Yeah, so here I am again….why so soon? Well I'm sure ya'll ain't complaining but I figured I'd be nice.

Same old same old. I don't own Charmed or Vacancy. No beta. My mistakes. Please enjoy.

BTW: Since two people have asked (which I bet means many more were wondering) This is a Non-Magic story. Yes, that means our boys are just humans. Mortal humans. Poor Chris and Wyatt *shakes head*

Review Responses: Yes I will keep doing these. And they're up here this time because I wanted to address two in particular immediately and decided to do them all at the same spot.

Amira: I'm glad you love it. And no, our boys don't have powers in this fic. That would negate the problem *smiles* Thank you for reviewing.

Cergysoeur: Thank you. And I'm pretty sure… *checks chapter one of Void*…yep. I mentioned it was a non magic story. Which means the boys are not witches and therefore do not have powers. Because yes, if they had their powers this entire situation would be un-problematic and very difficult, no nigh on impossible, to buy. Hell, if they had powers they woulda just orbed. But where would the fun be in that? Lol

dasengelhertzmitflugeln: First thing - *points* that is an extremely weird name. What the hell does it mean? And thanks. I'm flattered that my poor, lowly fic is one of your favorites. I'll keep updating just for you. *smiles* Eh not really just you but you play a part. Enjoy this chappie.

Deathsoul74: Thanks for reviewing again. So nice to know people are sticking around. Lol, I enjoy a vulnerable Chris too…always have and always will I think. And no that doesn't make us bad people. *looks over at a tied up and gagged Chris* "shush hun, I'll finish torturing you in a sec then ship you back to Aaron Spelling and CBS."
Once again, thanks for reading. :)

SeanMatthews369: Oh good. It's a relief to know my plot "doesn't overly rely on, or follow slavishly, the canon plot". I tried, and I guess I succeeded. I wanted to "follow" the original plot but add in and change things too spice it up and make it Charmed worthy. Plus I had to develop the whole back story for why Chris and Wyatt are they way they are where they are, savvy? I wouldn't be happy with it otherwise.
Thank you so much for your review. And, of course, not trusting creepy motel managers is the golden rule. :)

CharmedForever: Lol. That's funny…I'm sorry for making you wake all your family and make them think you were being attacked in your room. *blinks innocently* It was totally not my intention at all to wow you with my wondrous words of brilliance. *winces as Chris smacks her* "What? Was I being too egotistical again? Sorry" *Smiles* Thank you so much for reviewing and your wonderful praise. Oh, and yeah, completed good stories are a minority on fan . *sighs* I'm the guilty owner of a few in progress ones, but I do have plans to finish them.

MabbyAbby: Reviewing issues huh? Lol. Oh well. Thank you for the (two) review(s), and I'm glad you're liking the story. I'm glad you're having fun reading this and here is your next chapter.

MusicLuvr: Yeah…there was this one night when I was writing it in my house all alone and was starting to get unnerved. And when I finished I had to walk through a dark basement to get to my room and I was like, "Shit. Goddamnit I creeped myself out. Way to go." So yeah *shrugs* You're not alone…and I'm the damn author. :) Anyway, thanks for the review!

Myriad-Souls: I agree. Very sick. Which is what makes it an awesome storyline. *grins* So you have seen the movie, but can't remember the end? Hmm…well even if you do what I would do and go google it and read plot summaries to find out if they survived in the end…I might change it…You never know *smirks* So if you want to know if the poor, tortured boys have a nice happy ending you'll just have to…read :) Thanks for the review.

So now that I've completely bored you all…read on :)


Chapter 3

Chris stood in front of the bathroom window. He climbed up on the commode like before taking a deep breath. Reaching forward he nervously pulled at the broken handle acting like he was attempting to get out. He pounded at the window wincing at the loud noise and trying to ignore how sick he was feeling.

A shadow darted past the trees.

Chris jerked back and closed his eyes. Trying to pretend no one was outside he continued to work at the window. He needed to keep their attention. Wyatt was counting on him. If they knew he was out there at the phone…

Chris swallowed to keep his panic under lock and key.

He wasn't one for praying usually, actually he never prayed anymore, but now would probably be a good time to start again. "God, dear freakin' God, please make sure Wyatt hurries his ass up," he whispered.


Wyatt peered out the door looking around. All clear. He slipped out the door ducking in the shadow near the corner of the building. He scanned the area, swallowing his nervousness, and spotting a cluster of oil drums about halfway between him and the phone.

He took off sprinting over the gravel and ducking down at the center of the oil drums. He turned in a circle checking out all sides. The dark shadows just sat ominously. He licked his lips. Still clear. He eyed the phone a moment, took a deep breath, and ran to the phone booth.

He hurried inside pulling the door closed. The ceiling light buzzed to life, and Wyatt shoved the door back open panicked. The phone booth fell dark again.

