A/N : May 2019 - Minor fixes to spelling and grammar.

I have had this idea in my head for a while now, most likely inspired by the sheer number of fics i read. Thought i'd put my ideas to paper and see what you people think, feel free to let me know what's right, what's wrong and what i should do better, writing has always been something i enjoy but sadly, something i never actually had any education in.

I suppose i should put a disclaimer here that there are implied dark and otherwise adult themes in this story, nothing extremely graphic but enough that i know i should keep the rating at M

Snippets of a nightmare

Or

Curiosity kidnapped the cat

Seattle, December 2008

'Hold still Mr. Owl!'

'Mr. Owl' was being difficult. They were a rare sight for Max, or at least she couldn't recall noticing them, what with their propensity for perching out of sight and creepily observing everything. Unfortunately, this particular owl was not being very accommodating for the young photographer; perched up on the sign post as it was, it would have been a perfect addition to her 'Natural cities' assignment, however the bird refused to sit still instead opting to shuffle back and forth all the while staring right at her as if teasing her.

It was coming to the end of the year and school was wrapping up for the Christmas break, just one more assignment for one more class (a class she enjoyed no less!) and she would finally be free. Free to do what? She didn't quite know yet, but she knew sooner or later she would have to get around to apologizing to Chloe for her months of silence. She hadn't meant to leave it this long, but she was a serial procrastinator by nature and that, combined with her inability to articulate her feelings, led to many deleted message attempts and scrunched up letters.

'What would I say to her?' Max thought as she found herself zoning out into a familiar internal debate. 'Oh, hey Chloe, I'm sorry William is gone, I'm sorry I had to move to stupid Seattle and I'm sorry I'm a terrible person who leaves her best friend alone when she needs people the most but hey! You're still the first and last thing in my head every day because I maybe sorta still have this little huge crush on you and please don't hate me for making this weird'.

"Pah!" she scoffed exasperatedly as she lashed out with her foot to strike a cluster of loose stones on the footpath only to throw her hands up in defeat as the same stones struck the post of the street sign and frightened the Owl into flight, leaving her alone on the outskirts of the Industrial zone.

'Good one, dope' She chided herself.

She sighed to herself once more before she turned around to leave, or rather she would have if a brilliant flash of blue hadn't caught her eye. Her head snapped back to the blue blur to find the strangest butterfly she had ever seen fluttering gracefully in the air, it's wings a deep metallic blue she had never seen on any animal before.

Max knew she had to capture it on film.

As if it had gotten the memo from Mr. Owl and was as equally invested in mocking her, the insect chose that moment to make its escape leaving Max scrambling along attempting to follow while seeking the best angle to frame it. Had she been less passionate about photography she may have noticed herself being led further into the industrial zone, she may have noticed the lack of cars or people milling about, she most certainly would have had second thoughts about following the evasive bug into a dingy alleyway and despite her clumsy nature, she may have even avoided having her bag hook a stray cable jutting from one of the tall piles of trash and bringing it down of top of her.

"Ooooow" she groaned as tears sprang to her eyes in response to the sharp pains across her arm and head. Carefully she disentangled herself from the rusty wires, pipes and bags of trash, lifting her hand to her head, she tentatively touched at her head before flinching away, her hand came away red with blood.

'Oh, dog' She thought to herself seeing the red on her fingers and quickly dropped her bag only to hiss in pain as it passed over other cuts on her arm. 'Mom is gonna be so mad'.

A quick rummage through her bag revealed that she had in fact neglected to bring any tissues with her today and to add insult to injury, she had succeeded in smearing red stains all over her bag. She could already hear her mother's lecture and her dads muffled laugher. Quickly, she placed her camera in her bag to eliminate the temptation to take any more shots and prepared to leave.

Unfortunately, Max was a curious girl, some had even used the term 'nosy' when referring to her, her mother had warned her that she needed to be more careful, curiosity killed the cat after all, nevertheless the same sense of curiosity prevented her from picking up her bag and leaving as she caught a faint sound emanating from some nearby. It didn't take long before the sounds led her to a small nearby window only a few inches above ground level, the window was far too caked with dirt and other unidentifiable substances to see through, but the muffled sound was definitely coming from inside.

"H-Hello?" She called out, kneeling down and tapping on the glass. "Is someone there?"

A sudden cacophony of muffled screaming surprised Max and she immediately pulled away, a sudden sense of dread filled her stomach as her hand shot down to her pocket in search of her phone only to remember that it was still in her bag.

The sense of dread only intensified as she heard the crunch of footsteps behind her, she slowly turned her trembling head around to see a large man leering down at her with a cruel grin stretching his pockmarked face.

"Hello darling."

Arcadia bay

Another day, another late shift.

