Author's Note: Ok, so I know I said Wednesday, but RL was being impossible. Anyways, enjoy guys! Please remember to review, and forgive me if I don't update for a few weeks after this (I kind of need to pass my exams…). Anyways, the teaser for chapter 10 is up on my livejournal (sch-94 . livejournal . com) and the teaser for the sequel to The Finding will be up in a few hours if I manage to get 20 reviews for this chapter. Sound good?

Btw, has anyone read the fourth chapter of The Reckoning? I just finished reading it, and I'm so pumped for the rest :D

Random Fun Fact: My mother thinks I'm clinically depressed. She told me she wants me to see a counselor. Who knew? Anyways, after she told me that, I came upstairs to finish this. I guess I was inspired? (Thanks Mom!)

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Nightmares – Part II

I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?

-John Lennon

I didn't call that night. As much as it killed me, I gave them their space, hoping that without me around, they'd be able to see how foolish they had been to fight over me and forgive each other. I knew I was asking for a lot; remembering the broken look on Simon's face… Derek and I had hurt him, and I knew it was nothing a bandage or an apology could mend right away. The guilt was overwhelming – knowing I had been the only thing ever to come between the brothers didn't exactly ease my guilty conscious, and I spent the next few days in a state of emotional turmoil.

I knew Derek wasn't going to visit, no matter how much I wanted him to. He had more important things to worry about, and after what happened with Simon, I was unsure if I would ever speak to him again, let alone see him. My heart ached at the thought of never hearing him laugh at one of my odd questions, or seeing his eyes light up whenever he smiled. Just thinking about it was making my heart race, eventually causing a minor panic attack.

I didn't sleep that night, knowing that in my present state, I'd be sure to raise more than a few things better left undisturbed.

They never called, and I didn't blame them - If I had been in their position, I would probably be harboring a lot of resentment and regret… and probably staying as far away from the cause of the 'problem' as possible.

The next few days were hell, especially the nights. I had grown accustomed to having Derek around so often that I'd forgotten what it was like to have to hold back, to reign in your thoughts, actions, and emotions in order to look sane. I was eventually reduced to writing for hours in a tattered old notebook – I refused to use the journal Derek and Simon had given me, knowing now more than ever that I didn't deserve it or them. I wrote for hours, ignoring the searing, burning pain in my wrist, but even after the notebook was filled and my wrist was numb, I still felt the sting of loss.

How was I going to survive without them?

***

I received a phone call a few days later from Derek, telling me he and Simon wouldn't be able to visit anymore. I had expected that… it still didn't keep me from crying for hours after he hung up.

Lauren and Andrew noticed the change in me. They watched me anxiously, trying to figure what was going on and what they could do to help. I knew I was worrying them, but in all honesty, I no longer cared.

Seven days later – exactly one week after I had woken up next to Derek – they say me down and delivered the verdict: I was going to therapy.

I didn't bother arguing, fighting it… what was the point, anyway? The only two people who really knew me - understood what I was going through - were regretting ever meeting me, and I couldn't say I blamed them.

There was no reason to resist anymore, and I was tired of fighting alone.

Meanwhile, there was a part of my brain that was nagging me, torturing me; the voice was quiet at first, but as the days went on, it became louder and louder... Maybe you are crazy. Maybe you do need this.

And sometimes, when I was at my very worst… You might as well join those poor souls you've been torturing lately.

I was pretty sure I was going crazy.

I hadn't slept well in more than a week, and I often found myself fantasizing about that one blissful night when I'd made it through the entire night without a single nightmare. Even after a week of debating it with myself, I still couldn't figure out why I hadn't summoned anything the night I fell asleep outside with Derek.

The one thing I was sure of: it had something to do with Derek's presence.

***

"Why, hello there! My name is Dr. Davidoff, and you must be Chloe!" I rolled my eyes and groaned inwardly at the reappearance of the 'hello there, little girl!" voice.

Do all doctors use that tone with kids, or is it because I still look like a thirteen year old? I wondered, as Dr. Davidoff made himself comfortable on his squeaky faux-leather chair. He pulled out my file and looked it over quickly before looking up at me.

After a few seconds of searching he took out his stereotypical yellow notebook and began to jot things down. "So, Chloe… it says here you've been exhibiting some symptoms of... let's see here…" he flipped back and forth between a few pages and wrote something down. "We spoke to your parents, and we've gotten their opinions, but I'd like to hear it from you - is everything they told me true?" He gazed at me from across the room, and the feeling of his eyes on me made me want to shiver.

I felt like I was being examined, like some specimenin a collection.

