Dammit dammit dammit, I can’t run fast enough!  I’ve gotta get to Dennis, I have to warn him.  There’s no way I’m letting that bitch or her pet Hunter get their hands on him.  I have to get to the arena….

My first thought is to get the rental car, but my motorcycle is parked much closer.  I start it and peel out of the parking garage.  The arena should only be about ten minutes away, I can beat those bastards….

And there's a car behind me, and somehow, something about it looks familiar.  I shake off the feeling, gotta concentrate….

The car gets closer as I turn into the parking garage for the arena.  What the hell are they doing?  I search for wherever I'm supposed to be and I feel the headlights starting to warm me.  They're too fucking close!  I turn around and catch a glimpse of blond hair behind the steering wheel, and then I'm flying….

"Mark?"  The child's voice was hoarse, pained.

His older brother turned over in bed.  "Yeah, what do you want?"

"I don't feel good."  He had wide eyes, blurry with tiredness.

Mark got out of bed and rested a hand on his brother's forehead.  "You feel warm.  Just go back to sleep, ok Glenn?"

"My throat hurts.  I want mommy."

Mark sighed.  "Mom's trying to sleep.  You want a popsicle or something?"

Glenn shivered under the covers.  "Too cold.  Will you make me some soup?"

Rolling his eyes, Mark shuffled into the kitchen.  He opened a can of soup and poured it into a pan.  Setting it on the stove, he walked to the front door to see if the newspaper had been delivered yet.  Coming back into the kitchen, he gasped in horror.  The flames were up too high on the stove, the curtains above had caught fire.  He rushed to grab a cup of water to throw on the curtains, but it didn’t help.  The fire kept climbing the curtains until it reached the shelf above, which contained a bottle of lighter fluid.  Out of nowhere, the whole ceiling was on fire.

Mark ran into his basement, trying to find a fire extinguisher, but as he was running, he tripped and fell, hitting his head hard enough to black out.  When he woke up, everything was gone.  His parents, his brother, his house…all of it, gone.

Then, flashes.  Hitch-hiking out to Houston.  A man whose clothes smelt funny, a smell Mark would later learn was pot.  The smell of booze, of sweat, of terror…

"Mark?"  The voice was full of hope, of unshed tears.

Another rose to join it.  "Mr. Callaway?"  This voice was calm.

I blinked,, trying to focus on the room around me.  All I could see was pink.  Everywhere.  And flowers.  "What the hell is going on here?"  I manage to get out of my dry throat.

Tears were rolling down Dennis's face.  "Mark, you…"

I cut him off.  "Is this some kind of joke?  All the girl colors and the flowers?  You think that's funny."

The nurse answered for him.  "Mr. Callaway, these are just our typical Valentine's day decorations."

"Starting a little early, aren’t we?  It's only January…"  God, why does my head hurt so bad?  And what the hell am I doing here?

Dennis blinked, causing more tears to roll down his face.  Dammit, what happened to set him off this time?  "Mark…Valentine's Day is today.  You've been in a coma for a month."