If nothing else, Joyce's life had at least fallen into some form of routine which was, according to the previously unknown psychology 'experts' in her family, a sign she was finally moving on with her life. To say the past few months had been difficult would be an understatement somewhat similar to referring to the first world war as a disagreement between nations or 9/11 as a bad business day, and Joyce was willing to take any sign that life was improving, however as she entered the lounge she spotted an important part of her life that was not making any progress.

"Chloe, it's 2 in the morning, you need to go to bed."

The girl in question barely acknowledged her, a brief glance with empty eyes the only indication Joyce had been heard at all. William's death had hit both of them hard, Joyce had lost her childhood sweetheart, the man who had convinced her to throw caution into the wind and run from their small Texas town and had made her happier than she had ever thought possible but Chloe, she had lost her idol, the man she looked up to above all and to make matters worse, it was only the beginning of the one-two combo that ended with the Caulfields moving to Seattle, depriving her of her best friend.

"I'm not tired." Came the eventual reply as she continued to stare unseeingly at the television, 'I can't sleep', was the message Joyce read in between. God knew she was having enough trouble in that department.

With a sigh Joyce leaned over the back of the couch to embrace her daughter, frowning sadly at Chloe's slight flinch at the contact. "Don't you stay up too late now ya hear? You have bags under your eyes that Tim Burton would be proud of."

Another reply from Chloe by way of a small nod and Joyce made her way to bed, not even bothering to shower, she drifted off the moment her head hit the pillow.

Only to be awakened what seemed only a few minutes later.

Joyce groaned into her pillow as her accursed phone refused to stop ringing, a blind hand fumbling across her nightstand eventually found her phone and her tired eyes adjusted to the near blinding light that shined down on her as the blurs on the screen slowly formed more coherent symbols.

'6:14 Am, At least I got some rest' She thought groggily before the rest of the screen cleared up. 'Vanessa? Why would you possibly be calling at this hour?'

"Vanessa, what's going on darling?" She croaked out. Vanessa was not the type to simply accost people during the wee hours of the morning.

"Joyce? Oh, thank god!" Vanessa's breathless voice was practically dripping with stress, a knot of tension began to form in Joyce's stomach. "Please, has Max contacted you or Chloe? Have you heard from her at all?"

And just like that, adrenaline surged through her system, driving her to her feet. "No, nothing dear, Chloe would have definitely said something if she had." She paused, realizing she had begun pacing the room. "Vanessa, talk to me, what's happened?"

The floodgates opened, and Joyce could only stand shocked as her friend sobbed out the story. Max, out working on her photography assignment never came home. A full night of searching both with the police and with friends, the desperate hope that she had ran away back to Arcadia bay as she had threatened a few times before. Some attempts at reassuring words and a promise to report any word or sign of Max later and Joyce found herself downstairs staring down at her daughter, hand outstretched to wake her.

The dry tear tracks on Chloe's face stopped her cold. She already had so much on her plate, her father's death and the Caulfields' absence was already taking its toll on her. How much more could her little girl take before she broke completely?

She pulled back her hand and stepped away. If Max was found soon then it wouldn't be worth worrying her daughter over, and if the worst came to past then she could tell her then.

As she made her way back to bed, she couldn't help thinking that this decision would come back to haunt her.

Croatia, June 2009

She was coming down.

It was a familiar, bitter-sweet sensation. On one hand she could feel her mind clearing up, her ability to hold a train of thought returning, but on the other hand… it meant that she was still alive, in this nightmare of an existence. No sweet release in an overdose for her, no floating away on a cloud as she faded from life. No, it meant more of the same, more cruel men and women to use her, more itching as she slowly fell into withdrawal over the coming days, craving the very drugs used to keep her and the rest of the girls docile and willing.

In truth, Max had long since given up. Weeks of cramped travel in dark boxes with only flashes of light for her deprived eyes had turned into even more weeks of being passed from group to group, being propped up like a prized bull to be sold over and over again by disgusting low-lives and elegantly dressed businessmen alike. Some girls would end up in sweatshops, some in drug plantation fields, Max thought they were lucky. Small, 'pretty things' like her always ended up as playthings for sick men.

Max flinched as a slim ray of sunshine came through her little window with a sniper's precision into her eyes and rolled over to the other side of her mattress, or at least she tried to, one could only roll so far when one was bound to the floor by one's ankle. A slight fluttering of wings and flashes of metallic blue drew Max from her self-pitying thoughts as a familiar sight came to rest on her outstretched fingers, the butterfly turned, it's wings continuing to slowly lower and raise.

Max's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the windows in this room were closed, as was the door. 'How did I not notice you before?'. She continued to stare into its black eyes for minutes before she felt an irrational wave of anger strike her. It couldn't be the same butterfly and it could not have possibly known or cared about leading her to her kidnappers, but rational thought was becoming an ever-scarcer resource. Rage the likes of which she would not have been able to fathom mere months ago gripped her. Every cruel laugh and smile flashed across her vision, every striking blow and cutting word sounded in her ears. 'How dare you come here!' The thought came barging into her head from the deep well of bitterness she had never even known existed. 'You brought me here! This is your fault!'.

