Dreams of Murder
By Pamala Rush

	Steve Sloan was up to his elbows in paperwork. Paperwork 
was his least favorite part of the job, yet it was also one of the most 
important. His pen was carefully balanced in his left hand and the 
paper on which he was writing seemed to be waiting for him to 
finish. Steve sighed and looked out the window. It was pouring rain 
outside, which made doing the paperwork a bit easier to do.
	"Hey, Sloan," someone said, interrupting Steve's thoughts. A 
brown paper bag plopped on his desk. "Your dinner has been 
delivered."
	"My dinner?"
	"That's what the lady said," the uniformed officer said. "She 
said something about your dad having ordered and paid for it for 
you. Lucky guy."
	Steve grinned slightly and grabbed the bag, wondering what 
his father had ordered for him. Inside was a BBQ sandwich from a 
local deli. It looked good and tasted even better. It went well with 
his cup of coffee and when he finished he was ready to jump back 
into the paperwork in front of him. 
	Somewhere along the way, he lost track of time and when 
he looked up, the office was empty, which was really strange. 
There was always someone in the office. What was he thinking? 
He was still in the office. The night was playing tricks on him. He 
shook his head to clear it then stood up and grabbed his coat. The 
rest of the paperwork could wait until tomorrow. He had to get out 
of here before he lost his mind.
	Driving home on streets still wet from rain, Steve passed Jax 
Bar, and with a suddenness that surprised himself, he turned into 
the parking lot. He could use a bit of unwinding.
	He waved to Jack behind the bar as he went in the front 
door. The bar was a bit empty, but it was only a Tuesday night. The 
clientele was spread thinly across the barroom, and Steve looked 
around to see if there was someone he knew. He knew no one 
here, but one woman sitting at the bar caught his eye. She had 
long curly blonde hair clipped back with a comb decorated with 
flowers and wore a short dress of soft red velvet which showed off 
her long legs. Her feet held a pair of red heels which were hooked 
over the bar on the middle of the bar stool's legs. Her slim hands 
were wrapped around a glass of white wine and decorated with red 
nail polish. And she was watching Steve through deep blue eyes.
	Steve put on his best smile and walked over. "What are you 
looking at?" he asked softly.
	"You," she said with a smile. "I haven't seen many men like 
you."
	"There are no men like me," Steve said, not believing what 
he was saying. "Would you like to dance?" He gestured to the 
jukebox and the space around it meant for dancing.
	"I would love to," she replied setting down her drink and 
taking his hand.
	Steve dropped several coins from his pocket into the 
jukebox and chose several selections that he knew were slow 
songs. He took her in his arms, his hands spread out on her bare 
back in the low cut back of her dress and slowly swayed back and 
forth with her in his arms. She whispered things to him, but later on, 
Steve could not remember for the life of him what she had said.

	Mark fell asleep on the couch waiting for Steve to come 
home and when he finally did, Steve woke his father from a sound 
sleep. Mark sat up, put on his glasses to look at the time; it was 
almost 4 a.m.; and looked up at Steve. "Where have you been?" 
Mark asked. "I've been worried."
	There was something strange about the way Steve was 
acting. He held his gun in his hand at his side, which seemed odd 
in itself. His eyes were glazed and he didn't answer his father's 
questions. Slowly, he raised the gun, aiming it at his father and as 
Mark was asking Steve what he was doing, his finger pulled the 
trigger and the gun went off, killing his father where he sat.

	Steve woke up screaming. His eyes were wild and his skin 
was flushed as if he had been doing something strenuous. His 
breathing was extremely rapid and he wasn't able to calm himself 
down before his father burst in the door.
	"Steve!" Mark exclaimed. "You OK?"
	Steve bent his knees and put his elbows on them, running 
his hands through his hair. "It was a dream," he whispered. "It was 
only a dream."
	Mark sat on the side of the bed. "You want to talk about it?"
	Steve shook his head. "Not right now," he said. "Give me a 
few minutes."
	Mark was quiet for a few minutes as he carefully studied his 
son. "All right," he said. "Get a shower and get dressed. I'll go fix 
some breakfast."
	Steve sat for a long time after his father left. He was thinking 
about the dream which had seemed all too real. Finally, he took a 
deep breath and shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind so 
he could do something constructive. Like taking a shower and 
getting dressed as Mark had suggested.

