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"Tell who what?" the man slurred."None of your business, Burt," Shirl said. "Go back to your stool." I'll drink where I damn well please."The bartender grabbed Burt's lowball glass and dumped the contents in a sink behind the bar.Scott moved as the drunk cursed and started to swing.Time slowed. Scott didn't need the extra help and boosted back into normal speed. He grabbed the man's wrist and squeezed."Ow!" the drunk hollered. "Who the hell are you?" Who I am," he growled, "is bigger than you. Touch the lady and you go out the door." He squeezed harder and the drunk whimpered. "Your choice is if the door is open or closed when I put you through it."Some of the other patrons had risen to their feet. Scott surveyed the bar and dismissed them as threats."You're done for the day," Scott said. He released the man's wrist. "Go home and sleep it off."The drunk staggered a step. "I'll be back with my gun."Scott saw red.He moved and had the drunk's face planted on a nearby table before the. Do you dream about me?’ * * * I lay still. An enveloping darkness fastened shut the lids of my eyes, heavy with the black of pre-dawn. Something had stirred me. I lay listening, straining to hear a sound. Nothing. Not a whisper in the trees. Not the mice in the attic. It was the silence of a tomb. Can you imagine that silence? A quiet so complete that your ears bleed from the strain of listening… and your head aches from trying to recall the sound of her voice… and then she whispers. Did she whisper before? ‘Do you dream about me? Tell me the truth. Do you dream you are with me?’ And I turn my head, and I open my eyes, and I peer into the darkness where she lay… once lay. And I can smell the musky stain of her body, giddy, replete, and see her skin glowing, and feel her stretched-out heat beneath the bed-sheet. When was that? Did we ever have that? How many nights since she lay beside me? I try to remember. It must be hundreds. I lay on my back and I stare wide-eyed trying to.
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