"The nightmare ends the same way every time: I drive up on my house and see police cars with lights on. Policemen with guns drawn. I see a young man in a red hoodie lying face down. Bleeding. Shot. I approach the person on the ground ― cops yell to stop, but I push past them. I roll him over and pull off the hood... and it’s RJ, my teenaged son with autism.
Parents of a child on the autism spectrum have similar dreams. And nightmares."