Rachel didn't sleep all night, racked with anxiety after the chilling phone call she had received. She had stood by the phone in the downstairs passage for almost five minutes before coming to her senses and scampering back upstairs to wake Finn. Her fiancée, however, was more worried about the valuable sleep time they were losing than the phantom caller whose words had sent chills down Rachel's spine.

"For the last time Rach," he said the next morning through a mouthful of cereal. "It was probably just some idiot pulling a stupid prank. Don't let it get to you."

"But what if it wasn't?" she persisted, pacing the kitchen floor anxiously. "Think about it Finn. They said 'Schuester was right', that means they heard what we were talking about at the funeral. If it's true, it means Mr Schue wasn't paranoid- somebody was out to get him."

"OK," Finn said reasonably. "Let's just say it was real. Did you recognise the voice?"

Rachel shook her head. "They were using some sort of voice changer. I couldn't even tell if they were male or female, and I'm scared. I mean, why would they go to the trouble of doing something like that if they weren't serious?"

Finn reached out to stop her from pacing, his large hand wrapping around her wrist as he pulled her to him. Rachel tried to pull away, but Finn held firm and stroked her hair comfortingly.

"Rach, I'm sorry I didn't take you seriously last night. If it makes you feel any better, we'll report this to the police. We can go right now if you want."

"There's no point Finn, they'll just palm it off as a prank like you did. Until something else happens-"

"If something else happens Rach. If. The best thing you can do is put it to the back of your mind. Maybe it was a one-off."

"Maybe," Rachel said doubtfully. "But I don't think so."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," said Finn. He planted a quick kiss on Rachel's left cheek. "Just try to forget about it. Mom wants us to go to them for lunch today, try to focus on that instead."

Rachel nodded weakly.

"I'm going to take a shower," she murmured, pulling out of Finn's comforting embrace.

"Can I join you?"

The first genuine smile since the phone call flitted across Rachel's face as Finn chased her up the stairs. Five minutes later, the power shower was in full flow. The jet of water cascading down seemed to wash away all of Rachel's inhibitions, and for a few moments she managed to forget about her worries.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Matt Rutherford groaned as he rolled lethargically from the bed in the Changs' guest room. His head was pounding; last night had not been a good idea. After Mike helped him and Jesse to move the few belongings they had brought with them into the bedrooms which would be theirs for the week, the three of them had decided to hit one of the local bars to relax; the funeral had everyone on edge. Unfortunately for him, Matt had forgotten what a night out with Mike Chang entailed. The evening had turned into a heavy drinking session, in which Mike and Matt reminisced loudly about their days in middle and high school before Matt's move to Texas and Jesse attempted to keep up with the conversation while drinking his body weight in alcohol. Matt could vaguely recall him passing out on top of the bouncer after the last round of vodka shots.

Padding downstairs while attempting not to move his head, Matt found Mike pottering around the large kitchen, moving to the beat of some R&B tune on the radio. He was even whistling, for crying out loud.

"Dude," Matt groaned. "How are you so chirpy at this hour?"

"Matthew my friend, it's almost one. And in answer to your question: practice."

Matt chuckled and instantly regretted the action. "Where's St Douche?"

"OK, seriously stop calling him that," Mike chastised, struggling to smother a snort. "What are you, fourteen? I thought you were supposed to be the mature one. Jesse's OK. And he's in the bathroom puking his guts up."

"Ugh, cos I needed that image."

"You asked," Mike shrugged with a maddening grin. Matt shuddered as Jesse staggered into the kitchen. He looked like death warmed up, with large shadows blooming beneath his eyes and a sickly sheen to his sallow skin. Matt groaned sympathetically.

"Dude, you look like I feel."

Jesse grimaced. "Not so loud," he said hoarsely, placing a trembling hand to his temples. "How much did I drink?"

"I was too busy trying to stop you hitting on everything with two breasts to keep track," Mike chuckled. "Breakfast?"

Jesse blanched. "I doubt I can keep down anything more than water. Do you mind if I step outside for a few minutes? I think I need some air."

"Sure thing, there's a bench on the veranda."

"I'll be out in a couple of minutes," Matt told Jesse. "Gotta find some Aspirin or something first."

"Alright then," Jesse said. He shambled out through the hall and the front door and was just about to settle himself on the neat pine bench when a package on the front steps caught his eye. Wincing slightly in the bright midday sunlight, he bent down and picked it up. To his great surprise, the name written on the front of the plain brown paper was not that of Mike Chang or any of the Chang family, but his own. He smirked to himself; although his showbiz career had never exactly been the glowing success he had envisioned at eighteen when he packed his bags and headed for California, he still had a select group of dedicated fans who popped up in the most unexpected places. Somebody in Lima must have spotted him last night and wanted to show their love for his work. A warm glow filled him as he quickly opened the neatly wrapped gift. Out fell a small, silver photo frame.

