The sound of the water was calming, giving the illusion that the drop really wasn't that far, that the waves wouldn't crush someone and swallow them up if they happened to jump in. For a moment, Sam thought maybe the illusion was real; maybe the water would only caress him, carry him, set him free.

He saw himself standing at the cliff, on the edge of my grandpa's property, arms spread wide. He let himself fall forward, and after a moment of nothing but the sounds of the crashing waves, it ended. The vision was over, because so was Sam—in that version of the future, anyways.

Sam took several steps back. He couldn't allow himself to walk to the very edge of the cliff; he knew that if he did, he would let himself go. He heard the waves and longed for them, but could not witness them. It wasn't that he wanted to die—not necessarily. Sometimes he simply felt that things would be easier if he just freed himself. And that part of his mind would take over if he gave it the chance. The other part of his mind—the one that's been having visions for the last third of his life—was able to see it coming. Sam couldn't let himself go over that cliff. It was ironic, he thought, since he was on the verge of going over a different kind of cliff entirely. Maybe he couldn't help his mind plunging down, but he could stop his body from it. It wouldn't be fair to Michael, either, being the only person who's ever consistently loved him and cared for him. Sam just couldn't do that to him.

The sun was rising over the horizon, lighting up the sky and water with various pink, orange and blue shades, like Heaven itself was shining through the clouds. Michael and Lucy would be awake soon, and another day in Santa Carla would begin.

Sam inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the ocean. It was clean out here, not tampered with by the beach crowd and their trash. He didn't know why he was suddenly able to think, or for how long it would last; he wanted to take in every second he could. His initial high was almost completely gone, and he was sobered by the fact that he just might be done with the uncontrollable visions for good. Maybe. It was probably wishful thinking. But if he stayed like this, he might be able to enjoy school when it started on Wednesday, in two days.

"Sam?" He turned around to see Lucy standing on the porch, arms crossed over her tightly-pulled robe. She was chilled outside, and Sam realized that it wasn't as warm as he had originally thought. Goosebumps formed on his arms and his bare feet grew numb. He smiled in response to the questioning look from Lucy, and quickly made his way inside. Lucy didn't say another word; she simply followed suit, closing the front door behind her.

By the time Michael came strolling groggily into the kitchen, beams of light were protruding through the windows and Sam was munching on a bowl of cereal. "Morning," he greeted the brunette. Michael grunted his response. "Mom left a list," Sam said while Michael scanned the contents of the fridge. The blonde tapped the piece of paper that was laid out in front of him on the table. "Things she wants us to get."

"I'm starting work, Sam. You'll have to get the stuff."

Sam looked up from his cereal quizzically. "Since when do you have a job?"

"I applied yesterday." Michael grabbed a bottle of soda and closed the fridge. "They're really desperate; I was hired right away." They had officially been in Santa Carla for two days, counting their first night.

That was fast…

"Where?" he asked curiously. Michael took a seat across from him. Sam couldn't help but feel a little put down by the fact that Michael would be working, even though it meant more money. He felt like, because his head was finally clear, he was now able to actually spend time with his brother. But he supposed with him starting school, it wouldn't really matter—unless Michael took after Lucy and started working very late nights. The older brother wasn't in school anymore, after all.

"At some video store. I can't even remember the name right now."

At least there might be some free videos… "Nice. How long are you gonna be gone every day?" He crossed his fingers he would get at least a few hours in with Michael every day.

"Ten to six today."

Sam only nodded. He didn't want to sound desperate by asking what times Michael would normally be working, or how much they would get to spend time together. How clingy would that sound? They've spent tons of time together while living with their dad. The only different was that Sam wasn't exactly "there."

"So you're okay with taking care of the shopping list?"

"Yeah," Sam assured with more confidence than he felt. "I think I can do it." Money wasn't rocket science. Well, unless you haven't paid attention in school for the last five years.

"You've handled money before, right?"

"Of course I have." Not once.

Michael took a sip of his Coca Cola. "Want some?" He offered the bottle to Sam.

"I probably shouldn't…" Sugar wouldn't be very good for his mind right now. Michael shrugged and screwed the cap back on.

"I should get going."

Sam stole a glance at the clock and instantly protested, "But it's nine."

"Yeah," Michael said casually, standing up and stretching. He grabbed his soda and headed leisurely for the doorway. "I wanna get there early. First day." He winked at Sam. "I'll be back. Stay cool, bro."