I cleared my throat, hoping he'd look away. "Um… which part, exactly? Because I don't know what they told you."

He flipped to the page he was looking for and began to read. "She's been talking to herself since she was ten. At first we thought it was just a phase - that maybe she'd grow out of it - but it kept happening, and at some points it sounded like she was having full-blown arguments with nobody. About a year and a half ago she became jumpy, and ever since then she's been waking up multiple times at night. She assures us that she's fine, but I'm worried. She's been acting so lost for the past few days, and I'm terrified that we let this go untreated for too long."

I could feel the fear and anguish Lauren had been hiding come through the pages. Has it really been that bad? Was it that obvious?

"Well Chloe? Is this all true? Do you agree with these statements?" he asked eagerly.

No!

"Yes."

He nodded and wrote something. "I see… now, how long would you say you've been experiencing these symptoms?"

"A few years," I said vaguely.

"Since the accident, correct?" he probed.

"I can't remember."

"I see." He wrote something down and underlined it twice before looking up. "Would you describe these 'episodes' for me, Chloe? I think they might help me understand more about your situation, and talking about them could be beneficial."

I shrugged. "What do you want to know?" I asked,

"What do you see during these episodes?"

"My mother," I said honestly. "She speaks to me, gives me advice."

His pen was going a mile a minute now. "And would you say these encounters are vivid, or are they hazy and unclear?" He rolled his chair over to where I was sitting, stopping less than a foot away. He leaned in close, and I could smell the spearmint gum on his breath. "Do you ever feel tired, drained, or sleepy afterwards?" he whispered.

What the hell…?

"W-would you m-mind ba-backing up p-please?" I stammered - something I hardly did anymore.

He backed up immediately. "I'm sorry," he said, smiling at me. "I just wanted to make sure I got all of your symptoms down correctly." His smile was icy and reserved, and I found myself regretting ever setting foot in his office.

"W-what's your prognosis?" I asked in a business-like tone, tired of being treated like a four year old. He blinked a few times and flipped through my file again before answering.

"Well sweetheart, it looks to me like you have acute schizophrenia," he said gravely. He pouted - like it was actually making him sad to tell me this - but I could see the smile in his eyes.

"Schizophrenia?!" I asked incredulously. Does he really expect me to believe that I'm schizo after everything I've been through? I swallowed back the 'f-you!' I had been about to let out and smiled sadly, playing along. "Well, I'm glad we know what it is, at least. Is there any way to cure it?"

He put his hand over mine, and I shuddered at the contact. Someone needs to learn to keep their hands to themselves… "Unfortunately, there are no cures as of yet. There are, however, treatments that will help you feel like your old self again. Does that sound like something you'd be willing to try?" he asked.

I pulled my hand back and nodded vigorously. "As long as it helps," I said, hoping my acting skills wouldn't fail me. Something's off about this guy… and it's not just the pedophilic tendencies, either.

"Now Chloe… I know this might all be difficult for you to absorb right now, but once you take a few days to think it over, I'm sure you'll come to realize that you do need help." He paused to give me one of those 'you-know-what-I'm-talking-about' looks. "I can sense that you don't think you belong here, as most patients do, but I think that in time you'll see that you really are sick, sweetheart, and that your parents just want what's best for you. You may think that no one understands, or that these episodes are real, but after a few days, you'll realize how sick you really were." He was practically ranting now, and I didn't interrupt. "These things you see… they're not real; you need to accept that if you want to get well again."I nodded slowly - trying to ignore what he was saying, not letting it phase me – but there was that little voice inside my head that felt the need to torture me further.

You really are crazy! The doctor's telling you it to your face, and you're still denying it?

I'm not crazy!, I snapped. Simon and Derek are proof that I'm not. We have supernatural powers, and-

Has anyone other than you ever seen Simon or Derek? Does anyone but you know they exist? They have no school records, no birth certificates, no hospital records, no last known address… how do you know you didn't make them up yourself?, the voce taunted, obviously not on my side. Schizophrenics do that, you know… making up things and accepting them as reality.

As much as I didn't want to believe any of it, the thoughts were already beginning to manifesting themselves inside my head. Could they really have been figments of my imagination? Could I really be… sick?

"Are you alright, Chloe? You look worried…"

I shook my head, answering both the voice and the doctor. I'm not crazy! It's all true! I have not spent the last 6 years talking to thin air!

He stood up and gave me another creeper smile. "Here's your prescription; be sure to give that to your parents and have them fill it out. Take the medication for a few days, and then come back for a follow up, okay?" He patted the top of my head lightly. "Now, today's a Monday, and I usually make it a point to give my patients a whole week with the medication… but seeing as next Monday is your sweet sixteen, I think we should schedule something for this Thursday instead. Is that alright with you?"

