AN: I'm back, my pretties! Sorry I took so long—I was writing when suddenly I get a call that my nephew swallowed a button battery and it got lodged in his esophagus. Though it was taken out and he's fine now, I wasn't able to write and barely able to reply to your reviews on my phone—and I typed a lot out to most of you, which was really hard to do, lol.

And yet now I'm back home and here I am with the chapter! I don't think there's much to say about it though. A small climax is approaching, yay! And then the really big one…so that's how this story will go in a nutshell, lol. Small climax then big one. Alright, enough babble. I do wanna, really quick, thank all of you for reviewing! We've reached and surpassed the fifty mark! I love you all and really appreciate the feedback!

Also, I apologize for the super short chapter. It was sort of a…bridge to later events, I guess you could call it. There will be more soon! :D

Immolation Chapter 13: Nightmare

"Sometimes dreams can hold the future and you won't even realize it until too late…"

It was windy—so much so that my hair whipped my face and stung my chapped, tear-ridden cheeks. Overwhelming sadness made my chest nearly collapse in on itself, and my limbs felt so amazingly heavy. I looked around myself, snuffling, trying to find some sort of salvation or answer.

What I found was even better. Peter—immediately all the weight on me lifted and I could breathe regularly. He was smiling and looking at me with those same intense eyes, but unlike every other time I saw him I could actually decipher his thoughts and emotions. It was obvious—love. Not familial love, not even a so-called 'friendly' love, but a passionate want and I returned it.

His eyes locked with mine. Mine with his. Everything else stilled—the wind didn't matter, nor the sand or the strangely orange and black sky. I was with Peter and it was so blatantly obvious that he felt for me…and did I feel for him?

Obviously. The way my heart seemed to palpitate and stutter and my palms moistened—my mouth and throat were dry and my eyes stung with a mix of tears from both the wind and the happiness. No second guessing, no insecurities. Peter was here. With me and only me.

I smiled back at him, my emotions and the burning in my nose making it waver and shake. My fingers twitched and ached to touch him, my breastbone on fire as my heart tried to break right through it. Peter—he was all I could think about. I went to call out to him.

But my mouth would not move.

He continued to smile serenely at me, his eyes filled with that love and adoration. They sparkled with glee and excitement. I went to call his name again.

But no sound was made, nor heard.

Panic rose in a sharp, painful wave and flooded my mind, scattering my once happy thoughts. But I calmed myself quickly by taking a deep breath—I'd merely go to him and let my actions speak for themselves. I glanced at his lips and smiled once again, relief a cool ocean breeze to my heart as it slowed.

I stepped forward. But he didn't come closer. No, that wasn't right; I merely didn't move. I went to step forward again, but nothing happened—something weighed me down, wrapping around my legs in an icy grip.

Then I sensed something. I wasn't sure how I knew that silent thing was there, but immediately I turned to see Elle. She smiled and her hands were glowing blue as she walked up to me. I meant to thank her, ask her for help, but she didn't spare me a glance. No, she had only eyes for Peter—my Peter—as she surpassed me and strutted to him. His arms opened. She went to him. They weren't far apart.

Panic stabbed through my chest and gripped my heart in an iron fist yet again. Why couldn't I go to him, show him my affection? What was wrong with me?

I looked down and screamed silently at what I saw there.

Pale hands of granite were wrapped around my ankles, the strangely warped faces of those I never wished to see again looking sadly up at me with amber eyes. But one stuck out, her eyes orange-tinted and pained.

Claire.

I shrieked again, though it wasn't heard by anyone as another marble hand slipped over my mouth. All I could see after that was fiery curls of red.

I shot up from the bed and Claire looked over at me—Peter burst in the door looking around the room wildly. Both of them found nothing to be wrong and simply stared at me with varied levels of annoyance and curiosity. I felt a blush rise to my cheeks as I whispered, "Bad dream."

Claire rolled her eyes and Peter shifted, letting out a breath. "Are you okay now?"

I nodded. He grumbled something and left, shutting off the hall light. Claire gave me one last look and asked permission to go back to sleep. I told her that I needed to go home so I wouldn't wake them up again, because I had the feeling that all that awaited me was more horrors.

So I stayed in the pajamas I had, grabbed the dirty-clothes-bag I kept over here, and pulled on my jacket as I left. The rain was frigid as it beat down on my hair and I shivered, my breath expelled in a puff of white mist.

I walked quickly to the truck and got in, grabbed the keys from the glove-box where Peter had put them, and started the car. One good thing about this old hunk of metal was that the heater was fully functional—and then some. In no time a constant blast of heat hit and relaxed me and I merely closed my eyes as my thoughts began to drift to earlier today.

