A/N: Ah, the joys of summer. Where I don't need to go to school and can spend much of my time writing and doing other things I enjoy. Like sleeping. I love sleeping. I do have work, but that's not too bad. I'm still getting a lot done here! I should be able to get another chapter out for this in the next couple of days, too, and then I'll switch gears and work towards my Walking Dead fic.

Night finally comes, and bedtime approaches. I'm not in the mood to leave a voicemail for my parents tonight, so I just hop into my tiny twin bed. I don't stop myself from reaching underneath the pillow and curling my hand around the phone, though. A small, temporary comfort as I slowly daze off to sleep.

Alycia pads through the door quietly, heading to her own mattress. She seems conflicted instead of bone tired, like she normally is at night. I wonder if she'll get any sleep.

"You okay?" I murmur. My eyes gaze to her as she pulls messy sheets around her form.

"Not really." She confesses. "I was just... trying to help, y'know? And now they're following our every move. I feel like an idiot."

She's right about Jack following us. Strand says the blip on his radar hasn't gone away since we passed the wreckage in the water. They—or someone else—is following us and they don't plan on leaving any time soon.

"You're not." I say earnestly. "You help people. You just have that personality. You can't blame yourself when he played to your strengths like that. Besides," I shuffle around, kicking the blankets around me until I deem that they've settled comfortably. "We'll be careful next time, yeah? We learn from our mistakes."

"Yeah..." She responds absentmindedly. I don't think she believes it just yet. Her mind is elsewhere, probably beating herself up again. Well, I tried.

"Try to get some sleep, Alycia, okay?" I ask. "Don't let it get to your head."

"I'll... Try, I guess." She answers with a jerky shake of her head. "On both accounts. No promises, though."

"I can work with that." I say. My legs kick around the blankets until I deem myself comfortable on my side. "Good night, love."

"Yeah, night."

"It's funny, how time can change our perception of a person." A familiar voice drawls. "I mean, just look at me! Oh, I've gotten old!"

"No, no, mum!" I say. The room is familiar; bright blue walls with pale white curtains covering the windows. My old twin bed is neatly made in clean, white sheets and my soft purple comforter. The two of us sit on it, careful not to ruin them too much while we converse animatedly. A dark wooden bookcase filled to the brim with fantasy novels is beside us on the right. Some medical books have overtaken the top row; lots of heavyset emergency medicine and trauma textbooks. Old stuffed animals, posters, and childhood toys litter the room. My old bedroom.

"Not old! You've gained character, remember?"

"That is what I told you to tell your grandmother when she turned seventy!" Mum points out. She's right; she's older. Her hair is graying by the sides, skin a little more wrinkly. But her green eyes shine just as bright as they always have. "Now I know I'm old, Cristina!"

I giggle in defeat. "Fine, mum, you're old. Happy now?" My eyes catch my reflection in a small mirror atop a wooden dresser. I've aged, too. No longer do I have bleached blonde hair. My dark brunette locks have finally come back in full force. It's a soft bob, curling in at my chin. I never wanted to wear my hair like this, not once in my life. But mum always had it. I must be taking after her in my growing age.

"At least you're not lying to her anymore!" A loud, jovial tone bellows from behind my closed door. "She's a wrinkly old hag, she has to embrace it!"

I gasp as my dad, aged as well, bursts through the door. "Dad! Don't say that!" His hair has completely gone salt and pepper gray, more salt than pepper. In his hands is a small blue cake, covered with swirls of blue in different shades. Pink dollops of icing decorate the border, with, "Happy 25th Birthday Smurfette!" written in the middle. Three yellow candles protrude from the top, unlit.

"Just remember Charles, while I may be old, you'll always be older." Mum points out. He sets the cake down on the top of the bookcase with ease.

"Yeah, yeah." Dad brushes it off as he fishes for a lighter in his pocket to light the candles of the cake. As he ignites one, he adds, "You've been saying that since Tina turned two."

"Well, it's the truth!" Mum points her chin in the air elegantly, adding a playful heir of snobbiness to her tone. "Now quit wasting time and let's sing happy birthday to Tina."

