Less than an hour later the vivid nightmare he’d feared attacked him with a vengeance. He awoke with a cry, threw back the blankets, and sat on the edge of his bed rubbing his face. He needed PMZ, but since the drug was no longer an option, he put on his robe and slippers and headed downstairs to fix a mug of hot chocolate; his favorite drink. He carried his drink out the back door, took a seat on the top step of the deck, and sipped the chocolate, with an unseasonal warm gentle breeze rustling his hair like a mother lovingly tousling the hair of her child. He nursed his drink until it was gone, set the mug on the deck beside him, leaned his back against the deck railing, and the next thing he knew Peter was shaking him awake.

“Arrin. Wake up.”

Annoyed his rare, ea...

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