Bathroom Monologue: Which Nightmares Have Been True?

The nightmares won’t stop. Some nights I don’t sleep, some lucky nights I don’t dream, but every time I dream, Marcus is there. They’re holding his head in a tub of iced water, his arms trembling behind his back, twine digging into his wrists. They’re dropping a burlap sack over his face and beating it until he bleeds through. He’s crawling across an empty room, so emaciated he can’t stand anymore, lips cracked, eyes begging his holders for food. I want to hold him, I want to put a glass of water to his lips, but I can’t. I can never help him, because when I wake up, he’s still dead in some foreign country. So please, please. I’ve taken every drug, I’ve seen three psychiatrists, I’ve had myself committed – it doesn’t matter. The most honest advice anyone of them ever gave me was that I can’t get rid of them, only learn to deal with them. So help me deal with them, and let me know which nightmares have been true. How did he die?