"Just a minute, loves." He says. With the last candle lit, the lighter is stashed in his back pocket and he picks up the cake with vigor. "Alright, the cake is on fire. Now we shout at her."

I laugh, but smile bright as dad shuts the light off in the room. With ease, my parents start singing happy birthday to me, dad slowly walking his way toward me with the cake outstretched. I grin as the flames flicker in the dark.

"Happy birthday, dear Tina! Happy birthday to you!" They finish. Excitedly I jump in my spot on the bed, leaning forward and blowing out the candles. "Yay!" Mum and I clap in our spots as my dad hands me the cake and turns on the light.

"We should probably head into the kitchen to eat this." I comment. There were no plates, no table, and no silverware to actually eat the cake in my bedroom. I twist the cake in my hands, admiring the swirls of bright and dark blues.

"Oh, I think we let it slide—just this once!—that you're eating in your bedroom." My dad responds cheekily as he sits on the other side of me. "Seeing as you're an official, legally able to drink adult."

"You sure?" I question with a smirk. "I might just drop the whole bloody thing on my pristine white sheets."

"Well, you're an adult now." Mum points out. "You get to either clean it or buy new ones. You don't need us for that."

I scoff. "Mum, that's actual responsibility. Where's the fun in that?"

Mum gives a hearty laugh as she swings an arm around my shoulder. "Sorry, sweets. Ah, I still can't believe my baby is a full-fledged adult!"

"Me neither, Smurfette." Dad confesses beside me. "You'll always be my little angel. Well, little angel with horns, anyway."

"How else d'you think my halo stays perched on my head?" I chuckle to him, smiling gratefully. "I love you two, even if you drive me nuts sometimes."

"Trust me, the feeling's mutual!" Mum says.

"Awe," I bring my arms around both their forms, careful to balance the cake on my lap as I pull the two close to and they smother me with love. Ah, there's nothing better than a tight hug from these two. "I need to visit you guys again soon. I promise, alright?"

"Oh, if only you could." Dad murmurs above me. I feel the arms around me go limp on both sides, and I frown in concern.

"What'd'ya mean, dad? I'm sure the hospital would give me the time off. Mum is a world-renowned oncologist—they probably want me learning as much as I can from her." Of course I followed in her footsteps. Maybe not the same branch, but medicine was always calling me.

"Of course sweetie. But that's not what he's talking about." Mum's voice becomes somber, more monotonous as the two pull away from me simultaneously. "We're dead, remember?"

"Wha... What?" It feels like there's a frog in my throat as I choke out the word. My mouth goes dry, frown deepening in confusion. I look up to her on my right, waiting for a response.

Mum gives a sorrowful smile down to me, and she brings a hand to my cheek. She strokes the skin softly. "You remember, little dove. We're dead. You'll never have this future. Never." Her grip on my cheek tightens to the point where it's painful. Her nails scrape at my skin viciously, and I whack away her hand in fear.

"Mum! Stop!" I cry, desperate. In the jerky movement the cake splatters to the floor, a mix of chocolate cake and frosting splattering the hardwood floor beneath our feet.

When mum's hand pulls away, it's like watching fifty years of her life pass in three seconds. Her hair turns three shades of gray and thins like it's made of straw. Her barely wrinkly skin sags heavily. Her eye sockets deepen, those beautiful green orbs lazy and unmoving. Then they morph to the pale grey, lifeless forms I'm used to on the infected.

Her whole body sinks into itself. All of the muscle and fat she's ever had, gone. Mum's paper thin; skin and bones and nothing else. She's become one of the dead.

"No." I whimper. "No."

"-Tina, wake up."

"No, what?" A gnarled voice questions behind me. That wasn't my dad, it couldn't have been.

I turn to face him, and I gasp in fear. The same process flows through him. His hair: gray, thinning, and only stopping once all the strands had fallen out onto my sheets. Sunken skin. Lost mass throughout his whole body. The only difference between him and my mum is that he's playing with the lighter in a bony hand. He flicks at it, the bright light of flame flickering a shadow on his skinny, sunken face.

