<span style="color: #FF80FF"> <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><div style="text-align: center;">Lea Stevens</div></span></span> </span><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i300.photobucket.com/albums/nn24/SociallyToxicBeauty/036e0d3a-b28c-47ec-b858-0eaea6c67e4d.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="color: #FF80FF"><div style="text-align: center;">"Jazz"</div></span></span></span><br/><br/>When strong arms wrapped around her and she was pulled back down, a hand began to smooth her hair,<span style="font-style: italic">"I'm here, honey, I'm here. John is here..."</span>Lea's sobs quieted, her fever allowing her to easily believe the lie.<span style="color: #FF80FF">"I had a bad dream..."</span>she sniffled, her "husband" still stroking her hair soothingly.<span style="color: #FF80FF"> "You and Lucas were shot...I couldn't do anything,"</span>she explained, still shivering and obviously shaken. The fever clearly had pulled her into a fantasy and Carlos only seemed to feed it.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF80FF">"Is Lucas in bed?"</span>she asked as she began to doze off.<span style="font-style: italic">"Yes, sound asleep," </span>John replied softly. Lea had calmed down greatly and was almost back to sleep,<span style="color: #FF80FF">"I am sorry I woke you..."</span>she mumbled out softly before being overcome by sleep once more.<br/><br/>In the morning it would be unlikely she would recall any of the exchange as anything other than a dream.