The trouble with the subconscious is that no matter what you try to tell it to do; it obeys its own commands.

I did not want to think about anything terrible, I wanted a pleasant sleep. However, some other part of my mind was free from my control and I blame it for my dream.

Everything was in black and white; I never had dreams in color. There was no plot in my dream really, no continuing story, just flashes of every bad memory I have ever had. However, it made sense to me.

In a flash I was in the cellar being beaten; I was not in my own body I was watching myself being hit as a small boy. I tried to stop my mother's flying hand, but of course I could not.

There was another bright flash and a loud crack; and I was running through the woods, tree limbs hitting me in the face at I ran away from my home and toward the light. I was myself this time; and I could see the approaching fire light ahead of me, and even though I knew what terrors lay before me once I reached the clearing I could not stop myself. The feeling in my stomach was what I believe one would have felt had they been hurtling toward a cliff edge in a runaway carriage.

I broke through the clearing and saw the dirty gypsy turn to face me, large black eyes glittering menacingly and I watched a wicked smile spread across his face. The man extended a bony, gnarled hand and beckoned to me. I could not stop myself from taking that first step toward him.

There was another bright flash and then a roar and I was in Persia. The gypsy lay dead and bleeding on the floor behind me.

Another flash and I was older, watching men being executed in my torture device; and that was when they brought her in. She was nobody; not a criminal, not a traitor, just a girl who had been around the shah at the wrong time.

I was beating my fists against the observation window where the shah and the rest of the court of Persia would watch the execution process. I could hear wicked laughter behind me, and I watched horrified as the poor girl slowly went mad. I beat my fists against the window with increased force.

The laughter of the shah and the court turned to a roar, and then I heard them start to call my name,

"Erik!"

I bolted up in bed and nearly knocked CJ to the ground. I blinked; the room was lit by the small fire of one candle, CJ was sitting on my bed, and my face was only inches from hers. She stared at me,

"You were having a fit," She said in a matter of fact tone I appreciated. I was not proud to be caught as a grown man having nightmares, and I did not want to make a big production out of it.

"I…did I wake you?" I did not know what to say,

"Yes, but chances were that the storm would have woken me up anyway,"

I nodded as another thunder clap shook the room and I realized; the loud roars and cracks from my dreams had been the thunder.

"Was I…Did I say something?" I wondered if I had been yelling in my sleep,

"Yes, several things; you wanted something to stop,"

That could have been anything; I wanted the beating to stop, I wanted to stop running, to stop the execution,

"How long was I yelling?"

"For awhile, that was why I tried to wake you up,"

"I…I am sorry," I brought one leg up and rested my elbow on it, then I rested my head in my hand.

"It's alright," CJ said in an even voice, "It is when terrible things don't upset you that you need to be worried,"

I looked up at her. She was gazing away; watching the lightning outside through the window. In the candle light her eyes shone in an even brighter shade of green than usual. She had not moved from the side of my bed, and I honestly did not want her to; I was used to waking from these dreams alone and miserable. For once someone was there; I did not want coddling, but it was reassuring just to have someone there.

"You were wrong about the storm," CJ said to me with a smile, "It did not wait until morning to break,"

"Apparently not," I said, turning to look out the blackened window. As I watched the sky outside lit with a flash and I could see clearly the torrent of rain crashing down.

"Will we still be able to get into the opera tomorrow?" CJ asked, turning her eyes to stare into mine,

For one half dazed moment I simply stared back at her; watching the candle light play in her eyes; I was not sure if I was so intrigued because it was a beautiful sight or because it was slightly hypnotic to watch the fire flicker slowly in the round orbs, or perhaps I was just tired.

I shook my head and re focused, "No, we will still be able to go in; I know quite a few ways to get down there, as I told Le Roy, I don't know why he made us wait to go down," The absurdness of his decision hit me again and I snorted; I guess he was just that stupid.

CJ nodded. She went back to her bed and lay down. I had known she would do that eventually, but I was still sorry when she did. "I guess we should try to get some sleep," she said,

"Yes," I nodded and blew out the candle. I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling. I stared at it for some time, listening to the storm outside

"Erik?" CJ whispered from her bed and I was surprised; I had thought she had fallen asleep again,

"Yes? Why are you whispering?"

"I thought you might have been asleep…"

"I am not asleep,"

"Do you want to tell me what the dream was about?" Her voice was even and calm, making me feel as though having horrid nightmares was not such a strange thing, or a thing to be worried about,

"Does it matter?" I sighed,

"I don't know, but until you tell me, I am just going to assume you dreamt that you were trapped in a room with Le Roy and he kept talking to you about men's fashion and you wanted him to stop,"

I actually laughed, and not even a maniacal, evil laugh, an honest laugh. "That would be terrifying,"

"I think I am going to have nightmares now," CJ said lightly, "Just imagining you two in a room talking about cravats is enough to keep anyone awake at night,"

"I will never sleep soundly again," I said sarcastically, but it was true and I knew it, and I believe CJ knew it to.