"Sure," I mumbled before exiting, realizing that Monday was indeed my birthday and that I'd most likely be spending it alone… unless Simon and Derek are really just figments of my imagination. If so, that means I've been spending every birthday alone anyway…

Enough! I shook my head, pulled out my cell phone, and called Lauren.

***

Dear Derek,

I'm writing this letter because you won't answer my calls, texts, or emails. I decided to write a letter because when you don't answer me, I won't be there to see it happen, and I'm hoping it'll hurt less that way.

At this point they've got me medicated and isolated. I've spent the past 3 days in my room watching old Alfred Hitchcock movies, wishing that you'd appear from out of the blue and tell me you and Simon have worked it out… I'm not counting on it though; you never were one for dramatics.

The past couple of days have been utter hell. I go through every day asking myself, "did that really happen?" or "is that real?" almost every minute of the day. I have begun to seriously question my sanity, (or insanity, I guess you could say) and the saddest part is, I don't know why. I mean, how could I have just 'created' two people? How could I possibly believe that you and Simon are just little pieces of my mind come to life? The answer is I can't, and that's the problem.

You guys don't exist; not figuratively, dad must've paid a lot to be sure of that… I googled your names, your address, your birth records – nothing. There are no Simon Baes or Derek Souzas in existence - according to the internet at least. I never told anyone about you (why would I have?) so I have no proof except the journal you gave me all those years ago… even that's not worth much. For all I know, I could've bought it at the mall myself and just imagined you and Simon giving it to me.

I know what you'd say (maybe because it's what I'd say…) - I'm crazy for thinking this stuff, and you're probably right. I've told myself this a bunch of times, and just when I'm starting to feel better, I remember the day I searched my phone for your number - which I never found, even though I could've sworn it was in there - or my room for Simon's sketchbook. I remember the number of times I've called and gotten that stupid "this number is not in service" message, always delivered by that same robotic voice. I remember that it's supposedly been over a week and a half since you guys have visited me, and that the fight you're in got started because of me.

And then, after all that remembering, I start to forget.

I forgot which side Simon's smiles tilt up. I forgot the sound of your laugh, which was something I promised I'd never forget. I memorized it, because I knew it was worth more than all the stupid math formulas in the world. I forgot which tree we used to sit at when we did homework… (was it the one next to the boulder, or the one behind the shed?). I've forgotten so much, and I don't know if it's due to the fact that it's been so long, or if the medication's starting to work, and I'm starting to realize that maybe you weren't real after all…

I'll never forget the day that I forgot the most important thing – I was watching some cheesy soap opera on CNN when I decided to try calling you guys again. The number was still out of service, and I could almost picture you rolling your eyes at my stupidity, calling twice a day when the line had obviously been disconnected... Something was off about the memory though, and it took me a while to figure it out, but eventually I did: no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember the exact shade of green of your eyes.

I'm writing this letter because I need to know. If you're alive, if you're real… I'm begging you, give me a sign, for the sake of my sanity! If you're avoiding me because of Simon, show him this letter. Show him what a mess I am! He wouldn't stop you from answering if he knew.

If you're not real, then… well, I'll have to keep living I guess. I'll just have to accept that half of my memories are false, that I'm probably way more messed up than I realize… maybe I'll get better one day? Who knows? At this point I'm struggling to make it through the day, because it feels like my heart's been ripped out and stomped on.

I'm trying. I really am. Dr. Davidoff says I have to take it one day at a time, and I think that's the only way I'll be able to do it anyway (the guy is majorly creepy, but he has his moments).

You're not a cruel person, and neither is Simon. When you read this letter – if you read this letter – I need you to send me a reply. Please don't wait.

Please. I'm begging here Derek. I need to know.

Love Chloe

***

Sunday Night

I didn't sleep that night, although it wasn't for lack of trying.

I knew it was pointless to hope now. I had left the letter nailed to a tree a few days before, (hoping Derek would see it) and when I didn't receive a response, I decided it was time to give up. There was no Simon, and there was no Derek. There was only Chloe - alone, depressed, and (let's face it…) more than a little bit crazy.

I spent the last few hours of Sunday night awake in my bed, looking out onto the backyard and reminiscing about everything that'd supposedly happened there. The backyard was where their presence was the strongest, and when I looked out upon our favourite spots, I couldn't help but wonder how I'd managed to 'invent' such vivid memories.

