I had a dream last night that was a bit stranger than usual. I dreamt that the body of a man I’d murdered was found. I had buried it in the woods on my friend’s property in Baker, Florida.
I was pretty confident that I would never be a suspect as I had no connection to the dead man.
My dad was in charge of the investigation (he’s a retired policeman). Out of the blue, he told me he thought I was the killer, because the edges of the bullet holes in the body were very clean and precise, just like the edges of the bullet holes I left when I went shooting at the gun range. He showed me one of my old paper targets as an example.
I woke up feeling so guilty that I actually lay there and thought: I didn’t kill anyone, did I? Could I have murdered someone and blocked the memory? I’m sure if I did, he deserved it, and there must have been no way to prove he was evil, so murder was my only recourse…
I’ve never been to a gun range, and my dad retired over a decade ago – and he wasn’t in charge of homicide investigations.
I wonder what I feel so guilty about to make me have a dream like this? Does my brain even work that way?