"He was shot to death by a police officer named Grace Kincaid."Francisco nodded grimly. "I see," he said, breathing heavily. "Mr. Kendall, I wonder if...you can do me one more small favor?" Anything, Francisco," Kendall said."Could you tell me where I can find this Grace Kincaid?"***Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Light. Dark.The white glare strobed at her harshly, hurting her head and forcing sound from a throat too raw to breathe. She sought the comfortable, cloying darkness, but some small part of. I'm in love with him.I want him to hold me, and kiss me, and do things I am not equipped forwith me ....Then I wake up, crying.I dont know what to do about this.I dont know who I can talk to.I know dreams aren't real, but it comes from somewhere, but where?And its not just the dream. Sometimes, I look at myself in the mirror, andI look .... wrong, somehow. I look and I half-expect to see the girl frommy dream looking back at me.And the fact she doesn't is a grief I cant even begin to describe. More

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