Letting out a tense breath, Wyatt grabbed the receiver, stretching the cobwebs out from the old phone. He shoved the dimes into the slot and dialed 911. Glancing around the empty lot he pressed the phone to his ear.

"Come on," he whispered urgently. The phone was ringing then it was answered.

"911 Emergency," a man's voice said.

A wave of relief swept over him, and Wyatt pressed himself against the cracked phone booth glass to muffle his voice.

"Yes. We need help. Some people are trying to kill us," he whispered.

"Where are you located, sir?" The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but he brushed it off.

"My brother and I, we're at this motel. The Prairie View Motel. It's near the mountains. They've got us trapped here."

"Who has you trapped, sir?"

"I don't know," Wyatt said frustrated, "We just need someone to help us. It's the Prairie View Motel."

"Yes sir, you said that. Do you have an address?"

"What?" Wyatt snapped. "No. No I don't have the damn address. It's on some side road. Jesus Christ, look it up."

"You need to settle down. You'll never survive if you lose control, Mr. Halliwell."

"What are you talking—" Wyatt froze staring at the phone in shock. He hadn't told the guy his name. He hadn't. And that voice.

It echoed up from the phone. "And you shouldn't be wandering around in the dark by yourself."

Wyatt's heart stopped as bright lights suddenly washed over the booth and him. He spun around seeing the headlights of his car near blinding him. The car raced off the road blasting across the motel lot towards him.

"It's just not safe."

Wyatt dropped the phone diving out of the booth just as his car smashed through it shattering the glass and sending it flying through the air. The car backed away the tires spinning in the gravel. Wyatt scrambled to his feet sprinting back across the lot. He glued his eyes to the door to his room not looking back. He had to get to Chris. Had to get to Chris. Get to Chris. Chris.

The door flew open, Chris standing in the frame. "Run, Wyatt! Hurry up!"

Wyatt charged faster towards the open door, to safety, to Chris. The car sped up behind him and Wyatt's chest burned for air as he pushed himself faster.

"Damnit, Wyatt! Move your fat ass!"

His feet hit the wooden deck, and he dove at Chris tackling his brother in the door. The car veered sideways, skidding across the lot and tossing gravel into the room.

Chris shoved Wyatt off him and slammed the door and locked it. He turned around hugging Wyatt fiercely. Wyatt blinked in shock stumbling back a step. He was frozen a moment before wrapping his arms around Chris tightly.

"Don't leave me again. Please don't ever leave me," Chris whispered not loosening his hold.

Wyatt pulled him closer. "I won't. I promise."


Wyatt followed Doctor Sorian terrified of what he would find. The doctor led him to a room pushing the door open and gesturing for Wyatt to enter.

"A nurse will be in soon to check on him. Do you need anything?"

Wyatt shook his head gazed locked on his little brother. He distantly heard Doctor Sorian leave as he moved on autopilot to the plastic chair beside the bed. He took a breath almost having to remind himself to breathe. He couldn't believe the sight before him.

Chris was so pale, so still, so lifeless. He looked so small and fragile. There were so many tubes and wires and bandages.

Wyatt buried his face in his hands sobbing uncontrollably. "Oh god...why?"


A car horn blared outside causing them to pull apart. They went to the window seeing the car sitting outside, it's head lights flashing at them.

"Is that," Chris cocked his head to the side, "your car?"

Wyatt nodded. "I think so."

Chris blinked. "Assholes. That's messed up." he breathed. "Did you get anybody on the phone?"

"No."

"So what do we do now?"

The car backed up, tearing out of the lot and around the back of the motel office. Wyatt checked his watch.

"It's going to be light in a few hours," he said looking around the room. "They'll want this to be over by then. We need something. Do you have some scissors or anything?"

Chris dug through his bag pulling out random, rather non-threatening, items. He shook his head.

"What about the knife? The one with the apple?" Wyatt asked.

Chris shook his head. "In the car."

Wyatt started to throw open drawers finding nothing but a bible. He tossed it on the bed in disgust. Chris picked it up thoughtfully.

"We could always read it to them. They might die of boredom."

Wyatt stopped turning to stare at Chris in shock and slowly shook his head. His brother really was losing it. The hug should have been the first clue.

Chris shrugged and smiled faintly, but Wyatt could see through the thin front of humor to the near terror beneath. "Fine," Chris said. "It'll still make a good blunt object. Seriously, did you feel how heavy it is?"

Wyatt turned away and walked into the bathroom checking the drawers and tugging at the shower head pipe. Come on, he thought, there has to be something. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. Biting his lip and grabbed a towel wrapping it around his hand and slamming his fist into the mirror. It shattered, jagged shards of glass raining down into the sink. Wyatt picked out the two largest pieces wrapping a washcloth over the ends. He gripped the one like a knife.

He walked out handing the other shard of glass to Chris. "Best I could do," he said defensively at Chris's raised eyebrow. "At least it's better than reading the bible at them."

Chris mustered a strained smile as he and Wyatt slid down the wall to sit in the corner.

