Tate thrashed in his sleep, caught within the thrall of a vivid dream. The nightmare hedged any chance of waking up with its continuous replay of the same event over and over and over again. The same towering gothic castle, with him rushing through the massive heavy doors, rushing through the cloistered halls, and always ending up in the same room, staring at some huge tree surrounded by people dressed as medieval knights.
And, just like the last ten times his dream had taken him there, he would find her, his mother, lying on the grassy ground that led up to the tree, her eyes locked upward, face paling and mouth gasping for breath, wheezing within the throes of death.
This is where his nightmare would jump him back to the beginning again, just when he would rush to his mother’s side, ju