We had, in fact, gone to the Pablo's Palace that Ms. Mallory had spoken about, but in the end the bartender told us that he hadn't seen Jason in over seventeen years and he hadn't been back since. So we left, our spirits most definitely dampened.

Claire was the most confident that we would be able to find him and stop him from using his powers the way Noah had told us he had—in a manipulative, self-serving way. Noah had also warned us that the man was pretty much without a conscience nowadays and the moment he found out our intentions were to bring him back to the Company we would become an obstacle and our deaths would merely be collateral damage. That made me not so eager to find the man.

But I had to help Peter and Claire as much as I could—quickly they were becoming family and I would never let them down, not when they already did so much for me. They were my crutch in the real world and without them I'd fall.

I wasn't sure when I had become such a dependent person. I remember leaving Phoenix self-reliant and in no need of help whatsoever. Now I found that if I were left completely alone I simply wouldn't be able to function. When had that happened?

And that made me snap back into reality, the realization that I was pathetic. The rain pattered on the window and Peter and Claire's house sat in front of me, the dark night giving it an eerie glow from whatever moon peeked from behind the clouds.

I analyzed every detail of the house I was in more than my very own. That was just sad, that fact—I ignored my real family as opposed to the people who merely made me feel whole again. But I should be able to feel whole on my own, not with help.

That was when I made the decision.

III

Matt Parkman sighed and pulled into a motel, nicer than all the ones he had stayed in on the way here. He looked back at Molly who, under full blast of the heater, had fallen asleep nearly instantaneously and was now softly snoring, her neck bent at an awkward angle as her cheek flattened on the glass of the window.

Next to her was that dreaded painting. He glanced at it again and winced at the horror-filled images he saw there. Shaking his head and averting his gaze, he looked back to Molly. He would leave the painting behind for fear of getting it wet—but Molly was a rather heavy sleeper. So he took off his jacket as he got out of the car and went around, opening the door and grabbing her shoulder to keep her from falling out.

He set his jacket on her and hefted her up into his arms, shutting the car door with his toe and walking into the motel to check in. A friendly looking woman helped him after cooing at a still asleep Molly.

When he was settled into the room, Molly on the bed across from his, he could only fold his hands beneath his head and think. I've made it, finally. But now the task is to find Peter. And how do I go about doing that in a town I've never heard of before? At least there aren't many people around…but it's pretty spread out for such a small town. Not to mention the fact that I have no idea how far in the future any of that occurs and he may not even be here yet. But then again, why would he come here if it wasn't him that I saw shoot off toward the east? Who comes to such a small town willingly?

I could always ask Molly…but she's been talking about the man that scares her every time she tries to use her powers, and I don't wanna force her to do anything she doesn't want to. Which means we're doing it the old fashioned way.

Just great.

He punched his pillow as he rolled over and stared out the small window. He hadn't the slightest clue what to do now but search for him, which could be a bust if he wasn't lucky. But that would have to be tomorrow, he decided. His eyes slowly drifted closed and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

III

D.L. and Micah had taken his rental car—which, admittedly, he couldn't afford, but some quick phasing through a few wallets had made it possible—and set off toward Seattle once again to find Jessica, because he now had a lead on where her local hangout would be and he figured having Micah near would be bait to get her out of the club—not to mention that slimy, dirty hotel with that man that just reeked of child molester was not the kind of place he wanted to leave his son all alone in.

So he told Micah to stay in the car and promptly locked the doors as he ran into the bar; and he saw her immediately. She was dancing provocatively with another man, grinding against him and raising her hands above her head as she moved to the music. She was facing the door but her eyes were closed, so she didn't see him—which was probably good, because he had the feeling she'd try to run if he wasn't there to keep her from doing so.

He walked over and put his hand on her wrist—her eyes snapped open and the man she was with looked up at him with black, angry eyes that contrasted abnormally with his light hair and extremely pale skin. She smirked at him.

"Come to ruin my fun?"

"Let's go, Jessica." She let out a sharp laugh at his words.

"Jessica's gone, Baby."

He shook his head angrily and the man began to make a fuss, but D.L. merely ignored him as he began to drag his wife with him—whoever she was this time. "Then who the hell—?"

"The name's Gina," she cut him off, trying to wiggle out of his grip, but he wasn't about to let her go. "And I'm not leaving," she said defiantly.

He turned and began to plead with the Niki he knew was in there, give her the strength to break free from this 'Gina's' hold. "C'mon, baby. You gotta take control again, Niki."

She shook her head, but looked at him differently—as if she was fighting a battle within her. "Not today, hun."

