He awoke, his face drenched with sweat and his stomach a tight knot of fear. He reached out, in his fright, and grabbed the woman at his side, pulling her into his arms to hold her tightly. She stroked his hair, kissed his face and whispered soothing words into his ear. "What is it, Nick?" He relaxed his grip and laid his head back on the pillow. In the bright light of the moon, he looked at her and returned to himself. Those monsters! So vivid! "Nightmare," he croaked hoarsely. She smiled, her lips glistening in the moonlight, and kissed him gently. "The apple pie," she suggested. "Nightmares are usually caused by eating before bed." "It was so real," he muttered. "So real. I ... I was on another planet ... I wore a blue uniform with yellow stripes on the legs and my name was Lors, or Lars. The natives, horrible monsters, were in a state of revolution ... they killed my driver. I was alone and they were all around me..." "Science fiction," she cooed and stroked his hair. "I think it's a good sign. All you ever read, for relaxation, was science fiction. Your dream was probably a story you once read and your mind put you in the hero's place." He sat up and looked at her. "Did I cry out?" "You were mumbling. I couldn't hear what you said. Then you began sobbing and thrashing about." Nick ran his fingers through his hair and over the back of his neck, the reality of the dream almost too much for him. It wasn't an ordinary nightmare where he would be running, with a huge monster panting in pursuit. This was frightening. Like a memory. Like some damned fantastic memory. He stood up and patted her shoulder. "Go back to sleep, Beth," he told her gently. "I'm going downstairs." "Shall I turn on a light?" "No. It might cause the neighbors to wonder." He walked to the door of the bedroom. "The moon is bright enough." He walked into the hall, feeling his way in the dark places, and down the stairs into the living room. As he sat in the chair near the window, he thought about the dream. It bothered him, because it was unlike a dream; it had the weird consistency and logic of a memory, yet seemed almost supernatural ... Hell, what kind of thing had huge, yellow eyes and stood nine feet tall? What sort of a world had a violet sky and grey-green rocks? The whole damned thing had the scent of a Walt Disney movie, the colors vivid and sharp, the landscape seemingly done by a watercolor brush. _Thista._ Apparently it was some kind of planet and he hoped that Beth was right. Would it be possible for a man to get so confused via a crack on the head, that he believed he had lived through the literature he'd once read? What would he dream about next? _Macbeth?_ _Treasure Island?_ Christ, what a world!