Prologue
In sleep, he sang to me
In dreams, he came
That voice which calls to me
and speaks my name...

It is cold and wet in the basement, two things that Molly Hooper would rather not be, but Greg is so adamant that hide-and-go-seek is more exciting in the depths of Saint Bartholomew's Hospital. She cannot help but agree with him, though she feels slightly juvenile for playing such a childish game at the age of seventeen. The eerie quality of the basement heightens the fear that slowly creeps up the back of Molly's neck, causing her to shift her body side to side rapidly, listening for any indication that she is near where Greg is hiding.

"Greg?" she calls out, her voice shaky. She knows it is pointless to call out his name - he will not give up his location by responding - but she does so anyway, an instinct she follows automatically. The blindfold across her eyes that cuts off her sight does not help in pinpointing where her friend is. Why she agreed to wear a blindfold while playing hide-and-go-seek is beyond her, but cursing her decision does not help her right now.

She hears a distant chuckle, one that sounds eerily like her friend, to her right, and she immediately turns her body towards where the sound came from. "Greg?" she calls out again, a smile blooming on her face when she hears him chuckle.

She lets out a small laugh when she feels what she thinks are Greg's fingers ghost across her corset, poking her playfully on her side. "Greg!"

Putting out her hand, she walks forward, where she felt her friend's hands come from, a smile still on her face, hoping to feel the gentle chest of her friend. She stumbles forward, carefully placing one foot in front of the other in order not to fall, hand still stretched out. The sound of footsteps to her right causes her to whip around, stretching her hand out farther in hopes of feeling the fabric of Greg's frock coat.

"Greg?" she calls again. More footsteps, no laughter. The hairs on the back of Molly's neck stand on end, and she feels fear enter her blood, spreading like wildfire. "Greg? Greg, is that you?"

The world around her is still, absolutely still, and Molly freezes, lowering her hand and straining her ears, hoping to hear the steady tread of her friend. There is the steady fall of quiet footsteps upon the hard stone of the basement floor, moving toward where she is, and she takes in a shaky breath.

"Greg, if this is you, this isn't funny!" she says angrily. "You're scaring me!"

Turning towards where she hears the sound, she stretches out her arm to its full length. Slowly, she inches forward, her fingers twitching as she moves closer to...something.

She gasps quietly when her fingers glance over a silky, smooth fabric, nothing like the rough material of Greg's white shirt. Molly pulls her hand away, as if touching the fabric had burned her. Her other hand clasps the one that has just touched the silky material, her mouth open in wonderment.

What is that? she thinks, bewildered.

Molly does not know what possess her, but she slowly outstretches her hand again, back where she first felt the fabric. She frowns when her fingertips do not feel the silk.

"What?" she whispers aloud, stupidly. She takes a few steps forward, searching for the silkiness at her fingertips, and gasps again for the second time.

This time it is not just silkiness she feels; no, now there is a warmth now, a masculine hardness underneath the silkiness that makes her cheeks blush crimson and her body heat up.

Her hand is now fully pressed up against a man's chest, and the man is not Greg.

She pauses as she feel the chest move up and down abnormally slowly, as if the person is controlling his breathing. Molly does not realize that she has both of her hands on his chest until they are sliding up, moving over the hard ridges of his upper-chest and neck, to his face. His cording muscles ripple under her chest, and vaguely, she registers the breathing of the man speed up. Why she is not dropping her hands, ripping the blindfold off her eyes, and running in the other direction is beyond her, but she cannot stop; it is as if she is under a spell.

And she has not even seen his face.

She lets out a shaky breath as she feels soft lips, warm and inviting, underneath her fingertips, and the pliant flesh automatically opens at her touch. The feeling of the man opening his mouth to her makes her toes curl. There is a familiar sensation in her core, one that she feels whenever she is alone in her room with her hand in her bloomers. She has never had a man provoke such stirrings before, and suddenly the urge to see his face is overwhelming.

She slowly drops one of her hands and touches her own face, sliding up to remove the blindfold, giving into her desire to see the man's face. Molly feels the face underneath her hands shift, as if to turn away. Desperately, she grabs lower, at the shoulders, hoping to pause his movements.

"No!" she exclaims softly, her voice sounding raw, so different from her normally cheery tone. "Wait a moment...please."

The body instantly stills at her words, and she breathes in, oddly relieved.

"Wait a moment," she repeats, her voice a whisper.

She removes the blindfold, keeping her eyes closed, as if afraid to see the face she had just touched, the face that has caused her body to come alive, before she slowly peels open her lids, a face replacing the darkness.

Her breathing speeds up, becoming erratic, as she takes in the handsome man before her. He is older than her, by eight to ten years at least. His cheekbones, prominent and sticking out against a rather gaunt-looking face, as if he has not had a proper meal since he was a boy, are high and look like they could cut through stone. His lips are curved beautifully, looking as if God himself sculpted them.

She gasps when her eyes meet his. They are indescribable: ever changing as if they cannot settle on a single shade of blue or green and catlike, intelligent and observing. They search her face, flickering over her plain features (she does not think herself a beauty by any means), and she immediately drops her gaze when his eyes settle on hers, suddenly self-conscious.

