Welcome. This story is the result of a dare I posed to myself to write an action story with suspense, cliff hangers, surprises, and all the rest. It is my very first attempt at such. I hope I have succeeded. Due to this nature I simply ask that if you feel the desire to review, which I sincerely hope you do, do not spoil any of the major reveals in your review where everyone can see them. Which are the major reveals? Trust me, you'll know them when you get there. Also, feel free to get thoroughly sucked into this little mystery. It's all been written and now patiently waits on my laptop for the day when your eyes get to read it. I plan to post a new chapter every week, hopefully on Wednesdays. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I only own the story.

Chapter 1: I dreamt a nightmare.

Muir Island
Present Day

"Good morning Jamie."

Jamie opens his eyes. It's dark. He can't move. "What?" he says groggily. "Who's there? I can't see." His words show only a hint of the caution and panic he feels.

"Don't you recognize my voice?" it asks calmly. "It's yours."

It is, isn't it? "James?" And upon utterance of the name he begins to see the swirls of light and color. They get brighter. They get bigger. He can see James now. And now he sees his old room back at the mansion. Back in Bayville. It's weird how after all those years, that room somehow became synonymous with his identity, how he sees himself. And how he misses it.

"Why do you insist on calling me that brother?" James asks of him. He's talking so weird. Why is he talking so weird? "I'm not James. There never was a James. You know that."

They're transported outside somewhere. Sitting on a bench. Sunny day. Green grass. Everything is normal. Not perfect. Just normal.

Whatever that means.

"It's a beautiful day."
Jamie looks at his dupe. He turns his head again. "Yes it is."

The ground starts to break up. Jamie looks down patiently as his world crumbles beneath him. There's a bird. Maybe. Maybe a bird. A sky fish. He watches it fly off against the backdrop of black above him. It's gone. He brings his head down. Things have changed. There's more black. It's everywhere. And he is everywhere. An army of Jamies stand before him. They stand and watch. Only it can't be an army of 'Jamie's can it? They can't be Jamie. He's Jamie.

"James?" he asks.

"There is no James." They all respond in unison, but they speak with a single voice. Jamie's voice. "Only you." And this sends a shiver up his spine.

One of them steps forward from the pack. The others watch. Not the one that strayed from the group but Jamie. A thousand brown eyes all make contact with his. A thousand eyes to make judgment. "Why didn't you save us brother?" The leader of the pack asks. "It hurts to die." He sounds so vulnerable, so betrayed. And then he gets that sinister grin on his face. The one that makes Jamie think James really did end up consorting with the Devil in Hell. And it gets wider. "Let me remind you what it feels like."

James reaches out for him. Jamie tries desperately to move but he can't.

The pack no longer watches. They don't have eyes. Only massive, massive, grins.

James makes a claw with his fingers and grabs Jamie's chest. Jamie's body wrenches with pain and he screams in horror. His back arches, his skin boils. He falls to his knees. James jerks at his hand and a bright light shines from Jamie's heart. It's all he sees. It drowns out everything. But the pain. He still feels the pain.

He screams again, though this time, not in fear.

And that scream turns into a dull whimper in the pale glow of the leaking hallway light as Jamie awakens with a start.

ooooo ooooo break ooooo ooooo

He walks through the empty hallways with a bowl of cold cereal in his hands. This is one of the happier side effects of early morning nightmares. First one up always gets the prime choice of cereal, Sugar Bombs or the new and improved kid tasted confectioner-approved Chocolate Sugar Bombs.

From the corner of his eyes he sees a shadow behind him. Like a ghost. He's not alone. "It's still early, Claudette," he calls as he turns to look at the girl. She stares at him indirectly with vacant eyes as she uses a hand to study the wall beside her. Jamie moves his head down to catch her gaze which she effectively shifts away from. "Claudette?" he says in a protective brotherly way, "Go back to bed." She turns from him and he watches as she slowly makes her way through an open doorway. He makes his way over to close the door for her but first looks in on the twins with a smile similar to those of adults entertained by the innocence of children though the girls are only two years younger than himself.

He then continues on with his journey. Finally he arrives at the door that is his destination. Not his own, but that of one Rahne Sinclair.

Jamie slowly turns her doorknob and quietly enters the room. He finds her desk chair with ease in the relative darkness of the curtained room and tests it. Swings it around. Sits in it and bounces up and down a bit. Did it have enough swivel for him this morning? Enough cushion? Apparently not as he discards this idea rather quickly. He stands up and walks to the foot of his friend's bed and watches her sleep. She breathes heavily. He wonders what she's dreaming about that she'd sleep so deeply. So peacefully. Him perhaps? Ha. Don't make him laugh. He takes bite after bite of his American cereal packaged for Scottish consumerism and she does not budge. And here he thought ferals had sensitive hearing. He takes another small bite as he walks around the corner to the side of her bed. He kicks her mattress. Hard. "Morning sunshine," he says loudly and cheerfully. He takes another bite.

