There was a serial killer in my dreams.

We had to whisper and write notes in case he was listening, and then when he arrived in a big black Cadillac supposedly to take at least one of us to Paris and I saw him through the window walking toward the house in gloves with the hypodermic (he was probably in the Henley too) (he was always in the Henley when he was going to kill someone) I said "Why didn't I get a weapon?" and led the escape through the side door, the screen squeaking and banging a little too much, but "Run like hell!" and we did, and in a bit I knew he'd been captured, and when it sunk in I looked around and saw the trees like I hadn't in years and the freedom washed over and through me like I couldn't believe, and I wanted to tell neighbors, which neighbors, Linda and David's door was open but they didn't know about him, well whatever, I'm free, but wait, now there are flashes to other scenes; now there is someone who looks a lot like him in a bar; now there's a flashback to him cleaning out his place before he came over, and I know of a sudden the evidence won't necessarily hold up; now there's Kathy B, the detective and the witness, who didn't know the whole story, of course she's going to misinterpret what she saw and heard; now --- he's not going to be staying safely put away.

Awaken.  Get up.  Go in.