It was dark and fuzzy. Fuzzy? A strange description for the scene before her, but she didn't ask why. She already knew. This is what told her it was a dream. That what she was seeing hadn't happened. Not that she needed to watch. This particular dream had been invading her sleep for over a month now.

Two men, as different as night and day from each other winding the corridors of some rundown building. Complete opposites – but family. How could she tell they were brothers? It was in their eyes; the look they gave each other was the same she saw in her own brother's eyes in a serious situation. The look of silent communication and understanding that could only come from spending a lifetime with someone.

The one in front was definitely the leader, glock positioned at the ready. Short-cropped hair, and piercing hazel eyes, yep, definitely a 'do what I say and don't piss me off' kind of guy. Well, except for the occasional smart ass comment every five minutes.

The one behind him is a little taller, but she knows he's the younger of the two. She can see it in his eyes. She's seen this dream enough times now to know them both almost intimately. She knows the older brother will watch the front while the other keeps stealing glances behind them, even though that's 'her' job.

Behind them was a girl about their age; straw-colored hair loose and wavy. Her ice blue eyes almost shined in the dark.

This was a face she knew even better than the boys' – it stared back at her in the mirror every day. The only difference was the hair – her hair almost reached her waist, but this woman's was much shorter.

They crept slowly, following the winding corridor. Left. Right. Right. Straight. Door. They're inside a room now. They have to be in some sort of warehouse, there were crates and barrels everywhere. A single lamp shine from the ceiling, but it can only cover a small portion of the room, leaving everything that couldn't be covered by their flashlights cloaked in darkness.

They weren't the only ones there, she knew that too. Here's where the sound always went fuzzy – like it was a bad recording or something. She guessed it was the figure hiding in the darkness that spoke first, because the trio would always jump and turn in the direction of where he was. Then the boys would start shouting.

It would be here any second, she knew. There – a hand made itself visible, pointing out horizontally toward the two boys. In his hand was an old gun – a colt, she guessed – with weird designs twisted around the barrel.

No matter how many times she saw this dream, she could never see the face. She'd long since come to the conclusion that she wasn't supposed to see it. The hand however she studied closely.

There was really nothing remarkable about it, save a long scar running diagonally from the pinky to the thumb. It was also, she noted, a man's hand.

Here it comes. It always happened the same: the older brother's gun would fly out of his hand like an invisible force had struck it as the gun pointed to the other sibling. As she watched from the sidelines, the vision went into slow motion: the gun cocked and fired. As she watched the bullet fly to the younger sibling, her reflection moved to stand in its path. She watched herself shield the younger brother, her scream echoing through the room. The bullet struck her heart, its force shoving her back into the one she was shielding. As she shared the blinding pain, the dream forced her out, into the waking world.

Bolting up in bed, she screamed the very name she had herd her reflection shout. In another part of the house there was a thud and a curse, then, her brother was calling her name, groping in the darkness. The lights to her room switched on and a weight settled on the foot of her bed. Her brother called her name, trying to grab her attention, but she was so fixated on something new the dream had given her, she didn't hear. Her voice, crying out in the darkness to save that man she had never met, echoed through her brain.

"Evee, what is it. I know it's the dream again, but what else. You're acting so weird Evee, what's wrong?"

Pale lips opened a fraction. She stared at the candle on her nightstand, its wax fully melted in the extreme heat of the room. The wax dripped to the floor as she sighed out a single word. It was so soft, that he almost missed it. The night was quiet. It was still a few hours until sunrise.

"Sam…"