"You cut yourself," Chris said softly after a moment. He reached out to Wyatt's hand but pulled back at the last second.

Wyatt inspected the cut shrugging. It wasn't that deep, barely even bleeding anymore "Let's hope that's as bad as it gets."

Chris nodded looking pensive. He chewed on his bottom lip looking around the room then back at Wyatt.

Wyatt frowned as Chris hesitantly snuggled closer, but slowly smiled. For the longest time Chris had avoided any contact with him whatsoever. Now within a span of a few minutes Chris had hugged him and was sitting as close as possible. Wyatt inwardly snorted at the context of the situation that had driven Chris to forego his attempt to cut himself off from Wyatt. They had to have serial killers after them for Chris to admit he still cared about his brother at all. Figured.

"What are they doing?" Chris asked.

Wyatt frowned, semi-good thoughts pushed from his mind, and glanced up at the video camera aimed toward them. "They're enjoying themselves."


Chris's head ached. No. His arm and leg ached. No. Scratch that, everything ached. Everything hurt. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and like some crazy construction worker was going apeshit on his skull with a jack hammer. He tried to draw in a breath and freaked when he couldn't. His throat felt swollen, and he choked trying to move and alleviate the pressure.

A sudden warm weight rested on his arm, a familiar voice piercing through the fog.

"Chris! Chris. Can you hear me? Calm down it's okay. You're at the hospital."

The voice didn't calm him, and he struggled harder feeling an eruption of pain from his left side.

"Chris. Chris stop. Help! Nurse! Help me! Doctor!"

The pain engulfed him to the point where he was aware of nothing else. And then he was back in the black nothingness.

When he became aware again it was slower. Like he had to pull himself through a swamp of murky water. This time the same voice guided him to the surface. He opened his eyes, and his vision was filled with a fuzzy blur of Wyatt's face.

Wyatt smiled, but it faded quickly. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked exhausted as well as if he'd just been crying. "Hey," he said softly, running a hand down Chris's cheek. "How you feeling, buddy?"

Chris stared at him confused. He tried to ask what was wrong, but his throat still felt funny, sore.

"No. Doctor said to make sure you didn't try to talk. The nurse should be in soon to check on you."

As he spoke the nurse walked in. She was a young, rather plain looking girl, possibly late twenties or early thirties. She smiled wildly at him easing some of his nervousness.

"Hello Wyatt. And awake again Chris, that's good. This one seemed to go much smoother than the last." She continued to talk with a slight southern accent as she checked him over. "It's to be expected though. It's not uncommon for patients to panic when they wake up with a respirator. It's a relief to have you off it. There was rough touch and go patch for a bit, but you are definitely on the upside now," she said hands sliding over him in a flurry, checking charts, and scribbling on a clipboard.

Chris just watched her then glanced back to Wyatt trying to get him to see how lost he was. What the hell was going on?

The nurse seemed to finish what she was doing and asked to speak to Wyatt outside a minute. Wyatt nodded squeezing Chris's hand and telling him he'd be right back. Chris watched them anxiously through the door. He couldn't see the nurse, but whatever she said had Wyatt rubbing a hand over his face and looking devastated. A lead feeling settled in his stomach making him feel slightly nauseous.

The nurse and Wyatt reentered. Wyatt reclaimed his seat covering his face with his hands. The lead feeling turned into genuine fear.

"Chris?" the nurse said drawing his attention. "Can you recall your birthday? Just blink if you can."

Chris blinked.

"Can you recall the names of your family?"

Chris blinked.

"Can you recall what happen—" She stopped glancing at Wyatt. "Can you recall the reason why you're here?"

Chris stared at her.

She nodded. "Well that's to be expected too. I'll inform the doctor." She smiled at them both and left.

Chris transferred his stare to Wyatt. His brother chewed on his lip leaning his elbows on the edge of the bed.

"Chris…Chris do you remember you, Mom, Dad, and Mel going to the store to pick up those decorations two weeks before fourth of July because Mom wanted to have everything for the party?"

Chris blinked.

"Well," Wyatt shifted licking at his lips. "Chris, fourth of July was three days ago. On the way to the store there…there was an accident."

Chris couldn't breathe, and it wasn't because of a respirator this time. Whatever Wyatt was leading up to, it wasn't good. He wished he could tell Wyatt to just spit it out.

"A car accident. A…a truck hit the car."

Chris closed his eyes. Everything was falling into place. But even as his mind processed and came to conclusions he was mentally reeling backwards trying to drown himself in denial.

His face felt warm and he realized he was crying. Wyatt gripped his hand tightly fresh tears flowing down his face too.

"The others…Chris. Chris, the others…they didn't make it."

A rushing sound filled Chris's head and his vision blurred.

"I'm so sorry Chris."

He couldn't move feeling completely trapped and lost. Thoughts fled his mind, Wyatt words echoing in his head.

"Shhh. I'm here, Chris. I'm here and I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere."