Next time he flicks at the lighter, he plays with the flame with his other hand. "Dad, don't." I warn. He grins evilly, bringing his index finger to the flame, and the skin lights up as easily as gasoline.

"Why not, little dove?" A gravelly voice asks wickedly. It sounds like mum had eaten pebbles and they were stuck in her throat, unable to dislodge themselves. "We're dead. Remember?"

"We're dead." Dad nods. He flicks the lighter again and brings the flame to his middle finger, holding the flame open long enough for the fire to spread on the ring and pinky finger. "We're dead, we're dead, we're very, very dead!" He sings out loud. The flames dance along his hand, engulfing the length of his fingers and reaching down to his palm.

"No, stop!"

"Tina, wake up!"

"What?"

"WAKE UP NOW!"

"AH!" I scream, jolting awake. I fling my sheets off of me, heart pounding at a rate far too fast for my liking. Sweat shines over my skin disgustingly.

"Oh my god," I mutter, bringing my hands to my face. I furiously rub at my eyes in attempts to get the images out of my head.

"It was just a nightmare." Alycia's by my bedside, kneeling on the ground beside my bed. Her voice is soft, soothing as she adds, "Just a nightmare. It wasn't real. You're fine, Tina."

Gently, her hand rubs calming circles onto my back, letting me get my hyperventilated breathing back to normal. "It's... It felt so real."

"I know, I know." Alycia softly says. "But it wasn't. You're okay."

I whimper, shutting my eyes tightly and slump in my messy, sweaty bed. "Did I wake anyone?" The scream was jarring.

"No. It wasn't that loud. And I was already awake, so."

I nod, lulling my head to the side to hit the wall. She gives me a moment to breathe, to calm my head and sort the nightmare out. All she does is rub my back softly to let me know she's there when I'm ready. Which is good, I need that.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She softly asks, her curious hazel eyes darting up to look at me.

"No." The answer is immediate. "I don't want to think about it again."

"Okay." Alycia nods, not wanting to fight with me. "Then what do you want to do now?"

I shake my head. "I don't know." I definitely don't want to sleep again. I do not want to revisit that dream. And there's only so many things one can do on a boat. "You should go to sleep, Alycia. Don't worry about me."

"Oh, bullshit. You know I'm staying right beside you 'till you feel better."

I want to both slap and hug her at the same time. "Then let's go to the main deck. I want to see the water."

Alycia and I barely get any sleep. If I'm lucky, maybe it was an hour's worth. Well, something is better than nothing, isn't it? Just ignore the grogginess and lethargy I feel. She manages to catch a few more hours than me; lucky her.

Thankfully, the sun is shining bright in the sky, illuminating the water we sail through with ease. Its joyful rays and blaring light keep me awake without worry.

I'm resting my forearms on the railing, leaning over the edge to watch the boat ripple through the water. On days like this, where I don't want to think, the motion is captivating. I could stare at it for hours without getting bored. I wonder if I have been.

But alas, all good things come to an end. A warm hand clapping my shoulder jostles me out of my mindless activity, and I turn to look at the owner of said hand. Travis.

"Hi." I say, raising an eyebrow at his worried face. "Something wrong?"

"We're heading to land." He explains, pulling his hand away. "There's an island close by with a deep alcove. We're gonna dock; hopefully the boat following us loses our trail."

"Gotcha." I nod. "They're still following?"

"Yeah. Strand says he's done every maneuver possible and they're still on our tail, so this is our next best bet."

"Okay," I push myself away from the rail and take a few steps to the door leading to the dining area. "I'll tell Alycia and Chris."

"Oh, one more thing." Travis says. "Nick wanted me to tell you, day four. Whatever that means."

I grin. He's so bloody stubborn. "I know what it means, don't worry."

"What, you two playing some weird game of telephone?"

"Something like that."

He shakes his head, muttering to himself, "You kids and your made-up games."

I chuckle inwardly. Only three more days. Who else could Nick use as his carrier pigeons?

