Greetings fellow Let Me In fans. It's been awhile since I've done a multi-chapter Owen and Abby story, so I thought it was time I got one up again.

I've alluded to the events in this story is some of my other fics. So, this tells of the actual events.

Oh, I know that I gave Owen's mother the name Yvonne in an earlier fic. Well, that was written before I had the DVD to try and see the name on her driver's license. LOL So, consider this something that I'll retcon if I ever get the chance.

As I've said before...Reviews make me update faster. :-D

And awayyyy we go. :-)

P.S. Please consider this chapter to be the prologue.

Los Alamos, New Mexico; June 17th, 1984

The woman sat at the picnic table by her car, flipping through the magazine yet again. She'd sworn she wasn't going to look at it anymore, but found she couldn't help herself.

The magazine was a Newsweek commemorative issue highlighting the just passed 40th Anniversary of D-Day in Normandy. Inside were pictures showing events such as Ronald Reagan giving his speech where he praised the men who had scaled the cliffs at Pointe-Du-Hoc. However, it was the pictures of the assembled veterans that had caught her eye.

One picture, showing a group of veterans from the 82nd Airborne Division was her father; her father that she hadn't seen in nine years now. He looked very much the same. He still had the lean, strong build she remembered that a lifetime of being a rancher had given him. She noted that he even still had all of his hair and with very little grey in it as well.

She shook her head dismissively and took another drink from her bottle of orange juice, savouring the effect of the immense amount of vodka she'd added into it when she'd gone to use the ladies room. Her father…Why should she wasted time thinking about him? He'd made his choice in 1975. He'd chosen to support her sodomite brother who'd forsaken his Christian marriage to a woman in order to live with a man in the Gomorra by ocean that people called San Francisco. She'd made her choice then as well. She'd severed all ties with both her father and her brother nine years ago. She'd not seen or spoken to either since.

She looked at the picture again, feeling anger rise in her. The hypocrite, she thought: being in the presence of a great man like Ronald Reagan –a man who knew of the evils in the world- when her father had been a lifelong Democrat. Looking at her father's picture again, she took another great gulp of her vodka-laden orange juice. She forced herself to admit that what truly bothered her about seeing such a recent image of her father again was noting how much of her first-born son she could see in him; her son Owen, who she'd not seen in over a year.

It was a weird coincidence. Her father had not tried to contact her in years. However, a week or so after Owen disappeared he'd attempted to call her. As soon as she'd heard his voice, she'd hung up. A letter sent soon afterwards was sent back unopened. She even refused to accept a registered letter. She knew she was being tested. Her son had disappeared and she was being tested by God. If she'd allowed herself to talk to her father again, she'd be giving in to the temptations of Satan and fail the test by compromising on her beliefs. Instead, she'd stayed strong and been rewarded.

Right afterwards, she and her estranged husband began to talk again. Soon enough, she'd seen that her reward had come. The two of them renewed their marital vows at the very same church that had put on this Father's Day picnic. By June, she learned she was pregnant, completely validating her earlier actions. She was being given a new child to replace the one who was taken.

John, her husband, had been overjoyed at the pregnancy…even if he hadn't agreed with her decision to try and forget everything that had happened before…including pondering Owen's fate. He'd been attentive to her during her pregnancy and even prevailed on her to stop drinking. Well, she'd stopped during the pregnancy. Since Johnny's birth in March, she found that vodka was a most satisfactory beverage. It could be mixed easily with anything and had no odour. It was her little secret. So far as John knew, she was still on the wagon. The vodka was what she turned to when she remembered Owen. It helped her soothe her memories. John had suggested they go for some psychological counseling to try and achieve some closure. She'd scoffed at that. Her pastor said that psychologists were all liberal atheists who wanted to turn people away from God. It was her pastor that advised her to close Owen off in her mind. He'd told her that if Owen had been abducted by a satanic cult –as the police had speculated if he was still alive- then he'd joined with them. He'd forsaken his God to preserve his life and thus forfeited his soul. So, she could consider him like her father and brother and simply close herself off to him. Her pastor –who was regarded at the most fire and brimstone preacher she'd ever heard…a far cry from the Romanism she been raised in- had been most adamant about that. After Johnny's birth, she found that the vodka helped both with the stress of post-partum depression and blotting Owen's face from her mind. Her reverie was interrupted by her husband's approach as he returned from the men's room.

John Lindquist saw his wife sitting by their car, flipping through the magazine. He'd seen the picture of his father-in-law in it and knew that was what was bothering her. He could also see Owen in the man. John sighed forlornly…Owen. John had never agreed with how his wife was coping with the disappearance of their older son. John had been alternately distraught, guilt-ridden and mad with grief at the time. He'd felt that if had had still been with them Owen might never have been at the pool that night. As well, he'd refused to give up hope that Owen was still alive somewhere. He never voiced those opinions in front of Samantha though. She never reacted well to that. She also never agreed to his suggestions of seeking professional help to deal with everything. According to her, the pastor knew best. Well. John didn't agree with that either. So far as he was concerned, the pastor was a man who could scream from the pulpit about sin but seemed to have forgotten all about Christian charity or compassion. It was another subject he didn't' dare broach around his wife though.

Right now, they were back together and had a new baby to look after and…His thoughts were interrupted by the throbbing ache in his right arm. John reached into his pocket with his left hand and pulled out a tin box of Tylenol as he shifted his plastered right arm in its sling. Just over a week ago, he'd taken a fall at work and badly broken his right arm, resulting in the heavy plaster cast he now wore. A result of the accident was that Samantha had to do all the driving for them, as he simply couldn't hope to drive their manual transmission vehicle with his right arm incapacitated.

"Is he still asleep, honey?" John asked as he looked into the back seat of the car. Nestled in a car seat was Johnny, now three months old and clearly tired out from the afternoon's excursion.

"He's sleeping soundly. I just hope we can get him home that way." Samantha replied as the two got into the front seat. John didn't notice that she missed the ignition slot with the key the first time she tried to insert it. She got it in a second time and the car roared to life. She shifted into drive and headed out of the local park to begin the trip home.

The park was located in the mountains surrounding the city, and as Samantha pulled onto the main road, she immediately had to take a sharp turn. As she took the turn –more sharply than normal- the vehicle jostled rather severely. John looked around into the back seat to make sure their baby was undisturbed. So far, so good, he thought. As he turned forward again, he noticed two things immediately….They had accelerated to over 20 mph over the posted speed limit and –worst of all- they'd drifted over into the lane for oncoming traffic. In the driver's seat, Samantha was squinting into the afternoon sun and the glare it was causing as she continued to press on the accelerator, oblivious to being on the wrong side of the road.

"Get back over…!" John began to scream in terror.

His never finished the sentence as a transport truck came round the blind turn straight at them, the horrified driver hitting his brakes and horn at the same time as he realized it was far too late to avoid the collision.