The others…they didn't make it.

They didn't make it.

I'm here, Chris. I'm here.

I'm not going anywhere.

I'm here.

They didn't make it.

I'm here…


Wyatt glanced at Chris as he jerked awake suddenly. His eyes flew open, and he looked around in a sleepy panic.

"It's all right, Chris," Wyatt said softly his own gaze never fully leaving the TV screen and the old couple on it.

"You let me fall asleep," Chris hissed accusingly.

"Just for a bit. You're exhausted. You need your sleep," Wyatt said rewinding the tape some and watching it again.

"No," Chris said looking around. "I want to be awake." He started to move toward Wyatt, but the blonde stopped him.

Wyatt held a hand out shaking his head. "I need you to stay there."

"What?" Chris said confused.

Wyatt pointed to the black window hidden in the wall across from Chris. "They're watching you."

Chris paled slightly glancing up at the other cameras Wyatt had covered with towels earlier.

"I didn't want them to watch what I was doing. But they have to see you so they know we're not trying to get out," Wyatt explained. His expression softened as Chris pulled his knees up to his chest burying his face in them. "I just need you to sit there, okay?"

Chris nodded keeping his face hidden. "What are you doing?" he asked voice muffled.

Wyatt answered distractedly fast forwarding the tape. "Going through the tapes."

The tape jumped along shots of an old couple racing around the room in a panic, into the bathroom, back out, and crouching in the corner.

"They've got camera's everywhere," Wyatt explained. "Even outside. They edit them together to make their own snuff films. Remember the screaming we heard from the TV that creep was watching in the office?" He waited for Chris's nod before continuing. "I'm sure it was one of these. It's not enough to just rob and kill people. They want to watch it too."

"Why are you watching them?" Chris said disgust in his tone.

Wyatt scrutinized the screen. "I'm looking for mistakes."

"Mistakes? What kind of mistakes?"

"Any kind that might save our lives," Wyatt said wryly. "The other people…they weren't smart."

Chris picked his head up raising an eyebrow. "They were scared, Wyatt. Just like we are."

Wyatt nodded. "Yeah. And they just stayed in here like this room would protect them. It won't. They can come in anytime they want."

He motioned to the screen and the figure continuing his attack on the old couple. The image skipped backwards as he rewound the tape. Wyatt hit play and the couple jumped up from the corner of the room. As they did a figure stepped out of the bathroom.

"They just wait until they get bored watching," Wyatt said pausing the tape. He pointed at it. "There."

"What?"

Wyatt tapped the screen on top of the figure. "It's happened in almost every one of these. He just shows up."

Chris frowned. "And how does that help us? So now we know we aren't safe in the room. Great. We can't leave either."

"How'd he get in here?" Wyatt said. "He wasn't inside before." He replayed the tape again. The old couple moved about the room, slid down into the corner, rushed to the door, and the figure appeared. "And he didn't come through that door."

"The bathroom," Chris said.

Wyatt glanced at him and nodded. "Yeah. I couldn't tell in the others, but the angle with this one…it's the bathroom. And that's where your apple came from."

Wyatt stood moving to the bathroom. "Stay there," he said to Chris.

He closed the bathroom door behind him and hung a towel over the window blocking the view from outside. He flipped on the light scanning the room searching for other cameras. There was a missing tile in the shower. Another camera.

Wyatt lifted the shower curtain back up, obstructing its view. If the men were coming from the bathroom then there had to be a way in and, ergo, a way out. He moved around the room, tugging at the commode and running his hands along the wall looking for seams. Finding nothing he looked up studying the ceiling. The floor squeaked under his foot. He looked down at the rug he was standing on. He pulled the rug aside inwardly cheering at finding a trap door in the floor. Wyatt started to tug it open but stopped at Chris's hushed call.

"Wyatt."

Wyatt hurried back out of the bathroom. Chris was still sitting on the floor in the corner. He pointed at the window. "I saw lights."

Listening closely Wyatt could hear the rumble of an engine. Chris moved with him to the window peering out between the curtains. A beer delivery truck was pulling up outside the motel office.

"Someone's here," Chris whispered.

They watched the truck grind to a stop. Chris bit his lip then started for the door. "Come on."

"Wait," Wyatt said pull Chris back. "We don't know who he is."

"Yeah we do. He's a ride out of this hell hole," Chris said.

Wyatt shook his head. "Unless he's one of them. What's he doing here so late?"

Chris gnawed on his lip considering it. They watched the driver climb down out of the truck.

"Maybe he's lost," Chris said. "That could happen." But he drew closer to Wyatt obviously not buying his own thoughts.

They stood at the window, watching the driver stretch popping the cricks out of his neck.

"He looks like he's been driving a while," said Chris. He glanced at Wyatt. "Just an observation."

The driver turned seeing them at the window. He looked at them a long moment before Wyatt raised his hand and gave the driver a slight wave. The driver glanced around, a little confused, before returning it.

