A/N: I don't have time to post the next chapter yet. I've worked on it but I'm not content with how it looks. So instead of posting the next chapter this week I have this 'scene' you could call it for you, the readers. Note that this is not a chapter. Now since some of you really want a Zammie moment in the story, well, this so far is the closest I can get for you. You'll either love it or hate it.

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She was closer than I thought possible. Her hands pressed against my chest. My hands tightly locked in her golden locks of hair. Her lips were parted wide against mine letting me in, letting me explore until my heart was content.

Only that wasn't possible. I would never truly get enough I would always hunger for more than she could ever possibly give me.

Rolling off the couch onto the floor I landed on top of her. Breaking apart for air I looked into her eyes and saw nothing but hope, forgiveness. I stoked her hair and watched her neck letting my hand fall against it feeling the pulse behind the skin. Her lips curved upward as she watched me curiously.

Slowly I leaned down and kissed the spot, moving up back to her lips leaving a trail of kisses. Her hands moved behind my head locking me in place unwilling to let go. I was somewhat content with that but there was something I wanted, something animalistic pulsing through my own veins. Only satisfied if it was with her, soon. That she was the one to give it to me.

Her leg moved up against mine before latching itself against my hip. Then and there I knew I couldn't wait any longer I had to have it, the feeling, the warmth. I needed it more than anything.

Breaking the kiss I looked down at her chest as she took in deep breaths. Lifting my hand I pressed it against her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into my open palm. Turning her head she kissed it.

I smirked and knew I had what I wanted. Cameron Ann Morgan.

And with that knowledge I swiftly pulled my hand away, took out my knife, and sliced her throat before she even had a chance to open her eyes again. I watched as the blood gushed out and she made a strange gurgle noise that sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine. Through it all though she kept her eyes closed.

With open palms I held onto her neck. Loving the feel of the warm blood gushing out against my cold skin. The warmth, the heat was the passion I had been desiring all this time. Yet at the same time I felt like I should feel guilty for ending her life like this but I didn't. This was what I truly wanted. This was what I wanted her to give to me. Her last dying breath. Her last drop of blood. Her life. There was nothing greater than that.

There were footsteps from outside the door, the room snapping me out of my pleasure. Quickly I stood up picking the knife and sliding it back into my jacket. I snatched a hatchet that was conveniently on the table behind the couch.

I stood by the door waiting for it to open. When it did I saw who it was and I quickly let their head meet the hatchet I was holding. They fell to the floor with a thud, without a chance of fighting back. Without a chance of seeing who else had perished.

There was a split-second of guilt as I watched the light in Keira's eyes disappearing. But as quickly as the guilt was gone so was her life. I smiled pleased with my work as I watched the blood from both bodies flowing across the floor. Showing, sharing, with me my greatest accomplishment.

'I'm proud of you,' I heard the faded words and then a flash of the clowns face came into view.

--

I woke up breathing heavily, palms sweating. I looked around the room as if it would somehow calm my nerves. There was a light from the hallway coming from underneath my door. It was turned out soon enough followed by the sound of a door nearby closing. Keira's room.

Laying back down the realization of what I had dreamt of, what I had enjoyed, flooded over me. Then I really couldn't breathe.

--

"What's with you?" Harper asked setting down the books she had been carrying. I was pacing the room, running my hands through my hair.

"I had a dream. A nightmare. A…" I sat down not knowing what to think of it or how to even state it.

Harper watched me with concerned eyes before taking a seat close by me. She put a hand on my arm and in a low voice said, "Tell me."

Taking a deep breath I did just that and felt ashamed with each word that came out. Harper listened, her lips were kept straight her face revealed no emotions. When I had finished she nodded her head thinking before she spoke. "Dreams are a way of your subconscious informing you of…"

I stood up knowing exactly what she was going to say. It was what I had been thinking all day, all morning. "That's what I was afraid you were going to tell me," I practically yelled at her. I was agitated not at her but because I knew that this was true. This was what my subconscious was telling me. "This is what I really want to murder people." Under my breath I added, "To murder them."

"Zach." Harper shook her head at me as if in disappointment. She gave me a look that told me I had the right formula but the wrong conclusion. "When you dream your conscious does tell you your greatest desires"-she stood up-"but it also tells you your deepest fears."

Starring at her I asked, "What?" She gave me a small, sorrowful smile.

"The dream you had, the way you regret it assures me that this is what you fear will happen."

"That I'll kill my sister and…Cameron Morgan."

She shook her head. "Not necessarily, they're more symbolical than anything. Since you care about your sister more than anyone else and Cameron…well you don't want to have to kill her that much is obvious. If you have the capability of killing either one of them, both for that matter without guilt or at least only a split-second of guilt than you can kill anyone with ease." She shook her index finger towards me. "And that right there is what you're afraid of, what you fear the most."

"I don't know," I whispered, uncertainty filling my tone.

"Zach, don't beat yourself up about this. Now what happened at the end of again?" Harper asked, a deep in thought look passing over her face.

"I heard 'I'm proud of you' and then…well I heard that." She gave me a look wanting me to finish what I had tried to say. "I saw the clown, the one back when I was five."

"Five? Oh, that clown. Well now I don't think that your subconscious was just telling you that you're afraid of becoming a ruthless killer. But at the end I'm almost positive that it was your dad saying 'I'm proud of you.' You're afraid of becoming like him of killing without a care." There were footsteps coming down the staircase as Harper quickly added in a whisper, "Or of actually finding enjoyment in some part of the killing. The feeling of blood on your hands and then the clowns face that you had shot, had killed when you were five that…you might have enjoyed but don't remember consciously." She went over to her books gathered them just in time when company arrived.

Review. Do you like any of the new characters? Do you hate them? Next chapter should be posted next week.