When the dusk comes, and darkness follows, I'm glad we're docking when we are. I have reason to stay up late tonight. I'm hoping that staying awake, on watch for the infected on land, or even just helping out with the boat, keeps me moving and alert. If I pass out from exhaustion tonight, hopefully it'll keep the nightmare away. It was only one bloody nightmare, but it scared me shitless. I don't want to witness it again.

I'm on the stairs leading to the wooden platform when a flash catches my eye. Huh?

I squint, looking harder to Catrina Island, where we're supposed to be docking tonight. There it is again! Another flash!

Lights. A house. There's people alive on that island!

"Did you..?" I hear a voice behind me ask. I flip over on the stairs to look up, and it's Chris. He's standing just above, hand gripping the rail as he looks out to the land.

"Yeah." I answer, standing and hopping up the steps two at a time. "There's people."

Could be a godsend, could be a slaughterhouse, I think. Passing by Chris, I notice his set stare hardens as he looks to the house. C'mon, love, lighten up a bit. Then again, that's coming from me. I might be a bit hypocritical.

Still, we dock to the shore, pulling the Abigail as close in as we can to hide it from our stalker's radar. I pray it works.

Madison's the first off the boat when we land, energized enough to lead the pack to meet new people. Then Travis, Nick, Alycia, Chris, and me. We all work together to quickly tether the boat to the dock.

"You coming?" I call up to Ophelia.

She shakes her head. "I'm gonna stay here, rest up a bit."

"Are you coming, Strand?" Madison asks. He's perched against the railing of the captain's quarters, long arms outstretched as he grips the metal in his hands.

"I'll stay. Make sure our radar friend moves past us. When he's gone, we're gone."

"Ophelia and I will keep you company." Daniel offers.

Strand stares down to Daniel. "Solitude doesn't bother me."

"We insist."

The two engage in a totally-not-intense-but-strangely-intense staring contest, only broken when Strand gives a reserved shrug. He backs away from the railing, pulling into his personal quarters while the rest of us begin trekking down the dock.

There's a beaten path once we make it past the gravelly beach, through the grass and shrubbery. The house's garden is what we see first before anything. Lots of vegetables and herbs happily sprouting through damp dirt. A little further down is steep wooden steps built into the earth, leading up to a quaint two-story home. The only actual building on the island, as far as I can tell.

"Someone's home." Travis whispers to us. There is one light on in the house, dimly flickering through a window pointing out to us.

No shit, Sherlock is almost said out loud. I manage to hold my tongue.

"They're not throwing their doors open." Madison comments.

"No, they're scared. We'd be scared, too."

We loop around to the front of the house, keeping our ministrations quiet.

"See anything?" Madison asks the group. Nada.

Travis decides that the best thing to do is pull away from the rest of us, march to the front door, and start yelling to the people inside. "HELLO? HELLO!"

"Travis!" Madison hisses. "What are you doing?"

"We know you're in there. We know you're scared." Travis ignores her. He stands by himself, calling out to the person inside while the rest of us agitatedly wait by the side. "We are, too. We just need information. We're not a threat. We're not sick. We're just…"

He sighs as there's no movement inside the house. In one last act of desperation, he calls out, "We need help!"

The front door squeaks open, flung out with poor strength. A small child runs through, down the small stone steps leading to the path. He stares at us, twinkling eyes and a curious smile. His blonde hair flops onto his face, and he bats it away with an empty hand. The other holds a stuffed toy elephant.

A kid. There's a kid living here.

"Harry! Harry!" An older voice bellows from inside the house. An older gentleman makes hasty steps to the door, calling out for the boy. "Get back in here." I take quick note of the thinning gray hair, oval glasses, and the pajamas he wears. Doesn't look like he was expecting company. Then who flashed the light? The child?

Harry, the child, nods to whom I'm assuming is his father, and he scampers through the door. Another small figure peaks through the frame, a little girl with brown pigtails and wandering eyes. There's a woman behind the two youngsters, an arm around each kid protectively. A whole bloody family.

"Sorry, he's excited to see people." The dad apologizes. He takes a step down, looking out to the spread out group in wonder. "It's been a while."

"We just saw your light come on." Madison explains. "We were on the water."

The man shares a look with the woman. I'm assuming from the guarded body language she was the one who did it.