"He can help us," Chris said.

Wyatt frowned. "We can't go out there."

Chris glanced at him then the driver. He hit the window starting to pound on it. "Help!" Wyatt hesitated before joining him trying to get the drivers full attention to communicate their need for help.

The driver stood by his truck watching them bewildered. He glanced around the empty, dark lot then started towards them.

"He's coming," Chris said.

Wyatt shook his head. "They won't let him. He needs to drive the truck over." He tried to motion to the truck, pointing at it. The driver just kept walking to them.

"I have to tell him," Wyatt said starting for the door.

"Wyatt." Chris was staring horrified out the window. Wyatt peered over his shoulder to the driver halfway across the lot and the dark figures closing in on him from behind.

"No!" Wyatt yelled banging on the window. "No! Turn around!"

Chris joined him, pounding on the window, pointing and yelling for the driver to turn around. But the driver kept walking

"They're behind you!" Wyatt yelled. "Turn around!"

Chris slammed his palm on the window. "No! Turn around! Turn the hell around! You freaking idiot!"

The killers closed in on the driver, knives glistening in their hands. The driver continued oblivious towards them no more than twenty yards away.

Then Mason ran up.

Chris froze hand pressed against the glass. "Shit," he whispered. Wyatt felt cold inside. He hadn't believed Chris, but he had hoped that maybe, just maybe, the driver had been a way out.

The driver turned greeting Mason. They chuckled about something both looking towards Wyatt and Chris. Mason handed the driver a box of video tapes taking a wad of cash in return. The driver turned looking straight at Wyatt and Chris and grinned.

Wyatt's stomach clenched as Chris let out a harsh breath of disbelief.

The killers moved past the driver and Mason continuing to the motel room.

Wyatt and Chris stared at the driver in shock and watched as the killers approached. Chris covered his mouth with his hand quietly cursing. Wyatt snapped the curtains closed blocking off the killers' view inside the room. He roughly grabbed Chris's arm dragging him to the bathroom.

"Come on!" He shoved Chris toward to open trap door. "Go."

Chris balked. "What? You want me to jump in the black hole of death? What is this?"

"Just go!"

Chris slid down into the hole, and Wyatt followed him pulling the trap door back over the hole sealing it. He crouched down beside Chris letting his eyes adjust to the dimly lit crawlspace. It was a dirt box with nothing but the trap door in the ceiling, a small square tunnel leading out, and a string of Christmas lights to give the tunnel some illumination.

"We cannot go in there, Wyatt. We don't know what's in there," Chris whispered harshly.

They both froze hearing footsteps above them. Wyatt looked up to the sound then back at the narrow tunnel. "We don't have a choice."

Chris frowned. "Awesome," he muttered weakly. "Option A, get hacked to death by psychopaths. Option B, crawl into the dark tunnel of creepiness, and then get hacked to death by psychopaths."

Wyatt took Chris's hand easing him toward the mouth of the tunnel. "We aren't going to be hacked to death by psychopaths," he said. Chris shook his head pulling back.

Wyatt sighed. "Buddy, we have to. Come on, I'll go first."

Wyatt squeezed into the tunnel dirt falling over him as he crawled deeper. Chris started to follow sticking just his upper body in the hole.

The tunnel was dark, dank, and claustrophobic. It was hand-dug through the earth with just enough room for them to crawl cramped on all fours.

Wyatt turned back stretching his neck to peer under his arm at Chris. He got the sudden feeling this was what it was like to be buried alive.

"Come on, Chris. It's gonna be okay." He crawled deeper into the dimly lit tunnel. "It's gonna lead us out of here." He stopped hearing muffled stomping then the sounds of Chris squirming after him.

The dirt walls squeezed at his body as he crawled, rocks and roots jutting out of the earth around them. He drug himself along the seemingly endless black hole. He was starting to feel claustrophobic himself and couldn't think of how Chris felt. Chris didn't like tight spaces to start with, and after the car crash everything that had used to make him nervous nigh on terrified him now.


"You wanted to talk to me, Doctor?" Wyatt said easing the door shut behind him. He didn't like letting Chris wait outside by himself, but Chris had said the doctor had wanted to speak to him.

The doctor looked up shuffling her papers around some. "Ah yes. Wyatt, may I call you Wyatt?"

He nodded.

The doctor inclined her head. "Please have a seat."

Wyatt sat down tentatively.

She ruffled a few more papers before clasping her hands and leaning forward slightly. "You were granted guardianship of your brother, correct?"

Wyatt nodded unsure of why she was asking. She looked at him quizzically.

"There's no need to feel nervous. I just want to talk to you some. You are eighteen then?"

Again Wyatt nodded his head slightly.

"And how are you managing? Personally, emotionally, financially?" she asked.

Wyatt frowned. "Why do you need to know?"

The doctor smiled compassionately. "Concern, Wyatt. Concern for you for the first two, and concern for yourself and your brother for the last."

