The nightmare was always the same. He was chasing her, reaching for and she would look back at him smiling. Just as he would get close enough to touch her a large gaping chasm would open between them. He could see her reaching out for him, but they were to far apart. Her face was covered with tears, so many tears he could drown in them. Johnny jerked awake with a gasp, covered in sweat, his eyes flying open and seeing only the darkness of his room. Some one shifted next to him, a woman he didn’t really know. She was nothing, just a distraction he had picked up at a bar. She wasn’t her, the woman he had lost, the woman he had killed. The men who had taken her life had done so because of him. They hadn’t killed her outright, they had forced him to watch her endure being violated again and again before they had slit her throat. He had gotten involved in a case that had held more dangers than he had realized. First had come the threatening phone calls, then a dead animal or two left on his porch and still he had persisted. He had given no thought that he might be putting his beloved in harms way. After her death, he had quit, had turned in his badge and gun and drank himself into oblivion, but no amount of debauchery could erase her face, her torment from his memory.