"That was an accident." He says.

Travis takes a few tentative steps forward, a hand outstretched to the stranger. "I'm Travis. Travis Manawa."

"George Geary." The stranger shakes hands with Travis. "What can I do for you, Travis Manawa?"

"We had to drop anchor." Travis gives a simple explanation. "It's no safer on sea than on land."

George eyes Travis. "What makes you think here is safe?"

"We just need to get our bearings and we'll be gone. You have nothing to fear from us."

"George." The woman says softly. The two share another look, and he gives a silent nod. She looks out to us, and smiles. "I'm Melissa. This is Willa," she brings both hands to the young girls' shoulders. "You've already met Harry. Come on inside."

We're welcomed luke-warmly by the family. Travis follows George into the study to talk about what areas are still safe, and Madison and Melissa chat in the kitchen. Melissa, in an overly warming gesture, offers glasses of red wine to all of us.

"Oh, no thank you. We're not 21." I say, not wanting to be rude. My parents were never big fans of alcohol. Mum was always explaining the adverse effects of it throughout middle school and high school. High strung? Yes. But she was always right, too.

"Oh, I'm sure a glass wouldn't hurt, would it?" Melissa asks, holding one out to me.

Madison gives a non-committal shrug. "Just one, kids."

Warily, I take the glass in my hand and give a quiet thanks. She hands one out to Alycia and Nick, too, but when she tries to hand one out to Chris, Madison objects. "He's only sixteen. Maybe we keep him on water for now."

Chris looks like he doesn't really give a damn, so he takes the water in the fancy wine glass and strides over to the rocking chair in the living room, where Willa and Harry are playing.

"Why don't you three follow him?" Madison suggests. "Keep an eye on the kids?"

"Sure, mom." Alycia answers, taking a small sip of her wine before trudging to the worn out couch resting on a wall.

I follow suit, sitting beside her as I take a tentative sip of the alcohol. The first thing I note is the aroma; the slight smell of cherries and cranberries. When the liquid reaches my lips, it has a distinct bitterness to it. It's almost savory. I scrunch my nose, not quite hating it but not liking it either. Weird.

"Do you wanna play ring around the rosie?" A high voice asks me. Willa runs over to me, her small hands grabbing at my free one. "It's fun!"

I look over to Alycia. If I need to do it, so does she. "Can Alycia play with us?"

"Sure!" Willa brings a hand to Alycia's and tugs at her with the same vigor she tugged at me.

"Give her a moment, hon. We need to put down our glasses." I say. I take another sip of the wine and set it gently on the coffee table beside the couch. Through the corner of my eye I see Nick sitting in the single-seater couch by a set of stairs. Harry trudges up said stairs with pounding feet. Probably to his bedroom.

Willa giggles, her hands going to play with her hair as she waits for us. "You sound funny."

"Do I?" I ask. She gives a silly nod. I try to even out my accent, putting on my best southern American I could muster. "How about now, darlin'? Is this weird?" The twang is hard, but it makes Willa laugh even more.

"That's weirder!" She says with joy.

"Well, how do you want me to sound?!" I say with my normal accent. I stand up as Alycia sets her glass down, amused at the interaction. "Like this, or," I switch back to the overly used twang, "This?"

"The first way. I think its cooler."

"It can be cool and weird at the same time, huh?"

"Mmhmm. Now c'mon! I wanna play ring around the rosie!" Alycia and I pull ourselves off to the side, giving ourselves some room to fall on the ground. I grasp one of Alycia's hands, then Willa's, and we form a small circle. "Ready? When I say go!"

We wait a beat, and she says, "Go!" The three of us takes small steps in a circle, sing the song, and gently fall to the floor when we reach the end. I pull a decently dramatic fall and manage to make Willa laugh some more. She's a sweet kid. It makes me smile.

"Can we go again? Please?" Willa begs. I share a look with Alycia, and we both come to the conclusion that we can make at least one more dramatic fall. As we stand up, I hear Harry's soft voice ask Nick if he wants to play one of his handheld toy games that he won. Nick, of course, makes a jovial gesture, saying that he would love to play.

