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back the curtain.  The mirror was fogged over and sheets of heavy steam filled the bathroom.  Rain hammered the lone window, shook the casing.
    Through the mist the full-length mirror on the back of the door revealed my reflection.  My hair seemed thinner every day.  I needed a shave but liked the way my five o’clock shadow looked.  It better defined my chin and brought out the light blue in my eyes.  I continued to study myself as curls of steam rose gently toward the ceiling.  Funny how age sneaks up on you, I thought.  Gradually, softly—like any good seduction—it had a hold of you before you even realized it.  I wasn’t yet forty—was three years away from it, in fact—but felt decidedly older most days.  Somewhere within the reflection staring back was the man I’d once been, a man who’d never imagined he could be so tired, so worn down.  Not at thirty-seven, anyway.
    And yet sometimes it seemed like that man was a total stranger, a detached and isolated character in someone else’s story; someone I barely recognized.
    I stood there dripping, until the mirror fogged completely over, then I stepped from the shower and snatched a towel from the counter.  My headache had subsided but my muscles ached.  I dried myself then tossed the towel over my shoulder, opened the door and stepped into the cool bedroom air.  I rolled onto the bed, stretched out and nestled deeper against my pillow as my eyes slid shut.  The nightmare had receded, and darkness took me quickly.
    My eyes popped open.  My back was tight and my stomach was in mid-growl.  Had I fallen asleep?  If I had, something had jolted me awake in a less than normal manner.  I lay there a moment, listening, eyes staring at the faded ceiling and numerous hairline cracks traversing the plaster.
    The weather had grown worse from the sounds.  Wind whipped angrily outside, rattled the windows.  My eyes immediately darted to the source of the sound, and although I recognized the cause it bothered me nonetheless.
    Another sound crept in from the den, only this time I wasn’t certain wind had been the culprit.  I remained perfectly still and strained to listen, but all I heard was the wind and rain.  “Hello?”
    I wondered if Toni had locked the door on her way out.  She usually did, why would this time be any different?  Yet something didn’t seem right.  I didn’t feel  alone.  Slowly, I pushed myself up into a sitting position and slid down to the foot of the bed.  “Toni?” I called.  “Toni, are you home?”
    I sat quietly for a few seconds.  Although I heard no other noises, the relaxation portion of my day had clearly come and gone.  I stood up; reached for the towel I’d brought with me and wrapped it around my waist.  The bedroom door was slightly ajar, just enough to reveal a sliver of the den beyond, and as I moved silently across the carpeted floor, I suddenly realized what was wrong.
    Due to the weather it was much darker than normal, and Toni had left lights on in the den and kitchen.  Lights I didn’t remember shutting off before getting into the shower.  “Hello?”  A chill caused my body to visibly shudder.
    And then the phone rang.
    I nearly jumped out of my skin, staggered back and scrambled around the end of the bed to the phone on the nightstand.  The receiver was in my hand and pressed to my ear before it could ring a second time.
    “Alan,” a voice on the other end sobbed.  “Alan, I—”
    “Donald?”
    “Alan, I’m…”
    “What’s wrong?”  I stared at the door.  “Where are you?”
    “I’m home,” he said, voice cracking.  “I’m sorry, I’ve been drinking.”
    “It’s OK.  Listen, let me call you back in—”
    “I wanted to say something today, I wanted to, but—”
    “Listen—”
    “I couldn’t do it, I just—Alan, I’m having nightmares.”
    I nodded into the phone.  “It’ll be all right.  I’ve—”
    “You’ve had it too, haven’t you?”
    Something