The single moment of silence is deafening, and Molly curses herself for ever agreeing to play hide-and-go-seek with Greg. Yet, she does not. Without Greg's persisting, she would have never laid eyes upon this truly gorgeous and ethereal being.

She shakes her head at the contradictory thoughts.

"You shake your head - why?" a deep, baritone asks suddenly, breaking the awkward silence.

Molly has to swallow back a groan as she blanches, snapping her head up to look back at the man's smirking face. His voice - his voice - is that of a seducer: deep, articulate, and mysterious. It is so strangely pleasant, lovely like a violin or cello, yet unsettling at the same time. The few words he said caused Molly's core to warm even further, and she does not understand her reaction to the handsome man.

"Wh-what?" she stutters.

No! Oh, Molly, you fool! she groans in her head.

The man's smirk simply grows as he carefully watches her before it blossoms into a full-on smile. The flash of pearly, white teeth takes Molly's breath away, and she feels lightheaded because it is directed at her.

It is when his hands go to her waist that she realizes that she is still gripping his shoulders, one hand still containing the black sash that Greg had tied around her eyes. The feel of his hands brushing over her corset and down to her hips cause more stirrings in her core, and she cannot hold back the small whimper that escapes her. She bites her lip, face flushing with embarrassment, but she does not drop her gaze. Molly is captivated by the way the man's crystalline eyes grow dark at the whimper.

Instinctively, Molly leans in, not knowing what she seeks. There is a moment when he stills, eyes hesitant, and she is certain that he will pull away. She braces internally, waiting for him to let her go and back away, but he surprises her by pulling her closer to him.

The situation suddenly crashes down on her. She is alone, deep in the basement, with a strange man - a beautiful man – whom she doesn't know. She should be pulling away; she should be calling for Greg. She shouldn't be standing here, wrapped up in him, watching as he gently lowers his head until their lips are just an inch apart and their foreheads are touching, but she cannot bring herself to pull away from this position, feeling as though the loss of the contact will kill her. His expression is so open now, his eyes betraying that...that feeling that pools in the pit of her stomach, the feeling she can't describe. She loves the open expression upon his handsome face, and she is sure it is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

She breathes in softly as he moves closer, their lips so close, and she yearns to close the gap, almost doing so, when she hears a familiar voice echoing in the distance.

"Molly? Molly, where are you?"

Greg.

She whips around, looking toward the direction of the voice, still gripping the strange man in front of her.

"I'm here, Gregory!" she calls back, her voice sounding shaky and off-kilter, as she turns back to face the man. His face is closed off again, and Molly mourns the loss of his open expression. He starts to pull away, and she holds on tighter, hoping to keep him there.

The man shakes his head. "No, I need to go." His baritone voice causes her to shiver yet again.

What is this man that causes me to be like this? she wonders.

"Who are you?" she asks, bewilderment on her face, as he disentangles himself from her, though she tries desperately to keep a hold on him. "What are you?"

"Molly! Molly, call out again! I can't find you!" Greg's voice is closer, almost upon them, and the man's eyes flicker to the direction of the voice before gazing back at her.

Indecision clouds his eyes. The fear of never seeing him again seeps into her veins, and it was a most disconcerting feeling.

"Will I see you again?" she asks desperately.

"Molly! Please - this isn't funny - call out again!" Greg yells out, his voice sounding nervous and anxious. Molly wishes that he would just disappear for a moment, so she can focus on the man in front of her.

The smirk is back in place. "Eventually."

Molly hears a flick of a switch, and the man suddenly seeps into the wall behind them, as if the wall enveloped him. She lets out a yelp of surprise as she watches him disappear, smirk still in place.

Greg's footsteps are now upon her, and he lets out a gasp of relief when he catches sight of Molly standing there in the middle of the corridor, clutching the black sash in her hand, staring at the wall blankly. Greg smiles as he makes his way over to her, but it slowly disappears as he sees her confused face.

"Molls?" Greg asks as he gently touches her shoulder. She makes no signal that she has heard him or felt his touches. Worry seeps back into his mind. "Molly, are you okay?"

"H-how?" she stutters out, walking forward to touch the pliant wall, only to feel that it is hard and rough, just like the rest of the walls surrounding her.

This is not possible, she thinks. Am I going mad?

"Molly, you're scaring me," Greg says, his voice going up an octave in an angry nervousness.

She turns and looks at him, bewilderment still plain on her face. "I-I am fine. I t-think that I just n-need..."

Greg takes her hands in his, making her face him. "What do you need?"

"I-" she begins before cutting off, feeling lightheaded. "I-I n-need..."

She feels the faintness coming upon her; she knows what's about to happen, but she cannot stop it. She lets the darkness take her, feeling Greg's arms going around her as everything goes black.

A/N: Well, I'm alive. I've returned with a new fic! I know, I know, I am supposed to be posting Part 17 of TUH, and I have it almost complete! I promise! Expect it soon (within the next months, lol)! Maybe some reviews from this fic will spur me on.

Thanks to all for the wonderful reviews and PMs asking me to continue. It will happen! I promise!

-Carly