Alycia, Willa, and I play ring around the rosie again, and again, and a third time. By the time Willa asks for a fourth round, I say that Alycia and I will sit this one out. "We're old and we get dizzy easily," is my excuse. Willa nods and opts to play it with her toy doll as Alycia and I sit back on the couch, sipping slowly at our wine.

"-And we all fall down!" She reaches the end and dramatically falls to the floor, her doll flying a few inches away from her. Then Willa frowns. "What are posies?"

"Posies are flowers." I answer.

"Why do you put them in your pockets?"

"Um, well, a long time ago," Alycia starts, "across the ocean in Europe, there was a virus that made a lot of people really sick. And they didn't have the medicine we do now, so they gave them flowers to make them healthy."

"Did it work?" Willa asks. She looks thoughtful, lost in the story as she looks at Alycia curiously.

"No." She answers truthfully. I frown. Poor kid shouldn't have to hear that.

"Nick, you want to come see our room?" Harry asks Nick, who's still shooting away at the aliens in the handheld game.

"Yeah, let's do it." Nick answers, clicking away at the buttons a couple more times before handing the toy back to the kid. He stands from his chair and follows closely behind Harry. As he passes by Chris, he asks, "Hey, man, you want to come check out Harry's room?"

"I'm good." Chris answers, nearly monotonous. No head shake, no glance up. Just the two words in a dull tone. He isn't doing well.

"Look, you don't have to talk or anything, but it is better to be with people." Nick tells him. Awe, how sweet.

"It's okay." This time Chris looks up, giving him a soft nod.

"Okay." Nick says, and he turns back to Harry and chases him up the stairs. "Okay, let's go, let's go, let's go!" I smile at the interaction; he's really good with kids.

"Hey, Tina," Willa pushes at my leg with her small hand. "Do you want to play tea party with me?"

I take a small sip of my wine before grinning to her. "I love tea."

It's worse than we expected. The whole coast, most of America, all gone. At least, that's what George told Travis. It hurts to think that it's true, but I know it is. If it managed to hit all the way into London—if that is truly what I heard on my phone call almost a month ago—then the world is gone.

I don't know what I was expecting, but I was hoping it'd be better than this.

The trek back to the boat is quiet, except for Madison and Travis quietly chatting away a few paces ahead of us. After a quick chat with Strand, we decide the best course of action is to stay docked until tomorrow. Our friendly stalker is still on our radar, but blinking further and further away. Good.

Alycia and I hop into our bedroom, and I'm feeling more exhausted than before. I hope it means I can get a good night's sleep tonight.

"Where are you going?" I ask as I set myself into bed. Alycia's still standing, but she's yanked her comforter off her mattress and thrown it around her shoulders.

"Heading up to the deck." She replies softly, voice trailing off. She's tired, but not quite ready for bed. "I drank too much wine. My head is spinning."

"Okay. Well, I'll be here. Good night, burrito 'Lych."

"Night, normal Tina." I shut my eyes as I hear the door shut. My hand instinctively curls around the phone underneath my pillow. Blinking once, twice, and breathing a deep sigh, I'm finally ready for bed.

"I love what you've done with the place!" I exclaim. The small dining room, which used to be done in hideous wood paneling, had been completely redone. The ceiling was pushed out, offering a gentle dome-like curve at the top. The smooth walls were painted an off-white after getting rid of the panels. The floor's now a dark black tile that shone each time the light from the generously tall windows beamed through. It barely resembles my childhood home. "Stunning!"

"Awe, thank you love!" My mother's cheery voice matches my level of excitement. "Be sure to tell your father. He worked very hard on it."

"Dad did this?" I ask. I take a seat at the head of a long dark wood table. The chairs are tall and elegant, far too much for the room before the renovations. "Please tell me he had some help."

"Sure, sure, from a couple professionals, but he decided he wanted to do most of it." Mum says, sitting to the left of me. Her hands enfold one of mine as we chat animatedly. A diamond gleams on my ring finger, barely visible between her fingers but was still the talk of the party not even an hour earlier. "He must be going through a midlife crisis. Seeing as his only daughter is officially turning 25."