As if sensing the imminent danger, the strange insect took flight only making two or so inches before her hand snapped upwards to catch it in a clenched fist, the act would have surprised Max if it were not for the months of suppressed emotion coursing through her system. She hissed as she brought her hand down on the floor next to her mattress.

She expected a slight sting from striking the ground so hard, she expected a sight sticky feeling from the bugs broken body, however, she was not expecting her body to seize up as if struck by lightning nor the burning sensation in her hand as if someone hand plunged it into hot coals and she was definitely not expecting the world to shudder and freeze around her as if someone had hit 'pause' on the galactic tape.

Then the pain was gone, leaving her lying breathless as the grey highlights faded from view. Tentatively, Max lifted her hand to find no trace whatsoever of the butterfly, no dark smear, nothing.

'The drugs have finally gotten to you Max'. A voice whispered in her mind.

Any impromptu argument with herself was cut off as the door to her room was thrown open to reveal a balding overweight man leering down at her. The man moved quickly, eager to get what he came for and had already removed his belt by the time he reached the foot of the mattress, said belt landing with an odd metallic thump.

"You going to give me a good time girl, yes?" He grunted as he knelt over her throwing one of her legs aside.

Her answer shocked both of them as Long, untrimmed nails raked down the side of his face and a thrashing knee swept up to strike him in the ribs, the attack was answered by a wicked backhand that snapped her head to the side leaving her bleeding from where his ring has cut open her brow.

His groping hands pulled her from her dazed state and she could hear him muttering about how he liked girls with a little fight. Struggle as she might, she found no way to get any advantage, he was bigger and stronger and simply battered aside any attack she made. Another backhand a not a minute later announced the end of his patience and she distantly felt his hands tearing at her flimsy excuse for shorts.

Then, through teary eyes she saw her chance. Her struggling had gotten her beaten and bruised, but it had also gotten her thrown half off her mattress, close enough to his discarded belt to see the gleaming hilt of a knife. Quickly she scrambled to undo the leather catch on the sheath only for it to elude her first attempt, her second attempt was successful only in alerting her assailant to her efforts, desperate, she lunged backwards in a final attempt.

The catch popped free.

She drew the knife, quickly stabbing towards her attacker.

A painfully tight grip encircled her wrist, stopping the knife in mid-air, a split second later his fist struck her in the face, once, twice. His furious gaze met her own as he drew his fist back for a third strike, Max threw up her hand in a desperate attempt to stall him, as if her will alone could make him stop.

To her shock, his fist stopped dead in its tracks, in fact everything stopped. Max stared at her outstretched hand, her skin was almost ethereal, and she could faintly see the room through her arm, but more, she could feel the world around her…she could feel it straining to pull away from her. So she pulled back.

Perhaps not the best term but it was the best she would ever come up with to describe the sensation that comes with plucking at the strings of time and space. To her astonishment, the man seemed to play in reverse, his arms lashing outwards in awkward movements until he scrambled back to the edge of the mattress, and leapt to his feet, the belt jumping by its own volition into his hands.

And then he was gone. She felt the backwards flow of time cease and suddenly everything resumed as normal. Unfortunately, Max had no time to process this as the door flung open once more to revel the same disgusting man smiling that same sick smile. A smile that turned into a look of shock as he approached, leaving Max confused. 'Does he remember what happened?'

"Where did you get that-That's my knife!" he cried, shooting towards her only to be stopped dead once more as she reached out to grasp time and pull it back once more.

'I still have his knife!' She exclaimed to herself and she looked at her prize. It was a beautifully made knife, the pommel was styled after an eagle's head and the guard was made to resemble eagle's wings, the blade was well polished and the black stained inscription stood out proudly 'Blut und Ehre', Max had no clue what it meant but considering the mad who owned it, it was probably nothing good.

Knowing she was running out of time; she jammed the knife as far under the mattress as she could while still being able to draw it before laying down and feigning a drugged stupor. A few seconds later the door was opened for a third time, the same leering man making his way into the room, throwing his belt aside with the same casual arrogance, completely unaware of his missing blade, unaware of it until he took his position over her.

With the man so unaware of the present danger it was almost too easy, the man leaned down to growl his opening line, his breath hot and foul on her face, she pulled the knife and he offered no resistance as she plunged it home into his neck.

The effect was instant, his eyes widened with shock as he collapsed to his side, in a flash Max straddled him smacking away his weakening attempts to strike her. A pleading, desperate gaze met her own, begging for mercy, for life. She had seen the same desperation in the faces of every girl she had traveled with, been sold alongside, she knew she had worn the same look herself.

