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Caela had been sent by her father to fetch this boy child who was now the hope of the people. She stared openly at him while they were resting the horse. He was small for six and looked barely able to accomplish the normal activities of a young boy, much less take on the responsibilities of the expectations set for him.

She had been her father's favorite child for twenty years. But now this long-awaited son had come of age and stories were spreading around the countryside of his powerful, albeit untamed magic. He and his mother would now live at the palace with them and she knew her place in her father's eyes would be taken by him. With all her will, she froze her emotions. She must maintain control.

"Time is wasting," she snapped, climbing back into the driver's seat of the cart. She didn't even wait to see if they were in, before slapping the horse's back with the reins. The child, who had been lifted in by his mother, screamed as her hands were jerked loose from the side of the cart. As she stumbled and fell, thunder boomed overhead and the wind, which had been nonexistent only moments before, whipped madly around them. Taken aback, Caela stopped the horse and allowed the woman to climb in. The sky returned to its former calm and the wind disappeared. She saw that the child was totally unaware of his power. He had no control as of yet and would need his father's training in order to harness it.

The dry landscape they passed was devoid of any living things. The only places that had been blessed with rain recently were the areas around the child's village and as the weather monger became more feeble, only sporadically around the palace. Once able to nourish the entire land, Kalak's power had dwindled until he could affect only his immediate vicinity.

The child was crying now and his mother gently rocked him in her arms, desperately trying to soothe him. He was confused and did not want to leave his home. But this time his crying only produced a light rain that felt marvelous on Caela's skin. "Let him cry," she told his mother coldly. "Just do not allow hysterics."

Eventually, the child slept and the hot dry air returned. Caela glanced back and saw the mother silently weeping. The woman irritated her. She should be joyful that her son was soon to have the highest position in all the land. But the way she acted, you'd have thought she was accompanying him to his death instead of glory.

Suddenly, the horse reared in its traces and pawed at the air. Straightening up in her seat, Caela tried to control him. She saw the snake in the road only after the horse plunged past it, galloping wildly. The cart bounced high into the air, coming down hard. The child was thrown from the cart onto a soft patch of sand. The terrified horse continued a short distance before he finally halted, trembling and blowing.

Caela shakily jumped from the cart and ran to where the child lay unmoving. She envisioned her father's anger if she failed to deliver him as promised. The mother was already there, bending over him.

"Let me look!" Caela commanded. But the woman resisted, covering her son's body with her arms. "Move, I said," Caela pushed the woman aside and knelt down by the boy. No cuts or broken bones were visible. As she pushed aside his loose-fitting garments in search of injuries, his mother attacked her from behind, clawing at her face. "What is the matter with you?" Pushing the woman off roughly, Caela turned back to the child and saw with amazement that she was not a boy at all. Her hair and clothes were fashioned to disguise the indisputable fact that was now revealed. The small girl opened her eyes and looked up at Caela dazedly.

The anger and resentment she had felt toward the child were suddenly gone, replaced by pity. For she would surely be killed. There was no threat here after all. Now the mother's misery made sense. Caela felt ashamed of her behavior. After all, she knew what it was to be a daughter where, at best, her status was that of a favorite pet in lieu of the desired and unobtainable son. But now with a spark of excitement, she realized that the secret hope she had nurtured all her life might still be possible.

"Well what shall we do now?" She said, not unkindly, to the mother.

Desperately, the woman began explaining. "I could not teach her to hide the magic. It was too strong. She does not even know she does it. So my only hope was to disguise her until she came of age. I told everyone she was a male from the day of her birth . . . the day the first rain in almost a year came." She looked beseechingly at Caela. "Cannot you continue my secret?"

Caela helped the child to her feet. She seemed unharmed. "All I can do," she said almost to herself, "is to see to it that she is not discovered for a time until we can think of something." The mother's hopeful smile tugged at Caela's heart. She knew it was unlikely, as long as her father still lived, that the secret could remain hidden for long. But he was very old and his days left on the earth were few, she knew.

Continuing on their way, Caela's mind chewed on this new development like a palace dog savoring a forbidden bone, but all the while expecting the master's kick. Peripherally, she noticed the usual contrast between the weather monger's land and the barrenness of the rest of the area was somewhat dimmed. Distractedly, she wondered at the change.