He chewed his lip before answering. "I'm dealing as well as I can, I guess. Trying to be strong for Chris. Its hard at times." He blew out a breath. "We were given the option to move in with a family friend as well as my two aunts, but they live far away so I figured it'd be best to stay. Financially we're…okay. My aunts are helping out a lot. I got a job. And my parent's life insurance…"

"That's good. I have to say from what I know and what Chris has told me you're holding up remarkably well."

"Thank you."

She nodded. "What I really wanted to talk to you about was Chris. How do you think he's holding up?"

Wyatt floundered. He wasn't a psychiatrist. He didn't know.

"In your opinion as a brother. How is he doing?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. There are times when I think he's fine, and then there are times when he completely shuts down and zones out. And…" He trailed off.

"And what?" she asked.

"There are times when he completely, I don't know, freaks out." Wyatt said scrubbing his face with his hands.

"Freaks out? Can you elaborate a little more?"

Wyatt shrugged. "He's nervous a lot now. Lots of people, cars, closed rooms. He doesn't like them. Sometimes he can't breathe for a bit. He gets shaky and erratic. I don't know. And he gets these nightmares."

She nodded scribbling with a pen. "I thought so. Wyatt, I truly am very concerned for your brother's mental health. What you're saying correlates with behavior he's been exhibiting in my sessions. What your brother is going through is a very traumatic experience. Especially given his position in it and that fact that he was the sole survivor. You're familiar with survivor's guilt, right?"

"Yeah," Wyatt chuckled humorlessly. "I've seen the movies."

She smiled wryly. "You share your brother's humor. Though I must say his is much more caustic."

Wyatt nodded. "That it is."

"Survivor's guilt is a symptom of PTSD. I believe—"

"You mean post traumatic stress disorder?" Wyatt asked sitting up straighter.

She nodded, frowning lightly. "Yes. That's what I'm referring to. Your brother is exhibiting multiple symptoms including the survivor's guilt. I want to prescribe him an antidepressant. I'm generally very hesitant in prescribing children medications like this, but Chris's situation is very delicate. It's hard enough to lose a parent or a sibling. But to lose both at one time and feel responsible…what we can do for Chris now is extremely crucial. He is going to need you a lot in the coming months, Wyatt."

"I know. And I'm here. I just need a little guidance as to what I should do."

"Just be there. That's the best thing you can do. He's going to be scared. Anxious and nervous. He's going to be depressed and moody. He's going to try to push you away. Be snappy and angry. But all you have to do is be there. The rest is up to him."


Almost everything since Wyatt left the interstate had been making Chris more and more nervous.

And now he was being drug through a tiny underground tunnel. Judging from what Wyatt could hear, he wasn't handling it well. His breathing was quick and uneven, coming in small gasps. God, Wyatt was a failure as a brother.

"I can't, Wyatt. I have to go back."

"Chris, no." Wyatt halted trying to speak calmly and quickly. He may have been failing up till now, but Chris needed him to be in control, to not fail anymore. "We can't go back. They'll be waiting for us."

"I can't breathe," Chris choked out.

"Yes you can," Wyatt soothed. "Just close your eyes. Grab hold of my leg and I'll lead you. It won't be much further."

Wyatt felt Chris take hold of his ankle, then crawl behind him. They continued on and the tunnel squeezed even tighter as they reached a partially collapsed portion. Dirt rained over them as they crawled through the sliver of space. Chris gripped Wyatt's angle harder, his slim fingers digging in to the bone. Wyatt winced in slight pain but continued to crawl.

More dirt fell over them like the passage was about to cave in.

"Wyatt, please. It's going to fall," Chris whispered.

"No it isn't. Come on. Picture yourself in a field Chris. A wide open field. There are trees in the distance and big mountains. They look real small because they're so far away, but you can still see them." He crawled on trying to move faster until his hand closed around a handful of flesh and fur. The thing he grabbed squeaked, and he dropped it in shock. As if the universe wasn't cruel enough. "Shit," he muttered. He pulled his hand back and watched the mouse scurry away into a larger moving shadow. Dozens of mice filled the tunnel ahead.

"What is it?" Chris asked fearfully. "What's the matter?"

"You can't scream, Chris."

The answer was little more than a short burst of breath. "What?"

"They'll hear us if we scream."

He pulled Chris forward toward the mound.

"Wyatt?"

"Just keep moving."

Wyatt's hand hit the center of the pile, and the mice scattered rushing to crawl away from him, over his hand, and some up his arm. He reached further, and more mice squirmed out from under his hands and slithered out of a metal grate in the wall, some scurrying beneath him to Chris.

He felt Chris halt, heard the catch in his already irregular breathing. He held his breath, but there was no further sounds from his brother.

The frightened mice raced up the tunnel walls falling back down onto Wyatt and Chris's backs, into their hair, and over their faces.