Like the last strand in a fraying rope, she snapped.

A small pull and the blade tore free from his neck in a spray of blood, with a piercing scream of rage she brought the knife down into his chest again and again, heedless of the man's gurgling cries. The man's face shifted in her mind's eye, the features warping to take the form of the people that had hurt her, the changes only serving to feed her anger.

Eventually she staggered to her feet leaving the mutilated body beneath her, she didn't know how or why she had this power and she didn't know for how long, but she knew that this was her only chance at escape.

5 days later…

The escape could have gone better.

If Max was completely honest with herself, it was longer than she ever thought she would last. It didn't take long for the complex to be shut down, but that was okay, Max doubted she would have made it out in broad daylight anyway. Her decision to hide out in ventilation shafts and store rooms worked for three days.

She learned a lot in those three days, her powers were most likely here to stay, it hurt a lot to keep rewinding time, too much and she would start to bleed from her nose and if she didn't stop, she would face crippling headaches that would leave her curled up and helpless. She only made that mistake once. She learned that she was potentially the world's best up and coming thief, or at least the best one in the complex, hiding was a skill she had practiced for years with Chloe, combined with her rewind, she moved near freely through the compound.

Unfortunately, she couldn't rewind time with a few thousand volts going through her as she discovered during her attempt to escape the compound and by the time she awakened, she was trapped once more. This time she knew they wanted to break her fully, she along with every other girl was shown this place as a threat, if anyone misbehaved then they would be thrown in the hole, a remodeled bunker of sorts. Needless to say, stabbing a 'customer' a few dozen times constituted as 'misbehaving' and this was now the second day by her count that she had been locked in here.

But she didn't mind too much. It felt safe in there, especially in light of the panicked shouting she could hear from outside. She found herself smiling as the sound of her captors beating against the bunker door echoed around her, there was only one key card and it was currently propped tauntingly against the viewing port window, its previous owner lay staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, a pencil jutting from his neck. The possibilities of her rewind seemed endless.

Her smile only grew wider as the panicked shouting was drowned out by roaring winds and the none too far crash of thunder. A storm had come for them, and if what she was hearing was any indication, it was a big one.

Arcadia bay, September 2012

… Sicily is the latest victim in a long list of attacks believed to be perpetrated by the terror group known as Oluja, it marks the second attack this year and the fifth attack of this magnitude since the group came into existence in late 2009. As of now there are 23 confirmed casualties and an estimated twelve million Euros in damages. Details are sparse but inside sources claim that the attack on the Porto Franco dock was connected to the recent murders of Davide Rossi and Andre Bianchi, two Assessori or regional governors. What the connection is between these events remains uncertain…

Rachel snorted. Loudly.

"What's that?" Chloe asked as she lethargically raised her from her pillow to see Rachel staring contemptuously at the TV.

"It's not rocket science; half the internet has figured it out by now." Rachel replied before taking another drag on her joint. "S'just none of them got the stones to come out and say it."

"Context, Rachel. Gimme some." Chloe chuckled as she rolled to the floor beside her friend.

Rachel cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Do you ever watch the news, or anything on the internet for that matter?"

"Does Conan O'Brian and porn count?"

Rachel just cradled her head in one hand and groaned. "You heard about those bombings and assassinations in Europe? Ya know, the ports all getting blown up and politicians getting whacked?"

"What? No! Shit sounds dope!" Chloe began before her brain caught up with her mouth. "I mean, apart from people dying and shit." She concluded lamely.

"Don't feel sorry for them, Wikileaks has put out a shit ton of stuff about how they were involved in smuggling drugs, guns and slaves across Europe." Rachel said waving her hand dismissively. "There's a whole bunch of places online talking about those ports being key smuggling points. But of course, no one's going to admit it."

"Sounds like you're jumping on the conspiracy bandwagon a little there Rach." Chloe laughed. "The weed's making you paranoid."

"Oh, shut up." Rachel retorted, "I handle my shit better than you."

"Lies!" Chloe crowed.

"You know it's true! But seriously, that fucking mega storm tears through Greece up to Croatia, a whole bunch of people get busted during the cleanup for human trafficking and suddenly there's a group calling themselves 'Oluja' out there; which by the way, is Croatian for 'The Storm'" Rachel ranted, miming air-quotes. "Then, people accused of being part of the trafficking ring wind up dead all over the place, a whole bunch of shit gets blown up and they're all like: 'Whatever the connection is between these events is uncertain'…It's so stupid".

"Damn, girl." Chole eventually stated. "I still got that tinfoil hat in the cupboard if you -" Chloe started before a pouncing Rachel interrupted.

A minute later the pair collapsed in giggles, with Rachel's head uncomfortably pressed against a metal box jutting slightly from under the bed. Curious, she decided a casual snoop was in order and as inconspicuously as possible she sat and opened the box, careful to keep her body between Chloe and her box.

