I awoke some time later feeling completely wretched. I was still wearing the same clothing I had worn the previous day and my eye felt sore. I rolled over and looked at my clock. The time said it was almost noon. I could scarcely believe I had slept so late. I usually did not sleep longer than six or seven hours. I chalked it up to the stress of the previous night and pushed myself from the bed. My mouth tasted awful, so I stripped off my dirty clothing and dumped it into the laundry basket as I walked straight to the bathroom. I turned on the water. A bit of toothpaste squirted onto a brush and I was in business.

While I brushed my teeth, I did not bother to turn off the water. While I listened to the sound of it running and sloshing around the sink, I stared at my own reflection. My reflection stared back through tired hazel eyes. Messy, mid length brown hair hung on either side of the face.

I scrunched up my hair behind my ears and spit and rinsed my mouth. I splashed water on my face, hoping to rinse away the gauntness that had developed there during the night. I could not help but replay everything that had happened. It had only been hours ago, but my memories already seemed as if they had been covered by a light veil that blurred the events and made them seem surreal. I checked my neck in the mirror and saw that the skin appeared smooth and unbroken.

Had everything been just a strange and terrible dream? I looked at my hands and rubbed my knees. They felt fine, not at all like I had tripped in a forest the previous night. My eye did hurt, but maybe I had just jabbed myself in the eye while I was sleeping the night before and incorporated it into my dreams. It made more sense. In the real, normal world strangers might accost women, but it was not to simply bite them.

I grabbed on to the comforting idea that everything had been a dream with enthusiasm. I had probably just been working too hard, I told myself sternly. I knew I tended to get too caught up in things and this time I had been putting too much energy into my goal. Since I had walked out the door of my father's house I had desired nothing more than to survive and succeed without him. Perhaps it would be beneficial to my peace of mind and to my eventual success to take a break occasionally.

Clearly, what had happened was I had been so exhausted I had no memory of returning home and fell asleep in my clothing. It could naturally happen to anyone. I ignored the small voice which pointed out the possible inconsistencies in my thoughts, which told me to inspect my discarded clothing before I made up my mind. I pushed that thought aside and told myself I simply needed to take regular breaks for my health. I glanced at the calendar. I had to work that evening at the coffee shop. A quick calculation told me that I needed money more than I needed a break.

My life during the next ten weeks was much the same as it had been before the dream incident with the creepy stranger and the mysterious Paul, except I now had a tendency to think back to the very incident I wanted to forget at the most inconvenient times. Not an incident, but rather a dream, I reminded myself strictly every time my mind strayed in that direction. And, even if, in the very unlikely event it had been real, there was no reason to feel bothered by it. It was not a big deal, no reason to feel traumatized or any other such nonsense. I did not have time to be bothered by something so ridiculous. It had only been a very realistic dream so it did not signify at all. It was so insignificant I should not even have to remember not to remember it.

Yet I did remember it, in spite of my best and obsessive efforts to the contrary. I remembered it with annoying frequency. I felt fine. There was nothing on my neck to suggest anything had ever happened to me. Even the eye I had stabbed—in my sleep, no doubt—had not been a serious injury. I kept busy following my routine, going to work, going to class, budgeting my money with an iron fist and staying up late studying. Nothing was out of the ordinary whatsoever. Besides the memories of the insignificant dream incident, everything was blessedly ordinary. Just the way I wanted it.

Time flowed on until it was actually the third month anniversary of the non-incident. I was annoyed to realize I had noticed as if it had some import on my life. I got up early and worked a short shift, then went to my Friday afternoon class. My habit was to go to grab a sandwich, then go to the library. I did not deviate from my usual course of action and soon found myself working on a paper using the library computer lab.

The computers were always in high demand and the one I had managed to procure was old. It ran slowly and there were long delays between loading pages. That was probably the reason it had last been vacant. Perhaps the previous user died of old age.

I printed off a few articles and began to type my paper. I wished I had a computer, but I just could not justify the cost. Tuition, rent, and food were all higher priorities. I did not have anyone I wanted to ask for help, so I would be stupid to waste money on something I could use for free at the library.

I had just realized I had been daydreaming when the first wave of dizziness hit me. I felt nauseous for a few seconds and I could feel shivers roll up my back. The world teetered and then disappeared completely in a wave of black.

I opened my eyes. There were quite a number of people standing around me or looking at me from their seats at other computers. A sandy haired guy who seemed vaguely familiar was crouching on the floor near my head. "Oh, she's awake," he said, and then spoke to the spectators, "Get back, she needs some air."

