A/N: Alright! We were planning on posting chapter 3 before posting the first filler, but it just didn't happen that way. So here is our first filler! The fillers will most likely all be written from Ramie's POV (btw, the A in his name is pronounced more like an E. So it's pronounced Remmy-el. Probably should have said that in the beginning, but we forgot.) I also want to apologize if parts of this seem a little forced. With my co-writer in Ohio without internet, I had no one to pass the writing onto when I lost inspiration. I think it came out decently well though. Anyway, enjoy! And don't be afraid to leave a review, even if it's not a happy one. We love reading your thoughts!


The first time I met my father, I remember being really scared. Not at first, but it didn't take long for the fear to find me. I don't remember how old I was; four? Probably more like five. Either way, I was old enough to walk home from Sunday school by myself. It wasn't really a walk, it was more of a skip. I was so excited to get home that morning. It was my mom's birthday, or as it's better known as: mother's day. We had made cards for our mothers that morning. I just couldn't wait to give her mine. I even added a "Happy Birthday Mommy" on the front, with the teachers help of course. I knew she would love it. She loved everything I made for her, the front of our fridge proved that.

My happy-go-lucky skipping was interrupted when I reached the edge of the sidewalk. This was the only part of my walk home that required me to cross the street. I pressed the big red button that would make the walk symbol appear across the street and waited just like my mom had taught me. I never did make it across that street. I was intercepted by a tall man just as the light changed. He looked somewhat familiar, but I couldn't place his face.

"Hey champ, what'cha go there?" he smiled, looking completely harmless.

"It's a card for my mom! It's her birthday today! And I made it all by myself!" I beamed, so proud of my mom's gift.

"Wow, I bet she'll love it! Now, why don't you come with me and we'll give it to her later?" He seemed friendly enough, but I knew better.

"Oh no, I can't do that!" I told him as if he didn't know there was anything wrong with the situation.

"Why not?"

"Mommy said to neeever go with strangers. I could get into trouble!"

"Stranger? You don't remember me?" This seemed to upset him, but I was honest and shook my head 'no' anyway. There was still that nagging feeling that I had seen him somewhere before, but where? "Oh well, it doesn't matter. Your mom sent me to get you." I still hesitated. He seemed to want me to go away from my house. If I followed him that way I wouldn't be able to give my mom her card. Getting that card to her was the only thing I was concerned with, so when he reached for my hand I took a few steps back.

"I can't go with you. I have to give my mom her birthday card!" I told him, clutching the precious card close to my chest.

"Don't worry, you'll be able to give her the card soon." He used my name then; my real name. It's been so long since I've heard my real name that I can't remember what it is. I don't even know how he could have known it then. Maybe he was my neighbor and had heard my name around the neighborhood before. Or maybe he had just followed me around long enough to find out all of the small details like that. No matter how he knew it, just the fact that he knew my name made me feel safer around him; made me trust him that much more. "Your mom just had to run to the store real quick, so she asked me to take you to my house to watch you until she got back. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you."

He ran his fingers through my hair, which at that time was a bleached blond color. It didn't feel the same as when my mom did it though. When my mom did it, it felt comforting and loving. When he did it, it felt…well, I didn't know what that feeling was at the time, but it just felt wrong. I so young though. At that age, I didn't have the mental capacity to think of the consequences that could come with trusting this stranger. So I took his hand and let him lead me to his house. He actually lived relatively close to my house; only a block or two away. My mom and I had passed his house many times on our daily walk around the neighborhood. Maybe that's how he knew me?

Most of his possessions were packed away in brown card board boxes, leaving out only the items that were too large to be packed. Once the front door was closed and locked, he asked me if I was hungry and I just shrugged. Now that I was in a new house without my mother, I felt overcome with shyness. He led me to the kitchen where he plopped me at the table in front of a large plate of cookies. I stared at the plate with wide eyes. Never had I seen so many cookies in one place before.

"Are…are these for me?" I looked up at his grinning face and felt a smile of my own twitching at my lips.

"Only if you like chocolate chips."

"I love chocolate chips!" I shouted, bouncing up and down excitedly at the prospect of having an entire plateful of cookies all to myself, but there was something missing. "Can I have a glass of milk, please?"

"Of course you can." He spoke as he moved towards the fridge. He gave me a tall glass with more milk than I'd ever drank in one sitting before. There were a lot of cookies to dunk though, so there was no doubt in my mind that I would use every drop of the milk.

"Thank you!" I said, remembering my mom's constant reminders to be polite. I didn't want her to be disappointed if she ever found out that I hadn't been polite. After that was said, it took no time at all for me to dive into the snack in front of me.

