Scared  I'm with a semi-truck driver. He is belligerent. We fight. He is very persistent. Our fight is just a scuffle: no serious blows are delivered at first, but it continues. He is a short, slim man. He may be Mexican. I clutch the back of his head and smash his head and face into a wall. He falls down and lies on the ground. I see that his head is bleeding. This has an emotional impact on me: it is serious in comparison to our scuffle. There is just a small amount of blood, but it's significant: it frightens and startles. Me. There is a wood structure about two feet square made of layers of wood pressed together, a few inches thick. There's a head (of the man) smashed between some of these wood pieces. Bits and pieces of brain, skull, and blood drip and pour out of the wood structure. I try to figure out which way is 'up' on the structure so the blood and brains will remain in the fragmented portion of the skull and not drip out. It's of no use: every way I flip the structure blood still drips out. There is not much blood left in it. There are other people around. A grocery store is right next to where we are. I'm with several people. We all seem to be employees of the store. I will get off work in 20 minutes, at 9:30pm. I need to conceal this death, because it is scandalous. Some sort of plan materializes. It seems to be a group idea that I will have to implement myself. The body needs to be disposed of, and it needs to appear as if I entered the cab of the semi truck through the sun-roof-like opening. I'm in a bedroom that I know is mine. Many things are made of brown wood. There is a container of petroleum jelly on one of the beds. I think a man must have left it out there after masturbating. I grab one of the small flashlights I have. There are a couple batteries on the bed that look like size 'D', but are shorter and fatter. I climb up ladder-like stairs to the cab of the semi truck. The steps are made of wooden dowels, one inch in diameter and a foot long. I'm scared as I climb. I think someone may be in the cab waiting to harm me. I get up to the cab and see it's empty. There are a couple shelves with numerous items laid out very neatly on them. The shelves are the cab, essentially. There are wood cabinet doors around the shelves, like bars. I take several keys off a shelf. Some of the keys are gold, attached to gold key rings. Some keys are small, like our old square freezer key with a round tip. I have to use the keys to start and move the truck. I'm on the ground. There is a noise. It's a curious, strange noise that I find frightening. I dismiss and ignore it. I hear the noise again. Others look to see what it is. The noise seems to be coming from a pile of wood and metal scraps. Then its source is uncovered/exposed. It is something covered in black plastic. I know it's a person who is in sordid captivity, but is alive. I'm afraid of the person. I'm hesitant to get near the plastic, of getting involved in any way with the person or thing in the plastic, because I'm afraid it will harm me. Someone (me?) removes the plastic at one end, and we see it is a man. I'm afraid of him. He extends his arm, holding out a letter for me. I take them quickly. I'm involved in a situation that is greater than I: held and captivated by it. The letters may be from my sister Ramona. I'm scared of the letters. The writer, who is not Ramona, knows a lot about my life, and me and yet I'm unfamiliar with him. It seems there are instructions in the letters: things about me: my past, present, and future, and things that I have to do, from a source greater than I. I'm scared to read the letters. Others look at the letters and read them for me.