A/N:     Alright!  This seems to have come together in about five minutes.  It is short, isn’t it?  Anyways, I just want to say, for obvious reasons, that any resemblance to any other fictional characters is purely coincidental.  You know what I’m talking about.  

Middle of a dark night and I’m walking downtown.  It seems to me I just left… somewhere.  Can’t remember.  The library?  Probably.  Now I’m walking.  The stars aren’t twinkling, the pavement isn’t shining, the streetlights aren’t flickering.  Nobody is out this late in this city of civil servants.  Valium City.  I’m alone but for the wind as it whips through the empty streets, hurtling around buildings and pushing me around.  I’m not cold.  I keep walking.  I don’t notice the trash on the ground or the lights in the windows.  Par for the course in the city, even this one.  You stop noticing.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  Except… who’s that?  A man on the corner.  Tall, slim.  Black – dark curly hair to the shoulders, dark clothes, dark expression – and white – white face, white hands clutching a violin case.  Odd.  I stop walking.  Too familiar.  Where…?  From a shadow, I watch him.  The wind beats at him furiously, tearing at his coat, pulling at his hair.  He doesn’t move.  An aura of expectation – he’s waiting.  For what?  Something coming, a mechanical roar in the night.  Louder, louder, but what is it?  A big black beast appears, its single bright eye coming ever closer.  Coming this way!  The man doesn’t move, looks at the beast.  Or at its rider, sunburst in the night.  White blond hair, white skin, light gray clothes.  Coming fast in the empty street.  This is it, what he’s waiting for, this is finally it.  The rider halts his mount, doesn’t disembark.  There’s a shaky silence.  They stare at each other.  All these years, so many years…  Finally, the rider speaks.  “Alive,” he says.  The man shakes his head, “No, not alive.”  They smile.  Small smiles, full of love.  Painful, painful love.  “Get on,” says the rider.  The man does.  Wraps his arms around the rider who guns the beast’s engine.  The animal lunges forward, the blond head is thrown back as impish laughter fills the night.

Laughter.

“She’s over here!  Passed out on her book.  Again.”

“Wake up!”

I’m groggy.  Where am I?  The library?  Probably.  The dream…  “Nicki.”

“What?”

“Nicki.  He’s alive.”

Laughter again.

“He is, is he?”

“Oh, not that again!  Enough about Nicki.  Come downtown!”

I smile.  They don’t know.  But I know.  You’re alive, and he will find you. 

I know it.