Shawn could still hear Jamie’s laughter echo throughout the cold walls where he lay approximately a year later. He had sat cross-legged, facing the steel prison bars. His eyes were fixed upon them, but looking past them. There were several plates filled with bread and water, the plates they gave him everyday, but never ate. Jamie’s voice was almost clear now; speaking to him. It was so distinct; he had to scratch at his arm to see if he felt it, if this was a dream. But this wasn’t a dream. This was a nightmare. A nightmare he’d never wake up from.