As they neared the gates of the palace, a rider came out to meet them. "I've been sent to inform you of your father's death. There is much anguish over how the child will be taught now. You are to go immediately to Kalak's chambers."

The torrent of emotions these words brought to Caela, grief, hope, guilt, triumph and most of all, a dizzying sense of freedom, was finally more than she could repress. The rider fell from his horse in shock and terror as the first female wielder of the magic since her ill-fated ancestor, stood with arms raised to the darkening heavens. The cry that came from Caela's lips joined with the shrieking wind and cracking thunder. Lightning bolts struck the ground in a perfect circle around her. And then the rains came . . . as did her tears. The mother and child stood in awe of the woman before them who had also once been a child struggling to subdue the forbidden magic. The mother gripped her daughter's hand, knowing now that everything would be all right.

Brenda Summers also felt comforted by this assumption. She and her son had lived in Gracen for a peaceful uneventful year now. After the impersonal anonymity of Atlanta, Gracen was a breath of fresh air both literally and figuratively. Her upbringing had been filled with abuse and poverty. The loveless atmosphere of her home had driven her out to fend for herself by the age of thirteen. Like many such children, Brenda was tough and hardened by life. But there had always been something remarkable about her that set her apart from the rest. Hope for a better life had never quite been extinguished from her heart.

She had worked as a bartender in Atlanta, but when her son, Denny, neared school age, she took stock of their situation. She didn't want him to go to the racially troubled and often, violent Atlanta schools. So they packed up and moved to Gracen. She had a friend there, from her early street days. After being busted for prostitution, Kay had ended up marrying the cop who had arrested her.

Brenda was thinking about all this as she hurried home from the bar where she worked. Sam had let her off early tonight so she could take Denny Trick or Treating, another great thing about small towns. Kids could actually still do that here. Denny was six and this would be his very first time. He had been talking about it all week.

"Mom, look at me!" Denny burst through the door of the trailer and was running out to meet her before she even managed to get out of the pick-up. His plastic Frankenstein costume flapping behind him, he bounded to her. She could see his dancing blue eyes through the eyeholes of the mask. She gasped and put her hand over her heart in mock terror.

"Did I scare you?" Denny crowed. She playfully swatted him on the behind as she climbed out of the truck.

"Oh,it's just you. I thought you were a monster." Kay had followed Denny out by now and grinned at Brenda.

"Scary,isn't he? You guys have fun. I gotta get home now. Jim hasn't eaten yet."

Dick Shay observed the happy little scene next door through his bedroom window. So heart warming, so touching it was. Well he'd fix that brat's wagon tonight. Yessiree. He'd had enough of the kid, with his damn baseball always flying into his yard. It came near to breaking out a window once. Little shit was noisy too, with that siren he had on his bike. Shay never liked kids in the first place, but absolutely couldn't stand this one. Well he'd had enough. Chuckling to himself, he hurried into the kitchen. Taking the single cellophane package down from its hiding place, he examined it for telltale sticky places. It probably wouldn't kill the brat. It was just enough to shut him up for a while. Oh, this was fun. He couldn't wait to witness the reaction the kid's slut of a mother would have. That was the best part. And of course, he would be so sympathetic. It might be fun to let her know later though. Hadn't performed this particular task since he'd lived here in this God forsaken excuse for a town. They'd never caught him the other times in Birmingham, because he was a master. Humming to himself, he placed the cookie on top of the bowl of candy by the front door.

"Okay, Denny. Remember. Don't eat nothing until I can check it out. We'll start on this street." Brenda knew most of the people on the street vaguely, if not well. She thought they were okay. After all, there was everything from an elementary school teacher to a cop living there. She went with Denny to the front doors of homes and watched him rake in the treats for an hour or so, always urging him to do the polite thing and say thank you. Finally, she called a halt to it and they returned home. Denny's bag was bulging.

"Okay chief, lemme look." He dumped his bag on the table and she looked at all the candy and treats, only rejecting the apple and unwrapped popcorn ball. You couldn't be too careful even in Gracen. Everything else looked securely wrapped and she gave the go-ahead with a warning. "Don't eat it all tonight or you'll be sorry tomorrow." Denny whooped and took his bag of treasures away to his room.