The cookies were delicious! Best I'd ever had. Better, dare I say, than the ones my mom made. I was halfway through with the plate when I started to feel drowsy. I slowed down my eating as my eyelids drooped, feeling much heavier than they usually did. And then my fingers stopped working. They wouldn't clench tight enough to keep hold of the cookie I was holding and it dropped to the ground. I remember getting off the chair to clean up the cookie; mom always said to clean up after myself, I shouldn't expect anyone to clean up my messes for me. My legs worked just about as well as my hands and I fell right to the ground when I tried to stand. From there I couldn't get up, couldn't move, couldn't even stay conscious, and so I felt myself dragged into the black abyss of sleep.

Everything was still fuzzy when I finally felt myself coming back the real world. Things were still black around the edges; the names of anything I could see didn't pop into my head like usual. Instead, everything seemed foreign – like I had been ripped from my world and plopped into a new one where English didn't process in my mind.

It didn't seem like my eyes were working any better than my brain was. I was facing what seemed to be a closet with mirrors as their sliding doors, but the boy looking back wasn't me, he couldn't be me. His face looked like mine and he blinked at the same time as me, however, his hair and eyes were both brown. My hair was supposed to be blond and my eyes blue; there was no way the reflection in that mirror could be me!

As my mind cleared of some of its fuzziness, I moved my fingers to see what I was laying on and they twisted into some soft blankets. The boy in the mirror grabbed onto the blankets in his bed too, but I still wasn't convinced that we were the same person. My arms were week, and slightly unsteady, when I attempted to push myself away from the mattress. I somehow found the strength to sit up and so did the boy in the mirror. That's when it hit me that what I was seeing may actually be real and not just a figment of my imagination. Though my vision blurred and twisted with every movement, I clumsily crawled off the bed to sit right in front of the mirror. The reflection was me, but how? I leaned in very close to the mirror to get a better look at my eyes. How could they be a different color? My first instinct was to poke at them, but that was painful so I returned to just staring.

I unconsciously brought my hand up to rest on the cold surface in front of me. Yep, that was definitely a mirror. It wasn't a tv, it wasn't an illusion, and it certainly wasn't a separate room with another boy in it. My hands found their way to my hair next. It stayed in place and hurt when I tugged at it, so it was real. It felt strange to the touch though. It wasn't exactly greasy; it had that feeling that it gets when you don't wash all of the shampoo out in the shower. Other than the new colors, the rest of me looked pretty much the same. I had on the same while button up shirt and khaki pants that I typically wore to church. The only thing off about my clothes were my shoes. They were missing.

My gawking was soon interrupted by the sound of heavy footfalls in the hallway. That's when the fear found a tight hold on my stomach. I had no idea where I was or who could possibly be on the other side of the door. Oh how I wished I had listened more closely to the stranger danger lectures in school, maybe they could have helped me out. This was no time to judge the personal choices I had made in my short life; this was a time to hide and I had to do it fast. I tore my eyes away from the reflection in the mirror so they could dart around the room, but it was bare. Besides the bed, there was no other furniture. I could either hide under the bed or in the closet; both of them being the very obvious places to look.

I didn't have time to hide anyway. The lock on the door clicked and then there he was, standing in the doorway. It was the same man who had taken me to his house from the street corner. For a moment my fear turned to relief at the familiar face. The fear soon came crawling back upon the realization that he had locked me in a room all alone.

"You're finally awake." He said it as if I had been asleep for an entire week. Now that I thought about it, how long had I been asleep?

"Where's my mom?" My voice was shaky from the tears invading my eyes. I was so scared and confused. All I wanted to do was give my mom her card and hug her until I felt safe again, if I ever could.

He sighed and said my name sadly, like he knew some secret that would upset me further. After only a few short steps, he was behind me and sitting heavily, making the bedspring creak loudly. "Don't worry about your mom. You're going to be staying with me from now on."

"No! I don't want to live with you! I want my mom back!" The tears sprang free from their holding cell then, running down my face in long lines. How could this man just take me away from my mom? I didn't even know his name, how could he hold so much control over my life?

"I'm sorry, but your mom doesn't want you back. She said she doesn't love you anymore, so she asked if you could be my son now." I didn't believe him, not for one second. My mom had told me that she loved me just that morning, there was no way she had changed her mind. It still hurt to hear him say it though. "Don't be too upset. We're moving to a nice new house soon and I know you'll just love it there. We'll think of a new name for you too; I've always liked the name Ramiel."

"But I want to go home." I sobbed, my head falling into my hands.

"Your home is with me now."

"No, I want my mommy." My five year old brain thought that if I repeated it enough, he would listen.

"Forget about your mom." He said it nonchalantly, as if it was an easy thing to do.

"And what if I don't?" I yelled back defiantly. How could someone forget about their mom? I was determined to remember her; determined to get back to her any way that I could.

"You will."

And he was right. I have no idea what my mom looked like. Smelled like. Sounded like. I can't remember a single thing about her. Sometime, if I concentrate hard enough, I think I can remember, but her image always dances just outside of my mind's reach. That leads me to wonder if, maybe, he was right about other things too. Maybe I was a very naïve kid. Maybe I had just imagined all the nice things I thought she did for me. Maybe, she never did love me.