"What's that?" said a voice behind him, making him jump. It was just Matt, who had sloped out onto the veranda with a glass of water and a pained expression on his face. Jesse held the frame up wordlessly for him to see. "Weird gift."

"I know, right," Jesse mumbled, staring mystified at the little frame glinting in the morning sun. In spite of the warm weather, he shivered. Something didn't feel right.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

"I missed you San," Brittany said happily as the former Cheerios sat with Artie at Santana's small dining table, sipping coffee. "It's good to see you again."

"You too Britt, and you Artie. It's been way too long. I wish Carmen was here too, but I sent her on a sleepover to her cousins for the next few days. I really don't think I could have dealt with all this funeral stuff with her bouncing off the walls."

"I'm sure we'll be seeing more of her in the future," said Artie with a wry smile at Brittany which the blonde returned. She reached across and squeezed her husband's hand under the table. She giggled maddeningly.

"What do you mean?" Santana asked curiously. Artie merely pushed his glasses further up his nose knowingly. "Spill, Abrams, it may be a while since high school but I still know how to give a killer slushie facial."

"Alright, alright," Artie laughed, holding his hands up in defeat. Brittany jiggled her chair a little closer to him and beamed. "The company's opening a new branch here in Lima. They've asked me to be branch manager."

"You mean...?" Santana asked slowly. Artie and Brittany nodded in unison. "But Britt, your dance school..."

"The demand's too big anyway, so we're opening one here," Brittany explained. "And Finn told us yesterday that Mike's really sad in New York, so I'm going to ask him to come teach with me tonight."

"So you two are really... you're really coming home?" Santana asked, hardly daring to hope. Her two former classmates grinned widely as she emitted a shriek and dashed around the table to engulf Brittany in a warm embrace. "I... this is amazing! Mike'll be over the moon, this is the break he's been waiting for and I... I can't believe you're coming home Britt!" she gushed, before she remembered herself and shot Artie a deathly look. "But if you tell anyone I showed a hint of a soul, I'll-"

"I know, I know, you'll give me a slushie facial," Artie finished for her with a roguish grin. Santana poked her tongue out at him but then allowed a genuine smile to flit across her features.

"Maybe not," she said contentedly over Brittany's shoulder. "You did just give me my best friend back."

Before they could continue their conversation, the buzzer sounded. Santana peeled herself away from Brittany, still beaming, and answered.

"Yeah?"

"Uh... I've got a package here for a... Santana Lopez?" said a bored voice through the speaker.

"Come on up."

Santana pulled open the door to face a freckle-faced teenage boy who was holding a large cardboard box and a clipboard, which he handed to Santana to sign.

"Hey," she said, accepting the package. "I don't think I ordered anything online."

"Nah, it's a gift package," the boy explained. "Bye now."

"Bye," Santana said, bemused. She returned to the kitchen with the box and plonked it down on the table. "Weird."

"What's up?" Artie asked.

"I just got a 'gift package', only there's no note."

"What's inside?" Brittany asked eagerly. Santana shrugged and opened the box. Her heart leaped when she saw the familiar BreadstiX logo on the paper bag inside.

"Somebody seriously loves me," she whispered, half-wondering if Puck had finally stopped acting like a man-child and chasing down everything with a pulse and a pair of boobs. However, her delight soon turned to disgust as she ripped back the bag. "What the hell?"

The bag was full of breadsticks, but they were all charred and blackened. Santana pushed the box away, her stomach plummeting as though she had missed a step on the stairs.

"Must be a faulty batch," Artie said helpfully, holding up one flaky black breadstick with interest. "You should complain."

"Damn straight," Santana scowled. "They burned their 'sticks. That's like frickin' sacrilege!"

"You can tell the manager this evening," Artie said, attempting to calm her down. There was a vein pulsing in the Latina's neck that reminded him forcibly of Sue Sylvester on one of her patented rampages of the halls of McKinley. Once she had even tried to shoot Brittany out of a cannon, and though Artie knew Santana wouldn't take it that far, he knew how strongly the former cheerleader felt when it came to BreadstiX.

"Damn straight," Santana mumbled again, sulking. "They better give me a whole year's supply to make up for this. Tonight can't come fast enough."