Brenda got a beer from the refrigerator and settled down on the sofa to watch a little television before bedtime. Things were good, she thought as she slipped into a light doze.

"Mommy!" The terror in the word registered in Brenda's subconscious and brought her out of sleep with a start. Denny was standing in front of her. A trickle of bright red blood slipped from the corner of his mouth and ran down his chin. He was clutching his throat, his eyes wide with fear and pain. "It hurts, Mom," was the last thing he said before falling in a heap beside the sofa.

At the hospital, Brenda was questioned about the candy Denny ate. They believed he'd ingested something containing a caustic drain cleaner. His mouth, esophagus and stomach were severely burned. The prognosis was uncertain. They were doing everything they could, but it may have been a fatal dose that some sicko injected the Halloween treat with.

After inspecting the wrappers on Denny's bed, the police determined that the oatmeal cookie was the most likely vehicle for the deadly substance. But after scouring the neighborhood, they found no evidence of the cookies or the syringe needed to inject the substance into it.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Nothing else can be done. We have no evidence to pin a suspect with. If you learn anything else, maybe we can do something."

Brenda's whole body shook as tears streamed down her cheeks. "You assholes can't just quit. Some scumbag out there tried to kill Denny." Kay put an arm around her, trying to calm her down, but Brenda shook her off. "I swear to you. If you mother fuckers don't get off your lazy asses and find this mother fucker and put him away, I will find him. I'll kill his ass too. You just watch me."

"Now Brenda, you've got to calm down. Don't go doing anything crazy. Denny needs you now. You go killin' people and who'll nurse Denny back to health?" Jim said as he and another cop firmly guided her to a chair. She recognized the other cop as the one that lived next door. They had trick or treated at his house. Suddenly, a vision of him standing at the door, smiling and holding out something to Denny's bag . . . a couple of hard candies and a larger cellophane-wrapped cookie, an oatmeal cookie. She stared at him.

"You gave him an oatmeal cookie. I saw you. I didn't remember until just this moment. It's the only one he got and you gave it to him."

Shay put a sincere and pitying expression on his face. He was an expert at this. "No, ma'am. All I gave out was butterscotch. You can ask the other police that checked out the neighborhood. They checked my house too, you know. That's all there was."

"You're lying. Jim, he's lying."

"She's hysterical, Jim. They must have gone to twenty houses or more. She couldn't possibly remember everything everybody put in his bag." Shay sadly shook his head and smiled sympathetically. "Miss. Summers, I know how you must feel. I'd be upset too, but I assure you I wouldn't hurt a child."

The hours crawled by as Brenda waited. Periodically she was allowed to see Denny, but only for a few minutes at a time. He was so pale. As she stood looking down at him, she swore to herself Shay would pay. She knew in her heart that he was the one. She also knew that the police would not pursue her accusations against one of their own. So she would have to be judge and jury. But for Denny's sake, if he made it out of this, she would have to be careful. She couldn't kill Shay. But maybe there was some other way.

When morning came, Denny was out of danger. He would survive, but it would be a long painful recovery. The burns were so severe, he would not be able to speak and his ability to eat and breathe would be severely impaired. After much urging from the nurses, Brenda left the hospital. But what she had in mind was much different from the sleep she was encouraged to get.

After several stops at stores where she was not known, she drove to a deserted dump site. Her gloved fingers worked quickly. Afterwards, she threw away the rest in the dumpster, burying it deep within the refuse. When she pulled up in her driveway, she looked at Shay's house. The patrol car was there. She knocked on his door, trying to keep the hatred and fury at bay. She had to be convincing if she was to get a chance to plant the evidence. He answered the door, surprise evident in his face.

"Why Miss Summers," he said cautiously. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I wanted to um, apologize for my behavior yesterday. I was in shock. Uh, can I come in?"

She watched as a relieved smile spread across his face. "Sure, come on in." He ushered her to a chair and said,"Can I get you anything . . .something to drink, oatmeal cookie, anything?"

She stared disbelieving at him. "What did you say?"