	Steve was tired and quiet at the breakfast table. "You want 
to talk about it?" Mark asked.
	"Not really," Steve replied.
	"Then do you want to tell me why you were out so late?" 
Mark went on.
	Steve looked up at Mark. "I think I stopped at Jax Bar," he 
told him.
	"You think?"
	"It's fuzzy," Steve replied.
	"One too many beers?"
	"I didn't drink anything," Steve said. "That much I 
remember."
	"Then what happened?" Mark was concerned about his 
son's lack of memory.
	"There was this girl," Steve said. "We were dancing, and 
she was whispering.... I don't know, something. After that, I don't 
remember anything until I had that nightmare and woke up."
	"What was the nightmare about?" Mark asked softly. "You 
don't have to say if you don't want."
	"Not yet," Steve replied. "Not yet."
	Mark nodded and left him alone as he cleared the dishes. 
"By the way dad," Steve called so that Mark could hear him in the 
kitchen. "What time did I finally get home last night?"
	"It was almost four," Mark called back. "Why?"
	"Just wondering," Steve said as a chill went down his spine.

	Steve sat at his desk among the pile of paperwork that was 
still waiting for his attention. Attention which he couldn't give to 
anything. He sighed as a slim hand sat a paper cup full of hot, 
black coffee on the desk before him. Steve looked up to see who it 
was and found himself looking into the blue eyes of the woman in 
red. Of course, she wasn't wearing red today. She was wearing 
some kind of baby blue suit with her hair pulled up on her head, 
tousled curls falling down around the crown of it.
	"You look like you could use a pick-me-up," she said.
	Steve stood up so sharply that he almost knocked his chair 
over. "Who are you?"
	"I'm Callista?" she replied. "We met last night. Don't you 
remember?"
	"Yes, no, I don't know," Steve said, confused.
	"We had a few dances, drank a few drinks," Callista said. 
"Talked for awhile. You don't remember?"
	Steve shook his head as he tried desperately to remember 
the night before. "What are you doing here?"
	"You asked me to have dinner with you tonight," Callista 
said.
	"I don't remember that," Steve said with a shake to his head.
	Callista looked a bit angry. "That has got to be the lamest 
excuse I have ever heard."
	"I don't know what else to say," Steve said. "I've had a bit of 
a bad day."
	Callista looked sorry for him and went around the desk and 
sat him down in his chair. She sat down on his desk and held his 
head against her chest, running her hands through his hair. Upon 
noticing the looks of others in the room, Steve pulled back. Callista 
shrugged and handed him the cup of coffee she had brought.
	"Drink this," she ordered. "Then maybe you'll be awake 
enough to come to dinner with me-- and I'll buy since you don't 
seem to remember asking."
	Steve sipped the coffee. "It's a little bitter," he told her.
	"I could get you some sugar," Callista said.
	"Don't worry about it," Steve replied. He gulped down the 
rest of the coffee and stood up, grabbing his coat. "Let's go."

	Mark was sitting on the couch across from Amanda and 
Jesse as he told them of Steve's erratic behavior of late. Two days 
had passed since Steve's first nightmare, and ever since Steve had 
been practically joined at the hip with the woman he had met at Jax 
Bar. Steve had gotten up looking like he hadn't slept in weeks and 
all he would say was that he was still having the same nightmare.
	"I can't get him to talk to me," Mark told his friends. "That's 
not like him."
	"He won't even tell you what the nightmare was about?" 
Amanda asked.
	Mark shook his head. "I'm worried sick."
	"I don't blame you," Jesse said. "I'm worried, too."
	"Do you want me to try?" Amanda asked.
	"If you think you can help," Mark said. "I don't know if he'll 
talk to you either."
	"I'll try my best," Amanda told her worried friend as she 
stood. "Right now I'm supposed to be doing an autopsy for him, so 
I'd better get going."
	"Bye," Mark said as she walked down the stairs.
	Just before going out the door, she turned to speak again. 
"Try not to worry. This may be just one of those things he has to 
work out himself."
	"I know," Mark replied. "I'll remember that."
	Amanda left Jesse and Mark to ponder Steve's actions 
alone. Jesse sat on the couch next to Mark and slapped his friend 
on the shoulder. "It'll be OK," Jess said. "It will."
	Mark couldn't tell whether Jesse was trying to convince him 
or himself.

