Five days had passed since she'd been evicted, a month since she'd lost her job. The money in the bank had long run out, and the storage fee on those few precious items she'd not yet pawned would be due within a month. Life didn't seem to be looking up any time soon. She needed a real job, and none were in sight.

Carrying her heavy-duty black backpack, wearing worn-out blue jeans, a plain but clean T-shirt, and combat boots, Ellette fit into the crowd well enough. She looked like an average college student until one looked closer. It was then that the wear of hard times, the exhaustion, and struggle became clear. Bags hung dark beneath her large eyes, her jet black hair lank, overgrown, and dirty, and her skin was far too pale despite the heat. She was no college student looking ahead to a successful future. That dream had died long ago.

Now the only dreams she had were the dreams at night where she'd do things she knew she'd never do, meet people she knew she'd never meet, and live a life she knew she'd never live.

Bleak reality and the intense heat pressed on her, combined with the lack of food, she'd become rather light-headed. The cement sidewalk seemed to only reflect the sun, and the buildings offered no shade. Cool air wisped out of doors as they opened, but the doors closed quickly, and the bit of arctic wind never reached the sidewalk.

Summer in Steinberg wasn't a pleasant time. Any season in Old Town Steinberg wasn't much better. It seemed to sag with weariness and age. Most of the buildings dated back to a time forgotten, the romantic and stately presence of them faded. It was a place of forgotten people. The people society had forgotten or tried their best to forget. Yet it was on these streets where she was remembered and helped to remember.

"Ellette? Ellette! Is that you?"

She turned instinctively towards the sound of her name. She focused on the voice, trying to place the speaker. A tanned-skinned man, not much older than her, or taller, for that matter, rushed towards her.

The man who had called her stumbled over a bag on the sidewalk in his haste. The man panhandling with his belongings piled around him hardly seemed to notice the hazard he'd created. Yet the young man apologized, slipping the homeless man a few dollars before turning back to Ellette.

He seemed vaguely familiar, yet she was sure she didn't know him. He was strikingly handsome; dark eyes and skin, his features strong, a sharp nose, and thick brows; his hair a shaggy mess, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. A memory of the same face, bandaged and bruised, flashed across her mind's eye. Still, she couldn't place him.

"Yes?" she asked, her mask of stubborn confidence flying into place.

His smile brightened. "I can't believe I found you!" He moved his hand toward her shoulder to touch her as if to check that she was real but restrained himself.

"I didn't realize anyone was looking for me." She tried to sound nonchalant, not wishing to betray her exhaustion in case he was one of the local crazies.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he asked, his face falling. He was so sincere, she couldn't help but wish she could remember him.

"I do, but I don't. I can't think of where I know you from," she replied, hoping he'd jog her memory.

"My name's Rand." He paused as she searched her memory. "You helped me out a little over a year ago in Clarenceville." The two names triggered her memory. She began to put the pieces together, but they didn't fit.

"It was a dream," she muttered. Panic tremored in her voice. She was sure it was a dream, she even remembered waking up afterward and thinking about it. Yet here he stood, the man from her dream. She'd joked with Dani about how real her dreams were, and about how frightening the one with a man named Rand in it had been.

She pressed her palms to her eyes and removed them after a moment. Rand was still there, and she wasn't asleep, but he was a dream. He looked at her questioningly.

"I like to help people in my dreams. It's my little escape, my adventure, my way to make a difference. They're only dreams," she said. Her mind began to whirl as the reality she knew no longer made any sense. " I helped you in a dream. I met you in a dream." Her worn state and lack of food weren't helping her sudden panic. She didn't see the cement drawing closer until it was too late for her to put a hand out.

With a distant sort of amusement the thought, I think I just fainted, fluttered through her mind before everything went black.

***

"How's your head?"

Ellette just groaned.

"Sorry, stupid question. Here, take this."

She opened her eyes and squinted up at the speaker. It was the man from the street. Rand was his name. She'd saved his life over a year ago, in a dream. She was positive it had been a dream. Her life was never that exciting. This though, this was real. Especially her headache.

"You passed out and hit your head on some railing. I work as a nurse, and I figured you wouldn't want to deal with an emergency room or bills, so I brought you to my place. I hope you don't mind." She stared at him, the same dark eyes of the man she'd met in a dream stared back.

