I'm driving up the cemetery section of Forest street, on my way to see a student. It's a cloudy day, mid-afternoon. I slow down as I see a red Corsica pulling straight out of a driveway on the right side of the road. It's the driveway to the shooting range. The Corsica stops and the driver puts it in park. It is blocking the road entirely. I stop, and wait for the driver to move. He is a middle aged man with a swath of dark brown hair falling over his forehead. His window is rolled down, and his left arm is dangling out of it, and in his hand is a revolver. I start to get worried, and reach for my phone. The man's face is red, and ugly as he contorts his face to keep from crying. He has really thick, cartoon-like lips. I cannot stop looking at him. He lifts the revolver to his jaw and pulls the trigger. His head lolls forward onto his chest. I put my car in reverse and back into a driveway as I dial the police. I look up and see that the man has pulled his car into a driveway across the street, and is aiming the gun at me. I crouch down behind the steering wheel. He shoots, and the bullet goes through the wheel well and into my left thigh.
I am at my back door. I run into the house, searching frantically for the phone. I find it, and dial the police. As I'm holding the phone, I see that Buddy, a friend's cat, has walked into the kitchen. This means that the man is in the house. I panic.
I wake up, heart pounding and terrified. This is the first time this has ever happened to me. Adam is sleeping soundly. I put my arm around him and say "I had a bad dream." All I want is for him to hug me. He mumbles something like "I'm sorry you had a bad dream," and is almost immediately back to sleep. But not before he holds my hand.