In a small, one-bedroom apartment in Washington D.C., a dark-haired man tosses fitfully in his bed. His apartment is sparsely furnished, the bedroom bare, except for the bed, a nightstand, a lamp, and a framed photo. The photo is of a smiling, dark-haired boy and his mother. They are in the sunlight, and it is obvious that they love each other very much. It is the only photo he has not thrown away. A part of him wishes he were that boy again, or what he thought that boy was. Another part, the dreaming part, remembers how it *really* was. And so, he dreams...
He is six, and he is hiding. He has not eaten all day, and his stomach grumbles hungrily at him. He squirms in the darkness, trying to calm the gnawing in his middle. He brought some crackers, but they're gone now. The kitchen isn't far, just a few steps from his hiding place, really. But he doesn't dare leave.
His mother is there, waiting. He can see her in his mind, sitting at the kitchen table, staring out the window. She's *always* there, sitting and watching. And if she sees him, she will pull him close to her and make him wait, too. She would cuddle him close, and whisper to him about all the wonderful things they will do together, when the light comes. She doesn't know, she doesn't understand. She will hold him to her, and keep him in the open, when they both should be running.
He has given up trying to tell her. She doesn't listen, not to him. She only hears Them. She frightens him, sometimes, the way her eyes focus on the horizon, and never on him. She never hugs him anymore, unless it's to hold him for them. She has no use for a son when she has angels to talk to. So, he hides. And hopes that this time, this one time, they won't see him.
With the suddenness of dreams, it is night. But not dark. The house is bathed in light, he can see it battering at the windows from his place beneath the table. The light invades the room, searching all the secret places, *his* places. And, it finds him, as it always does- drags him, screaming, from his sanctuary. His little-boy eyes are turned to his mother, her name echoing in his cries. She is mantled in the brightness, it carresses her as it chokes him, her face is that of an angel: serene and strong. He calls to her, as they pull him upward, but she is smiling, murmurring meaningless words of solace. She is blinding him, her light blending into theirs, leaing him alone...alone in the horrid brightness. He screams as it swallows him...
...and in his bedroom, Agent Spender carries that scream into waking, and begins to weep.
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