There she was, in her full glory. In the middle of the hotel bar, dressed scarcely in a flimsy blouse. Her hair loose around her angry face. She looked hot, hopping mad as well. She held a gun in both her hands and pointed it at anyone who had the guts to look at her. He wondered what she was doing here. Maybe she didn't approve of alcohol consumption, he wondered. And then he felt it. Small but firm. His panic button. He was sitting on it. "That your lady?" the barman grinned. Rachel looked very grim.

Jacob opened his mouth to explain, when suddenly he was in his hotel room. Awake. It was very early. Not dark anymore, not completely light yet either. Outside a crowd of birds sang like crazy. His head hurt, and he was holding the spare pillow. He groaned. It was a quarter past five. He got up despite the fact that it was too early and that he was tired. He knew from experience that waiting for sleep would be in vain after one of his dreams. His toe hit the sharp edge of the dressing table. It hurt. Good. It meant that he could still feel. He put on a pair of jeans and a longsleeved blue shirt, slipped on his shoes and tiptoed along the corridor to the staircase. He walked down the seven flights of stairs, nodded at the nightporter and stepped outside. Breathed in the early morning air and ran in the direction of the park they had passed on their arrival. It was a large park. He ran for twenty minutes and then had to stop. His lungs burned and his heart beat in a gallop. He rested against a tree and watched a couple of squirrels play on the grass. I should exercise more often, he thought. And suddenly he realized what was nagging him about his dream. Maggie. He'd had his first dream since she died in which she didn't play the leading role.