Shay threw back his head and laughed. "I ask you if you wanted an oatmeal cookie. I have regular or Draino flavored. Take your pick." The torrent of hatred that shot through her left no room for caution or rationality. Before he could react, she had his revolver that was lying on the end table, out of its holster and pointed at his temple.

"You know," she said softly and almost tenderly. "My only regret is that when they find your body and this, they'll think you had a conscience, you bastard." She took the cookie out of her pocket and waved it in front of his face. "They'll think you just couldn't take the guilt. They'll shake their heads and be shocked that you would do such a thing. And me, why I'll be home asleep like the nurses told me." As his eyes widened, she pulled the trigger.

Before she could get halfway there, a hand clutched at her elbow. Annoyed, she looked at the hand and then up at the owner. It was that hideous voodoo woman Don had thought would add an amusing touch to the party. Her name was Madam Bonet and she was something of a local legend. Many of the low-level workers in the company attributed this woman with everything from powers of healing to exacting revenge on their enemies. She was a swamp creature as far as Clair was concerned, just like the rest of the trash around here, with their swarthy skin and secretive eyes. Clair shuddered at her touch. The woman had dark wrinkled skin and wild fly away hair streaked with gray. Her piercing gaze was unwavering.

"What do you want?" Clair asked the woman contemptuously.

"You take this, yes?" the woman said. Her other hand came up in front of Clair's face, holding an object. Clair looked disbelievingly at it. It was a miniature figure of herself. It even had the same navy blue silk suit she had on.

"I made it for you," the old woman said. Her grin seemed to crack open her dry fissured face. "You keep it safe and you'll be took care of, you will, missy." The woman chuckled and pushed the doll into Clair's hand.

Clair could not believe this. Impatiently, she took the doll, figuring that accepting the thing would be the quickest way to escape this horrible woman. It was unpleasantly damp, making the silk cling to the figure's body. As she touched a finger to the dark hair exactly like her own, she saw that it too was wet. "Why is this thing wet?" she demanded.

"I spilled a little water on it is all. Don you worry none. It will dry right enough, you know." Before Clair could reply, the old woman was gone, swallowed by a sea of drunken merry makers.

She made her way through the crowd, forcing the scowl off her face. She went through the motions of expressing her enjoyment of the party to Don Jones. Making an excuse about having drunk too much and not feeling well, she fled to her Mercedes. Forgetting about the doll she had stuffed in her jacket pocket, she started the car and pulled away, heading for home.

Actually, she hadn't even finished one drink. She abhorred drunks and never allowed herself to lose her control even for a moment. Musing on her recent victory and ensuing promotion, the dark bayou silently slipped by unnoticed. She was now second in command in the Louisiana Fertilizer Corporation. Because of her steel will and brilliance, the company had made millions and was now one of the leading companies of its kind in the south. In spite of strong opposition from some board members that were sickeningly sympathetic to the locals, she had cut costs dramatically by firing most of the workers that had run the phosphorus mines and replacing them with computers and machines. She saved only the jobs that absolutely had to be performed by human drudgery. Thousands of jobs had been lost and she had definitely become unpopular with the people, but the corporation was growing by leaps and bounds.

Now she had her eye on Don's job, and felt confident she would eventually bump him off the ladder and be at the top herself. She was from New York after all and had a masters degree in business administration. Thinking of her prospects, she felt the familiar thrill she always associated with power. She felt invincible and all lingering unpleasantness caused by the events of the party was vanquished.

She turned down the road that led to her home which was still a good thirty minutes away. Suddenly, she felt something move at her side. She looked down and saw the bulge in her pocket ripple the fabric. Clapping a hand down over it, she felt the object inside move. She hesitated a moment and then pushed her hand into the pocket and came out with the doll. The thing writhed in her hand. With a grunt of disgust, she threw it on the passenger seat. It sat up and looked at her.

With a screech of brakes, Clair pulled to the side of the road and stopped. In utter shock and disbelief, she stared at the doll, who stared back. Grabbing a cup out of its holder that she had drank coffee from that morning, she clapped it down over the tiny replica of herself. Looking around for something to put over the top of it, she saw nothing. She was fastidiously neat and no clutter at all was present. Kicking off a shoe, she snatched a knee-high nylon from her leg. Lifting the cup's edge just enough to get the nylon under it, she effectively imprisoned the doll within. She flipped the cup right side up, holding the nylon securely over the top. She could see the doll inside trying to right itself. She tried to roll down the window and toss the cup out, but it would not slide down. So she tried to open the glove compartment, nothing. Furious, she yanked at the door handle, but it too was unmoving.

