The Bomber

There was a bomber in my city and I was helping to try to catch the person responsible.  At one point I had seen him run into a multi-story complex several city blocks in size similar in nature to Grand Central Station in size and dark over-bearing nature.  The man had run down stairs to the lowest level floor and I was on the level above. Rather than follow the man I hurled a plastic bottle to the floor below thereby causing a distraction so that I could run out a nearby door on the second level to the city streets that it opened onto.

At another building there had been a chain on part of an elevator break as the bombing man was making his deadly assessments.  It was not the large cable responsible for the movement of the carriage that had broken but a small chain for a smaller mechanism.  I was at the elevator door kneeling to peruse the damaged areas.  I took an involuntary ride in a scarily fast moving elevator up and then back down to the floor it had been resting on. Once there many folks wanted to rush past me onto the elevator.  Again I kneeled and made an excuse in order not to let them past. I was looking at oiled parts, I reported, as I poked with a twig at a small round hole showing golden colored oil in a well several inches below the surface.  In but a few minutes my efforts were spoiled and I stepped back and let the chaotic rhythms of life past me as first a young lady pushed her way past and then others.

I ended up in a small living quarters very near to the elevator and there, while having my back turned, a young boy about ten years of age and seemingly to be Hispanic poked me in the back.  I turned around and he was laughing as he made his way past me.  I mocked his laughter on my way to a set of stairs, which was nearby and connected off of the living quarters.  The narrow set of stairs crissed-crossed down for several stories.  A blanket had been laid on the floor of the living quarter hall as a carpet runner and I now saw that it also covered the first several steps of the stairs.  I was careful not to slip and fall.

Later when I was walking by another area, I could see the blink of a TV and a newsman announcing that indeed in the building where the elevator had broken a bomb had been found.  I looked at the picture to see a round two-inch piping with a plunger being held for the viewers to see. 

In another scene I was a young boy and my mother had just been hurt while driving her car.  I am not certain whether it was fallout from a bombing but I would expect so.  She was driving at freeway speeds down a long stretch of the sparsely filled lanes of the freeway.  She was keeping the car in one lane though it was my worry that she had already been killed.  I was speaking with someone who was helping me to try to rescue her and we discussed that I should rush up beside the outside of the window and make a large noise to see if we could establish whether we could make her movement different.  I did fly in my physical body to the car window and there, pounding on the window, made a plea with my mother to open her tightly shut eyes.  In a short while the car seemed to make some erratic movements and acted like it wanted to veer over to a lane on the left of the car.  My mother’s eyes stayed tightly shut.