Disclaimer: Yes, I own Charmed because I'm Brad Kern's sister's-neighbor's-dog's-friend's-owner's mailman's-wife's-sister in law's-mother's-student. Yeah, right.

Chapter Four

Cole hesitated. "I don't know. What demon?" he asked hastily.

Paige gave him a funny look. "I'm not quite sure, actually—Phoebe and Piper were talking to him at the club. There's some kind of demon after him, he says, so he's staying at the manor for a while till we get this all sorted out. Do you want to call your parents?" asked Paige, not having heard the previous conversation in which he disclosed the fact he was and orphan.

"No, thank you," he said courteously.

"Are you sure? They'll be worried," Paige said with a slight frown.

"They're dead," Chris said as quickly as possible. Paige opened her mouth to say something, but Chris interrupted. "It's fine, I don't remember them."

Or do I?

"That's terrible," said Paige. "Were they both—?"

"Witches?" Chris supplied. "I'm not sure, actually. Could have been. I got hit in the head during that massacre ten years ago and it wiped my memory clear of anything. I don't even know if my real name's Chris!" he said with a half-way laugh.

"It could be," said Cole mysteriously. "Well, you go ahead, Paige—I'm sure Piper needs your help with the club."

Paige sighed. "Oh, boy. The club. And to think I used to be the one ordering all those drinks!"

The girls laughed from the couch.

Chris turned to the two of them. One of them had dark hair and exotic-looking eyes, obviously Paige's daughter, Annie. The other had doe-filled blue eyes and a darker shade of blonde hair—assumedly Phoebe's and Cole's daughter, Mel—and somehow looked naïve and innocent. He felt as if they both needed protection from the outside world, but even more so with Mel, only because it felt routine to protect her. Like he'd done it before.

Wow, this day had been weird.

Both girls were staring at him and Cole flicked off the TV. "Girls, I think it's time for bed," he announced, ruffling their hair. They squealed, distracted from Chris for a moment. They must have been used to strangers being in their house by this time, he figured.

The girls went up to their bedrooms without any protest. Cole turned to Chris and Chris felt himself shiver for a moment.

"I have some questions to ask you," said Cole, surveying him with a serious expression. He seemed to be sizing Chris up and studying him, trying to memorize all of his features. Or maybe…was he trying to compare them to someone else?

"Sure," Chris tried to say as casually as possible.

"So…you can't remember anything from before ten years ago?"

Chris nodded.

"Not anything at all?" he pressed.

Why was he asking? Could this man see through his lies? He'd heard that some people had the power of telepathy. What if he knew?

"No," Chris said. "Not anything."

"You look like you might know something," Cole mused. "Even just a tiny bit of a conversation would be enough."

"I—" He was about to admit to the weird visions, but he knew it wouldn't be appropriate to talk to this man he hardly knew. He was the outsider here. If they found something out about him that they didn't like, it was he who had everything at stake. "I don't know."

Cole nodded. "You might remember someday."

"I don't think so," said Chris doubtfully.

"Where do you stay?"

"Nowhere in particular. I drift."

"Drift?" A small smile played on Cole's lips. "That doesn't sound very smart. How do you plan to live on the streets?"

Chris shrugged. "I get by." Yeah, he got by. Underground, never seeing the sunlight, trapped in a room with Owen and a whole bunch of older boys and men that disregarded him.

The feelings for the Alliance members he'd never considered before surfaced. Did he really resent some of them for ignoring him so? Pete and Owen were his only friends, the only people he interacted with. He was the youngest Alliance member, almost considered a bother.

But this would change everything. Once he came through for them, he wouldn't be that stupid little kid taking up space underground. They'd see—he'd show them.

"I can see you don't want to tell me the truth."

Chris opened his mouth to protest, but Cole interrupted.

"I'm not accusing you of anything—I can just tell by the way you're looking at me that you're reluctant to answer. It's fine, really, but I'm still going to ask."

Chris figured that the only thing he could do now was try to tell at least part of the truth. "It's really complicated. All you need to know is that I'm a witch and a demon's after me."

"I think there's more to you than that." Cole cocked his head, still surveying the teenager. "You look familiar. You realize that, don't you?"

"How did you know my name?" Chris burst.

