Just before the airplane met the earth with terrible force, Brent found himself silently saying a prayer. His hand was grasping, reaching for Andrea but she wasn’t there! Now, lying in the rubble, he felt something warm and wet running down his face. One swipe with his working hand revealed fresh, red blood. He pushed himself to his knees and struggled to stand.

“Fuck, fuck! Andrea!” He called out to her and then waited for a reply. His mind was whirling with as a multitude of voices, some crying, and sirens wailed off in the distance. He felt sobs building in his chest as he staggered over the rubble, banging his knee on what was left of a cart that had once been filled with coffee cups and creamer. “Goddamn it! Andrea!!!” His voice cracked and suddenly he began to cry. Brent stood, tears coursed down his face in bloody rivulets. It dripped onto the stark white tee-shirt he was wearing making a horrific contrast. Without warning his head was wracked with pain and he doubled over. “Oh God ... Annie!!” He wailed. He tried to open his eyes but they burned, the sirens were wailing - closer they came. Faintly Brent thought he heard something. He struggled to listen. It was music .... Almost imperceptible but there .... He sniffled and glanced around. “Annie?” He said. The sound of guitars were steadily getting more audible. Brent grew confused. “What’s going on?” He muttered, still in a daze. He tripped over something and, looking down to see what it was, was sickened to see that it was a hand. He knelt down and pulled a sheet of metal off of the body. He felt his life drain away as Andrea lay there, motionless and bloody. He scooped her up into his arms and held her closely while the music became deafening. “Annie ...” He sobbed. “Annie ...”

Brent sat straight up. The first thing he noticed was that he was drenched in sweat. The second thing was that he was in his bed, in his room at the recording studio. His heart was pounding, his breath escaped him in hard pants. His body felt heavy. He tried to move his arm and it was difficult to lift. Running a shaky hand through his wet hair he was suddenly aware of the music that filled the room. Heavy guitar ripped through his pounding head. “Curt.“ He whispered as the became slowly aware of his surroundings. He tugged the covers aside and planted his cold feet on the floor.

“Motherfucker ...” Brent muttered to himself as the realization of the dreadful dream he’d just had came flooding back to his memory. He got up and dragged himself to the bathroom where he let his boxers fall to the floor. He placed his hands on the wall behind the toilet and leaned on his arms. His arms, slick with sweat felt cool to his warm face. He finished his morning business and sat back down on the bed. He picked up the phone and glancing quickly at the clock, he dialed his home number. It was just 10:00, Andrea would be there and he needed badly to speak with her. When she answered she was breathless. Brent tried to speak and his voice came out in a croak.

“Brent? Is that you?” He cleared his throat and managed a “Yes.” “Are you okay?” She asked, concerned.

“Yeah, I’m okay. How are you?” He heard her sigh at the other end.

“I’m fine, I was just leaving.”

“Where are you going?” He felt his chest growing heavy and he was aware of a lump in his throat.

“I was going to the paint store. I have some ideas for our bedroom and I was going to look at paint chips.” Brent positioned his hand over his eyes and gently rubbed them. They burned with tears.

“Were you?” His voice cracked as he spoke. “Well you have a good time.” He heard a door slam in the background.

“Brent, what is wrong? Something’s wrong. Now tell me!”

“You’re on your way out, it’s okay; I just had a bad dream is all.”

“No, honey, tell me. I took off my coat, I’m here to listen.” Brent sighed.

“I just dreamt about some plane crash or something. I just feel weird.”

Andrea sat down on the couch after closing the front door and taking off her coat. She’d had dreams like that before, where you can’t shake off the ominous feeling of the doom that she’d experienced in the dream itself. She felt badly that Brent was so far away when he needed her now.

“Oh honey. Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes it helps to get it out.” Brent had a vision of the blood and gore in his realistic dream and felts sobs in his chest.

“No, Annie. No. I don’t want to talk about it. I want to forget about it. Why don’t you talk about something else?”

Andrea found it hard to mask her concern. “Well ... I have this great idea for our bedroom ...” She began, trying to sound cheerful. “I think you’re going to love it!”

“I hope it does NOT involve flowers or frilly things.” He heard her giggle on the other end. “And ... It better not have any satin either!”

“No, Brent, it doesn’t have any of those things. I know you’ll like it!” Brent reached an unsteady hand to the nightstand drawer and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of it. He stuffed one into his mouth.

“I trust you, Annie. I’ll have to!” She smiled.

“Good. So what have you been up to?” He lit the cigarette and held the phone away from his mouth as he exhaled the smoke.

“We got somewhere yesterday. Curt came up with some pretty hot guitar riffs for the song we’re trying to finish. In fact, he woke me up this morning playing very loudly.” As if on cue, his head throbbed behind his swollen eyeballs. He took a long pull of the cigarette and blew it out his nose. Andrea sighed to herself. It was discouraging that Brent refused to quit smoking. She just could not understand why.

“That sounds good, Brent.” Andrea said, indifferent.

“Well, honey, you get to the paint store. I’m going to go downstairs and get a cup of joe. I think I’m a little hungry too.” Andrea stood up and grabbed her coat off the arm of the chair.

“Okay. Call me later if you want to talk.” Brent stood and picked up his jeans that he’d exhaustedly dropped onto the floor beside the bed the night before.

“I will. And you do the same. If I don’t hear my cell ringing, Annie, call the other number and have them interrupt me.”

“I love you, Brent.” She said quietly. Brent felt a jolt go right through his chest as the memory of Andrea, lifeless in his arms came flooding back to him.

“I love you too, Annie. Be careful out there today.” He said swallowing the growing knob in his throat.

“I will.” Andrea said and hung up.

Brent slid his jeans up his long, lanky legs and over his small hips. He zipped them and picked up a tee-shirt from off the floor. Smelling it, he shrugged and pulled it over his head. He tucked his feet into a pair of sandals and then ran a comb through his sweat-soaked hair. As he headed down the stairs he heard the voices of the other guys mixed with the clinking and clanking of plates and glasses as the breakfast routine was in full swing. He sat down at the empty space of the table and poured himself a cup of coffee from the decanter that was in the middle of the large table. As he sipped it, he noticed Geoff staring at him.

“What?” He said.

“You look like shit.” Geoff said, eyeing Brent’s pale face and sunken eyes.

“Thanks. The same to you.” Brent said and began to fill his plate with bacon, potatoes, and scrambled eggs.

“Too much partying I’m guessing.” Geoff said as he opened the newspaper and began scanning the page.

“Fuck you.” Brent muttered filling his mouth with food.

“Knock it off you two.” Curt said. “I think I’ve got it figured out and we’re going to finish this fucking song today.” Brent kept his head down and continued eating. “You do look like hell, Brent. Are you okay?” Curt asked, noticing that the way Brent looked right now was curiously reminiscent of the day when Alex had tried to kill Brent with poison. A shudder went through him. Brent glanced sideways at Curt and then went back to eating.

“I’m fine.” Curt nodded and then got up.

“I’m going to the studio. Don’t take too long.” He called as he walked down the hall and out the door, his guitar in hand. When the other two guys had gone, Brent finished eating and went back to his room. He lay down on his stomach and pulled his pillow over his head. His head was still pounding. He only became aware that he’d fallen back to sleep when a consistent knocking on his door woke him.

“Brent, Goddamn it! Let’s go!” Kelvin hollered. Brent dragged himself off the bed and headed out and toward the studio.