	Callista sat Steve on the edge of his bed and took his shoes 
off of him. Steve looked dazed, dreamy, and tired. Callista looked 
up at him and smiled. "You're almost ready. Just a few more days."
	Steve was so out of it that he couldn't even ask what she 
meant. She pulled his jacket off then unbuttoned his shirt and slid it 
down his arms. She threw both into a nearby chair then turned 
Steve and lay him down in his bed. She folded her arms and put 
her head into them to watch as Steve went to sleep.
	"Dream my friend," she whispered softly. "In a few days you 
will murder your own father."

	Mark was in the kitchen when Steve came up behind him. 
He looked dazed and tired and like he was part of a bad dream. 
"Steve you OK?" Mark asked him.
	Steve only looked at his father. His gun was in his hand, the 
cold metal against his finger. He had woken up with it in his hand 
as he did every time he had this dream. This wasn't his father who 
stood before him, but an impostor who had murdered many people. 
An impostor who had been pretending to be his father. Steve 
hesitated. Was this really a dream? The impostor sure looked a lot 
like his father. And what if he was wrong?
	"You're not wrong," a voice whispered softly. "Kill him before 
he kills you."
	Steve lifted his hand and pulled the trigger. His father fell to 
the floor, dead, a pool of blood forming around his body.

	He woke with a start to find that he was sleeping in his 
jeans. He couldn't remember coming home, much less undressing 
as much as he had. The dream still clung to his mind, and he 
panicked and lept from his bed. He bounded up the stairs and into 
the kitchen to look at the place where Mark had been laying in his 
dream. He got down on the floor and looked for any sign of what he 
had done. There was no body, no blood, and the floor was ice cold.
	"Steve, what are you doing down there?"
	Steve jumped and turned to find his father, alive and well, 
standing behind him. For some reason, he didn't think the man 
standing before him was really his father. He stood there waiting 
for Steve to answer, but Steve couldn't very well tell him the truth. 
What if he was an impostor? Someone sent to do him and his 
_real_ father in?
	"I'm checking to see if the floor needed mopped," he 
answered as he got to his feet. "I'd better go get dressed." He 
hurried past Mark and went down to his apartment.
	Mark looked after him with a worried expression on his face.

	Amanda had had a rough night. She had been up with a sick 
kid who needed her attention, but she was also worried about 
Steve. She had gotten him to talk to her. The dreams he had been 
having were very disturbing. That and the way he had trouble 
separating the dreams from reality. She hadn't gotten the chance to 
talk to Mark quite yet. That troubled her, too.
	Finally asleep, the phone woke her from the unrestful 
slumber, and she reached a hand from under the covers to answer 
it.
	"Amanda Bently," she said with a sleepy voice.
	"I'm sorry if I woke you." It was Mark.
	"Don't worry about it," Amanda said as she sat up. "I was 
going to call you as soon as my alarm went off..." she looked at her 
clock. "Which was in about five minutes."
	"Did you get to talk to Steve?"
	"Yes, I did," Amanda replied. "I tried to get a hold of you last 
night but we kept missing each other. Then CJ was sick..."
	"I understand," Mark said. "What did he tell you?"
	Amanda told him about the dreams and Steve's inability to 
separate dreams from reality. "He was pretty emphatic when he 
asked me not to tell you. He said he wasn't sure if you were really 
you."
	Mark sighed audibly. "Do you think you can talk him into 
checking into the hospital for a complete checkup?"
	"I already tried that," Amanda said. "He said he didn't have 
time."
	"Let me guess, the new girlfriend," Mark said.
	"Right," Amanda said. "Have you met her?"
	"No," Mark replied. "Steve hasn't even offered to introduce 
me."
	"That's odd," Amanda stated. "That's not like him."
	"None of this is like him," Mark agreed. "Call me if you can 
get anywhere with him. He barely comes near me anymore. I found 
him crawling around on the kitchen floor this morning and when I 
asked him about it, he gave me a lame excuse and left."
	"That doesn't strike me as good," Amanda said.
	"I know," Mark said. "It _scares_ me."
	"Things will be all right," Amanda told him. "I've got to go."
	"Thanks for everything, Amanda," Mark said.
	"It'll be all right," Amanda repeated before she heard Mark 
hang up the phone. "I hope."

