Woke with a disturbing dream today. At first, it seemed pretty harmless, albeit odd and a little confusing. In a seaside town that had spread out onto the water by way of a tangled maze of docks and piers. These, in turn, were built on beached and sunk hulks of schooners and clipper ships, or floated on top of old fishing boats. I was wandering around on these, trying to find my way to the shore, but I kept getting turned around, ending up on the "Old Pier" which was just a little more decayed and dilapidated than the rest. Some of the boat floats here had rotted trough, leaving large sections that had sunk under the water. What was still above the water creaked and groaned as though it was going to give way beneath my feet.
I finally did find a way to solid ground via a café built at waterline that had a tower that stretched up a cliff. Above the café were apartments, the second highest belonging to a French artist who I knew. As I passed, I noticed her door was open and called hello to her. She just smiled. I met P on the landing on the top of the stairs. We talked for a while and then I left a post-it note saying nothing in particular for my artist friend. I signed my name to it.
The scene shifted. I felt like I was still in the same town, but inland. It was now night, and I found myself outside of a large stone house. I was with someone who looked very much like the actor who played Lucifer in Brimstone (I think he’s Lex’s dad in Smallville now). I knew that he was there to assassinate the man who lived inside, a doctor who had been responsible for countless deaths, some accidental, many deliberate. There was a Citroyen parked in the yard, woods in the distance. It was entirely unclear what my role there was. We entered.
The Lucifer-actor found his target in a sitting room near the doorway, produced a tire iron, and proceeded to brutally beat the doctor to death. I was horrified. He turned to me and smiled as he said, simply, "Run." He was wearing gloves. Gore was spattered everywhere.
I bolted out the door and the scene shifted again. I was walking down a dirt road and came across a young couple who asked me what town they were in in French. I tried to tell them, but my accent was awful enough that they both laughed. They continued to speak in French, saying that they were from Quebec and that the town was charming. I told them that I was hoping to move there, at which point they laughed again. They told me that unless I spoke French, that would be quite impossible, and the little matter back at the stone house would also cause me no end of trouble. I tried to protest, and the scene changed.
I was back in the stairway, outside of the artist’s apartment. She was looking at me, holding the note that I had left her. I saw my name on it and my heart sank. At that moment, a narrator began to speak. "What do you think a google search under 'Peter B. + Demon from Hell + murdering bastard + fugitive' will yield?" I suddenly had a image of a computer screen that not only brought up my photo, my fingerprints, and a list of my habits, but which also displayed a satellite trace that pinpointed my location to within a few meters. The narrator continued, "Of course, I didn’t need to include everything in that string... I just thought it would be fun."
The scene shifted, and I was back in the entry to the stone house, the Lucifer-actor telling me again, "Run." The scene shifted again, and I was on the road with the couple and they were shaking their heads in pity. The scene shifted again, and I was just outside of the stone house in the bushes looking at the front grille of the car.
I had no idea where to go.