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Blaine woke to find the space next to him empty. He smiled softly as he pulled himself upright. Kurt was definitely the morning person in this relationship. He breathed in the crisp, vanilla scent which seemed to be imbued in the Hummel-Hudsons' guest bedroom as he jammed an oversized, threadbare Warblers sweater over his dark curls. He knew it was stupid, holding onto such a cheesy high school memento, but Blaine considered himself to be something of a romantic and the Warblers had brought him and Kurt together. He liked to hold onto that in whatever way he could.

Padding downstairs he found his stomach growling as the delicious scent of bacon filled his nostrils. He grinned and quickened his pace. Sure enough, when he poked his head around the kitchen door he saw Kurt standing with his back to him, humming merrily under his breath as he watched the bacon sizzling on the pan. A wry smile crossed Blaine's face as he recognised the song Kurt was humming as Teenage Dream, the song he himself had sung the first time they met. He padded silently across the cool tiles and wrapped his arms around Kurt from behind.

"Blaine!" Kurt gasped, tensing beneath his grasp. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Nope," he replied cheerfully. "Just distracting you so I can nab some bacon."

With a wink he leaned over Kurt's shoulder and nabbed a piece of perfectly-cooked bacon. The other man attempted to scowl, his facade betrayed by a twitch of his lips as he watched Blaine eat with amusement. Blaine tried to grab another sliver of bacon, but Kurt rapped him neatly on the knuckles with his slotted spoon and, before he could cry out, planted a kiss on his pursed lips. Blaine grinned, surprised, and eagerly leaned in for more.

"Gross!"

The pair sprang apart guiltily to find themselves being scrutinised by Kurt's 9 year-old twin half-sisters, Andrea and Alison, both of whom were wearing expressions of distinct disgust. The girls were identical; both had inherited Kurt's pale complexion and vivid green eyes, as well as Finn's rather endearing clumsiness. Kurt had coerced them into letting him braid their long brown hair last night, so now both girls had soft waves hanging down their backs and had their button noses scrunched up identically.

"Finn said if you two did that in public again he'd post a video of you on YouTube," Andrea said gravely to her half-brother. "Something about a shirt like Daddy's and something called Mellencamp."

"Huh?" Blaine asked, mystified, as Kurt turned deathly pale.

"Damn Rachel for teaching him how to use a computer," his husband muttered. He smiled broadly at the twins and bent down so that he was at their eye-level. "This never leaves the room, and I'll give you both a makeover. Deal?"

The twins exchanged brief glances before exclaiming in unison, "Deal."

Kurt breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to serving up breakfast. The twins dropped Blaine cheeky winks and high-fived each other before dashing back up to their bedroom. Blaine chuckled in bemusement and squeezed Kurt's shoulder playfully.

"You know you just got played by a couple of nine-year-olds, right?"

"Nine-year-olds as precocious as I was at that age," Kurt corrected him absent-mindedly. "Albeit without my fashion sense- it's the Finn influence."

Their playful banter was interrupted by the sound of a car door slamming.

"I think that's the mail," Kurt tossed over his shoulder. "Would you mind getting it? I'm almost ready to serve up here."

"No problem."

Blaine made his way out the front door and out to the Hummel-Hudsons' neat mailbox, which had been erected the summer before Finn and Kurt departed for college. The event in question had resulted in a rather hilarious home video which Carole had shown to Blaine on his first visit to the Hummel-Hudson house as Kurt's official 'partner'. The slightly grainy footage showed Finn attempting to elbow Kurt, who was holding a tin of pink paint and glitter, out of the way, and subsequently hammering a nail into Burt's thumb rather than the wooden post, while Carole gasped with mirth from behind the shaking camera. Blaine had found it to be a suitably instructive introduction to his future extended family.

Sure enough, Kurt's keen hearing was right; the mail had arrived. Blaine opened the mailbox and withdrew a couple of bills, a glossy flyer for Emerald Dreams and, to his great surprise, a small package wrapped in brown paper bearing his own name. For a moment he wondered if it was one of Kurt's little gifts- he was forever attempting to coerce Blaine into wearing new colours or styling his hair slightly differently- but he didn't recognise the handwriting. Confused, he ripped open the wrappings and out fell a small silver photo frame. Blaine rifled through the torn wrappings, but there was no note. Mystified, he returned inside and, over breakfast, discussed the mysterious package. Kurt reckoned it was probably one of his former glee club members- Brittany was always sending random packages across the country, and it could be a heavily-veiled piece of innuendo from either Puck or Santana. Blaine shrugged and pocketed it; he could find out at BreadstiX later.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

By eight o'clock almost the entire group had gathered in BreadstiX. Rachel, as usual, had been overly prepare for the occasion, and had joined together two tables on which her former classmates could lay their photos of their time in glee club with Mr Schue, while Finn had commandeered the TV behind the counter which was usually used for showing sports so that various videos of New Directions could be shown in tribute to their former teacher and mentor. The couple had decided not to mention the call Rachel had received the previous night; there had been no follow-up, and everybody was on edge enough already following the revelations at the funeral.