	Jesse sprinted down the hall. Nobody knew what exactly he 
was running for, but they got out of his way when they saw him 
sliding around the corner. He slid to a stop just outside the 
pathology lab and caught his breath before he went in.
	"You wanted me?" he asked Amanda as she sat at her desk 
with a pile of paperwork.
	"How fast did you run?" she asked.
	"You said STAT," Jesse said innocently. "I'm STAT."
	Amanda rolled her eyes. "I want you to stick with Mark as 
much as you can."
	"What about my shift?"
	"I'll cover for you," Amanda said.
	"Why can't you do it?"
	"Because I have a very active two-year-old to take care of," 
Amanda replied.
	"OK, sure I'll keep close to Mark," Jesse said. "But why?"
	Amanda looked a bit disturbed as she answered. "Because I 
think someone's going to try to kill him."
	"Who?"
	Amanda took a deep breath. "Steve."
	"You're crazy," Jesse said. "Why would Steve try to kill his 
own father? Especially as close as they are?"
	Amanda explained what she had found out about Steve's 
dreams and his disconnection with reality. "I'm no psychiatrist, but I 
think it's entirely possible that Steve could kill Mark."
	"How am I supposed to stop Steve from killing Mark?" Jesse 
asked.
	"In the dreams, Mark and Steve are always alone," Amanda 
told him. "I'm hoping that your presence will help convince Steve 
that it's real."
	"That he's not dreaming," Jesse finished for her.
	"Right," Amanda said. "Will you do it?"
	"You know I will, Amanda," Jesse said. "You didn't even 
have to ask. How long will I have to stick to Mark like glue?"
	"Until we can find out what's going on," Amanda told him. 
"Do one more thing?"
	"Anything."
	"See if you can get anything out of Steve about this Callista 
he's been seeing," Amanda said. "She came around about the 
same time that Steve started acting funny."
	"Will do," Jesse said with a salute. "I'm outta here."

	"Hey, Steve," Jesse said as he climbed the back stairs to 
find his friend standing there. Steve turned to face his friend and 
Jesse stopped, shocked at Steve's appearance. "You OK?"
	"Yeah, why do you ask?"
	"Because you look like hell," Jesse replied. "Something 
wrong?"
	"I've been having some nightmares," Steve said. "Nothing to 
worry about."
	"They are if they interfere with your sleep," Jesse replied. 
"Come on, talk to me."
	Steve turned to look at Jesse and sighed. He let the whole 
story come out as Amanda had relayed it to him earlier.
	"Maybe you should come into the hospital and let me check 
you out," Jesse suggested. 
	"I'm fine!" Steve snapped. "I just need to be left alone!"
	"Fine," Jesse said. "Where's your father?"
	Steve glanced through the window into the house. Mark 
stood just inside watching the two talking. "I haven't the foggiest," 
Steve said.
	"Thanks," Jesse mumbled as he started through the door, 
but Steve grabbed his arm, effectively stopping him.
	"Jesse I'm sorry I snapped at you," he said.
	"It's OK," Jesse returned, but Steve didn't let loose of him.
	"That's not him," Steve said.
	"Then who is it?"
	"I don't know," Steve said. "Someone dangerous."
	"What happened to Mark?"
	"I don't know," Steve said then nodded toward the window. 
"He knows."
	Steve let go of Jesse's arm and went back to looking over 
the ocean. Jesse didn't go into the house, but walked over to stand 
next to Steve. "I hear you've got a new girlfriend," he said 
cheerfully, even though he didn't feel cheerful.
	Steve turned to Jesse with a bright smile that didn't seem to 
reach his eyes. "She's beautiful, Jess," he told him. "She may be 
_the one._"
	Steve didn't sound at all like himself, but Jesse pretended 
like he didn't notice. "What's her name?"
	"Callista," Steve replied.
	"Just Callista? No last name?"
	"Just Callista," Steve replied, and he looked back over the 
ocean.
	Jesse got the feeling that he wouldn't get anything more 
from him, so he turned and went into the house where Mark 
attacked him as soon as he shut the door.
	"Well?"
	"He told me the same thing Amanda told me," Jesse told 
him. "Amanda wants to find out more about this Callista."
	Mark nodded. "Where do we start?"
	Mark was so unnerved by everything that he couldn't even 
think. "Jax Bar," Jess replied. "Where else?"