"We're almost there," Wyatt said. "Remember we're in a field. Let's make it winter so it's cold. There always seems to be so much air to breathe when it's cold. And the sky is so blue and bright. There are only a few clouds. The big fluffy ones that make the sky look really deep."

He kept crawling, sliding over the tiny bodies until all the squeaks faded and his hands met only dirt and rocks again. A sliver of light appeared, and Wyatt felt a wave of relief crash into him. He quickened his movements.

"I see something," he told Chris.

"What is it?"

"Light." He could almost tangibly feel Chris's want to get out. "A door maybe."

He drug himself toward it finally reaching another dirt box. Rolling out of the tunnel, he twisted around grabbing Chris's arms just above the elbow to pull him out. Wyatt smoothed some of Chris's sweaty hair out of his face unnerved by how pale he was. "Are you okay?"

Chris nodded scrubbing his shaking hands over his face. "Yeah, yeah. Where are we?"

Wyatt looked up at the thin, square-shaped crack of light above him and shrugged. He had no idea. He pressed up against the square inching it upward. Squinting through the crack and scanning the floor of a dimly lit room he saw the legs of furniture and a plate of half-eaten food on the floor.

He nearly dropped the square hearing a sudden shout.

"Oh, God, please no!"

Scrambling he kept the square from hitting the edge and looked down at Chris signaling him to not make a sound.

"I'll give you money. As much as you want."

There were sounds of a struggle, but it sounded distant and almost false. Wyatt pushed the square up again peering through the crack. He lifted it further seeing a TV playing one of the snuff films. A man was begging one of the killers for his life.

Wyatt rose up from the hole, reaching down to help Chris up behind him. He ducked down out of sight beneath a large picture window overlooking the parking lot. Chris crouched beside him. Wyatt glanced around the room.

There was a wall of monitors, all displaying different angles of the Honeymoon Suite and motel grounds. Video cameras and equipment were piled all over the place.

There was a wall of shelves filled with VHS tapes, each on hand-labeled with names. Steve and Sharon S. Glen and Flo D. It looked like a private collection of the snuff films. Another shelf was stacked full of dusty watches, jewelry, toy dolls, truck stop souvenirs, a collection of rearview mirror crucifixes and rabbits feet, and drivers licenses of various people. All possessions of victims probably.

It was an unnerving room, especially with the man screaming on the TV. Wyatt could tell Chris agreed with him by how he was fidgeting with his coat cuffs again.

They eased to the door glancing out into the motel office.

"We're no better off than we were," Chris murmured.

Wyatt shook his head. "We're still alive. That's better." He turned back to the room beginning to dig through the mess looking for something they could use.

"There's gotta be something here we can use," he muttered.

Chris joined in, the two of them scrounging the room for everything and anything.

"Wyatt."

Wyatt turned around. Chris held a blanket up and pointed at the phone sitting beneath it. He picked it up flashing a hopeful look at Wyatt before hurriedly dialing 911.

"I've tried that already," Wyatt whispered. "It was…"

The tinny sound of a female voice reached his ears.

"People are trying to kill us," Chris whispered urgently. "We're at the Pr—"

Wyatt clamped a hand over Chris's mouth at the jingle of a bell. The bell above the office door. Chris caught on just as quickly dropping the phone and following right behind Wyatt back down into the tunnel. Wyatt lowered the square on the trap door then pulled Chris down the tunnel behind him. A sense of urgency kept him moving, plowing straight through all the mice. He took the first turn they came across knowing he didn't want to go back to the Honeymoon Suite. At the next turn he paused debating which way to go; they'd turned right at first and if they kept going right they'd go in a circle. He went left.

Chris clutched his leg again, breathing growing erratic, but he kept up. Wyatt saw another light ahead and pulled himself out of the tunnel. He scrambled up the ladder pushing the trap door open cautiously. The room above was a tool shed of sorts and empty. He shoved the door aside pulling Chris up behind him. He replaced the door looking around the room. Grabbing the edge of a heavy looking crate he pulled on it hard managing to slide it a little. Chris darted to the other side pushing it. They moved it on top of the door and crouched beside it.

Wyatt moved to the dirty window taking stock of their new position. They were in the shed at the back of the parking lot across from the office.

"We're at the other end of the lot," Wyatt whispered.

Chris slid to the floor leaning against the double green doors. "And they'll look for us here. Maybe not right away, but they will."

"But we can't try to run. Not yet. We have to let them think we've gotten away. Let them go after us. Then we can run," Wyatt said.

Chris looked at him. "What if they look in here first?"

"Damnit, Chris, I don't know. I'm doing the best I can here," Wyatt said joining his brother and running his hands through his hair.

Chris nodded squeezing his eyes closed and kneading his temples. Wyatt clenched his jaw then hesitantly reached over to hug him. Chris tensed at first but relaxed, letting Wyatt's strong arms encircle him.

"I'm sorry," Chris mumbled.

Wyatt shook his head, absent mindedly running his hand through Chris's hair. "Nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one that left the interstate."