I stared over at the clock. It read 11:57pm – three minutes until my sixteenth birthday.

Lauren and Andrew had insisted that we have some huge celebration, but I'd refused. Who would I invite? I had no friends, and people weren't exactly lining up for the chance...

I checked the clock again - only two minutes left.

I was counting the minutes, hoping, praying that I was wrong, that Derek and Simon would come to keep their promise to spend every birthday with me. If they were real… well, I knew they wouldn't let me down on my birthday of all days!

One more minute.

I began to feel nervous for some unexplained reason. I wiped off my hands on my pajama bottoms and scanned the backyard for any sign of movement, letting my gaze linger on the spot where I'd fallen asleep less than 2 weeks ago…

Had it really been less than 2 weeks? It felt like so much longer...

I glanced at the clock again; it was midnight, and I was officially sixteen.

I got out of bed and went to go stand by the window, searching the backyard for familiar shape or silhouette. There was no one there, just like every other night for the past two weeks.

I turned away from the window and made a beeline back to my bed, stopping to unplug the alarm clock on the way. I threw it under my bed angrily, ripping the electrical cord out in the process.

After destroying my alarm clock, I sat on my bed and cried for what felt like hours. This had been my last attempt – my last resort – and it had failed.

They weren't real. They never had been, and they never would be.

I was done hoping now.

***

I cried myself to sleep, vowing I'd never celebrate another birthday. What's the point in celebrating someone's aging? Every birthday brings you closer to death, not farther away.

I slept uneasily - as I did every night– tossing and turning, afraid to give in fully to the darkness and the sleep that I so desperately needed. Maybe I should invest in some sleeping pills. You get eight hours of sleep a night, and I hear you don't even have dreams!

After a particularly rough dream, I gave up on sleeping, opting instead to just sit in my bed and read for a while.

After a few chapters, I looked up from the book and peered through the window, more out of habit than anything else…

I choked back a scream.

There was something making its way towards the house, it's slow, jerky movements both disturbing and pathetic. It was huge – probably some sort of animal – with what seemed to be deformed limbs.

I knew what it was, and I knew where it was going.

A zombie. A dead, decaying corpse. After almost two weeks without any incident, I'd almost forgotten about my strangely flamboyant hallucinations…

Whatever it was was on the stairs now, the sound of its footsteps on the balcony almost inaudible. I knew I shouldn't be frightened – it was only a hallucination, after all. I should just take my medicine and go back to sleep – but something deep down was telling me to take this seriously.

I pushed a few pieces of furniture in front of the door, attempting to make a barricade with what little I could manage to move. Then, feeling like a child, I pulled my comforter off the bed and wrapped myself in it before crouching behind the dresser. A few minutes passed, and I scolded myself mentally for being so foolish – had I really believed there was a zombie out to get me? Could I really have been that dumb?

There was a light knock at the window.

You're imagining things, Chloe. There's nothing there. Stop acting like such an idiot!

I stood up and shrugged off the comforter, returning it to its place on the bed before turning around to dismantle the barricade on the door leading to the patio.

There were eyes watching me from the other side of the door.

I stumbled, tripped, and fell backwards, landing on my hands and butt. This isn't happening. It's just a hallucination! It's just a hallucination! I chanted.

It knocked on the glass.

THIS IS NOT HAPPENING!

I crawled backwards until I hit a wall. There were no weapons anywhere in reach, and I knew that Lauren and Andrew had locked away anything 'potentially dangerous'...

My fingertips brushed against the light switch and I pushed it on, startling whatever was watching me. The bright lights burned my eyes, but I didn't dare look away. The 'creature' wasn't a creature at all – it was a person.

Their clothes were torn in a few places, with bloody cuts showing through the tears in the fabric. They were bruised, and there were bones were sticking out in a few places. There was a deep gash on one of their legs, which was probably why they were limping…

The person moved closer to the door, and their face was illuminated by the light.

Derek?!

"Chloe, open-!"

He collapsed.

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A/N: *Smiles mischievously* So, what do you think? I really liked writing the letter… did you like reading it? Yes? No?

Anyways, the next chapter won't be up for two weeks (again, I kinda need to pass my exams, guys). The teaser for chapter 10 is up on my livejournal though, if you guys would like to read it (www. sch – 94 . com / livejournal ).

Please review, guys! I don't know if you know this, but I tend to get discouraged when I only get like, 5 reviews for a 10 000 word chapter, you know? :(

So please REVIEW! The teaser for the first chappie of the sequel to The Finding will be up on my livejournal in a few days if I can get 20 reviews for this chapter! :D