She looked at the cup. Inside the doll sat complacently looking up at her, a smiled curving its tiny mouth. Reaching in a side pocket, where she kept paper clips, pens, and rubber bands, she tightly secured a rubber band around the nylon. She set it back in the holder. What to do with it. She tried all the doors. The electrical system must be jammed, she thought. She was stuck in here with this thing until she could get help.

Starting up the car, she changed course and headed back into town crossing the bayou again. She would go to the all night gas station and get the doors unlocked. As she crossed the bridge, the nylon and rubber band shot off the cup and the leering figure of herself leaped out. Screeching, it attached itself to her face. Clair screamed in terror and clawed at the tiny monster, losing control of the car. She plunged through the rail and into the bayou.

The Mercedes was discovered the next day. It was barely submerged in the murky water. Shaking their heads, the police wondered at the brilliant woman executive that didn't even try to get out of the car and save herself. She drowned in four feet of water. Her window was open and her seat belt wasn't jammed. There were no signs of trauma to indicate that she might have been unconscious. No clue as to what caused the accident was in the car.

"Strange," one officer said as the paramedics loaded Clair"s body on a stretcher, "that a nice dressed woman like that would only have one nylon on."

"Aw, you never know what those rich types are gonna do," his partner replied.

Blake sat up, the moan escalating to a horrified bleat of revulsion. Not again. It can't be happening again. He had been witness to his twin's sick, twisted dreams many times in the past, but only once before had the outcome been death. This strange ability to share in each other's dreams had plagued him since their birth, twenty-three years ago. When Jake's dreams won out, Blake always awakened feeling filthy and sick inside. He stumbled out of bed, kicking the sheet off into the floor. He went into the bathroom and threw up.

Jake lay on his back, sweat glistening on his face. The sticky result of his dream was cooling on his belly. How'd ya like that one, little brother? He grinned at the thought of how fuckin' horrified Blake would be with that sweet little dream haunting him all day. He should be grateful to Jake for providing him with some entertainment. It was a far sight better than the sappy boring shit Blake dreamed. Jake hated it when Blake's dreams won out, which wasn't as often any more. Bunch of crap about those pencil pushers he worked with and virtuous little dreams about that redheaded bitch Blake had the hots for. He knew Blake had seen the dreams he'd had before he'd done the old guy. Old fart shouldn't have stood out in his yard and stared at him like he was scum every time he drove by. After the news of the murder had gotten out, Jake had watched Blake carefully to see if he would sound an alarm. But Blaky hadn't done anything other than avoid Jake as much as he could. Nothin' to worry about. His brother was just a terrified wimp.

Now he was having these dreams about that girl at the Quick-Check. The pressure inside him was building. He knew it was inevitable. What a thrill it would be to see that sweet little thing dissolve into a bloody mess.

"Tech support. Blake speaking."

"Well I need some support." The lively female voice on the other end brightened Blake's heart. He conjured up her small cat's face with its sparkling green eyes that always seemed to be laughing. He wished he could just hang up and drive right over. How he needed to talk to her.

"How about coming over tonight? I've got a great movie rented, wine chilling, and dinner planned." Angela was taking cooking lessons at the local college and frequently commissioned him to sample her homework.

"Okay. Sounds good."

"Well I realize it's not something the papers would put on the front page, but you don't have to sound so glum about it. Hey, Blake. What's the matter?"

"No, no. It really sounds great. I'm just tired. Didn't get much sleep last night."

Images from Jake's dream troubled Blake throughout the rest of the day. He and Angela had gotten close in the past months. Their relationship was blossoming into something permanent, he hoped, even though neither had yet used the word 'love'. As he climbed into his car and turned onto her street, he decided tonight he would tell her everything. Let her know what kind of crazy brother he had and if he was honest about it, what a coward he'd been not to have done something about it before now. Maybe she could help him think what to do.