Chris laughed mirthlessly. "No, I mean about everything else. About us…about Mom and Dad…about Mel. I should've been more careful. Should've watched the road closer. Made sure everyone was stopping. That no one was running the light."

"No," Wyatt said. "It isn't your fault. None of it was. It was an accident."

"But I was the one driving. I was the one responsible for watching. I should have been watching," Chris said, voice thickening as he spoke. Wyatt felt his shirt grow damp as Chris shoulders shook slightly. Wyatt pushed him back holding his face to make him meet his gaze. He had suspected Chris was thinking like this, had tried continuously to tell him it wasn't his fault, but it had fallen on deaf ears.


"You haven't spoken for weeks."

Wyatt moved about the living room folding the blankets and replacing the pillows."I talked with the school today. They said if you wanted you could take the rest of the year off you could, but they didn't recommend it."

He straightened the blankets some making sure any creases were smoothed out. "I think you should consider going back. It's a new semester and I think it'll be good for you to have something to do."

He sighed walking over to lean against the doorway looking into the conservatory. Chris sat on the wicker bench in the same position he'd sat down in before breakfast that morning. He stared out the window giving no indication to having heard a word Wyatt had said.

"You're not going to say anything are you?" Wyatt whispered.

He sighed again picking up the plate of food he'd sat next to the brunette earlier. The two pieces of toast with jam and slices of strawberries and kiwi were untouched. He chewed his lip gazing at his brother. Chris just stared vacantly out the window.

Wyatt turned abruptly striding into the kitchen. He dumped the food in the trash, forcibly tossing the plate on the counter. He leaned against the counter gripping the edge tightly and breathing slowly.

He could do this. He could do this. He could. He could. He could.

Wyatt squeezed the counter harder.

Who was he kidding? He couldn't do this. He'd just graduated high school. He was only eighteen for god's sake. He wasn't supposed to be playing parent. He wasn't supposed to be trying to care for his traumatized sixteen year old brother. He was supposed to be starting his second semester in college. He was supposed to be hanging out with friends, teaching his little brother the ways of wooing the girls and keeping him out of trouble, and bashing in the skulls of any boy who so much looked at his sister the wrong way.

He was not supposed to have needed to plan, manage, and attend the funerals of his mother, father, and sister. He was not supposed to have to make sure his little brother made all his doctor, therapist, and physical therapy appointments. He was not supposed to have to listen to his little brother's cries and screams from the nightmares each night. He was not supposed to need to discuss his brother's mental recovery with a psychiatrist. He was not supposed to be his little brother's single guardian.

This was not supposed to happen.

He yelled in frustration hurling the plate at the sink. It shattered on impact, pieces of ceramic flying in every direction. He buried his face in his hands, broken sobs surging from his lungs scraping his throat raw. He ran his fingers through his hair tugging insistently at the short strands and taking deep breaths. Wiping at his eyes, he peeked in the conservatory reassured to see Chris still sitting there. Taking a couple more breaths, Wyatt felt composed enough to leave the kitchen.

Wyatt knew Chris had probably heard the plate smash but hoped he would just think he'd dropped it. Chris needed him to be stable, to be strong. He couldn't lose it in front of Chris.

"You didn't touch your food," he said. His voice sounded off and he cleared his throat hurriedly. "You're going to need to eat something for dinner."

Chris ignored him.

Wyatt sat down resting his elbows on his knees. He waited hoping Chris would talk. He didn't, so Wyatt did.

"I know you miss them. I do too. Terribly. It feels like a giant part of me was just ripped out and torn to shreds…it hurts so much I just want to curl up, bawl my eyes out, and forget the rest of the world.

But I can't. And you can't ignore the world either, Chris. Mom, Dad, and Mel are gone. But you're not. You're not gone, Chris. You're still here, and you need to be here.

It wasn't your fault. You may have been driving, but it was not your fault. It was an accident and nothing more. And as much as it hurts life is going to keep going and move on.

I'm not going to tell you that the hurt will stop because it probably won't ever go away no matter how much time passes. But it's been two months and we need to…start adjusting to how life is going to be from now on.

Come on Chris, I'm still here and I…I want you here. I feel as if I've lost my brother too.

I love you, Chris. I just hope you know that."

Chris remained silent and unmoving.

Wyatt sighed. Apparently a heart to heart wasn't on Chris's agenda today. "I'm gonna go…clean something. Just call if you need anything."


"Listen to me," Wyatt said. "You have to stop blaming yourself. Nobody else does. We just have to get out of here first, okay? Everything starts over again once we make it out of this."

Chris managed a small nod. Wyatt smiled and patted his cheek before standing. He moved back to the window and was surprised to see a highway patrol car pull into the lot.

"Somebody else is out there," he said.


Who could that be? Another killer? Or a poor, wittle cop?

Who knows? And, wow, I didn't realize how many flashbacks were in this chapter till now.

There you go. It's late so I'm gone. :)

See ya around folks.