Sam later discovered an alternative meaning to what Michael had said, while he spent about two hours in a grocery store trying to figure out everything that was needed and how much of a budget Lucy had left him. It wasn't scalding outside like in Arizona, but damn was it hot in the store. And the disgusting part was that so many people were coming inside and getting their sweat all over everything, and exhaling their hot breath into the air, and loitering in every aisle with their tanned, wet beach bodies. Sam couldn't wait to leave that place; he sucked in as much clean air as he could on his bike ride home to rid himself of the claustrophobic environment.

Two bags of groceries were placed neatly into the basket in front of the handlebars, and a thin milk jug was held onto with one hand and rested between his legs. He pedaled carefully, but couldn't slow down without losing his much needed momentum to keep everything in place. Because of that, the bike ride was longer than it should have been; it was nearly three o' clock by the time he returned home.

Sam took his time putting everything away, since he had nothing else planned. And might as well waste some time by reorganizing the fridge, he figured. Of course, that ended up taking him much less than three hours to accomplish, so he ended up dusting things until four. I'm a freak, he thought as he looked down at the dirty rag. Normal teenagers didn't clean. But they did spend a lot of time in their room. With that thought in mind, and overcome with productivity, he bounded up to his room to unpack and set up the things he had brought with him. Not much to deal with, but he could at least start to make his room his own now. So Sam cracked open a window (because it was stuffy as a teddy bear), and got to work.

Time seemed to pass by more quickly as he slowly figured out where to put what, and what he might be interested in stealing temporarily from Michael's room as decoration. "Are those my glasses?"

Sam started, nearly dropping the dark sunglasses. He hadn't even heard Michael return; the brunette stood leaning in Sam's doorway, looking amused but slightly confused. He held a thick case in his hand. Sam's eyes instantly traveled to it and lit up. "Is that a movie?" Michael flashed the front: Indiana Jones.

"You got the food?" Sam nodded vigorously. Michael grinned. "I'll see if there's popcorn." He tossed the movie at Sam and disappeared downstairs. The blonde was quickly descending the stairs behind him; one went into the kitchen and the other strolled over to the television to start putting in the VHS tape. Once the movie was inserted, Sam waited to press the button that would start it. He sat back on the couch, listening to Michael move about in the kitchen as he got their popcorn ready.

The sound of kernels popping on the stove drifted into the living room, and Sam saw headlights through the windows. A car door slammed. Sam checked the clock—7:30. Michael had been done with his shift later than planned, and Lucy was home early, apparently. And because it was January, it was black outside. Sam heard a knock at the door and furrowed his brows. He got up leisurely, uncertainly. Who was knocking on their door? They were too far out of the city for it to be some sort of prank or religious people with pamphlets.

Sam peaked out of the window and saw his mother's car parked outside, still running but empty of a person. He tried to turn the doorknob but it was stuck – jammed to the point where it wouldn't even budge. Unlocked, but unmoving. "Mike," he called, putting all of the muscle he had behind it, which wasn't very much. He leaned back and tugged, but still nothing. "Mike!"

Michael emerged from the kitchen, expecting Sam to be having trouble with playing the movie. He stopped short when he saw his brother hanging on the doorknob in a desperate attempt to open it. "What are you doing?"

"I think Mom's outside. But it won't open." Sam stepped aside to allow Michael access to the door. The brunette checked the lock first and then tried opening the door normally, as if Sam had completely fucked that step up and that was the source of all the trouble. The blonde rolled his eyes lightly.

There was a knock again, this time more fiercely. Michael started putting muscle behind his pulling—much more likely to fix the jam than Sam's wimpy attempts. But, still, not a single budge. It was as if the door was bolted shut with steel. "What's wrong with it?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Michael answered as he stalked back through the kitchen. Sam walked rapidly after him. There was a side-door in the kitchen that Michael was headed for. Sam wondered why Lucy wouldn't just go around the house to use that door if the front one was stuck.

The very second Michael's hand touched the doorknob on the side-door, Sam was struck by a very fast-paced, flickering vision. His eyes widened and he reached out his hand to slam the door shut again when Michael opened it an inch. He gave Sam a questioning look, and his face fell when he saw the look his brother was giving. "What?" He felt sick anticipating the answer. What had Sam seen?

Sam swallowed thickly and whispered, "My window, upstairs. It's open."

"What—?"

"Someone's in my room."