Thanks once again to those lovely reviewers, and also to the kind people still reading this! As always, i own nothing.

The book landed with a dull thump on the table. Scott stared at it, trying not to react. He hadn't seen it for many years, in fact, he'd believed it destroyed, a reminder of the evil that had taken his mother and therefore banished, along with everything else from his Dad's hunter past.

"There's a lot of shit in there," the Sheriff said, watching the young man carefully. "Demonic crap. You worship Satan, son?"

Scott balked at that. "No, sir," he replied. "I've never seen this before."

The Sheriff flicked through several pages, allowing Scott to see them. Diagrams, pictures and ancient lore slowly filtered through Scott's mind. As a teen, he'd watched his father fill those pages, make those entries. The Sheriff stopped on a marked page.

"Scott. 35-111."

"Guessing that's you. Wanna know what I think? I think you're deep into this shit. I think you're responsible for a lot of missing men."

The Sheriff tossed a list of names and dates before Scott. Frowning, he read them and glanced up.

"Five missing men over eighteen years. Anything you want to tell me?"

Scott snorted. "This makes less sense by the minute. Since I was nine when the first one went missing."

"We know there's an older guy. It's how these things work. Strange thing is, he's gone missing too." The Sheriff lent forward, getting into Scott's face. "Got a theory on that as well. I think you got bored of following his orders and I think you got rid of him."

"You've obviously been thinking very hard."

"Don't try my patience, Scott," the Sheriff snarled.

Scott simply smirked as an alarm sounded. The Sheriff cuffed him quickly to the chair.

"Don't move!"

"I'll make myself at home," Scott assured him.

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Gordon had had enough. He'd gotten over the tiny room surprisingly fast, he'd tired of the weak, over filtered coffee within the first three sips and of the officer facing him, he'd bored of him swiftly. But the thing that really tested his admittedly low patience was the line of questioning.

"I know what it's like," Officer Kelly said, assembling his craggy features in an approximation of empathy. Gordon stared. It was like watching an avalanche attempt to emote. "I mean it's family. You've an obligation to them."

Gordon sighed. Saying Scott was his brother was a guaranteed way into the station with him, but it had it's own drawbacks.

"But it only extends so far. You think he's in there now, pleading your innocence?"

Probably, Gordon thought privately.

"Not a chance." Officer Kelly leaned forward. "You've your whole life ahead of you, kid. Don't let him drag you down with him."

Gordon was silent, mentally going through the checklist of the last sub he had been positioned on.

"He's older, naturally more dominant," Officer Kelly continued. "Threatens you too, I'd imagine."

He waited for Gordon's reaction and when it didn't happen, Gordon had to admire the officer's tenacity.

"He's clever, I'll warrant. Groomed you, right? Him and that other guy. That's gonna work in your favour, son. Jury'll be sympathetic. But here's the kicker. Tell us what we want to know and I don't see you going into the slammer."

Gordon couldn't help the eye roll, it was over before he could stop it. An hour and a half of similar such offers was a boredom the like of which he'd never imagined existed. The officer waited. So did Gordon. Five full minutes passed in silence. Gordon took a small sip from his Styrofoam cup.

Officer Kelly looked almost relieved when the alarm sounded. He sprang to his feet, asked if Gordon needed to go and once assured he didn't, bolted from the room. Gordon waited several minutes, experimentally taking another sip of his coffee to see if it really was as bad as he remembered. It was. Swallowing the tepid mouthful, Gordon rose to his feet and disappeared.

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Virgil thought he'd done well, all things considered. As small as he was, Alan was no longer the tiny child he'd been able to hoist onto his shoulders and holding him in his arms made running with his added weight all the more difficult. Still, Virgil had been built along the lines of muscle and stamina, and he'd travelled quite a distance by the time he slowed and allowed his brother to slide bonelessly to his feet.

Alan was reluctant to let go, immediately pressing himself into his brother once more, unwilling to face the world around them. Virgil, panting, glanced around. It was quiet, there were no cars passing down the side street he'd brought them to and he needed to get to the bottom of Alan's mysterious reaction to Gordon's talent. He'd have to make time for it, there was no way he could allow this silent suffering to continue.

"Allie?" he called softly, taking his brother by the chin and lifting the boy's face. Wide, fearful eyes, almost luminescent with terror, gazed back at him. Virgil, already worried, felt his stomach churn. "What is it?"

Alan shook his head, arms once more reaching for Virgil.

"Hey," the older brother soothed. "Talk to me."

Face pressed into Virgil's chest, Alan whispered fiercely, "Don't make me do that again."

