It was where he found himself when he heard the screams, imagining that he was being pulled up from his bed and dressed in a rush, his thick gray hair askew as his son pulled his shirt over his head. In his dream, he stumbled down the hallway, his son leading him—to where? He had no idea. But he knew it couldn’t be real, as he heard the sound of children, one crying in confusion.

Blackness and nothingness—and Esli was in the left rear passenger seat of the dark gray Infinity QX80 luxury SUV. How did I get here? He wasn’t panicked, just concerned. The children—one next to him and one in the third row, as they no longer needed car seats—had calmed down. Their mother, Victoria, was speaking to them quietly. He looked around the interior of the vehicle as the three-car garage door opened. Two oversized duffle bags had been thrown into the rear seat with him, neither fully zipped, clothes sticking out as if trying to escape.

Motion—and the vehicle lurched backward out of the garage and accelerated toward the street. Esli turned and was surprised to see most of the homes on Windy Tree Way partly illuminated. Two other vehicles raced by the driveway toward the central traffic circle. Esli’s concern rose incrementally. Why are we leaving? What’s happening? Unfortunately, the dream state felt like a weight, pressing him into the back of the seat, and he couldn’t speak. I’m dreaming. I have to be.

The QX80 reached Founder’s Circle, turned right—and stopped. A line of SUVs and sedans blocked the way forward. When Esli saw the nearest van in the grass and the men in uniform around it, his concern rocketed into a full-blown panic. His damaged mind recoiled at the shock and sight of men with guns, and his lucidity was blown away in self-preservation.

Esli Flores’s mind split, flashing between his past and his present, his childhood and his now, his only thought, No. Never again. These men will not hurt my family.

The panic turned to rage—rage against the soldiers that had slaughtered his parents, rage against the government that had ordered it, and rage against the God that had allowed it to mercilessly unfold. The power of the dream magnified his emotions and strength, and Esli Flores, an old man losing his battle with Alzheimer’s, dependent upon his family for everything, was transformed into a young man full of purpose and strength. In the dream, he knew what had to happen, and the hesitation of the old was replaced by a need to act, to make things right, to undo a horror that couldn’t be undone.