The contents were a little disappointing, Rachel had half expected Dirty magazines or a secret stash of weed but all she could see was a cd case and a thick stack of photos. Rachel couldn't contain her squeal of delight as she realized the photos were of a young Chloe, her friend rarely talked about her childhood apart from brief snappy comments about her past friend-

"Max." She breathed as she found a photo of the young blonde Chloe grinning widely with her arms around a smaller brunette, they were both dressed in surprisingly good pirate costumes. It was the first picture of Chloe's elusive friend she had ever seen.

"What?" Chloe asked before leaping over to snatch the box away. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"So, this is the girl who's missing in action?" Rachel asked, choosing to ignore the fact she was caught snooping red-handed. It was a tactic that worked well thus far with Chloe.

"Hmmph. Yea, that's her."

"I mean, i don't get it."

Chloe's eyes blinked in surprise. "Don't get what?"

"Dude? There's a million photos in here! Look, she doesn't even look old enough to be in school in that one, and one day she just cuts you off?" She exclaimed, pointing at one particular photo her mother took to celebrate her 'first friend'.

"Yeah. I know." Chloe replied defensively.

"But, why?"

"I don't know! She just stopped replying after a few months, probably after she found new friends." Chloe snapped.

"We should call her!" Rachel declared.

"The fuck? Are you high? I mean you are, but are you serious?!"

"Yes, I'm serious! You need answers!"

Chloe raised a brow.

"Well, and I want to know too."

Chloe had promised herself years ago that she wouldn't be the first to call, she had been the one trying for so long after all, however those promises were no match for the near magical power Rachel had over her friend and so five minutes later Chloe found herself watching her phone dial max's number with shaking hands.

The number was disconnected.

Chloe didn't know what she expected, but the failed call cut her deeper than she cared to admit. Rachel however, was one step ahead.

"Caulfield, right?" Rachel asked, scrolling across her phone.

"Yeah, why?"

"Ryan and Vanessa?"

"Yes, why-wait, how'd you know that?" Chloe questioned with wide eyes.

"I remember you mentioning her dads name was Ryan. Doesn't seem to be too common a name." She stated before triumphantly holding out her phone for Chloe to see. "Ta-da! Home number, they're old fashioned as fuck."

"Yeah." Chloe replied, unsure. "They always were, I can't talk though, we still got a home phone too."

After half a minute of internal debate, Chloe punched the number in and listened.

"Hello, who's there?" Came Ryan's unmistakable voice, and Chloe found herself momentarily unable to reply. The years had made his voice noticeably gruffer; Ryan and her dad had always spoken softly. 'Probably thinks I'm trying to sell something'

"You there?" Ryan's voice question again.

"H-Hey Ryan," Chloe began, desperately trying to get moisture back into her mouth. "It's Chloe."

"Chloe Price?" Ryan asked, surprise evident in his voice.

"Yeah."

"Well I'll be damned...it's good to hear from you Chloe."

"It's good to talk to you too...I-I missed you guys." She Said before steeling herself, "Could I talk to Max?"

The line went silent. The seconds counted by and a tense knot began to form in her stomach.

"Chloe…Is this...is this some sort of joke?" Ryan's voice carried a harsh note Chloe had never heard before.

"What? No! I just- I just wanted to… to ask why she stopped talking to me." Chloe finished meekly.

"Wait. You don't- how?" Ryan replied, before his voice turned to a mutter. "Joyce was the first person we called."

"What do you mean?" Chloe was beginning to feel ill. It must have shown on her face because Rachel was looking at her with a concerned expression.

"Chloe…I'm…" His voice paused for a moment and Chloe heard a muffled 'fuck' followed by a thump. "Max is…Max has been gone for almost four years now."

Seconds stretched to minutes as Chloe attempted to process it all.

"Chloe?"

"Gone?" She repeated, her voice a mere whisper.

"She's gone Chloe, I'm so sorry, we called Joyce, I th-"

Whatever he was saying was lost as the phone slipped through nerveless fingers, Ryan's voice still faintly audible from the floor. Her knees buckled and Rachel barely caught her before she hit the carpet.

"Chloe? Chloe talk to me." Rachel begged as Chloe buried her face in her neck and began to weep.

"She's- She's" The girl spluttered as sobs Wracked her frame, her cries louder than Rachel had ever heard from anyone, louder even then her own when Chloe had broken the news of her father's lies and plots to keep her mother away. She couldn't do anything but rock slowly back and forth as the minutes dragged on whispering 'It'll be ok' in the vain hope that either of them would believe it.

"Girls! What is going on here?" Came Joyce's voice as she rushed into the room still in her work uniform.

"Mrs. Madsen, I don't think you sh-" Rachel began before Chloe all but hurled her off to face her mother.