He turned his head towards me and asked, "Are you okay?"

I nodded mutely. I kind of wished everyone would stop staring at me. "What happened?" I wondered out loud.

"I was sitting on the computer next to you when you slumped in your chair, and then you sort of slid off onto the floor. Sorry I didn't have time to catch you." I thought it was kind of weird he felt like he should apologize for that, after all, it was not as if he had pushed me. I preformed an awkward, noncommittal sort of shrug while still lying on the floor.

I pushed myself up into a seated position. One of the gawking onlookers added to the narrative in a slightly nasal voice, "It was really weird." I was irritated she had even bothered to comment and resisted the urge to glare at her admirably.

Sandy hair was talking to me again. "Do you have a history of fainting?" he asked.

I did not really think it was any of his business, but as he was the one keeping the gawkers somewhat at bay I answered reluctantly, "No."

"I wonder why it happened?" he mused. It was exactly the question I had been trying to avoid contemplating and there it was thrust into my face. An answer lent itself to me so readily it was if I had been waiting to see the first symptom of the problem all this time. I heard the strange Paul's haunting voice ringing through my mind, "You're going to die."

Of course, those were just words from a dream. There was no reason to believe there was any truth to the prediction. Paul was probably something my subconscious created from my own worries and a long forgotten movie I saw when I was five, or something ridiculous like that. I was most certainly not living in some cheesy vampire movie where people bit your neck and you died from it.

"Are you going to faint again?" sandy hair asked. I probably had looked a little vacant while thinking, I figured, yet his assessment still annoyed me.

"No," I said, perhaps a bit harshly. "I'm perfectly fine." I stood up, feeling a little bit shaky but quite pleased I succeeded without assistance. The last thing I needed was to fall and further catch the attention of the gawkers now that they were finally, slowly dispersing or turning back to look at their computer screens. I certainly did not need to do anything "really freaky" to encourage them to stay and observe me some more.

I scooped up my bag and shoved a couple of my books into it. I pulled on my jacket and threw the bag over my shoulder. Sandy hair looked nervous. He said, "Shouldn't you be going to a hospital or something?"

"No," I said and I started to walk away as quickly as I could, which might not have been advisable, feeling as shaky as I did. However, I managed to make my way without teetering too much.

"Dylan! Wait!" he said. I wondered vaguely how he knew my name. Maybe he was in one of my classes.

"I've got to get home," I said without looking back.

"At least let me walk you home," he said.

I did not grimace, but it was a near thing. Instead I said as patiently as I could, "No, thank you. I'm fine."

"But," I heard him falter and quickly turned around a shelf so I was out of sight. I could only hope out of sight and out of mind held true for him in my case. I walked briskly to the doors and pushed my way out into the early evening.

My walk home was uninterrupted. Once I was safely behind my door, I decided sleep would surely be the best thing for me if I really was sick. I was not dying.

I woke up the next day to the phone ringing. I leapt from the bed and ran to get the phone.

"Dylan? Where are you?" My brain still felt fuzzy, but horror completely woke me up when I realized who had called. It was one of the supervisors from Zach's Cafe, Claire. "Dylan! You were supposed to start five minutes ago!"

"I'm so sorry; I'll be there right away!" I cried, jumping out of my bed.

I rushed in the door at work fifteen minutes later. "I'm so sorry," I gasped. My eyes flew to the clock on the wall. Sure enough, it was five minutes after two o'clock. Twenty minutes late for work.

"Just get back here," said Claire in a grouchy voice.

I rushed to the back and started working right away. Occasionally I noticed Claire shooting sulky looks at me. Claire was one of those people who would never forgive even the smallest infraction. I certainly had not meant to be late. It was not as if I had stayed up late the night before. I must have been in bed by nine o'clock. Which meant I slept for...? I could not believe I had slept the greater part of an entire day and did not wake up, but the evidence was clearly before me. I was slightly worried.

I was incredibly grateful when Claire's shift ended. I could tell she was complaining to her replacement about me as she sent a barrage of furtive looks towards me. While I absently wiped the counter I wondered why she was such a dried up old hag. Perhaps she had a difficult life. Maybe she just did not like me. Perhaps she just had a nasty vengeful spirit. I shrugged, smiling to myself nastily.

I was even more grateful when it came time for me to leave. My relief came in and I was uncommonly delighted. I was feeling rather more tired than I usually was after a shift, and I was starting to get a headache. The headache was likely from the stress of dealing with Claire's mood swings.

