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〃Dreams are doorways。〃 Holly flared up： 〃We can't stay awake forever； damn it！〃 The light in the limestone was snuffed out。
The Friend was gone。
Somewhere people laughed。 Somewhere music played and dancers danced； and somewhere lovers strained toward ecstasy。
But in the high room of the mill； designed for storage and now stacked to the ceiling with an anticipation of violence； the mood was decidedly grim。
Holly loathed being so helpless。 Throughout her life she had been a woman of action； even if the actions she took were usually destructive rather than constructive。 When a job turned out to be less satisfying than she had hoped； she never hesitated to resign； move on。
When a relationship soured or just proved uninteresting； she was always quick to terminate it。
If she had often retreated from problems…from the responsibilities of being a conscientious journalist when she had seen that journalism was as corrupt as anything else； from the prospect of love； from putting down roots and mitting to one place…well； at least retreat was a form of action。 Now she was denied even that。
The Friend had that one good effect on her。 It was not going to let her retreat from this problem。
For a while she and Jim discussed the latest visitation and went over the remaining questions on her list； to which they made changes and additions。 The most recent portion of her ongoing interview with The Friend had resulted in some interesting and potentially useful information。 It was only potentially useful； however； because they both still felt that nothing The Friend said could be relied upon to be true。
By 3 ：15 in the morning； they were too weary to stand and too to continue sitting。 They pulled their sleeping bags together and stretched out side by side； on their backs； staring at the domed ceiling。
To help guard against sleep； they left the gas lantern at its brightest setting。 As they waited for The Friend to return； they kept talking； not about anything of importance； small talk of every kind； anything to keep their minds occupied。 It was difficult to doze off in the middle of a conversation； and if one did slip away； the other would know it by the lack of a response。 They also held hands； her right in his left…the logic being that even during a brief pause in the conversation； if one of them started to take a nap； the other would be warned by the sudden relaxation of the sleeper's grip。
Holly did not expect to have difficulty staying awake。 In her university days she had pulled all…nighters before exams or when papers were due； and had stayed awake for thirty…six hours without much of a struggle。
During her early years as a reporter； when she'd still believed that journalism mattered to her； she had labored away all night on a story； poring over research or listening yet again to interview tapes or sweating over the wording of a paragraph。 She had missed nights of sleep in recent years； as well； if only because she was occasionally plagued by insomnia。 She was a night owl by nature anyway。 Piece of cake。
But though she had not yet been awake twenty…four hours since bolting out of bed in Laguna Niguel yesterday morning； she felt the sandman sliding up against her； whispering his subliminal message of sleep； sleep； sleep。 The past few days had been a blur of activity and personal change； both of which could be expected to take a toll of her resources。 And some nights she had gotten too little rest； only in part because of the dreams Dreams are doorways。 Sleep was dangerous； she had to stay awake。 Damn it； she shouldn't need sleep this badly yet； no matter how much stress she had been under lately。 She struggled to keep up her end of the conversation with Jim； even though at times she realized that she was not sure what they were talking about and did not fully understand the words that came out of her own mouth。 Dreams are doorways。 It was almost as if she had been drugged； or as if The Friend； after warning them against sleep； was secretly exerting pressure on a narcoleptic button in her brain。 Dreams are doorways。 She fought against the descending oblivion； but she found that she did not possess the strength or will to sit up。 。 。 or to open her eyes。
Her eyes were closed。 She had not realized that her eyes were closed。
Dreams are doorways。 Panic could not arouse her。 She continued to drift deeper under the sandman's spell even as she heard her heart pound harder and faster。 She felt her hand loosening its grip on Jim's hand； and she knew he would respond to that warning； would keep her awake； but she felt his grip loosening on her hand； and she realized they were succumbing to the sandman simultaneously。
She drifted in darkness。
She felt that she was being watched。
It was both a reassuring and a frightening feeling。
Something was going to happen。 She sensed it。
For a while； however； nothing happened。 Except darkness。
Then she became aware that she had a mission to perform。
But that couldn't be right。 Jim was the one who was sent on missions not her。
A mission。 Her mission。 She would be sent on a mission of her own。
It was vitally important。 Her life depended on how well she performed。
Jim's life depended on it as well。 The whole world's continued existence depended on it。
But the darkness remained。
She just drifted。 It felt nice。
She slept and slept。
At some point during the night； she dreamed。 As nightmares went； this one was a lulu； all the stops pulled out； but it was nothing like her recent dreams of the mill and The Enemy。 It was worse than those because it was painted in excruciating detail and because throughout the experience she was in the grip of anguish and terror so intense that nothing in her experience prepared her for it； not even the crash of Flight 246。
Lying on a tile floor； under a table。 On her side。 Peering out at floor level。 Directly ahead is a chair； tubular metal and orange plastic； under the chair a scattering of golden french fries and a cheeseburger； the meat having slid halfway out of the bun on a skid of ketchup…greased lettuce。
Then a woman； an old lady； also lying on the floor； head turned toward Holly。 Looking through the tubular legs of the chair； across the fries and disarranged burger； the lady stares at her； a look of surprise； stares and stares； never blinking； and then Holly sees that the lady's eye nearest the floor isn't there any more； an empty hole； blood leaking out。 Oh； lady。 Oh； lady； I'm sorry； I'm so sorry。 Holly hears a terrible sound； chuda…chudachuda…chuda…chuda…chuda…chuda； doesn't recognize it； hears people screaming； a lot of people； chuda…chuda…chuda…chuda； still screaming but not as much as before； glass shattering； wood breaking； a man shouting like a bear； roaring； very angry and roaring； chuda…chuda…chuda…chuduchuda…chuda…chuda…chuda。
She knows now that it's gunfire； the heavy rhythmic pounding of an automatic weapon； and she wants to get out of there。 So she turns in the opposite direction from which she's been facing because she doesn't want to…can't； just can't！ crawl by the old lady whose eye has been shot out。 But behind her is a little girl； about eight；