"His only daughter is going to kill him if he decides to renovate without help again." I warn, trying to create an evil glare but ultimately failing. I'm too happy to even try and hold it. "Seriously, mum, if he breaks his back I'm not paying a pound on his medical bill."

"Well, that's a wonderful thing to hear from my successful, loving daughter." He strolls in with the Clarkes, Travis, and Chris trailing close behind him. "I go to take our lovely friends on a tour of the house and this is the thanks I get?"

The family seems to be done up a bit more than usual. The boys all wear different colored button down shirts and black pants, hair done neatly and smiling widely. Alycia wears a gorgeous red sundress with her hair done in loose curls. Madison wears black pants and a pale green blouse. I've never seen them like this, but they're stunning.

"I'm talking about you fixing up the house again." I defend. "If you try to renovate without professionals and you hurt yourself, that's on you."

"Oh, be nice to him." Nick tells me. He strides up behind my chair, hands gripping both sides of the back, and plants a chaste kiss on my cheek that I lean into happily. "He did great work in here."

"I know." I reply, twisting to look better at him. "But if he breaks a hip I'm not gonna cry at his bedside; I told him to get help."

Nick flicks his eyes to my father's, who's by the fridge in the kitchen, easily visible through the open doorway. "I tried, Mr. Waters."

"You're an honorable man, Nick!" Dad shouts as he pulls the cake out of the fridge. "Thank you for trying to defend my honor. And I've told you, Charles is just fine."

"You better be helping him next time." I tell Nick.

"Only if you pay for my plane ticket." He cheekily responds, softly kissing me before taking a seat across from my mum, on the right of the table.

"Oh, gross!" Alycia makes a face of disgust as she sits beside my mum, neatly pressing out the wrinkles in her dress.

"PDA. Nasty!" Chris adds, pretending to vomit.

"I think I liked it better when Tina was secretly pining after you," Alycia adds. I playfully roll my eyes at her.

"Oh, babe, you had a crush on me?" Nick asks, teasing.

Raising an eyebrow, I deadpan, "We're married."

"I know, but still."

Alycia rolls her eyes playfully. "You know she doesn't get the reference. She doesn't like the show."

I look between the two of them as Nick retorts, "Parks and Rec was a gift to this world, and I'm happy I still have the three seasons on DVD."

"Oh, you two, stop bickering." Madison takes a seat beside Nick, and Travis sits beside her. Chris takes a seat beside Alycia as Madison adds, "It's Tina's birthday. I won't have you ruin it with old pop culture references."

"Thank you, Maddy." Mum smiles playfully to her friend across the table. Then she turns back to Nick. "Remind me, love, what do you do for work?"

"I'm currently working towards my degree in psychology, specifically in the drug addiction and counseling area. Work with what you know, right? It feels good to be helping people, especially when I know what they're going through. Helps to make that connection with my patients."

"That's wonderful." Mum says, eyes twinkling.

"You know what she's gonna say next, right, Nick?" Travis asks.

"Then you can buy your own bloody ticket!" Mum laughs to him. After her own laughter dies down, she cocks her head to the open doorway into the kitchen. "Charles, almost ready with the cake?"

"Yup!" My dad answers. "The cake is on fire, now we shout at her!"

Wait, I know that phrase.

The fear strikes a chord in my chest. No, don't happen again. Please.

My heart beats erratically in my chest as my father slowly makes his way into the room, my whole family singing happy birthday to me. I frown as I see the same cake as last time: blue swirls, pink border and wording, three lit yellow candles. My hands go to floof the bottom of my hair and, sure enough, I have mum's bob from last time. No.

"Happy birthday dear Tina! Happy birthday to you!" My family choruses. My dad stands beside me, holding out the cake at my height. The flames of the candles flicker around my face. I don't want to blow them out.

Like I can't control myself, I lean forward and purse my lips. And I blow.

Like a scene change in a movie, the entire room switches. The bright sunlight streaming through the windows is replaced by a midnight gleam. Chairs are pushed over, bodies lying like ragdolls on the floor. The cake is on the table, mashed and beaten.