Rahne jumps awake in her bed her skin becoming instinctively hairier and her teeth and nails grow larger and sharper. "What the –" she slurs. It's hard to talk when your mouth is full of fangs. Her eyes focus and she recognizes her attacker. She catches herself mid-morph and changes back. She lets out a sigh as she collapses back into her bed. "Jamie," she mumbles into her pillow, "I swear to God one of these days I'm gonna –"

"Strip me naked and have your way with me?" he finishes for her. "Cause you already did that. I have the scars to prove it."

"Yeah?" comes the muffled response. "Be thankful I didn't rip your vocal cords right out too."

"My vocal cords?" He puts a hand to his throat protectively. "What good would that do?" he says hoarsely as if he has no voice.

"You're right," she concedes while turning to face away from him. "I should just pull out the whole damn windpipe."

"Oh Rahne, you big joker you," he laughs while plopping himself down beside her. She groans at the movement of the bed and buries herself further into the covers. He takes another bite of his cereal before putting the bowl down on Rahne's nightstand. He raises the covers a little and tries to peek through them but she manages to hold it down balled up in her fists. All he sees are little tufts of red hair. "Won't you come out to play?" he says very sweetly. She yanks the blanket away from his grasp. "Greet the brand new day?" he continues unfazed. He just needs to be a bit more aggressive. "The sun is up!" he belts out in full song as he jumps off of her bed and yanks apart her curtains. "The sky is blue!"

Rahne stalks out of bed taking one slow steady step at a time. She chases him zombie-like with that determined angry look on her face that tells you she's just about ready to empty your guts onto the floor. This makes Jamie smile; she never follows through. Still, he steps away from her warily.

"It's beautiful," he says as she finally pushes him out of her room and slams the door in his face. He brings his face up to the door. "And so are you?"

Silence.

He raps on the door with a single knuckle. "Rahne? Rahne, can I get my cereal back? It's the last of the chocolate. Rahne?" Her heavy footsteps seem to storm to the door and he backs away cautiously. "Or you know, never mind." She opens the door with one hand and holds the bowl in the other. She's pissed. Jamie smiles. "I knew you'd come through for me," he jokes. She thrusts the bowl into his stomach. Most of the milk and cereal spill out. And again the door slams. Jamie looks around at the mess of his shirt while rubbing the now sore spot on his stomach. He looks at soggy floor below him before loudly announcing through the door to her, "I'm not cleaning that up."

ooooo ooooo break ooooo ooooo

Bayville, New York

Bobby Drake kicks the side of his shoe against his fancy mahogany bed frame and watches a clump of dried mud fall to the freshly vacuumed floor. As he puts his foot down, the dirt ingrains further into the carpet fiber, but he pays little attention to this as he walks over to the matching desk to gather his necessities. Keys, phone, wallet. Same as always. His motions are mechanical as they almost always are these days.

She stands at his doorway, right at the edge of his territory. The room feels foreign to her now regardless of all those hours she spent in it oh so many months ago. The back of his feathery blonde head faces her and she wonders if he knows she's there. "Penny for your thoughts?" Her voice slices through the dark silence of the room.

"A penny? Haven't you heard of inflation? Cost of living increase? Time and half?" Bobby jokes as he always had only now there's a certain pain behind his words. The jokes seem forced and there is a distance in his voice as he longs for a time when they used to come easier. For a time when he could hide behind those lighthearted moments and bathe in the comfort they once provided.

"I get it," she counters sarcastically hoping that even though his jokes won't work, hers, lame as they may be, might. "You're trying to be funny."

"As long as you get it," he concedes as he lets out a deep breath of air. The thought of continuing the banter is too much work for such little payoff. He finally turns to her though she has an inkling it's only because he plans on leaving the room and she's standing in the way.

"Seriously, Bobby."
"Seriously what?"

She pushes her back against the doorframe as he brushes past her quickly. It's a cold and awkward moment. Nothing like the moments they had back when he first arrived, but after all these months, normal nonetheless. "Talk to me."

He looks her straight in the eyes. His are a chilly blue. It seems to fit now, that they call him Iceman. "I don't have anything to say, Ange," he says with such sincerity she almost believes him. Not that what she believes matters one way or the other. And then he turns his back to her like he had already done so many times in the past, like he never would've even thought to do before, and walks away.

She waits a moment before she calls after him. "It wasn't your fault," is all she can think to say.

"That's what they say," he calls back. And she watches as he disappears to his danger room session or his basketball game or whatever it is he wore those ratty old tennis shoes to.

And finally she replies to him though she's the only one around to listen. "Then why don't you believe them?"