to run, not a frickin' rehab clinic.'

'Hey.' A surge of anger rushes through me. 'I didn't drink at all last night, nor the night before. I was sick last night. I didn't sleep properly.'

The thing is, I don't know why. I had all these terrible, dark, foreboding dreams, yet for the life of me I can't remember what they were about. Every time I think I've remembered, they trickle away again, like sand through my fingers, as cliched as that expression is. It's the only way to describe it. I slam my fist angrily on my desk. I am not having a good day.

'Well, make sure you rest up tomorrow, then, Anderson,' my boss leers at me. His teeth are so dirtied around the edges, and I hate the way his lips curl as he speaks. His voice grates; it drawls, it's mechanical, it's just creepy. It vaguely reminds me of someone I've once met, but I bloody well can't remember who. 'You can have the day off. Now get back to work.'

I sigh. I know I'm not going to be able to concentrate now. I gaze out the window, at the cloudless blue sky. I feel restless, like something is brewing nearby and I don't know what. Like something happened; like something is going to happen. A thousand different thoughts are tearing through my mind.

'I'm going home now,' I say, gathering my papers. 'I'm not feeling well. My doctor said I might be getting the flu.'

'All right, get going then.'

I rush out of that building as quickly as possible.