Debra jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat.

Juan was nearby, soaking a towel. When he noticed she was awake, he asked, "Do you want something to eat?"

The sight of Juan only deepened her fear. Instinctively, she scooted away from him, a motion he couldn't help but notice. "Did you have a nightmare?" he asked.

It was indeed a nightmare.

In her dream, it felt as if she had been transported to her past life. She had observed everything as a ghost.

When she had seen the gravestone, the pain of dying on the operating table had rushed through her all over again.

"I..."

Juan silenced her with a look, mouthing, "There's a camera."

Debra composed himself and forced a smile. "Yeah, just a bad dream."

"You've got a fever," Juan said, glancing at the thermometer. "101 degrees Fahrenheit. I'm making some oatmeal for you, and the medicine is on the table."

"Okay," Debra replied smoothly.

the room, her mind replayed the dream over and

death, why did Juan speak of revenge? Could it be that he wasn't

from her

'Could it be Shelia?'

threw off the covers and made

movements seemed at odds with his usual

"I'll do it."

you out of

him his phone. "Your phone's been ringing

took the phone and, seeing the numerous missed calls, immediately

over

turned of

heat, and

needs to simmer

it'll

S." t

takeout," Juan muttered

at the nearly burnt oatmeal and smiled wryly. She

a

and

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