"You're not real, you were just a dream," Ellette found herself saying.

"That's what you said before you went down."

"My dreams have always been vivid, and I could always control them, mostly. I always knew I was dreaming. You were a dream, but I'm not dreaming now." The words tumbled out one after another. "If all my dreams have been real, and I just thought I was dreaming..." It only made her headache worse to think of the possibilities. She took the ice-pack that Rand was holding gently to the back of her head.

"I think you were exhausted by the heat and hit your head," he said kindly.

Ellette began to shake her head but decided against it as the throbbing pain started anew. "Maybe. I don't know."

"Well, you can stay here till your head clears," he offered.

"Thank you," she managed.

"Least I could do after what you've done for me."

They sat in silence for a while, Ellette holding her aching head and Rand picking at the fabric of the sofa. She watched him out of the corner of her eye with only one thought in her head: He shouldn't exist. The silence seemed to be getting to him, so went to the rickety metal bookshelf and retrieved something from the top. He sat in the only chair in the place and opened the long rectangular box. The metal hinges creaked softly, barely audible over the traffic noise from the street below.

Ellette watched him more attentively, wondering what the box held. He seemed very intent on its contents as if he'd forgotten all about the stranger sitting on his couch. Then he looked up at her. "Mind if I play? If your head hurts too much, I won't."

"No, no, it's fine," she stuttered.

He removed a finely crafted, though rather plain, wooden flute from the battered old box. He lifted it to his lips and began to play. It was soft, breathy and sweet. The sound of it was foreign, something she imagined belonged in the depths of a desert oasis. Yet, the way he played was unlike anything she'd ever heard. It wasn't long, though, until the notes began to falter and came to a halt.

Ellette opened her eyes, which she didn't remember closing, and stared at her host. He was studying the instrument, running long fingers along the dark wood. Ellette studied his hands, remembering that dream from over a year ago.

His fingers had been broken, and his hands covered gashes when she had found him. They hadn't even looked like hands, even after he'd been cleaned and bandaged. Crippled for sure, she remembered the doctors saying.

He hadn't cried out in panic or pain while they'd beaten him, nor when Ellette had shot off her gun to scare off the attackers. Nor had he done anything but clench his teeth against the pain when she had cleaned him up or when the paramedics had done their share. But he'd cried when they told him about his hands. Ellette didn't think much of it later--after all, it had been just a dream.

The hands that held the instrument were terribly scarred, and the fingers, though long and elegant, were notably malformed.

"You play wonderfully," she whispered, looking down at her lap, and her own, long pale hands that rested there. She heard him putting the flute away, the sound of the velvet against the wood, the creaking of the small brass hinges, the soft crack of wood against wood, and the final click of the lock. Finally, she met his eyes, knowing that there was more to his story. It was an unspoken need for him to tell, and she to listen.

"My mother gave me the flute," he began. There was more to that story as well, but he moved on. "Music was the only link I had to home, and my sanity while my life turned to hell. It's all a blur, I held it together as best I could, but eventually, I couldn't pay the bills. I should have given up the house. I should have known better. But after what had happened to my family, I wasn't thinking straight. The guys at the bar, they seemed helpful enough. Until I couldn't pay.

I should have died that night, I was already dead until an angel in black with a gun showed up." He smiled at that, and Ellette realized that he was referring to her. "You stood by until they were sure I'd make it. I thought I'd been given another chance until they told me about my hands..." His words drifted off, and he lightly caressed the old wooden box that held his flute.

"I was sure I'd been given another chance when you spoke to me. I remember you saying: 'Life may seem bleak at times, but you are still here. You are meant to live the life you've been given. It will get better.' I didn't forget." He got up and put the flute back on the shelf. Silence hung in the air once more.

Ellette fingered the bump on the back of her head, wishing her mind wasn't so muddled. Despite her sluggish thoughts, she realized how much she'd needed to hear those words again. One of her foster parents had told her something along those same lines years ago.

"Would you mind if I stayed awhile?" she asked softly. Dream or not, there was a reason they'd met up again. Something bigger than both of them had its hand in their meeting. She was one to believe in fate. "I think I'm the one who needs rescuing, this time." She smiled wanly.

He laughed. "How long is a while?"

She shrugged. "However long you'll have me. I've got nowhere else to go."