A/N: I am in the process of a rewrite of this fanfic. If you haven't already, please start at chapter one. There are some slight changes. Thank you to the readers, as always!

I'm not sure how I should feel. Panic seems to come to mind, but why would I need to panic? It's not like I was really hiding anything from Andy. I just didn't tell him I had intentions of going back there. Besides, it's not like my husband to do anything rash. I glance over my shoulder as I stand up from my spot on the couch, thinking over what to tell him. I won't lie. But how do I explain what happened there today? I carry the camera bag into the kitchen, setting it gently on the counter, my eyes low as I remembered the man from earlier. Who was he?

Did you know that your husband died in 1999?

"So." Andy's voice makes me jump. I didn't hear him come into the kitchen. I look up, guilt obviously written on my face, even though I really have nothing to be guilty about. "Want to tell me why you went back there?"

My shoulders shrug. "I couldn't get that night out of my head. Sitting around here, I didn't have anything better to do. I wanted to face it head on."

"This is just one more example of the Elders misusing their power. He's working for them."

That was the second time the elders had been mentioned. He'd said Andy was working for them. Who were they? His arms cross over his chest. "And what did you find?" I bite my bottom lip. After Andy lied to me that night, and the things the man said about him today, I don't know what to believe.

"Why did you go back there?" I answer.

"I talked with some of the guys at work, they thought it might be best if I go and look over where it happened, in case this woman doesn't leave you alone. But when I found this there-" He points to it on the counter. "I was worried that someone took you. Why else would I find your bag there without you?" He's not looking at me.

"I was doing the same thing. Looking for clues." I say, barely containing the frustration in my voice.

"That means the vampire was right about your husband. Bastard, if you ask me, since he has you."

What did any of it mean? "And the bag? How'd it get left behind?" he quirks an eyebrow at me. I don't like this. Andy and I never fight. We always find a way to talk to one another, especially about the hard stuff. But he's not being honest with me. "Damnit, Prue. Tell me what happened." His tone is hard, but his volume remains low.

I feel hot tears welling in my eyes. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I mumble as I turn my eyes to look away from him. I hear him give an exasperated sigh.

"And what if I told you that woman is a wanted killer?" he questions. That gets my attention. I look back at him, my eyebrows furrowed. I shake my head. That would make sense. She tried to attack me, and the man earlier.

"She's a vampire," I say lamely.

"Vampires?" Andy questions. I sigh. It feels like he's mocking me. "So, first you think that something's off with our life. Now you're thinking that there are vampires in the city?"

I shake my head, trying to bite back my fear and confusion. "There was a man there. He knew me. Just like that woman. He didn't tell me who he was. Then the woman showed up, she tried to attack me." I look up at my husband, fear in my eyes because I'm unsure of how he'll react. I shake my head. "Then, she attacked that man and I lifted my hand and threw them both backwards into a wall. They both disappeared."

Andy's eyes are on mine, veiled emotions just beneath the surface. "And you've never seen him before?" He finally brings his eyes up to mine. They are softer; he's worried. My head shakes once more.

"I knew him, too. I just don't know how." I run a hand through my hair and then turn from Andy to busy my shaking hands. "I recognized him. He said something about you dying in 1999." I tug at the bottom of my shirt awkwardly. "He said something about him not volunteering to go back to prison. That the could have saved me." We stand in silence as he stares at me. "Has nothing weird happened to you?" Andy hesitates. "What?" I question, feeling my heart drop into my stomach. Just as quickly as I saw that hesitation in his eyes, it disappears.

"I was thinking we should plan a vacation," Andy said. My shoulders deflate. "We've always talked about taking a cruise, just the two of us."

"Have we?" My voice is tense.

"Mom?" A scared voice comes from the doorway.

"Parker?" I question, peering around Andy to see our son standing there, his face pale. I push past my husband and cross over to him. "What's wrong? Did you have another bad dream?" He nods, but doesn't speak. I pull him against me. He's burning up. I see the sweat on his forehead. "What happened?" I pull back and kneel down to his height. His eyes stare into mine. I see a fear in them that I've never seen there before.

"They need you," he says cryptically. I glance over at Andy, who looks as confused as I feel.

I shake my head, keeping my voice gentle. "Who needs us, baby?"

"Your sisters."

–

I make Parker drink some water and I take him back to his room. I hold his hand until he falls asleep. It worries me. That look on his face will haunt my dreams. "Sweet dreams, my boy," I whispered to him before kissing his forehead and making my way to the master bedroom, where Andy has just climbed out of the shower. "He's asleep," I say gently as I cross to my side of the bed and pull back the blankets. Parker didn't say anything else after telling me that my sisters need me. He was shaken by whatever he saw in his dream.