Matt had disappeared in the direction of the bathrooms, as he was expecting a phonecall from Leah, his wife, and wanted some privacy. Most of the rest of the group were clustered around the homage to Mr Schuester, tearfully smiling and pointing out events they had forgotten about, while Santana argued furiously with the manager about the package she had received that morning. The tight-faced, middle-aged woman was denying allowing any such package to leave the restaurant.

"Hey Kurt, where's Blaine?" Mike asked as he shared a laugh with the thinner boy at the sight of the two of them dressed in their theatricality costumes. Kurt wore a tribute to Lady Gaga, while Mike looked ridiculous in leathers and white makeup with cat whiskers. Kurt shook with laughter as he regarded the picture fondly.

"Oh, Dad cornered him to talk about 'his intentions'," he explained with an affected little shudder. "Honestly, anyone would think he was out to steal my virtue, I don't think the fact that we're married has sunk in yet. He'll be along later, and he said he'd give Jesse a ride here."

"Awesome," Mike beamed. "The dude's wall-falling, so I told him to take a nap and come along later."

The pair glanced across the room at the sound of a riled "Fine!"

Santana was wearing an expression like thunder and stormed in the direction of the bathrooms without a backward glance at the rest of the shocked group.

"Uh... I guess they wouldn't give her more breadsticks," Artie said lamely. Brittany moved to follow her friend, but Artie grabbed her wrist. "Give her a minute to calm down," he advised his wife. "Knowing Santana, she could take someone's head off."

"I guess so," Brittany agreed, biting her plump lower lip anxiously. Then her expression cleared and she hurried over to join Mike and Kurt. "Hey Mike, I need to ask you something. It's really important-"

She broke off suddenly as the restaurant was engulfed in darkness. There was a chorus of frightened murmuring and the staff began to shout instructions to each other in the dim light.

"We probably blew a fuse," the tight-faced manager was informing her employees. "Jaycee, try the generator by the ladies' room."

There were footsteps, presumably as the waitress, Jaycee, shuffled towards the back passageway leading to the bathrooms. Hushed murmurings broke out as the customers waited for the problem to be resolved. Then a bloodcurdling shriek split the air.

"Somebody call 911!" came the terrified voice of the waitress, Jaycee. "There's a body in here!"

As the lights came back up and Kurt began to dial the emergency services, there was a stampede for the bathroom passageway. The former New Directions members were to the fore, and it was Puck who managed to elbow his way into the ladies' room. He stopped in his tracks, causing both Sam and Finn to bump into him, and let out a noise like a puppy whose paw has been stamped on.

Rachel's scream broke the spell holding the rest of the group in shock.

The waitress, Jaycee, was holding a large, heavy pipe in a threatening way, facing a pair of figures crouched in one of the bathroom stalls. Behind the figures, Puck realised with crippling agony, was Santana Lopez, and she was dead. There was a gaping wound in her scalp, and an expression of intense horror was frozen in place on her face. To his revulsion, her skirt had been hitched up and her underwear removed.

"Get the hell away from her, you bastards!" Puck howled, fighting against the strong hold of Finn and Sam as Brittany attempted to do the same in Mike and Mercedes' grasp. "Don't-touch-her-again!"

The figures turned as one, and there was blood on their hands. Matching expressions of shock and confusion washed across their faces and at their feet was a photograph. Glancing over Puck's shoulder, Sam could make out the image of Santana in her Rocky Horror outfit. Her face had been scribbled out in red Sharpie. Bile rose in his throat as he stared at the two figures staring fearfully back at them, cornered.

It was Jesse and Blaine.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Dun-dun-dun! Cliffie much?

Sorry Santana fans, I really didn't want to kill her off but somebody had to go first. I'd appreciate if you didn't come searching for me with torches and pitchforks; believe me, I feel bad enough already.

As usual, thanks to the following wonderful readers who have reviewed since my last update: Readingtoomuch, FireApe, swimgirl822, Murgy31, Amy, Lizardgirl7, Gleeksupport, Jade Iceshard BloodRayne, Rocketship2mars, Bonesluver, sdmwd1115, Kara, Always-be-dreaming-of-you and lydiabones. Don't stop reviewin' guys!

Thanks for reading, please drop me a line to tell me what you think!