There was a pause, then, "If you ever want to tell me, you can,"

"Maybe another time," I sighed, I did not want to explain at the moment, I just wanted to sleep.

I did not have any other dreams that night; or at least any which I remembered the next morning. I woke to find the room was stiflingly hot; rolling off the bed I went to the window and shoved it open. It took a great deal of force to push the window pain upward; it appeared to have been painted shut.

However the window did open; letting in what Parisians called fresh air and what any rural dweller would have called toxic fumes. Though there had been improvements in the area of city hygiene, these improvements did not occur in this dilapidated section of Paris. Here, sewage rotted in the streets, rats scuttled openly through houses, and horse droppings baked in the roads. All this drifted through the window along with the small breeze.

The sky was still dark and threatening; on the horizon I could see flashes of lightning. It was going to be a great day, I thought bitterly.

Turning I saw CJ sit up and rub her eyes, "It is blistering in here," She said impotently,

"I opened a window," I pointed to our pathetically small open window,

"So now the room will be hot and smell disgusting,"

"Lucky us,"

Dumas came just as I was wondering about food. To my disappointment, but not really to my shock, he did not offer breakfast, rather the order to accompany him to the opera.

"Come on," He said gruffly, "Le Roy is meeting us there," He did not hide the distain he felt for his fellow captain.

We walked listlessly behind Dumas as he led us out of the building and toward the usual cab. Tom was standing by the doorway and followed us to the cab. He sat beside the driver and the cab pulled away. We sat in silence as it jostled down the road toward the opera.

The cab passed countless crooked roads shooting outward, each one jammed with buildings in varying states of disrepair. Most poor sections of Paris looked this way; unorganized and cramped. It was a result of the city growing too big too fast without anyone actually planning where the houses should go; or how they should be built. The result was staring me in the face; rundown houses which deserved to be condemned.

I was staring straight ahead of me; trying to block out the feeling of dread brought on by the prospect of returning to my old home. I was also trying to block out the foul stench of the Paris streets; the garbage, the dirty water, and the distinct smell of smoke.

"What in hell…" CJ suddenly muttered beside me; I turned to see she was staring out the small window of the cab; from where I was seated beside her I could not see what she was looking at.

As the cab rounded a corner I could hear people shouting, our driver and Tom included. The cab slowed to a halt and CJ threw open the door; and I saw clearly what was causing the commotion.

One of the decrepit tenement houses had had enough of being filled to the brim with families and receiving no tending; and in protest it had caught on fire.

It was a ghastly sight; the lower floors of the building were wrapped in red orange flames which were hungrily consuming the aged wood of the doomed house. The flames were jumping quickly to the neighboring buildings. Above, smoke spiraled into the cloud darkened sky looking like ghostly fingers reaching for heaven.

We watched transfixed for a moment as the front doorway of the house collapsed; the post and lintel crumpling and disappearing into a mess of flames.

Around us, there was gathering a great circle of people from neighboring houses; some were shouting for the firemen, which was quite a waste considering the firemen where ineffectual fellows carrying buckets of water. Some were calling out names; presumably of those still inside the burning building. Those who resided in the neighboring houses began streaming out onto the street before it was to late.

When someone called for the police Dumas snapped out of his daze.

"I am a policeman, Captain Dumas," he said hurriedly to the man who had called for someone to get the authorities, "Are there people still up there?" He pointed toward the crumbling house,

"Yes Monsieur," the man replied, "It all started so fast, hardly a chance to get out,"

Dumas turned to CJ and I, "You heard the man, get in there," He pointed a thumb at the tenement building,

"You can't be serious!" I narrowed my eyes at him, "We will burn to death!" CJ was looking apprehensively at the house,

"Not my problem, remember; this is what I hired you for," Dumas said gruffly

"You did not hire us, you forced us into service, and there was nothing in the job description about…"

"The only job description I gave you was that there were things we did not want to do, and you were going to do them!" Dumas cut in, "Now get up there, there is still a chance of getting some people out,"

"How? The whole bottom half of the house is firewood!" I yelled angrily

"You two are clever, figure something out, hopefully more help will arrive soon,"

I turned to look at the building; the flames were climbing higher. I eyed the house next to it; the flames were already crawling up it's side; latching on to it like some kind of wicked weed bent on choking the life out of everything it could reach. Above us a rumble of thunder cracked ominously.

"Come on," I said to CJ, "We don't have much time,"