“Sure, Professor Phillips. Well, you’ll need more than a syringe. I’m not ready to die. If not for her, then certainly not for you. If anything, she’s brought you to me to kill and make right the injustice done to her. Meanwhile,” Allison stepped to the sink and held the syringe over the drain. “your poison or whatever is going down the drain, like your plans.”

“It’s not poison.” He said casually.” It’s insulin. My wife’s a diabetic. It makes death look natural. No one would ever know you were murdered. You’d just be an unfortunate, rare case of a young person passing away from natural causes. I have several syringes and vials of insulin at my disposal. If not tonight, then she’ll send me another dream. And I’ll keep coming. Time and the future are on my side.” He moved so quickly. For the second time that night, he caught Allison off guard. She was too slow to block her face from the trayful of developer he’d lifted and flung against her torso. It was a spontaneous move, but it was effective. She flailed her arm madly feeling for the cold-water faucet, while still mindfully gripping the syringe. As she splashed her face and her left eye with cold water, Phillips used both hands to try to peel Allison’s fingers from the syringe. The burning didn’t stop, and Allison knew she needed both hands to splash her face with water. Suddenly the hands around her fist let go. She heard Phillips yelp, the felt the sink vibrate as a loud thud emanated from the floor. Allison dropped the syringe and spent the next several minutes bathing her face and eye with water. When the burning in her eye and on her skin subsided, she chanced opening both eyes. Allison blinked furiously as her vision slowly came back into focus. She had to grab onto the rim of the sink to steady herself when she almost slipped on the flooded dark room floor. She’d almost forgotten about Phillips until she saw him splayed face up on the floor next to the sink. She knelt beside him and placed her fingers against his neck. He still had a pulse. He was still alive, and she still had her vision. Given all that had happened that night, she considered herself lucky. There was a campus courtesy phone outside the photo lab at the end of the hallway. She stood up and prepared to propel her tired body to the phone and call security for help. She regarded him for a moment. Then she retrieved the syringe from the sink. Maybe she should weigh her options, she reasoned. This madness would never end. Everyday she’d have to wonder whether one of Phillips’ dreams would compel him to make another attempt on her life. He was right. If not confessing her crime to the police meant she was remorseless, then she was indeed remorseless because she had no intention of revealing anything. Besides, she’d done something good. She’d stopped an abduction; she thwarted an attempted murder. Unlike Phillips, her intentions were good. Suppose she injected him with the insulin, what then? The police would never know. She could just say that he suddenly collapsed. They’d assume his heart gave out or whatever insulin did to the body. And what of his ravings about Vanessa? Maybe he wasn’t just a madman with a guilty conscience. Maybe she had led him to her to offer up his remorseless soul to gain a new life. Vanessa had driven him mad for eight years all the while waiting for Allison to come along and set her free. With syringe in hand, she knelt by Phillip’s head. The needle was so thin. It would be so easy. Then Allison shook her head. This wasn’t her! This would be cold-blooded murder. She could tell the police about his threats, that way if he tried again and she acted, it would be self-defense. What’s happened to her? It would be three deaths within weeks of each other. She drew her hands away from his body and looked away. His gasp startled her. Phillips opened his eyes wide and looked about wildly until they met Allison’s. He smiled.