"We didn't know. How could we have possibly known?" The bathroom was ornate, all marble and gold fixtures, hidden track lighting, the feminine voice echoing off the cold walls. The woman before me was adjusting her makeup in the mirror, the lipstick tube she gestured with a garish shade of red. I could almost hear my inner Isabel screaming about how the color clashed with the burgundy of the woman's dress. It seemed odd given the high quality of the evening gown that faithfully hugged her upper body. In fact, the whole setup struck me as odd, and it took me a moment to figure out what was really bothering me: the woman had no reflection. Her dark hair, falling across the side of her face, hid what features I should have seen. Up until a few weeks ago I would have sworn to you that a dream was but a dream or whatever it was that old song Maria liked to sing said. If you had asked him or me what we thought it had meant, I would have answered something about hormones, REM and the psychology of the subconscious while he would have just told you to fuck off. Besides, I wasn't even supposed to know about his dreams; Maria never had a clue so she couldn't have told me about them during our midnight ice cream fests.

How the hell did she know about Maria? What dreams? Calm down Liz, deep breaths. I started to approach her but the woman halted her lipstick application to halt me with her hand. "No, I had to be the lucky one to get an unsuspecting glimpse into the Guerin psyche; I had to be the one to get a drive-by flash in the middle of a Las Vegas elevator, fifteen stories up. If I had known then what that dream was a portent of, I¡¦d like to think that I would have done things differently."

I watched as her whole body seemed fall in on itself when she sighed. It was like all her hope left her body with the rush of air. Her voice, when it emerged again was sad, distant. "I'd like to think that Alex would still be alive, that Tess would have been exposed, that we wouldn't be running for our lives from the very men that he dreamed about so long ago."

What the hell was she talking about? Alex wasn't dead. He was here with them in Vegas. And what was this about Tess? I glanced around the bathroom again and finally understood the sense of familiarity. It was the bathroom at the hotel, the one we were staying at. I couldn't remember anything beyond our arrival, and a glance at my own reflection revealed that I was still in my school clothes. What was going on? Was I dreaming? God, Alex would call this X-files weird. The woman paid no attention to my agitation, simply continuing her monologue to the mirror. "I didn't listen though, didn¡¦t give it a second thought except for the realization that he seemed as uncomfortable with the brush of our arms as I was."

She brushed her fingers over her left arm in remembrance, and gave a bitter laugh. "The flash was relegated to the back of my mind because we were in the city of lights and I didn't want to destroy everyone's fun, even though he let me know I was doing a pretty good job of it anyway. If there is one thing that I've learned from this whole experience...it's that hindsight's a bitch. And she isn't afraid to bite you on the ass when you wander into her territory."

This time when she laughed, she turned to face me. The dark red shade that colored her lips did not distract me from the shock of her face. I was looking at myself, me, older somehow but still..."Sad that I have finally realized that when I don't think we have much time left...No, let me correct that statement, if my dreams are indication, I know we don't have much time left. It is a small comfort to know that if I die, at least I'll have the satisfaction of paging Dr. Freud and telling him sometimes a gun is just a gun."

I could not make myself respond, and the older me, she?...did not seem to mind. She just shook her head, almost like she had expected nothing less. God, she spoke so causally of Freud who would have a field day with this. Who was this he she kept talking about?

As she walked past me towards the door, she tossed me the lipstick case. "Funeral-pyre Red. You'll find it will be very appropriate in the future."

With that last explanation of nothing, she left me in the bathroom alone.


 

* * * * *

Are you scared, boy?


The hallway was dark, so dark that I couldn't see anything. In fact, I couldn't seem to locate any colors anywhere in the corridor. It seemed like all the tones had been sucked out of the picture, leaving nothing but a black wasteland. My breath came in ragged gasps as I ran frantically, not wanting to admit that I was scared shitless.

You can't lie to me, Mikey. I know you're scared. I'll let you in on a little secret, I know that the badass, stonewall persona of Soldier Boy-Michael Guerin just crumbles during these dreams leaving poor, scared, frightened Mikey alone in his room, gasping for breath and trembling.

I didn't really know what was chasing me. Hell, I didn't even know how long I had been running, just that my legs were starting to burn with fatigue. I ignored the pain though; part of me knew that I had to keep sprinting down that endless hallway. It vaguely reminded me of school without the lights on, but I didn't really recognize anything concrete that I ran past. I didn't have a moment to consider anything fully, I just had to keep running and hiding, because if I stopped, if I let my guard down for a moment, I would die.

Not just you, Mikey boy. If you stop running, everyone will die.

I recklessly looked over my shoulder, frantic to see if I could make out who the fuck was talking to me. A moment later I realized why they always said to never look back as I slammed into something solid and bounced backwards, landing painfully on my ass. I slowly looked up taking in the worn motorcycle boots to tattered black jeans, until finally staring into the face of someone I never expected to see. A thin, gaunt, older version of me stood in the hallway, mocking me with the smirk I saw in the mirror every morning. His eyes hardened slightly at my apparent shock.