I walked home, and dropped myself into bed. Then I realized I had not set my alarm, so I dragged myself over and pushed the necessary buttons. Then I slept.

My alarm's shrill tone woke me up quite effectively. My headache of the previous day had gotten worse. I stood up and my head pounded all the more. I felt dizzy. I stumbled over to the bathroom and grabbed two ibuprofen and took them with water I scooped from the running tap with my hands. This headache was beyond anything I had ever had before. I could not work like this and I hated to admit it because I needed the money. I would regret not working later. I went over to my phone and picked it up, holding the receiver to my ear as I dialed the number.

"Hello, Zach's Cafe! Claire speaking, how can I help you today?"

I swear my headache rose an entire point on the Richter scale at the very sound of Claire's voice. I ignored it, and said, "Hi, it's Dylan."

"Hello," she replied, her previous customer friendly voice dropped to her resentful towards Dylan tones. Her tone could have frozen hell over, forcing a lot of people to do things they had not counted on actually doing. She waited impatiently for me to speak.

"I'm not going to be able to make it in today."

"Oh."

"I've got a terrible headache. I'm sorry."

"Very well," she said, not sounding as if she agreed at all, or even believed me. Had I been feeling better I would have been annoyed by her attitude. She snapped, "Bye," and hung up the phone before I had a chance to say anything else.

I pulled my feet across the floor and sank into my bed. I fell asleep almost immediately. I did not dream, or did not remember if I did.

I woke up late on Sunday. My headache was still there but it was much more manageable. I took some more pills and spent the day feeling light headed. The next day I went to class, my headache gone. I wanted to believe everything was back to normal.

The next two weeks passed quickly for me. Finals were coming in both of my classes. I handed in my papers and I dedicated myself to studying whenever I was not working. If nothing else I would prove to my father I would be perfectly successful without being under his guidance. My head felt fine, if a bit light. I vaguely noticed my muscles were sore and my joints ached a bit. But I ignored it. I had too much to do.

I went to both my finals and came out with a good feeling I had done well on them. Once they were done, I found I was having difficulty keeping myself occupied when I was not working. I found myself thinking more about the incident, or rather what I had dreamed that disturbing night. I spent a lot of time sleeping so I would not have time to think.

I worked on Christmas Eve night at Zach's Cafe. Business was slow and my supervisor–fortunately not Claire–sent me home early. I was thankful, because another headache was building and I was feeling more tired than my day warranted. I started my walk home, taking my time. I had no plans for the next day and it felt rather lonely. I missed Arianna. Even though there were times in the past I had resented her, she was still my sister. Normally I did not think about her at all, but good memories of Christmases when we were young flooded through my memory. It was bittersweet and made me feel depressed so I pushed it away into the corner of my mind that I try to ignore.

I noticed snow was beginning to fall in lazy chunks. If it kept up, we would have a good layer of snow by the morning. I figured there would be some very happy children when they saw what the night had brought them.

I missed being a child in a lot of ways. I had been a lot happier then. Even my mother's preference for my perfect sister had not been so obvious to me then. I had basked in the glow of my father's love and attention, not realizing he was trying to mould me into a version of himself. I think I had been happy, at least some of the time.

My reminiscing was interrupted by reaching my home. I let myself in and shrugged out of my jacket and hung it on the proper hook. I was feeling chilled and my stomach was growling, but I decided to take a shower before I got myself something to eat. Then I would go to bed. I found my new propensity for sleep slightly alarming, but I assured myself it was a far cry from being dead. I was tired, not dying.

I turned the water in the shower on to as hot as I could stand it and shed my clothing and stepped inside. I enjoyed the water warming my cold skin for a moment. I reached down to pick up my shampoo and felt my head spin. Without warning, everything went black.

My head hurt. I was cold. It took me a minute to figure out where I was. I was lying in the bathtub. The shower was still running, but the water was hardly warm. I pushed myself up, turned off the water and grabbed my towel and wrapped it around myself. I stepped out and walked to my room. I barely was able to summon the energy to pull on pyjama pants and a tank top before I crawled into my bed.

It was not until I had pulled the covers over myself I took the time to contemplate what had happened. I must have fainted again and I clearly hit my head on the way down. I did not know how long I had been out, but it was long enough for the hot water to nearly run out. I did not want to think about what the cause of my fainting was, so I closed my eyes and let myself drift off to sleep.