"Please, Niki, you gotta get out. I've got Micah in the car and we've been looking all over for you."

She stared at him for a moment, but her eyes finally began to soften, tears filling them and spilling over. "D.L., I'm so sorry."

He sighed and wearily put his jacket around her shoulders, looking around. The man she was with was staring, an angry expression on his face as he made his way toward them. He began to lead her away, not responding.

They got out to the car and were about to enter it—Micah bounced excitedly upon seeing his mom—when D.L. got slammed into the door.

Quickly, he spun around and saw the man from the bar, his black eyes full of anger and clouded with a look that could kill—or a look that said he planned to. But what D.L. couldn't understand was how a man so small and thin could pack so much strength as to push him into the car. Though he did have the element of surprise on his side.

D.L. was so tired and so confused, and everything happened too fast for him to keep a perfect record of what went on. The man had grabbed him by the collar and said something about a meal, raising him high into the air. He heard Niki scream and Micah pound on the windows, but suddenly everything stopped.

He was on the ground and his head was pounding. Niki lifted him and he shook his head, looking around to see the man gone, as if he were never there. No shady figure disappearing into the shadows, no car taking off. He was simply gone.

Deciding to put it out of his mind, he turned around.

But that was when he realized that, like the man, Micah was nowhere to be found.

III

Victoria wasn't sure what it was that had compelled her when she acted so out of character. Maybe it was because his blood had smelled so like James's before she changed him—maybe it was the feeling she got, that natural instinct for talent that she had been channeling as of late in order to find the best for her army. Whatever had made her act so rashly continued to take effect as the child was limp in her arms, unconscious.

She knew the rules of the vampire world—never to expose oneself and never to change a child under eight years of age. And yet she hadn't the slightest clue this child's age and she was running a high risk by grabbing him. But there was an impulse deep within her—she hadn't paid attention to Riley or the black man he was about to feed from or even the screaming woman that could attract attention. She only smelled the fear in that sweet blood and knew immediately that she needed to save him.

She could even possibly blame it on dormant maternal instincts flaring to life at the wrong time. All she knew was that she had whispered Riley's name, snapping him out of his angry hunger and grabbed both he and the child at the speed of light, making off before either panicked human could realize what had happened. A knock on the head later and here she was, jogging toward her hide-out, the boy's curly black hair whipping his face as he shivered against the wind. He was precious somehow—not only of the cute kind of variety, but something valuable to her. He would aid her in some way; she just needed to find out how.

Finally, like a delayed reaction, the first scream erupted from his lips.

III- The next day, Claire and Peter's residence –III

Claire looked up from her cereal to Peter, who was looking out the window with a strange expression on his face. She knew now was the perfect time to approach the subject of Bella, but she really wasn't sure how. She couldn't right out ask if he had feelings for her, he'd deny it. But at the same time beating around the bush could also be tricky and make him get suspicious. She needed to be very careful.

"So," she began, twirling her spoon in the milk and soggy bits of chocolate. He looked up. "Thanks a bunch for saving Bella yesterday. If something happened to her it'd be really bad."

She knew her wording was atrocious, but she plowed through it and looked up at him. "No problem—I wouldn't be able to handle it if Bella had been…or you, or anyone I know…" he trailed off in an almost indecisive tone…but there was a pause before he mentioned anyone but Bella…was that a sign? She wasn't sure.

"Bella's really special to me, really, it was a big deal," she decided to say, hoping he'd somehow manage to catch on that she wanted to explore his thoughts on said girl. He didn't, obviously.

"I know." A nod. She nearly rolled her eyes, men, so difficult!

"Speaking of Bella…" she decided to dive in as delicately as possible. Is it possible to dive in delicately? I wonder… But that's a mystery for another day. "I've noticed you two don't hang out so much. Do you not like her?"

He shook his head with a small grin that wasn't entirely for her. "Of course I like her, Claire. I just work a lot, remember?"

He said he likes her! But he didn't say he liked her any more than I implied…which could go either way…crap. How do you like her Peter, how?

"I dunno," she tried. "I feel like you could make more of an effort." She nodded enthusiastically to accentuate her point.

His mouth dropped open. "I'm civil to her and she's here practically every day—we hung out when you were gone! Claire, I think I do try."

They hung out! Could it be…? And what if it is? Would I be okay with it? "So you're just civil—and that's where it ends? I'm more than civil to even my enemies, Peter."

He sighed, "Well, obviously I'm more than civil to her but—you get the point, Claire."

She mimicked his sigh with one of her own, knowing that she wasn't getting anywhere, leaned her head on her hand and jabbed her spoon into her bowl. "I miss her cooking."