Jake smiled at the girl as she took his money for the cigarettes. In his mind, he saw her as she was in his dream. His smile widened. The girl looked at him curiously.

"Have a nice evening and come back soon," she said tentatively.

"Oh don't you worry about that now," he said as he stuck his change in his pocket. Whistling, he winked and went out the door, bell jangling behind him.

Comfortably ensconced on Angela's sofa, after a well-prepared fare of Greek cuisine, Blake took a deep breath and Angela's hand, and began.

"You remember that blind guy that was murdered a few months ago over on Sheryl Drive?"

Angela, surprised by the solemn tone in his voice, nodded and said, "Yeah. They never found out who shot him, did they?"

"No. But I think I know who did it." Angela put down her glass of wine and stared at him in shock. Here it comes, he thought. She's either going to think I'm crazy or this whole thing's going to scare her away forever. "I have a twin brother and I think he did it."

"Blake, why would you think so?" Although seemingly surprised at the existence of a twin, She wasn't edging away from him or inviting him to leave so he continued.

"Ever since we were children, we've had this weird ability to see each other's dreams. When we were kids, it was fun. Sort of a secret communication thing, you know. We used to be real close, only Jake was always getting into trouble and trying to get me in it too. Not really mean, jus sort of mischievous. I called him my evil twin. But as we got older, he really started doing crazy things and his dreams got more bizarre, until it started scaring me. He seemed to get a kick out of knowing that I saw these perverted dreams he was having." He sighed and looked over at her. "I guess he hated me all along. I loved him. He was my brother and I assumed he felt the same for me, but . . . ."

Angela's look of shock had given way to something else. Her eyes were full of compassion and it looked like love. "Go on," she said softly.

"Well last night, I saw him kill again. A girl I don't know. Looked like she worked in a convenience store or something. I've got to do something, Angie. I can't let it happen again."

"Why didn't you go to the police after the last time?" she asked cautiously.

"And say what? I saw it in a dream?" He snorted bitterly. "They'd peg me as just another lunatic. They wouldn't give me the time of day. I've got to find some evidence and quick. Last time, he dreamed the murder for about a week before he actually did it. But it might not take as long this time. And another thing, if I dream about it and he sees it, he'll know I'm up to something.

"What did this girl look like?"

"She is blonde and kind of thin. A real creamy complexion like yours. About your age too. I noticed her hands. They were long and slender, like a pianist's hands."

Angela frowned, thinking. "Was there anything else about her? Something unique or out of the ordinary?"

He started to shake his head, but then remembered the ring. "She did have a ring . . . a silver ring. It was that filagree stuff with some sort of design woven into it."

Angela caught her breath. "Blake, could it have been a letter? Like a fancy script?"

He strained to remember. He could see the ring in his mind. And yes, woven into the filagree was a letter. His face cleared. "A 'J'. It was a 'J' with those old-timey curlicues."

"My God, Blake. I know her. She is a pianist. She's a music major at the college I go to. She's putting herself through school with that job at night."

"Do you think you could warn her? Get her to not go to work for a few days until I can figure out what to do?"

She'll probably think I'm crazy, but I'll try." Her green eyes melted his blue ones as she earnestly stared into his face. She went to him then and for a time there was nothing else in the world that mattered but their own universe of two.

Jake awoke with a scowl. Blaky's dreams were getting steamy, but there was something different about this one. There seemed to be a new closeness and a feeling like a secret between him and the girl. Could Blake have told her about him? Were they planning something? Well, he'd just have to see about that.

Angela had only been home from school a few minutes when she heard the knock on the door. She had convinced Judy that there was real danger. Although skeptical, she had agreed to be sick for the next few days. Angela felt confident Blake could figure something out and she rushed to the door expecting it would be he. He stood there, his shaggy blonde hair uncombed. His clothes looked slept in and his eyes . . . his eyes were cold and somehow vacant.

"Blake, I told her everything. She's agreed to stay away from work for a few days." But there was no relieved smile. There was no reaction at all. "Blake? What's wrong?"

Jake stared at her. Their betrayal burning in his mind. So they thought they could stop him, did they? Hot anger flamed up in him. He swiftly pushed her inside and kicked the door shut. She was looking at him now, recognition and understanding dawning in her frightened eyes.