Virgil stroked his brother's back as Alan trembled. He found the experience unnerving and a little uncomfortable stomach wise himself, but he'd never seen any one of the other boys react as Alan had. Deathly pale, terrified, Alan was on the verge of crying. It was small comfort, but at least he seemed to have come out of his nearly catatonic state.

"What happened?" Virgil asked, pressing a warm kiss into his brother's hair.

"I don't know," Alan sniffed miserably. "It took forever and I couldn't see Gordon."

Virgil's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean? Allie?"

Alan raised his head to meet his brother's concerned eyes.

"There were all these ghosts, Virgil," he said softly. "Like I'd gone out of the world for a while and stepped into another vision. They kept touching me and every time they did, I saw stuff. Them. What they did and what happened to 'em."

Tears were running down the boy's cheeks now, silver tracks shining in the night. "They wouldn't leave me alone, I couldn't breathe. There were so many and I didn't know what to do."

Virgil gently wiped the tears with his thumbs, cupping Alan's face between his hands. "Shh, honey," he soothed. "Calm down, I've got you."

Alan made a valiant effort to do so, calming his stuttered breaths and allowing the fear to leave him.

"You forgot who you were, didn't you?" Virgil asked softly.

Alan nodded. "There were so many of them," he repeated. "All angry and fighting with each other. Except that woman."

Virgil paused in running slow circles against Alan's pulse. "What woman?"

Alan shrugged, closing his eyes tiredly. "Just a woman."

"Are you sure?" Virgil pressed. "Think hard, Sprout. She wouldn't be there unless she had a reason."

Alan concentrated. "I might have seen her somewhere before," he murmured. "She wore a white dress, like the lady on Dad's wall."

Virgil filed the information. "Alright, what about when that spirit got to you in Boston?" he asked. "What did you see then?"

Alan shook his head. "I remember the wall. I did remember something else, but when I remembered you guys, I forgot it again."

Virgil sighed. "You don't recall what these spirits are showing you?"

Alan shook his head sadly. "Not everything."

"It's probably a good thing," Virgil assured him hurriedly.

"I keep thinking that if I could remember it all, it'd really help," Alan said earnestly.

Virgil suppressed a shiver. "You heard what Scott said," he warned. He eyed the boy critically. Alan's colour was coming back, he was certainly more lively and a persistant tickle between Virgils shoulder blades told him they'd stayed still too long. "Come on, we'd better get moving again."

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John had always found his brain moved faster than he did. As he left Virgil and Alan, he was already going through possible triggers, alarms and security networks and by the time he'd stumbled across the station, he was confident in what he wanted to do.

Forty-five minutes later, the alarm ringing in his ears, John wasn't hanging around to see if his brothers got out. He could hear their relief, both of them attaching his name and face to the emotion and he knew they would do the rest. Although his body, weary from the long run and the tension, demanded he rest, John was heading back to the motel as fast as he could.

He still had an hour before Virgil's deadline and he wanted to makle full use of it. Hot-wiring the car – and if any of his brothers knew about that little talent, he wouldn't live it down – John drove to the edge of town.

Action, he felt, was good. It meant he had little time to worry over the state he'd left his youngest brother in.

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Scott promised himself he was going to take John out for the biggest steak he could find. He doubted the sudden emergency created solely within the Sheriff's departments system could actually be real. His brother's talent with computers was legendary.

Taking his time, Scott focused on the delicate mechanism of the handcuffs. Concentrating hard, he lifted and pressed levers until he hit the right combination to open the lock. It was more complicated than he'd imagined, having to move several, albeit tiny, components together. Wiping his face, Scott tugged his wrist out of the metal and stood. He tried the door, unsurprised but unable to hold back the sigh when he found it was locked also. The room was spinning lazily by the time Scott let himself into the corridor.

He made his way silently through the station, amazed it was nearly deserted. Here and there he saw members of staff dutifully typing at their desks, and assumed the only reason he'd not been noticed was because John had worked the camera into the questioning room onto a loop.

Scott found the filing room with a sense of relief. He knew Gordon was in here too, but he had decided that the boy would be safer staying where he was until Scott was finished. With this in mind, he nearly gave the game away with a strangled yell of surprise when he found his copper haired brother waving a burger at him with one hand and files with the other.

"What the hell are you doing?" Scott hissed furiously.

"The same thing you are," Gordon smirked. "What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I almost became one," Scott scowled. "What have you got there?"

Gordon opened his mouth, displaying it's half chewed contents. "Burger."

"In your hand, Gordy."

Gordon swallowed his mouthful. "Files on all the men Dad had pinned up and ones that've gone missing but weren't connected. I'm making copies, they can't accuse us of stealing them."

Scott nodded his approval, moving round his brother to the cabinet. He swiftly found what he was looking for. "What was the name of the woman?"

"Raquel Welch. Why?"