"YOU!" She shrieked, throwing her beanie to the ground, her fist clenched at her side, her tear-streaked face a mask of pure fury.

"Honey, what's-"

"YOU KNEW!" Chloe shouted over her in accusation and Joyce's face turned pale.

"FOUR FUCKING YEARS! AND YOU SAID NOTHING!" Rachel rushed up to grab her friend as she stormed towards her mother.

"Chloe, please, I-" Joyce attempted to start, hands upraised in a calming gesture.

"SHE'S DEAD! YOU LIED TO ME FOR FOUR FUCKING YEARS!" Rachels attempts to hold her were in vain, there was no holding the taller girl back.

"YOU LET ME HATE HER!" Chloe screamed as she shoved her mother into the wall, only quick thinking from Rachel stopped the following slap and she jumped up and used her whole body to force her arm away.

"YOU BITCH, I FUCKING HATE YOU!" Chloe continued to scream as Rachel tugged her away from her shaking mother.

The screeching continued until the door closed, then as if a switch was flipped Chloe tore her arm free and staggered over to her rubbish-bin before hurling up the contents of her stomach, the sick feeling she had during the call finally catching up to her.

Rachel held her as she dissolved back into sobs and incoherent wailing. For the first time in years, Rachel had no idea what to do.

Greece, November 2012

Andrej Damjanac was not a happy man today. Granted, even at the best of times he would scarcely be described as friendly but at the current moment he was positively smoldering with rage.

"Four years of this, my ports, my ships, my people taken out one by one and none of you can tell me anything!?" Andrej growled to his sheepish followers as he stalked across his Greek villa.

His last few years had been plagued by progressively worse news as word came from all over Europe that Oluja was waging war on everything his father and he had worked to build. It had started small, low level smugglers and even bought police began to fall out of contact only to reappear on news shows when their corpses were discovered. Bad for business but of little consequence in the grand scheme of things.

It was only a year after the initial attacks that shit truly went sideways with the near annihilation of his ships and cargo at Piran port in Slovenia, almost one hundred million Euros in weapons and drugs were destroyed in a colossal fireball of Oluja's making, and to make matters worse, the attack had cost two of his newest cargo ships and dozens of men. The attack had Andrej fuming. The following attacks had him in a perpetual state of rage.

One by one his facilities and compounds were found and destroyed, his pleasure houses in Albania and Serbia, his drug plantations in Spain, no matter what precautions he took, they all went out in flames or shot to pieces. Simultaneously, key informants and bribed law enforcement were systematically eliminated en-masse, millions in bribes wasted, his ability to transport product whittled away seemingly month by month. In the end, to his shock, Oluja even targeted high level politicians, men who made business possible for Andrej and the other half dozen who could claim to be anywhere near his power, even they began to wind up strung from their own rooftops.

And now he was alone. Other Crime lords, the remaining dirty politicians, everyone distanced themselves from him, refusing his business and his money. It was all falling apart, and he didn't have the first idea at how to stop it.

"We had the whole dock checked and checked again; I don't know how the men could have possibly missed that many explosives!" One of the men tried to explain before Andrej rounded on him.

"I don't want to hear excuses!" He hissed, "I want to hear about Oluja, where are they, what are their motives? Anything!"

Another of the followers stepped forward. "Nobody can find anything on them, there is no word from our contacts amongst the various mercenary companies and no official investigation in any nation has turned anything up."

"Once again" Andrej breathed as he opened the gate leading to the rear of his property, he was quickly nearing the end of his proverbial rope, "I am tired of hearing about what we don't know, is there nothing we have learned…"

Andrej's voice trailed off at the sight before him. Two of his security team lay dead on the path before them, one lay in a growing puddle of blood, his throat opened from ear to ear, the other sat propped against a nearby wall, his right eye socket was a mess of blood and gore.

The clanging of the gate closing was the only noise to be heard, one of the men moved towards the bodies as if to check for a pulse only to fall limply to the ground as a crossbow bolt smashed through his skull.

The effect was instantaneous, Andrej and his men bolted in random directions, each man thinking of nothing beyond saving his own skin. One of the men ran back towards the gate, his hand had barely touched the latch before he fell to the ground screaming, a bolt jutting from his spine, another sprinted towards a large fountain for cover only to get a bolt through the neck, sending him crashing into the fountain.

Andrej and his remaining follower plunged through the next gate leading down a garden path, hearts pounding and lungs screaming, they continued down the path that would eventually lead them to the villa's parking lot, hoping the whole way that they would run into additional security.

They did. However, another blood-soaked and mutilated pair of corpses was not what they needed, but it was the message on the nearby wall that demanded their attention, 'YOU CAN RUN!' Written in was looked to be the blood of his guards, the phrase chilled him to the core.

"What the hell is this?" His companion panted, his face pale despite the sprint they had just undertaken.

