Dreams

I had the most disturbing dream last night.  I dreamed that I was called back to my high school to investigate a murder.  Except the school wasn't my old school...it was just a random, more modern school.  So I drove there and was taken to the body, which was the body of a young woman with brown hair.  And she had been beaten on the head with a blunt object and it had smashed her skull in.  And there was blood and brain matter all over the concrete.  I looked over the scene and left it for the CSI while I went and interviewed people to see if I could discover clues.  So I went from teacher to student, following her shortened day's path starting from when she got to the school to the point when she died.  And as I was going along, one of the teachers, a man, started to make me nervous by the way he was acting.  I was suspicious of him, and kept coming back to ask him more questions because his answers didn't quite come out right.  At one point we were in a theater, and I was asking him questions, writing on my little flip note pad and he tried to kiss me.  And all I was thinking was he was trying to distract me, distract me from the truth.  I pulled away from him and continued on.

I met him again in the afternoon, in the chemistry room, outside of which the woman was found.  I kept thinking he did it, he did it, but I had no proof yet.  The lights were off in the room, although it was relatively bright because it was a sunny day.  And the door had a frosted glass window in it, where you could see shapes moving outside of it.  It lead onto an outside sidewalk that ringed each of the classrooms, whose doors opened up to the outside in a courtyard.  I was walking to the door and when I put my hand on the handle and pulled it open, I was suddenly hit with the realization that I had just traveled the path of the dead woman and it was clear that, in reality, I WAS the dead woman that was found that morning and that I was taking her/my last step, and that soon I would die.  And it came, too, from behind.  A crushing blow to the skull with what I knew was a hammer.  Over and over, I could actually feel the pain of my skull splintering and shattering and my body falling to the ground, the hard scraping of my skin against the concrete.  And he looked at me, right before I died, and said I told you so.