I have had this dream before. I am walking down a dark street by myself. I don't recognize this street. No street in Keysville is made from cobblestone, and the air here isn't this thick. The humidity is incredible. The air tastes like salt; it fills my lungs, making it harder to breathe. My mystery man comes around the corner to face me, his hands in his leather coat pockets. He doesn’t wear a suit this time. There is his face again in my dream. I stop. He stops. I look up at the stars. I find a familiar constellation, Orion's Belt. As soon as my eyes begin to descend, he's right in front of me, only five inches from my face—so quickly. I can feel his breath against my forehead. It makes me cringe to my very core, and I grab my chest. The malicious grin on his face and dark deep-set eyes are unforgettable and black as death. I can’t move.

At this point, I usually wake up screaming. Not this time. I don't wake up. This is new. I know I am dreaming, but I can't escape. The stranger grabs my wrist and examines it. He is so strong it almost feels like my wrist could snap off. There is no point in trying to pull away. A contorted smile, still malicious, appears on his face, and his eyes snap up through his eyelashes to meet mine. His lips open.

"Hello, Analise. We have been looking for you. Time to have fun." His voice is familiar, but I can't put my finger on it. It's rough, deep, and threatening.

He removes his other hand from the other coat pocket—a knife. Its blade, six inches long, reflects the moon and stars above. He twists it in his hand, his eyes marveling its beauty. The moonlight dances across the blade and strikes my eye. His eyes snap back to mine.

I wake up.

Again, I am drenched and my breathing is uneven, like my last nightmare. I scramble to my feet and dart, clumsily, to my desk across the room. I grab my notebook to write my dream down before I forget. I don't know how I could forget. I turn to a new page. Horrified, I throw the book to the floor.

I stare at the page in panic and horror for what feels like hours. Written across the pages is one name—my name. But, I didn't write it. Analise. I sprint to my window to close and lock it. How did he get in here? My hands stand still on the window pane where I pushed the window close. I place my forehead against the window to catch my breath. My hard, warm breath leaves condensation droplets on the window. The gasps begin to slow down. I pull my head back and begin to stare at my right wrist. What was the man at the mall looking for? I search. I search all night. Only freckles—nothing extraordinary. It isn't until I can't keep my eyes open a second later that it strikes me. A section of my dream plays over in my mind. I look to the stars and find a familiar constellation, three freckles leading their way on my wrist, the second freckle jutting slightly to the right, Orion's Belt. This confusion has to be from exhaustion. I am connecting dots and creating patterns that couldn't exist. My eyelids are far too heavy to hold open any longer. The only thing I am positive of now is this: I must rely on my intuition. I knew something was watching me the other night. I knew there was something strange about that man. Now, he has been in my room. It takes a while for me to fall back to sleep, but it finally comes, until I hear a whisper in my ear. Analise. I wake up with a piercing headache. If my life were anything like my dreams, I'd be crazy. Oh, right. I am crazy.