Why, hello there, Mikey. I seem to remember that my old stonewall was never at its strongest during these dreams...I still remember how I used to carry myself, like nothing could fucking touch me. I was wrong, we were all wrong.

Nothing can touch me, I was engineered a soldier. The words skittered across my mind before I could stop them and when he opened his mouth to answer me, I could feel the tremors of fear start racing through my arms.

You can keep thinking that, or you could listen to me for one fucking minute. One fucking minute that might save your life and the life of the woman you love. The lives of your king, your people...

What's wrong with Maria? I interrupted in my mind.

Maria? Damn, I had my head up my ass when I was kid. You'll find out, what it's like to really have a woman love you, and vice versa. I can't tell you everything, in fact, she warned me against it or else the entire existence will implode or some shit like that, but I can tell you this... These aren't just dreams like you think they are. Shit, think about it. Have you ever had any types of dreams or flashes that weren't significant?


Dreams are just some sort of subconscious bullshit. You know, that mom-fucker guy and shit.

The older version of me snorted in disgust. Mom-Fucker guy? That would be Freud. She'll teach you about him... him and so much more, Michael.

His shoulder's sagged slightly at the thought of her and for a moment I could feel the remorse and frustration radiate off of him. Before I could ask about who the hell this she was, he shook his head slightly and spoke again.

That doesn't matter now. All I gotta say is this is your only warning before some seriously nasty shit goes down. You'll better heed my words... or else, nothing will be the same.

He started to turn away, to walk back down the hallway and return back to wherever he came from when I jumped to my feet. Wait! Please! His stride didn't falter as opened the nearest doorway and disappeared.

With that last movement, I awoke and he left me alone and trembling in a Las Vegas bed.


 

* * * * *

Death Valley Twinkling Palms Hotel, 2009

She knew the moment he came out of it, his fingers tightening briefly, crushingly on hers before relaxing as he opened his eyes. Catching the tail in end of her grimace of pain, he ran his thumb softly along the edge of her palm. "Sorry, I just...Fuck. I got so mad at myself. How are you feeling?"

The stronger their connection became, the harder it was for her to lie to him, but she tried anyway, dropping her gaze to their joined hands, "Fine Michael, don't worry."

"Liz if you don't think you can do this..." His voice faded as her eyes met his, blazing.

"We don't have a choice, not anymore. We can't let it all happen again." She pulled away from him, getting up from the floor to stare out the window framed with cheap orange curtains. She could feel his worried gaze on her, but she refused to let him know how tired she was. Astral projection was always draining, but the effect was doubled in the attempt to cross time. It was a good moment to draw his attention back to the matter at hand, "I couldn't help but get angry too. I didn't say half the stuff I wanted. We'll just have to be more prepared for that next time."


Liz heard him leave his spot on the floor to come up behind her. His tension crackled along their connection causing the muscles in her neck to knot tighter, binding in on top of each other in a hard, thumping pressure. She struggled to keep her face clear, not wanting him to catch a glimpse of the pain his unruly emotions added to her already overloaded senses. His reflection in the glass reassured her, his searching eyes concerned but not overly worried. She wondered briefly why she was always more aware of his feeling than he was of hers. Maybe it was some karmic way of equalizing their relationship given the fact she verbalized better. She thought back to the events of their projection Usually verbalized better.

"He's waiting. They will want to know what happened," Michael murmured, and she tried to ignore his little slip. It caught at her mind though, a barrier refusing to be removed. Max would always be there between them. A calloused hand came to rest hesitantly against her neck, strong fingers pausing momentarily before digging into the cramped muscles, easing both her tension and her overworked mind even as her eyes alighted on the battered VW van below them. "We need to go."

Then there are those times he seems to know exactly what I'm thinking. She relaxed back, closing her eyes against the sight of the van, their reflections, and the events of the day. God, it had been so long since she could just let herself feel, truly feel. The heat of his body poured into her as he crowed closer, his lips brushing her temple as his palm slid away to rest against his shoulder.

"I don't want to leave either." The exhaustion from the day was starting to creep into his voice. When was the last time the two of them had actually felt energized? After the adrenaline of the first year had worn off, energy was hard to come by as was hope.

She didn't open her eyes as he gently lead her from the room, there was no reason to remember one more anonymous hotel room, one more thwarted attempt. She needed conserve all her energy for what, who, waited for them in the van. The reality of her husband, life and their enemies was almost more draining then the astral projection across time.

"Don't worry, we will fix this," she heard Michael murmur. Unfortunately it wouldn't quiet the part of her mind that worried that it was already too late.