I'm shaking in place. I don't want to see this. I don't want to see this.

My eyes, wide with fear, go to the ground on my left. In order is my mother, then Alycia, and Chris. Blood pours from mum's throat as easily as water. It was slashed open, and blood pools around her neck from the wound. A bullet hole rests in the middle of Alycia's forehead. Her eyes, wide and unmoving, stare blankly at the ceiling as the blood gathers in a halo around her head. Chris has bite marks on his neck, cheek, and scalp. It's like the dead tried to devour him.

I don't want to look to the right. I repeat the phrase out loud, at least a dozen times, each time my voice growing in desperation.

But I do. I don't have control.

Dad's limbs are contorted, bent in awkward angles by elbows and knees. Stab wounds. That's how he died. They litter his old form, from his chest to his stomach up to his neck. Then I see Nick. A single bullet hole in his chest. In his heart. The blood seeps on the floor, surrounding his form just like the blood from Alycia's shot.

Madison and Travis; it looks like they went out fighting together. Bruises and cuts cover them from head to toe. I don't know what happened to them, how it could have happened, but it's right here for me to see.

And I scream.

When I wake, it's the same as last time. I pull myself forward, throw my blankets off, shrieking. My whole body is sweating buckets. The only difference is that Alycia isn't in the room.

"No, not again!" I whimper out in anger. Furiously, my hands fly to my face, rubbing at my eyes and willing the thoughts away. "Why?"

And I think really hard about the question. Why did it happen? Why am I having these nightmares? Why? Why? Why?

I breathe steadily, letting my hands drop from my face. In curiosity I look at the time on the clock. 1:56 AM. It hasn't even been a full hour yet. Alycia must still be on the deck. I decide that the best decision is to call my mum. To talk it out; to see what's wrong with me.

"Hello! This is the voicemail of Laura Allen-Waters. I can't come to the phone right now, so please leave a message and I'll get back to you as fast as I can." I listen to the rest of the message agitatedly, waiting for the robot to tell me to leave a message.

"Mum..." I say, my voice shaking. And I realize my hand is shaking. "I'm hav... I'm having nightmares. Really vivid ones."

Okay, good start. Work through them. "They start out amazingly. Like really good dreams. One that you hope is possible to achieve in real life. Then they flip. They're—god, they're awful. I keep seeing you and dad, and even others, dead. I watch you die."

I take a breath, and shut my eyes.

"It's you." I realize quietly.

"It's you." I say louder. "You're the reason I'm having nightmares."

My words blur together as I reach the conclusion. "I don't know if it's because I'm calling you or if I'm just in denial, but you're dead and you're the reason why I'm having nightmares."

Brokenly, I let out a choked sob. "I'm in denial. You're dead, and still I call you and talk to you. Like you could call me back and we can gossip about our days. Like you're not dead. But you are. You're dead." I repeat it, my sobs becoming louder. "You're dead, mum. You and dad are dead and I can't fathom to even think it. If I call you, if I act like you're fine when I know you're not, I'm not letting myself grieve."

It's like I'm shouting into the receiver. All my anger and grief, mixing into one. "But you are dead. Why?! Why could you leave me in a world like this?" Tears flow freely down my face, tear after tear dripping down my chin. "You always told me I was your little girl; I always would be. That's what I am, mum! I'm a little girl and I don't know what I'm doing. And you left me! Why would..." I hiccup, palming away my tears.

My voice is quieter now, small as I ask, "Why would you leave me?"

I allow myself to cry, to let out every emotion I've kept under check out into this message. If I don't, I know these nightmares will get worse. I need to let myself grieve.

When my tears stop and I can breathe easy, I say one last line into the phone. "I need you now, more than anything. And you left me. I need to deal with that. Alone."

A/N: I would like you all to know, that when I was writing this, I legitimately thought, "Good god, I'm an awful person." And still I wrote the nightmare scenes. Ah, I'm mean. Life on the boat can't always be paradise, can't it?

If you enjoyed it (or want to yell at me for putting Tina through more pain, your choice,) please leave a review or send a PM! They really make my day/night/existence. :)