	Mark and Jesse entered the almost empty bar and stepped 
up to the counter. "What can I get for you?" the man who stood 
there asked.
	"I need some information," Mark said. "I'm Mark Sloan, and 
I..."
	"Steve's dad," the man interrupted. "I'm Jack."
	Mark nodded. "I need information on the girl he was with a 
few nights ago."
	"I haven't seen Steve in weeks," Jack said.
	"You sure?" Mark asked as he glanced back at Jesse.
	"Yeah," Jack replied.
	"Have you seen a woman with long curly blonde hair 
wearing a red dress?" Jesse asked.
	"Can't say that I have," Jack said. "Is something wrong?"
	"Possibly," Mark said. "Thanks for your help."
	"Anytime," Jack said as he went back to polishing the 
glasses.
	They were back on the sidewalk before Mark spoke. "I don't 
get it," Mark said.
	"Maybe it was part of the trouble separating dreams and 
reality Steve has been having," Jesse suggested.
	"Maybe," Mark said. "Where was he before he was 
supposed to be at Jax Bar?"
	"The precinct," Jesse answered. "Think we should go down 
there and ask a few questions?"
	Mark checked his watch. "Yes, but we'd better hurry and get 
out of there before he gets there."

	The desk sergeant stood next to Mark in the hallway as the 
older man asked the officer some questions. "Sure, I've seen a 
woman with Steve," he said in response to a question about 
Callista. "Pretty girl, too."
	"Blonde hair, blue eyes?" Mark asked.
	"Sounds like her," the officer said.
	"When did she show up?"
	"The night you sent dinner over for Steve," he said. "She 
was the delivery girl."
	Mark looked as Jesse then back to the sergeant. "I never 
sent dinner for Steve."
	The sergeant looked shocked. "She told me that you had. 
Steve ate it then got kind of groggy, so the girl offered to take him 
home."
	"And he accepted?" Mark asked.
	"He was in no shape to refuse," was the reply. "He was 
practically passed out when she helped him out to the car."
	"Did you maybe think that the food was drugged?" Mark 
asked sharply.
	"The girl told me not to worry," the man said, looking plenty 
worried now. "I didn't think nothing of it because he had been here 
all day without a break doing that paperwork. Just sitting there 
before she came, he looked like he would collapse."
	Mark shook his head. "Thanks," he said. "You've been 
helpful."
	"Steve's going to be OK, isn't he?"
	"I hope so," Mark replied. "I hope so."

	Steve was sitting at his desk looking at the piles of 
paperwork which still needed his attention when the captain walked 
up to the desk and leaned over.
	"Sloan, go home," the captain ordered.
	Steve looked up at him with a puzzled expression. "Is 
something wrong?"
	"You haven't gotten a thing done in days," the captain said. 
"And you look like hell."
	Steve threw his pen down on the desk and leaned back. 
"Why does everyone keep saying that," he said. "I'm fine."
	"Well, you don't look fine," the captain said. "Go home. 
That's an order."
	Steve looked at the man for a few minutes before sighing 
and getting to his feet. His slipped his jacket on and headed out the 
door. 
	"And don't come back until you've gotten a good night's 
sleep," the captain called after him.
	"That's easy for you to say," Steve mumbled.