A slight whistle was the only warning before another bolt plunged into the companion's thigh, sending him to the ground screaming for help, help that would not be coming from Andrej as the man once more fled for his life.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." Andrej chanted breathlessly as he tore through the remaining meters of his garden. They were here, they had been here likely since his meeting had begun, long enough to kill his guards and set a trap. He was through now, his empire was crumbling as it was, and this attack had killed off the last of his competent men, no, he had to go to ground and he had to go now, he had enough hidden way to live comfortably for the rest of his life…provided he got out of here alive.

Any hope of escape died as he arrived at the exit to his parking lot to find the four men that should have been guarding the entrance piled in front of the gate, their blood staining the concrete red, but it was the words 'But you can't hide!' Written in the same bloody print that stopped him dead.

"Hello Andrej." Came a cold, feminine voice from behind him, "I've been waiting a long time to meet you."

Slowly, Andrej turned to face his attacker and couldn't stop his eyes from widening in surprise. Of all the possible enemies he had imagined over the past years, none of them came even close to the sight before him. It was a girl, a small girl at that, leaning up against one of the many olive trees in his garden, hidden in its shadow.

"I thought you would be taller." Andrej observed, if he was going to die, he'd be damned if he gave her the satisfaction of seeing him beg.

The girl just smiled; it was a cold smile that promised nothing but pain.

"Sorry to disappoint, but you've probably thought many wrong things." The girl stepped out from under the tree's shade.

The first thing Andrej noticed was the icy blue eyes. Her face was scarred, the most visible cut across the left side of her head, the side near shaved as if to proudly display it.

"You know, I expected this to be a lot harder. I didn't expec" The girl continued, as she absently fiddled with the red-streaked braid that the rest of her hair was pulled into.

A flash of anger interrupted his observations and he dove to snatch a pistol from a guard's limp hand, he quickly rolled to his feet to find that the girl had not moved at all in response, still standing with a hand on her hip, a brow raised as if to ask, 'Are you serious?'

"And you should have killed me when you had the chance, bitch!" Andrej sneered.

The girl smiled and then as if by magic she vanished. Any surprise at her sudden disappearance was immediately replaced by shock as he found his hands empty, clasping nothing but air.

"It's a nice gun." Came the girls voice to his right. "Model 1911, thick, reliable, unlikely to break if you crack someone upside the head with it."

"What? How did you…" Andrej tried to ask as he rounded on the her, to find only empty space.

"How did I what?" The girl asked innocently now back under the olive tree.

"God…it was you, this whole time, it was only you?" The realization struck him as hard as any crossbow bolt.

"For the most part yes. Not as stupid as you look."

The Oluja was a single girl, a single girl beyond anything human. Ever since that damned storm had blown his operation open….

"All of this since Croatia…Did you make that storm? What are you!?"

"No, I didn't make the storm…" The girl chuckled darkly. Then she was gone.

"I am the storm." Her voice behind him was the last he heard before the pistol grip slammed into his temple.

"And it's not over for you yet, we've got a lot to talk about."

July 2013

Vanessa sighed loudly as she dropped into bed. Working, even if it was from home, was a chore, especially over the past year or so.

"Do you want me to take care of Bradley tonight hon?" Ryan asked quietly.

"That would be wonderful." She replied giving him a sincere if tired smile.

Well into their late thirties, the arrival of their son had been a surprise to say the least, a Happy surprise, Ryan was always quick to say. When she had found out she was pregnant again she was ecstatic, she and Ryan had discussed another child while Max was still young but despite their 'best efforts' it seemed it was not to be, the desire for another child completely dwindled when the police search turned up only Max's school bag, smeared with her blood. Yet her discovery that she was expecting revived that old desire in its entirety.

That was at least until Bradley had been born, it seemed 17 odd years went a long way in helping one forget how much effort went into having a child, both she and Ryan were barely in their twenties when Max was born and any parental stress must have blended into the general mass of stress at the time. Vanessa was beyond happy to be a mother again, but she was exhausted, and she decided this would definitely be the last.

The faint light of her bedside lamp illuminated just enough of the room to reveal the lovingly framed photos on the bedroom walls, it had taken long years before she had become comfortable with Max's photos again, for so long they had brought out the worst of her emotions and insecurities, feeling as if each one accused her for her failings as a mother. She still missed her baby girl something fierce, but the pain was nothing more than a dull ache now.

Her self-introspection was cut short by the sound of the front door closing. She looked over at her husband in shock, Ryan looked back in confusion before they both leapt out of bed, snatching the nearest solid objects.

The house was empty or at least there was no sign of an intruder, the front lawn was clear and there were no cars parked out front. Ryan was had almost convinced himself that it must have been the neighbor's door when he heard Vanessa cry out from Bradley's room.

