I'm in a parking garage with Beckett. We are climbing up a metal ladder to get to my car. She makes it to the top of the ladder and looks down at me. I tell her to stay right where she is until I am all the way up. There is only a foot or two of space to walk on, and a steep 30 foot drop-off everywhere else. I'm afraid she's going to fall. I try to speed up, but my knee aches. I get to the top of the ladder and again tell her to stay still. She puts her foot out and moves over the edge. I watch her fall. I see her land, face-up, still smiling. I'm terrified as I make my way back down the ladder. I try not to sob. I don't want to see her hurt. I don't want there to be anything wrong with her. I choke back tears and scoop her into my arms. She's still smiling and asking me what is wrong. I hesitate to examine the back of her head for blood and broken bones. I'm too terrified of what I may find. She continues to smile. I pull her in tightly, inhaling her warmth and breath into my own. I wake up.