Andy glances over at me. In the dim light, I can't tell what he's thinking. The truth is, I can't tell much of what he's thinking anymore. I sit down on the bed, but I don't settle in. "I'm losing you," I whisper.

"Hey..." His voice is full of compassion. The stress and exhaustion of the last few days takes over. My eyes are hot with tears. Andy pulls me to him. I rest my head on his chest. "You aren't losing me." I try to stifle the sobs threatening to rise, to steady my shoulders. I want to push him away, to scream at him for his lies. But I can't deny the comfort I feel in his arms. "We're soul mates, remember?"

"Don't you ever leave me, Andy Trudeau," I whisper.

I feel his lips on the top of my head. "Not even death could separate us."

–

The following day, I'm up early. I see the kids off to school, Andy to work, and then I make my way to the public library. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's research. It's second nature to me. When I set my mind to something, I don't stop until I find what I'm looking for. I do a couple of quick searches on their computers, but can find nothing. I try to focus in on what we know for sure. Aside from the crazy vampire, and the guy with the crossbow, I've got nothing solid to go on. I have no names, no proof.

But what about Andy? He said Andy had died in 1999. It's a long shot, but I shut down the computer and head for the newspaper archives. I grab microfiche from the first six months of the year and go through obituary after obituary. I read slowly, carefully, looking for anything that could potentially stick out. It's getting into the afternoon as I reach May. I've been at the library for hours. I feel my eyes straining over the dim backlight of the newspaper archive. It's been fifteen years since these articles.

I'm ready for a break when I see it. Andrew "Andy" Trudeau. My heart stops in my chest, and then speeds up. I lean closer, almost too close. My hand touches the screen. Andy Trudeau was a servant of the people. It was in his line of work that his life was taken far too soon. He was a beloved son and the city of San Francisco will greatly miss his contribution to society. I furrow my eyebrows and feel a flash of anger. That's it? That's all the recognition that Andy gets? Wait.. What in the world am I thinking? Andy's not dead. I print the obituary and stuff it into my purse, but I'm on a roll now. I need to find more. It's like a drug almost as I begin to pour over every page of the papers around the obituary. How did it happen? How is it all connected?

Another hour passes before I find it. Killed in the Line of Duty. I glance over the article. Detective Trudeau was responding to a disturbance at 1329 Prescott Street, the home of the Halliwell sisters. Internal Affairs detective Rodriguez is believed to have been the culprit of the disturbance. He disappeared after the incident, but not before taking the life of one of San Francisco's finest. Detective Trudeau's partner, Darryl Morris...

I can't help but read the article five more times. It sounds familiar. But it could be something as simple as a television show I've watched. As I scan it a sixth time, the address of the incident sticks out to me. Home of the Halliwell sisters. That name sounds familiar as well. I print the page and put it in my bag alongside the obituary. Where did I hear the name Halliwell? I close my eyes as I try to think, but nothing comes.

My cell phone begins to ring in my purse. I shut down the machine. "Shhhh!" I turn to see a librarian at the nearest desk giving me a harsh look.

"Sorry," I mumble as I silence the ringer. "Hello?" I whisper into the phone.

"Mrs. Trudeau?" The voice sounds all too authoritative.

"This is she?"

"My name is Sheryl Johnson. I'm the guidance counselor at your daughter's school." I shove my bag onto my shoulder and put away the microfiche.

"Peyton? Is something wrong?" I question as I hurry past the desk and out of the library.

"Your daughter attacked another student," the woman says. I furrow my eyebrows and shake my head.

"Peyton would never attack anyone," I say, digging through my bag for my keys. "Look, I'll be there in fifteen minutes, then we can talk about it."

–

When I pull up to the school, it's clear that classes are out. There is a straggler bus loading children as I climb from my car and rush up to the front office. "I'm so sorry," I say as I push open the door. "I got caught in traffic, and I don't know the side streets that well and-"

"Mrs. Trudeau?"

I look up to see a woman with dark hair wearing a stiff suit standing at the entrance to an office. Then my eyes take in my daughter. The little girl with Andy's eyes and my dark hair. I frown, but not disapprovingly. Apparently this woman has it wrong. That fear in Peyton's eyes. She doesn't even want to look at me. "Yes, I'm Prue Trudeau." I don't look at the woman. Instead, I cross over to my daughter. I place a hand on her cheek and pull her to look at me. "Are you okay?" She nods and puts her head down once more. "What's the meaning of this?" I finally turn to the woman.

"Mrs. Trudeau, if you would step in my office, please," the woman says, motioning to the door at her side.

