Kidnapped Little Girl and Remodeling Trevor's House

I'm sitting in a car in a familiar driveway. It reminds me of the driveway of the home next to my best friend's home in elementary school. I see a little girl, brunette, maybe seven years old, to the front right of me in kind of dirty clothing and messy chin-length hair. She looks like she's been playing outside all day. She's holding a jump rope and looking towards the street which is running perpendicular behind me. I watch as she stands frozen with her hands down at her sizes and the rope dangling loosely from her left hand.

I see a man with messy dark hair, a stained white tee shirt and jeans lightly dusted with mud that has dried to a dark sand color. He walks towards the frozen girl at a brisk pace and shares only a few words with her before retrieving something from his right pocket. I'm sure it's a knife, even though I don't see it directly. He brings it to her neck and her face goes blank as he just holds the point under the left side of her chin. Not to kill, but to warn her that if she moves an inch, he will take her life.
I am filled with panic, sitting in my car and watching him guide her to his car. I don't actually see them climb into the silver hatchback with a foot or so navy blue line accenting the bottom panel, but I know they're in. My mind is in a place between rescuing an innocent child--one I don't know personally--and not putting myself in potentially the same situation she is. My hesitation decides my action for me and I sit in the car, looking behind my passenger seat as the man, who was parked facing north, does a u-turn and heads in the opposite direction.

Time Travel

I'm at Trevor's "house" (I say it that way because he lived there only in this dream, and there were certain details that were the same, but it is not his current home). He lives in the house next door to my elementary school best friend and the driveway I've been parked to is adjacent to the sloping, in need of repair, weather tainted light grey deck. I'm inside the house. We're standing in the bathroom (which is the same layout as mine in my current apartment, but in the condition of what a rental house might look--sloppily painted white walls, three section mirror with a wood frame, dated linoleum) with my mom and Trevor and we're watching Trevor, standing in the doorway with a dimly lit room behind him, and he's opening presents. As he's opening them, he gives the contents a puzzled look and furrows his brow. The square, thin  item inside is a floor tile.

Not any floor tile, but a soft, impact absorbing tile, about 12"x12"x1" (The kind that fits together and that people put under heavy items in their homes, or on the floor behind a clerks desk, to give them a more soft platform than the carpet covered concrete.)
My mom and I watch as the look and feeling of disappointment gradually changes Trevor's face and then seem to transfer to me and I start to change myself. Mom is still smiling a soft and hopeful smile as Trevor places the half opened gift in his left hand and she hands him another gift of the same shape. With the foam peeking out from the torn paper of the first gift, he begins to open the second. It's the same exact thing as before. He looks at me almost angrily this time and says, "What is this?"
I stutter as the words try to move past my tongue and say, "The floor needed updating, so I figured I'd let you choose." I have more of the same shaped gifts in smaller thicknesses stacked on the counter behind me. I turn to my left and as a grab a square and start to turn around towards Trevor again while peeling back the paper at the top right corner. It's a dated pattered square of linoleum. I feel regret as I see what poor choices I've made and move my eyes slowly up until they meet his. "Why did you get this for me?" he asks. "The house needed updating so I figured this would be a fun way to motivate us both to start a new project." He just shakes his head.
I have one more gift for him. It's even more flimsy and square. I hand it to him and he opens it fairy quickly this time and reveals a small stack of laminated pictures from the movie The Lion King. "This isn't really my style." Trevor says. I feel instantly depressed that after all of the time we've spent together, I don't seem to get him at all.

Time Travel

We're walking hand-in-hand with Trevor on my left towards the lighting department at the Lowe's store near my house. I note the familiar view with all of the lights seeming to be at different dimness levels.

Then I wake up.