Jude woke up gasping for air. His heart pounded so hard he thought it would burst open his chest. His head hurt as though he’d actually been shot, and tears streamed from his burning eyes. He twisted the switch on his bedside lamp, bathing his bedroom in yellow light.
His bedroom. He was not at the gas station again. He wiped the tears off and got out of bed. Damn. Five years and he still had the dream. Martin had been the only one killed by the robber that day. The clerk had been shot, but survived and informed the police that Martin’s last three words were just Oh, wait, I—
He walked into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and splashed water on his pale skin. The dream always started out like it had the day of Martin’s murder.
But then as Martin left to go into the market, Jude becam
