Dream: I am a Victim, Murderer, and Maybe Myself

I am a woman, who would be one of the most preciously beautiful woman on Earth, if it weren't for the abuse she took from her husband constantly. I am recollecting memories, and when I see myself at first, I am pale, and though I am young, my face sags like something has been dragging it down. I start telling the story of how he used to bring me to an 'English Sex Motel,' a place where you could bring someone to have sex with them in obscure ways. It happens regularly. He puts me underneath of the bed, or couch, so he doesn't have to look at me. He throws me around and beats me and scraps my face on the under part of the couch. I see myself, crying and bleeding, and then I am suddenly in the woman, seeing in first person the blood drip off my face onto my shaking hands. I am telling the story to someone who is at my book release and signing. There are a lot of people in small groups, each drinking wine, and listening to the saxophone player in the background of other people talking. It is at this point, when the present presents itself, that I am no longer the victim of this story. I am maybe myself, above the party in the upstairs of the house that has revealed itself slowly to be my cousin's house (the McFadden's house appears in my dreams often.) The living room is empty of normal furniture; empty folding chairs are set up facing a podium for the woman's official talk on her experience. Moving up the stairs I find myself in a bedroom, watching my neighbor trying to jump between the roofs of porches on the next house over and the one I am in. He makes it going to the next house over but he does not try the uphill jump coming back my way. The woman's speech starts downstairs and my view is brought to the back of the crowd. The chairs are full, requiring some to stand in the back and listen. I cannot see the woman because I am looking from behind those standing and my view is low to the ground. The credits start rolling over this scene as if it were the triumphant resolve to a movie. The view moves over the crowd, but before it can reach the woman saying her peace about her life, there is a bang on the door. The credits stop rolling the view quickly moves through the door and shows the husband in a very angry stance, his face only a few centimeters from the door. He is finally shown as being shorter and stout, with a half bald forehead and black hair poofing out like Einstein's (only a little shorter) covering the rest of his head. He has a small knife in his hand and is in an orange prison jumpsuit. Behind him is a prison van, pulled right up on the lawn in front of the entrance. There are police in swat gear standing all around the van, seemingly supporting the efforts of this madman. I am the only one who knows that he has murdered all of the police, manipulated their bodies, and set them up outside of the van, to add authority to his demand to be let inside. On the other side of the door some people had stayed behind to create a human blockade, almost everyone else retreated further into the house. The man yells and bangs on the door once more. The saxophone player voices, with disgust in his voice, that the man will never get in, and then leans over by the door handle. There is a tube coming out of his saxophone. He puts a lighter up to it and blows. A dissonant sound and a concise tube of fire shoot out of the saxophone. The notes are met with the murderers screams, as the fire shoots through the keyhole and burns his crotch. With the rage of fighting dog, just let out of the cage, the murderer punches his knife and hand right through the deadbolt and the door! As the door swings open, I am now the murderer! I am pissed off. So focused that I don't even bother with the puny man that set fire to my crotch or any of the other guests standing around. "Where are the Publishers!?" I demand. I see my mom and my aunt among the guests who lingered in the reception room. With a threatening wave of my knife I demand again. "THE PUBLISHERS!!" An unidentifiable guests points me in the direction of the basement. I rush to the basement, knife in hand, and make it halfway down the steps before I realize I am in complete darkness. Then, there is a creak, and light shines through the cracks of an old wooden door and around its slightly opened edges. A voice starts from behind the door, but stops before any discernible sounds are emitted. I say "Don't worry it is just me, Colin." I am not sure if it is me, nor do I know if my intention is to hide, or murder the people inside. As the door opens, I wake up.