He burst into the room, baseball bat at the ready, the very stereotypical image of the defensive father, only to find his wife cradling their son sitting at the cradle-side table staring at Max's old camera.

A chair that hadn't been in the room when he put Bradley to bed.

A camera that had not left it's place on the fireplace mantle since the police had retrieved it during their investigation.

Slowly he approached, not wanting to startle his wife who was still staring at the camera, or as he noticed as he drew closer, what was under the camera.

An envelope that read 'Mom and Dad'

With shaking hands,w he picked up the envelope, half expecting it to explode because even that would be more likely than his dead daughter writing from beyond the grave. Inside he found only a folded paper, obviously a letter. He didn't know what to do, none of this made any sense, it was as if he was experiencing a nightmare and heavenly dream all at once.

"Read it. Please." Vanessa begged.

"Dear Mom and Dad." He began, his voice breaking on the word 'dad', "I didn't know how I was going to do this, I've thought a hundred times of a hundred different ways to break the news to you and I doubt this is the best way to go but here it is. I'm alive. I know this sounds like a cruel joke but it's the truth, you promised me, dad, after we moved here that you'd take me to see the thunderbirds play."

Ryan paused again, needing to take a half dozen deep breaths.

"And mom was the one who found me crying at the beach after you two broke the news we were moving to Seattle. I made a stupid mistake that day in December, and I found a basement where people where they hold trafficking victims, followed a butterfly there because of course I did. I got myself taken and shipped to eastern Europe eventually where I escaped a few months later. I know you're about to ask why I didn't contact you right away, why I didn't run right to the nearest police station, well it's a good thing I didn't because there are a lot of law enforcement paid a lot of money to look the other way. As for why I didn't find the nearest phone and call you? It's a long story and it's why I can't come home yet."

Ryan paused, working his jaw in an attempt to work moisture back into his mouth.

"I'm not the girl you lost five years ago; I haven't been since they took me. What they did to me broke me in more ways than one and what I did that made everything worse, I don't want to say here, maybe one day I can come clean, but I did horrible things to the people I thought deserved it, I wanted to hurt them as much as they hurt me and then more. And I did. That's why I didn't try come home and I'm sorry, I should have come right away, I thought that when I finished that I'd be free, that it would all be over, that the nightmares would stop. Oh, dog I was wrong, now it's just empty and the nightmares are worse. Maybe it's stupid and it's definitely selfish but I don't want to come home like this, I don't want to be the broken daughter or the shell of the daughter you lost. I need to be me again and I don't know how to do that, or how long it will take. I will come home one day and I hope it's soon, I miss you so much and I needed to tell you somehow that I'm alive and that I'm okay. Well, I'm not okay but I want to be. Please don't try to come and find me, I want it to be special when I see you again, if it's one thing I've gotten good at the past few years, it's staying hidden. I love you both so much – Max, never Maxine."

Ryan could hardly see by the end with the tears clouding his eyes, he looked at his wife and saw the same conflicting emotions that must be playing across his own face.

"Honey, there's more on the back." She said.

Flipping the page, he saw what looked like hastily written post script, the careful finesse of the previous page lost.

"P.S – I had this all written out, all planned but of course there's always something… a little brother? I remember at least two Christmases where I asked Santa for a baby brother and now you guys decide on it? He's soooooo cute, and it's almost like he knows who I am, he just keeps pulling at my braid like it's his own toy, if I didn't already have enough reason to come back, here it is."

Ryan quickly found himself sinking to the floor against the wall, it was too much to take in, part of him wanted to rush out into the night and track his daughter down, the other half was still denying that this was at all possible, that there was no way such a cruel world would just give him back his baby.

But the envelope was not empty, there was still something inside giving it weight. Carefully he removed the object – a polaroid photo, in an instant Vanessa was sitting beside him, Bradley reaching out at his father's beard as always.

The photo showed Bradley in the arms of a young woman, it took him seconds of staring before him breath caught in his throat and he recognized his own daughter. She looked older, and not just the physical sense, her eyes were older than they should be. Her hair was long, at least on one side of her head, tucked into a large braid hanging off one side of her head, different strands of the braid dyed red, the other side of her head was almost entirely shaved to reveal a thick scar running across her temple. She was smiling but it was the smile of someone who wasn't accustomed to it, pulling unfamiliar muscles in an attempt to imitate what she sees on the faces of others, the same smiling face was scarred so much it enraged him, someone had hurt his baby girl, multiple times, her eyebrow was split by a scar that thankfully didn't continue any further, but her other cheek was dominated but a pair of long scars that continued to the hidden side of her face. True to her words Bradley had a single pudgy hand raised to grasp her braid and was staring up at his sister with a wide and in his case, rare baby grin.

She still looked sad, but she looked healthy at least, aside from the bags under her eyes not hidden quite well enough by makeup. She wasn't home yet, but she would be soon.

That would have to be enough for now.