"You looked like someone I once knew."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter," Cole said sharply. "I'm not quite sure who you are, Chris, but I trust you. You don't look like someone that would cause us harm. Why don't you get some rest? I'll be upstairs in my room reading until the girls get home if you need me. You can have the couch. There are some pillows and a blanket over there." His eyes lingered on Chris for another moment. "See you in the morning, then."

"Yeah…thank you."

"Think nothing of it," said Cole, heading up the stairs.

Chris collapsed onto the couch. It could have been worse, he thought. He could've accidentally revealed everything he knew, tattled on the Alliance and screwed the entire mission. But he had hope. He'd come close to the edge of failing, but he made it this far. He was in the manor. Not very many people could've gotten into the manor that fast.

With this last reassuring thought, he slipped into slumber.

Chris found himself in an endless stretch of white clouds. "This is where you go when you die," a voice said to him.

He whipped around. "Who said that?"

A little boy with brown hair and green eyes, no more than four years old, stepped out from the fluffy pillows of white. "Me." He walked closer to Chris. "This is the place you go when you die."

"I'm not dead," said Chris.

"I know you're not. But I am."

Chris was puzzled. "But you can't be dead—you're standing right there next to me."

The boy looked up with a saddened expression. "I died ten years ago when the bricks fell down on me," he whispered. "But you can bring me back. Please, you have to remember. Bring me back, Chris."

"I can't, I don't know how," Chris protested. The boy disappeared. "Wait—I don't know how to remember! Come back, please! Tell me how to bring you back!"

A sharp pain hit his shoulder. "Hey—what's your name? Chris?"

Chris stirred out of his dream. "Huh?"

Wyatt was looming over him, his eyes narrowed. "You were dreaming."

There was an awkward silence. "Yeah, I guess I was," said Chris after a moment. "What time is it?"

Wyatt shrugged. "Around midnight."

So much for curfew, Chris thought. Great, he had to befriend the irresponsible could-be murderer. Could this mission be any more complicated?

"You were mumbling about trying to remember something."

Chris straightened himself into a sitting position. "Well, I don't really know what I was dreaming about," he lied (again).

Wyatt's eyes narrowed even further if possible. "You're just a little suspicious, you know. An orphan boy with witch powers and a demon after him? How would you survive on your own as a witch? Someone would kill you and discover you." His eyes glinted. "I bet you're not even a real witch."

"I am," Chris insisted.

"Show me, then," Wyatt demanded, smirking. "Show me your wonderful witch powers."

"Okay," Chris said tentatively. Why was Wyatt so eager to know his powers? He figured he'd only show him the telekinesis. There was no way he'd be able to prove the visions to Wyatt—besides, they were useless visions anyways. "I can do telekinesis."

"Move that pen from the desk to the end table," Wyatt ordered.

Chris complied. His eyes focused on the pen then darted towards the end table. Unfortunately, the pen traveled at the same speed as his eyes, and the pen landed on the table only to skid off and fall to the floor with a thud.

"You need some work," said Wyatt.

"I know," admitted Chris. "I can't train or anything, though. Too many people out on the streets lurking all over the place." Actually, he never worked on it because the other members of the Alliance had no patience for him. They'd scold him when he busted something and leave him feeling awful.

"I could train you," Wyatt offered randomly.

Chris twitched. Did Wyatt really just say that? He was dumbfounded for a moment. Maybe he'd judged Wyatt the wrong way. "Um, sure…that'd be great. Thanks," he said numbly.

Wyatt grinned, but the grin somehow didn't look very friendly. "Great. You can be like the little brother I never had."

"I heard about him."

"Heard about whom?" Wyatt asked, pausing before leaving the room.

"Your brother. The one who died in the massacre," Chris explained. "My parents died in it, too. I think. I mean, either that or they ditched me," he said ruefully.

"Yeah, I had a brother." Wyatt's expression looked softer for a moment, almost untainted, before resuming the sinister appearance once more. "I don't remember him, though. I mean, not very well. Just a few things, like…"

"Like what?"

"Whatever," said Wyatt nonchalantly, walking up the stairs again.

"I'm sorry," Chris said quietly when he was out of earshot. He was sorry—sorry for that boy, sorry for his parents—and to some degree, sorry for himself. All he had been during these past few years to the Alliance was a burden. He didn't belong anywhere. What if he failed this mission? How could he face them again? Where would he go?

He shivered and decided not to think about that for the time being.

TBC...