I sigh. "I'll be right back, okay?" My voice is gentle. I squeeze Peyton on the shoulder and then enter the office, Sheryl Johnson close on my heels.

"Have a seat." Her tone is more commanding than suggestive. This woman is a guidance counselor? Guidance counselors are supposed to be fun and encouraging. Not drill sergeants. Either way, I do as requested. "Mrs. Trudeau, your daughter attacked a student."

"That's what you said." My words are more impatient than I intended. "Please, tell me what actually happened?"

"There's a boy on her school bus-"

"Yes, one that bullies her-" I interrupt. The woman puts up a hand and I'm silenced for the moment. I feel my eyes narrow slightly. I'm a fierce momma.

"He's also in her afternoon physical education class. After class, the boy claims your daughter used the lanyard around his neck, which carries his identification card, to choke him." I blink a few times as silence falls into the room.

"You're kidding right?"

The woman shakes her head. "I am not. I saw the indentions left around his throat.."

"So he's fine then?"

She stares me down. "Mrs. Trudeau, is everything at home going well?" I nod. "I understand that transitioning from primary to elementary school can be scary for children. So I will allow this with a warning. If Peyton does anything further, I will be forced to recommend suspension." I really don't care about this woman's threat. If my daughter hurt someone, which I highly doubt since she's very small for her age, much like I was, she had a good reason. Peyton didn't do things unprovoked.

"I understand," I say, impatient to end this meeting.

"Is Peyton's father in the picture?"

"Excuse me?" I question, not quite understanding her tone.

"Mr. Trudeau?"

"Yes, he is. He's a detective for San Francisco PD," I say.

"That sort of job can have long hours-"

My defenses are up. I stand and practically throw my purse over my shoulder. "I don't know what you're insinuating, but my husband is home every single night to read Peyton a book. He's home most of the time on the weekends. Our home life is, you could say, pretty damn good. So whatever the issue is, it's obviously not a result of my parenting skills." My hand is shaking at my side. I feel the same urge I felt in the alleyway when that woman tried to bite the man with the crossbox. I feel as though if I move my hand, I could cause something to crash across the room.

That's the last thing I want right now. "And if that boy does anything to my daughter again, have no worries, I'll handle it myself." I turn without another word and head out of the office. "Come on," I say to Peyton. We walk in silence from the office together. We drive home in silence together. Once we're in the house, I can't stand the silence.

"Mom?" Questions Parker from the living room as we walk in.

"Hey," I say. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to meet you when you got off of the bus." I hadn't even thought about him. Wow. That says I'm some kind of terrible mother.

"Is everything okay?"

I nod gently. "There was a misunderstanding at school with your sister. But no big deal, right?" I glance over my shoulder at Peyton, who still has that look of fear in her eyes. "Why don't you get washed up so you can help me fix dinner?" Parker scowls. "Hey. It's your turn. Peyton helped last night." He grumbles something and then heads up the stairs. I set down my purse and turn toward my daughter. "Want to talk about it?"

She's standing near the doorway, her eyes on the floor. She shakes her head slowly back and forth. I can't help but feel sympathy for her. I motion to her with my finger to come here and sit down on the couch, patting the spot beside me. She removes her backpack and follows slowly to sit down. "You need to tell me what happened," I say in a gentle voice, resting my elbows on my knees. "I find it hard to believe that you would purposely choke a boy, no matter what he did to you."

"I didn't!" she protests. "He was picking on me. Saying my hair looked dumb. And he kept shoving me on the bus this morning. So I just looked at him and I—I-" She looks up at me, that fear still present.

"You what?" I say gently. She buries her face in her hands. I pull one of her hands from her face. I see the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I wished that he'd get hurt. Just so he'd stop picking on me. I never touched him. The thing just tightened around his neck," she says, exasperated.

I can feel my own fear rising into my throat. She didn't touch him. It did it on its own. I look down at my own hands, remembering the anger I felt, the need to use my hands to move something. As strange as it seems, could what I have had been passed on to my daughter? "I believe you," I whisper. She sobs gently, so I pull her against me and stroke her hair. "I know you would never hurt someone intentionally, baby girl." I press my lips to the top of her head. Parker sulks through the living room and darts into the kitchen without a word. "I bet he doesn't mess with you again." I say with a smirk.

Peyton looks up at me almost incredulously. "What? Whatever happened, happened for a reason. Maybe he'll take it as a sign and back off." She smiles at me. "Just promise me that if you get angry like that, take some deep breaths. Just calm down." My daughter nods. It's in those small moments that I see her father. She looks so much like me, but she has Andy's eyes. "Let's go get ready for dinner, okay?"