	Callista sat on the floor near Steve's bed, watching as he 
finished getting ready. He slid beneath the covers and closed his 
eyes, trying to get to  sleep, but Callista had other ideas for him. 
"Tonight's the night, my friend," she said as she stroked his cool 
forehead. "You will be so confused, you will take your gun and kill 
the man who has been impersonating your father."
	She placed the gun in his hand. "He's upstairs," she 
whispered. "Your friend is there with him. The dream isn't over until 
you can stop him."
	Steve stirred slightly and looked down at his hand to find the 
gun there. He sat up and looked around. Glazed eyes looked 
through Callista instead of at her and he slid off the bed and 
redressed. Barefoot, he went up the stairs, followed by Callista and 
with his gun still in his hand.
	Mark and Jesse were in the office, talking about Steve and 
how worried they were about him when the subject of their 
conversation came into the room. Mark stood up and looked as his 
son. Jesse stood behind him and they were all quiet. The blonde 
haired, blue eyed woman stood behind Steve waiting to see him do 
what she had programmed him to do.
	Slowly, Steve raised his arm and aimed the gun at Mark, but 
Mark did nothing. When Steve hesitated, Mark spoke.
	"You know this is real," he said. "I'm not an impostor, I'm 
your father."
	Steve's eyes were glazed over, but there was a small look of 
recognition in them. "That's right," Mark said softly. "I'm real. I'm not 
a dream."
	"But he is a dream," Callista whispered in Steve's ear. "Kill 
him before he kills you."
	Steve's finger moved to the trigger and he was about to pull 
it. "Steve, no!" Jesse exclaimed as a bit of movement out the 
window caught Steve's eye.
	It was Amanda, struggling to get the locked door open. 
"Steve, NO!" she was crying.
	That's when Steve made the realization that this was real 
and not a dream. The gun slipped in his grip and his finger fell 
away from the trigger. Angry, Callista pulled a gun from her purse 
and aimed it at Steve.
	"Steve look out!" Jesse and Mark warned together.
	She aimed the gun at Steve's head, but he was a nano 
second faster. He turned his gun toward her and it went off. He 
wasn't even conscious of having pulled the trigger. She screamed 
and fell to the floor. Steve slumped there next to her.
	Mark and Jesse were spurned into action. Jesse unlocked 
the door to let Amanda in as Mark made his way to his son's side. 
Amanda checked the woman's life signs and Mark held his son in 
his arms as if he were seven years old. Jesse stood over them as if 
he were guarding his friends from attack. Amanda turned and 
shook her head and Mark held his son tighter.
	"It's OK, Steve," Mark said. "Everything will be OK."
	Jesse and Amanda looked at each other. Everything would 
be OK.

	Mark stood out on the patio next to Jesse, both silent, both 
reflecting on recent events. Amanda came out the door behind 
them and stood next to them, waiting for someone to speak and 
reflecting a bit herself. Finally, Mark and Jesse turned to 
acknowledge her presence.
	"How's Steve?" she asked.
	"Sleeping," Jesse answered for Mark. "We hope for a long 
time."
	"I'm hoping he'll sleep it off," Mark said. "What did you find?"
	Amanda gestured to the table and the trio sat down at it. She 
handed Mark a folder with the autopsy report in it. "According to 
her fingerprints, she was Dana Burnes," Amanda told him.
	"That name sounds familiar," Mark said.
	"It should," came a hoarse voice from the doorway. They 
turned to see Steve standing there. "Last year I killed a man named 
Nathan Burnes. It was self defense. Dana was his sister."
	Mark nodded. "I remember," he said. "You OK?"
	Steve nodded and sat down very slowly. "I'm fine," he told 
his father. "I think. Go on Amanda."
	"She was a psychiatrist who specialized in dreaming," 
Amanda said. "She taught her clients how to control the direction of 
their dreams. She used various psychotropic drugs to help her 
clients be more open to the suggestions she gave them. We found 
a good mixture of those drugs when we did a tox screen on Steve."
	"So she was controlling Steve's dreams," Mark said. "Making 
him believe the dream world was real and the real world was a 
dream."
	Amanda nodded. "That's right."
	"But how was she able to drug him?" Jesse asked.
	"The sandwich," Steve replied. "The one that she brought to 
the precinct saying it was something dad had sent."
	Jesse nodded. "She was out for revenge and she wanted to 
make you suffer by killing your own father."
	"That's the size of it," Amanda said.
	Steve looked like he was going to fall back to sleep. "I think 
you should go back downstairs and go to sleep," Mark suggested.
	"I feel like I'll never be able to sleep again," Steve replied 
with a yawn. "I keep dreaming that the paperwork waiting for me on 
my desk is dancing around me and laughing."
	Mark smiled. "Sounds better than the last dream you had."
	Steve smiled back at his father. "I agree, but they sing 
off-key and that's worse than the other dream."
	Everyone laughed.