I can’t sleep. I’ve tried everything, but my brain is out of control, and I can’t drift off. I even tried my worst-case solution involving counting backward from four-hundred, by threes. In Spanish. Usually, the counting is demanding enough that it gets my mind off whatever is stressing me out, while also helping me with my Espanol. So here I am knowing it’s hopeless at two-fifteen in the morning.
I give up, crawl out of bed and slip on shorts, t-shirt, and flipflops and head out the door. I know the moon is almost full but see that heavy clouds are shadowing it, making it quite dark. My eyes adjust a little and since I know my planned route well, I don’t worry about it. I head down steps to the walkway and then out to the road. I cross it and then down the short boardwalk to the beach. The temperature is nice with a light breeze, so off come the flipflops. I’m walking down the beach along the water. The ocean is almost flat, and the water feels nice, so I let the little waves lap at my feet.
Eventually I begin to tire and head up onto the dry sand. I sit in a slight depression. It is so nice. I take off my shirt and spread it behind me and lie back.
There is a scream in my dream. I must have fallen asleep. I organize my thoughts. I hear another scream and then a loud voice. Shit what the hell. I look in that direction, and I can just make out a man dragging a struggling person towards the water.
“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” a deep male voice says.
“Come on Bruce, I’ll tell Tony I’m sorry and it won’t happen again,” another man says.
“Too late Chaz. I gotta do my job. Since I like you, I’ll make it quick.” He pulls the other guy into the water.
“Please, let me go. I’ll move to Mexico. He’ll never know.”
Shit, what do I do? Stay hidden or try to help the guy? Why didn’t I bring my phone?
I keep my head down. An opening emerges in the clouds and moonlight begins to break through. It gets brighter. I raise my head a little and can clearly see them. One man forces the other’s head under the water. Then there are no more voices or screams. Oh, God.
I realize that I’m now exposed in the moonlight too and the killer is working his way out of the water. He sees me. Fuck, fuck.
I get to my feet and start running the other way along the water. I look back; the man is out of the water and is coming my way, fast. Moonlight reflects off a knife. I speed up and start angling towards steps leading up to the road.
The sand is soft and it’s hard to run. I want to tell the guy that I won’t snitch. That I don’t care that one bad guy kills another. And I’m from New York City and know to mind my own business. But if he catches me, I’m dead. I keep struggling through the sand.
Finally, I reach the steps and hurry up them, but I’m getting so tired. I reach the road and see my condo. I start that way. Shit, I can’t go there. He’ll know where I live – kill me in my home. I keep running down the sidewalk.
He is younger, faster, and catching up. I see that it’s a large knife. I begin to have a panic attack. I need to escape and run faster. I want to yell for help but I’m slowing down and gulping for air. He’s so close now. There’s a loud gun shot. I stumble and fall.
“Are you okay?” A woman’s voice asks.
I lift my head and turn her way. Her dark clothes say FBI in large white letters. A man is putting handcuffs on the killer and there are flashing lights down the road.
I’m breathing hard but manage, “I think I’m fine, but damn, that was close.”
“Sorry, but we didn’t want to blow our cover unless we had too,” the lady agent says.