That evening I had a nightmare. It was one of those dreams that just hang around forever and pop back into your mind at only the least bit of prompting. The funny thing about it was that, when I first woke up and thought about it, I knew there was a lot more to it, but I could only remember a small but blurry scene: I was petrified and cold, and my heartbeat was wild and furious. It was dark, and everything looked fuzzy. Two men were in the midst of a ferocious fight. I heard the crackling slug of knuckles colliding on a jaw and seconds later I saw a body being flung across the room and landing with a bone-crushing thud. Vehement shouting came next, but the exact words were muffled and unclear. And then I saw feet running up a flight of stairs, one set chasing the other. The man in pursuit had long black hair. Nothing else in this dream seemed familiar or real. The fear I felt was paralyzing, and one thing stood out that was indisputable: the smell of blood was all around me.