Rush rummaged in his medicine cabinet looking for painkillers combined with a sleep-aid to help him get some shuteye. For some reason, he'd awakened with a sore nose that throbbed like a mashed toe. He needed to sleep or he was going to look like one of those strung-out druggies that social awareness groups put up on billboards as a warning to others about the dangers of drug abuse.

He closed the cabinet and stared at his reflection. Bloodshot eyes and a hollow face stared back at him. Too late. He already looked like something dead drudged up from the bottom of Fontana Lake, and it was only midnight. What would he look like in the morning? He used to be a halfway decent looking guy. Live long enough and life sure would beat the hell out of a man. Yet, he still had his military build and the confidence to back it up if threatened. A man didn't forget that kind of training.

He gingerly prodded at his nose and winced when he hit a super-tender spot.

He drew back from the mirror and thought of Kristy. She haunted his dreams nightly. Only it didn't feel like dreams, more like visions, and even that wasn't entirely accurate. She seemed almost desperate to tell him something. He huffed out a laugh. If he was going to dream, couldn't it be something a little less cliche, and maybe a little more sexy? Hell, that was a cliche, too.

He shook four pills onto his palm and tossed them into his mouth. They wouldn't kill the pain in his heart, though. God, he missed Kristy.

Just as he set the pill bottle aside and reached for a glass of water, he lurched backwards, his shoulder an inflamed inferno, and crashed against the opposite wall.

When his foot struck the edge of the sink, he kicked the pill bottle into the air. Sleep-aid rained all over the bathroom and scattered across the floor with quiet ticks.

Not again.

Clutching his left shoulder, he labored to push himself to an upright position. Blood seeped through his T-shirt, turned it bright red inch by inch, and soaked his hand.

Crap. This better not be some idiot cleaning his gun while it's still loaded.

Pain exploded in his right thigh, and he howled in agony. Moisture leaked from the corner of his eyes as he panted, fighting to stay conscious. No. Not him. The victim.

Black out, man. Black out if you want to survive. Play dead or he'll shoot you until you are.

Rush closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. His heart pounded hard enough to shake his entire body as it thumped in his ear, growing louder and louder until it drowned out all other sound.

Psychic pain sucks. Why couldn't he get visions instead like a normal abnormal person?

He braced himself for the deathblow, but it never came, as he slipped into a dark pool of unconsciousness.