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Author's Chapter Notes:
This little piece was inspired by KatieQ's epic "Gone But Not Forgotten."  It can stand on its own, but much of the symbolism is drawn from "Gone."  Bonus points if you can spot said symbolism:)
Disclaimer:  I’m not really sure who owns “The Pretender” anymore, but it sure isn’t me.  I do this for fun, so please don’t sue me. 

In Dreams


Under the sedatives influence, Jarod did not stir, but deep in his mind he dreamed his first dreams in a long time.  The same dream played over and over again.  In it, he was four years old again and trapped in a maze.  He ran down dark hallways as fast as his legs could carry him searching for something—he knew not what.  All around him loomed shadowy black giants with burning red eyes.  Those eyes would burn him if he looked at them, so he directed his gaze at the floor. 


He ran faster, but the giants were closing in all around him.  He couldn’t get away!  He couldn’t find what he was searching for!  He screamed, but no one seemed to hear him.  Finally, in a darkened corner he spotted a black sack as big as he was.  It wasn’t what he was looking for, but maybe the giants couldn’t get him in there.  He ran to it and began pulling it up over his legs.  The giants were closing in!  He jerked the sack up, but it was shrinking, constricting his chest painfully.  The giants would get there first! 


Finally, he had the sack up over his shoulders.  But, before he could pull it over his head and disappear completely, a large hand grabbed his exposed wrist and pulled him up as if he weighed nothing at all.  The sack suddenly grew large again and billowed to his feet in a black pool.  He opened his mouth to scream again, but a gentle arm turned him around and the scream stayed unborn.


Here the dream changed.  Sometimes it was his mother who scooped him up in her arms.  Sometimes it was his father, only he spoke with Sydney’s voice.  Sometimes he thought it was Catherine Parker, but he realized that it could be her daughter as well.  But no matter whose face the changeling wore, the person’s last words were always the same.  “No Jarod.  You’re going to live.  For me.”

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