Although the dream title may sound threatening, this was a ‘fun’ dream. I returned again to ‘episodic’ format for dreams last night. That’s the expression I use when the dream is more like a television or movie experience. Although I still starred, action went on before other cameras, where I wasn’t in those scenes.
Overview: We were in a sunny, urban area that reminded me of the Silicon Valley-SF Bay. I was a reporter, chasing a story about a serial killer. My team and I had gone down the highway to investigate some details on a recent murder. After gathering clues, we headed back up an Interstate to work other angles. The highway was white concrete with the standard markers dividing it into four lanes. Ahead was a road block. The police were stopping everyone and asking for identification.
Back in another dream segment, two reporters, both male, had noticed that the 13th of the upcoming month had significance in the string of murders. Talking about it, the two reporters agreed to meet on that day.
Back on the highway, my car windows were down. The wind was blowing papers around. I was in a rental car, trying to find my rental agreement and identification. A state trooper approached my car. I stopped my car and offered him papers. They weren’t what he was looking for. The traffic had moved ahead. He told me to pull forward to the end of the traffic and stop again. I did as told, still looking for my identification while he stood at the window, waiting. He waved other cars around me as I continued dumping papers out of my briefcase and going through the center console, pockets, and the glove box, looking for identification, talking to the officer as I did this, telling him who I was and where I was going. He was responding that he didn’t care, he just wanted my identification.
Two cars passing me had my co-workers in them. Slowing, windows down, they called out, wanting to know if I was okay. I called back to them that I was as the trooper ordered them to go on.
Over in the other story line, we — the viewers — realized that one reporter was the serial killer. Investigating himself was a front to learn information from the police and other reporters, and throw us all off. The second reporter, apparently unaware of this, was making ready to meet the killer.
I finally found my identification and presented it to the officer. As he looked it over and we spoke, I had an epiphany and realized that a reporter could be the serial killer. That surprised and concerned me so much that I simultaneously pulled out my cell to call one of my team to talk to them while also starting to drive away. Both caused an irritated reaction by the trooper. Accusing me of trying to flee, he stepped back, put a hand on his gun, and ordered me out of my car. As I tried convincing him that I’d made an innocent mistake, apologizing profusely all the while, the screen split and we witnessed the serial killer stalking the other reporter. I realized the case had a supernatural element to it. The significance of the thirteenth was that he was the thirteenth killer; he’d been inhabiting other bodies. I wanted to chase that aspect.
The dream ended.