"Just a hunch. Dad had her there for a reason. Here, copy this."

Gordon did as he was asked, while Scott kept watch on the door. "Where'd you get the burger anyway?"

"Followed my nose, swiped it off a desk," Gordon shrugged. Scott glanced at him, disapproving. "I needed it, Scott. I was getting pretty shaky there."

Scott looked closer at his younger brother. The nineteen year old had always been on the pale side, but there were blue circles beneath his eyes and his movements were a little jerky.

"They swiped my candy," he said, apologetically. "I'll get some more once we're through here."

"I can get us out," Gordon assured him, finishing the burger. Scott nodded, saying nothing, although he wasn't thrilled with the idea.

"Done?" he asked instead.

Gordon replaced the documents where he'd found them and scooped up their copies. "All done," he agreed. "Ready to fly the coop?"

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Virgil wasn't a pacer. Neither was John. While Gordon would have been climbing the walls by now, and Scott would have been checking his watch with a frown, Virgil and John were content to lean against the wall and wait for their brother's to arrive. Alan, sat at their feet with Virgil's jacket on, stared into the middle distance, quiet and thoughtful. Eventually, Virgil's phone rang. Exchanging a smile with John, Virgil answered it.

"They give you time off for good behaviour?"

"No," Scott answered. "I paid them off with your share of the inheritance."

Virgil chuckled, sobering when his gaze landed on the small, silent figure before him. "Where are you?" he asked. "We need to talk."

Fifteen minutes later, Virgil pulled into the lay-by where Scott had called. Gordon laughed out loud when he saw the state of the car.

"What did you do?" he asked, gesturing to the paintwork with a candy bar. The wrappers of its brothers and sisters lay scattered on the table in front of him, a testament to his appetite.

"John distressed it," Virgil said shortly and Gordon laughed again.

"I'll say. Did you try telling it a joke, John? That'd distress anyone."

Virgil reached forward and plucked the last bar from his brother's hand. "You gave him too much, Scott," he chided softly. "He's got the giggles."

Scott shrugged. "Better the giggles than the shakes."

"If he's sick, you're cleaning him up."

"Dude, I'm right here!" Gordon protested. "And I'm not a six year old."

John nudged Alan forward. "Lets get in out of the cold," he suggested, rubbing the kids shoulders.

Virgil liked to drive. It helped him relax, it helped him think and so when he slipped into the drivers seat again, none of his brothers thought to argue. By right of birth, Scott took the front passenger, and Alan was placed securely between John and Gordon. Virgil stated the engine, and with it the conversation.

"John changed the licence plates," he began, "when he worked over the bodypaint. We should have a few hours before we're looked at too closely."

"Good," Scott smiled, knowing how much Virgil hated the new look SUV. Virgil could be a perfectionist at times. The second Tracy son changed the subject. He told his brothers what Alan had told him, about the way he stepped out of the world when Gordon had translocated him and about what he could remember of all the visions so far.

"This woman Dad found," he said slowly.

"Raquel Welch," Gordon supplied.

"We're looking at her wrong. We've been assuming she's a victim."

John raised his eyebrows. "She's not?"

"I doubt it," Virgil replied. "Allie thinks he's seen her before, and I suspect its from a vision. The picture on the wall probably jogged the memory. Alan also noticed a passage on the wall, depicting a woman committing murder."

"Raquel's the one doing this?" Scott asked, flipping quickly through her file. "Listen to this. She didn't just drown, she committed suicide."

"She jumped from the bridge," Alan murmured. "I watched her fall, we all did. Or do ... I think."

Scott took a moment to process what Alan had said. "We watch her go to her death?" he turned to Virgil. "She's re-enacting it."

Gordon, meanwhile, was glancing through the file he had bought with him. Alan peered over his shoulder, starting to come back round into himself again. "What's that?"

"It's a file on more missing persons," Gordon replied absently. "They haven't been declared dead yet, or attached to any case."

"Hey!" Alan almost shouted. "That's the guy who got me at the wall!"

"Jeremy Allain," Gordon read. "Missing as of three months ago, car never found, listed as missing person only, presumed alive. He was never attached to the serial killer theory."

John stared at the picture Gordon now held up. "He must be a powerful spirit to have travelled to Boston."

"I wasn't in Boston," Alan told him, taking the picture from Gordon and missing the glances his brothers exchanged over his head. "I was here, in Jericho, at the wall."

"You're remembering it better?" Virgil asked him.

Alan nodded. "Yeah, he showed me his car, too, and this woman was there. I think she killed him."

"Raquel?" John suggested.

"I think Virgil's right," Scott said. "I think I know what she is."

Virgil finished his sentence. "We're dealing with a woman in white."