She’s wearing white; it’s always a white hospital gown tattered and soiled from neglect, and her hair long and stringy, tangled from lack of care. Her eyes… dear God her eyes, dark and sunken…very frightened… so very frightened. Her face, although it changes a little with each dream, is frail and ashen from lack of sunshine; she is incredibly young, no more than six. Young and very alone -- children hate being alone in the dark.

"Mommy?" her voice seems very loud against the quiet. She turns in my direction, and a lump rises in my throat.

"Mommy… please help… me…?"

I can hear myself say, "No child, I’m not your mommy but hurry, take my hand and we will get you out of this place." Of course within a dream all is possible… right?

Yet, she is just beyond my reach. As I watch her struggle and stand, I guess she’s weak from hunger and lack of sleep. . But then, I see why it’s so difficult for her to move. I even hear myself gasp at the sight of the metal around her ankle and dread fills my heart. How can I get to her, or better yet, how can she get to me bound, chained like an animal.

Anger stirs.

My heart clenches as I watch as even with the chains weighing her down, she moves across the span of light towards me. When her tiny face tilts up and she lifts her hands to me, she stretches as I to her. The distance between us begins to melt away, our hands growing closer and closer… And then, the lights go out and she screams. I echo her screams through to awakening; practically jumping out of my bed to scramble away from the evil that has touched me.

Every time this happens, after every dream I’m soaked from sweat, emotionally exhausted by what I’ve glimpsed upon, and I am very, very scared. And I’m so very tired.

I know what you are thinking. You think I am scared for the little girl, but you are wrong… for I know she is already dead, that what I am allowed to glimpse upon is just an echo from the past, a ripple in time’s events reaching out to me and until now, left unacknowledged. You see I can’t do anything about them; they only tease and taunt me, throwing my own helplessness in my face. It is what time does to me, Agent Marshall, it is what I’ve faced for many, many years…but things are beginning to change and I with them… time has found a way to reach me...to get me more involved.

As I sit here across from you, Agent Marshall, I know your thoughts and your fears, and although I cannot see you, I know they are there… I feel your doubts, and it is because of this, I’m afraid… to say…to tell you of my dreams, to tell you of me

I know what you did this morning, yesterday, and the day before. I see it in my mind, as I see all things. I live through the past and present – mine, yours… anyone who dares to allow me close enough. I can feel the loss that you hide from the world, hold close to your heart and I know. Just as I feel the evil stirring again, I know another child is at risk.

My heart clenches because I sit here knowing soon I will be dragged into yet another nightmare, forced to watch what he does, will be changed yet a bit more by the experience and forced to remain as helpless and as useless as always. And I know you think I am another nutcase. You think I am like the others who claim to know, and don’t. I know how after each false lead, their words leave you with false hope and disappointment. I am just afraid that my words will leave you …I’m not sure… in fear… but not of the evil that hunts in this city, but rather, of me…

I have reached out so many times before… and have been judged by what I can do. So you see, Agent Marshall, what I am truly scared of is this... it’s not over. Evil hunts now as we speak. And it knows I’m watching it; I can feel its rage for me. I feel its wrath and feel what its blackness is doing to me each time it touches my soul…

And yet, I still had to come but how do I put these thoughts to words so you will understand?