"You're Jake." It wasn't a question. She bolted and ran for the back door.

He had no difficulty catching her. He knocked her down on the kitchen floor and growled, "So you saved her, did you? Well maybe you're the one I want anyway. But I think I'll have a little fun first." He ripped her blouse with one movement. The door burst open and Blake stood there in the doorway, wild-eyed and panting. Fear for Angela and rage contorted his features. Fear that he was too late and rage that his twin would try and take the only thing that mattered in this world to him.

"Nooooo!" he bellowed as he charged across the living room. Jake let go of Angela and pulled out his knife. Blake didn't care. He felt as if he could kill Jake with his bare hands. The momentum of his charge knocked Jake to the floor, but he managed to slash Blake's hand with the knife. Blake didn't even feel it. His hands were around Jake's throat and he squeezed with all his strength. Angela looked on with horror. They were identical. Two furious faces, two sets of blazing blue eyes, two beautiful bodies. If they hadn't had on different clothes, she wouldn't have been sure which was Blake. She had never seen this insane fury in his face before. Blake was squeezing with all his strength, his concentration focused on Jake's bulging eyes. He didn't see Jake's knife hand come up and lunged at his heart with a desperate strength.

Angela's paralysis was broken and she ran for her gun which she kept in her night stand drawer. When she returned to the kitchen, blood was pouring from Blake's chest and he was slumped on top of Jake, his murderous grip loosened. Jake rolled his brother off and raised his knife again. He looked up at Angela. In the second before she pulled the trigger, she saw bewilderment in his tortured face

Blake floated for a time in the soft darkness. It was so peaceful. Then he felt something bump him. Was someone with him? Idly, he wondered if it was Jake. He couldn't see anything but a pinprick of light far away. It was a beautiful thing and he wanted to go to it. But something had a grasp on what he perceived to be his hand. It was pulling him down. He could feel his brother's presence now. Blake peered down and saw that he was a great distance above what appeared to be a sea of eyes turned up to them. Tortured eyes, desperate eyes full of malice. His human mind struggled to affix proper logical bodies to them. Yes. Now he could see shadowy figures moving around down there. They were beginning to rise toward him and Jake. "Jake, let me go! Come on, we've got to go to the light." But Jake would not let go. And now he could see hands reaching to grasp them and drag them down. He wrestled with Jake, panic clutching at his mind.

"You're going with me, Little brother. You were going to kill me. Remember?" Jake rasped. "So we'll be in hell together, coz you're getting bad like me." A hard edged laugh came from Jake. Then in a sad childish voice he added, "Do you know how hard it was watching your dreams and knowing I could never be like you? It was torture, man."

It had never occurred to Blake that his dreams were as hard for Jake, as his were for him. But the rest of what Jake had said made no sense to him. "Come on. They're getting closer." Blake tried to pull them upward, but his brother's weight was unbelievable. A shadowy hand clamped around Jake's leg and he gasped. Blake kicked it loose and for a moment they were propelled upward. But then suddenly, Jake was surrounded by the figures, their greedy hands locked onto him. He wailed and clenched Blake's hand tighter. Blake began kicking at the hoard, trying to get them away from his twin. Suddenly, Jake let go of his hand and screamed in anguish.

"Go on, Blake! Go back. You don't belong here." The rush of fear and lonely despair in Jake's soul burst over Blake shooting him high into the tunnel.

"Jake!" he screamed.

"Go back, Blake, while you still can." Jake's wail was horrible as the hands dragged him downward. "I did love you, but I hated you too. You were everything I couldn't be. Go back. I release you." His last words were almost lost in the frenzied howling of the fiends as he was pulled amidst them.

Blake floated again, unsure and confused. His twin was lost and he was helpless to save him. Then he heard a familiar beloved voice. Why was she crying?

"Blake. Come back to me. Please don't leave me. I love you, you know." His soul was drawn to hers as surely as a hummingbird is to a flower. When he opened his eyes, she was there on the floor cradling his head in her lap, tears dripping onto his face. He saw Jake then a few feet away. As the paramedics burst into the room, Blake thought the gentle smile on his twin's dead face was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. It seemed that Jake had shared another dream with him, a dream of being unselfish and good and in death, it had been realized at last.

She opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was the very concerned face of a man looming over her. Pure relief swept over his broad open features as she blinked up at him. "Thank God," he breathed, smiling at her. "You gave us quite a scare Mandy."

Dazedly, she stared at him. Who was he and why did he call her Mandy? Nobody called her that shortened version of her name. Mama wouldn't allow it. She looked around. There was another man standing beside her now holding her hand. He was so tall. And a similar expression of relief was on his tanned and rugged face. He made her think of a cowboy. "Mandy, are you okay?"

She pulled her hand from his and sat up. Her body felt heavy and strange. It didn't seem to respond correctly to what she wanted it to do. Jerkily, she swung her feet off the couch and stood up. The two men, their expressions returning to the worried look, hovered around her. Something was not right. They were grown men, but they weren't much taller than she. Panic, beginning to clutch at her heart, she made it to the window, reached out a hand to pull back the drapes, and stopped. Her hand . . . what was wrong with it? The nails were manicured and an unfamiliar ring was there. She watched it with fascination as it continued its path to the heavy green material and swept it aside. Her gaze went from it to the view beyond. The broad expanse of parking lot with its assortment of strange sleek-looking cars was totally unfamiliar. Where was she and what was happening? Wildly, she looked back into the room. There was a mirror a few feet away and she saw a woman in it. The sight of her almost returned Amanda to the red place. But she saw now that although this woman looked an awful lot like Mama, it wasn't. For one thing there was no red on her person and she had dark hair, not blonde. Also there was a frailty about her that her mother had never possessed. The frightened eyes of the woman stared back at her. Amanda took a step toward her and so did the woman. The dawning realization that the image in the mirror was herself caused Amanda to look down. Gone was the skinny eight-year-old body and ragged hand-me-down clothes she had expected. Instead, she saw expensive looking leather shoes and a blue taylor-made suit on an adult woman's body. It was too much for her and this time she did return to the arms of unconsciousness.

"Did you see the look on her face when she saw herself in the mirror," asked Bill? He and Dr. Anders were in the outer office of the consultation room. When Mandy had passed out, luckily, he had been close enough to catch her before she hit the floor. They had placed her back on the couch. After determining that she was all right they retreated out here to talk. "She didn't know who she was. Does she have amnesia or what?"

"I don't think so. I'm afraid it's worse. I think she's still the age she was when I brought her out of the trance. When she became so agitated, as I brought her to the day of the fire, I thought it best to bring her out of it. For some reason she didn't return to the here and now."

"Well you've got to do something then. Put her back under and bring her back. Do whatever you gotta do, doc."

Both men started as the inner door swung open and Mandy stood there looking stronger and calmer. "Well, are you two having a party? And without me, I see." Her tone was light and in no way frightened. "Did I tell you any dirty little secrets, doctor? Am I crazy or what?"

"You did fine, dear," Dr. Anders said with a huge smile. "You'll be fine now."

That night in his report, Dr. Anders wrote: Amanda Sears- A twenty-eight year old female underwent hypnosis in an attempt to discover the cause of recent nightmares from which she awakens remembering nothing, but is terrified and hysterical. First session was unusual in that she awakened confused and disoriented, but after a short relapse into unconsciousness, returned to a normal state of mind.

HISTORY: At age eight, patient suffered a traumatic event when her house burned to the ground, killing her mother and leaving the patient with some minor burns, but otherwise unharmed. I believe the nightmares are directly related to this event. She may be repressing memories of the things she witnessed.

PRESCRIBED TREATMENT: Future sessions will entail age digression, which was accomplished today. When the appropriate time block is obtained, I will walk the patient through the event, thus releasing the memories enabling her to bring them into her conscious thought. Hopefully, in this way, she will face her fears and be able to banish the nightmares."

The ride home was uncomfortably silent. Bill wasn't sure why. Something seemed different about Mandy. She seemed to know who she was now, but she was so distant and shallow somehow. His Mandy was warm and affectionate. Just the stress of the rocky awakening, he guessed. "Wanta get something to eat?"

"Far out," she said, showing a little enthusiasm. He glanced over at her, surprised by her words. He'd never heard her say anything was 'far out'in all the time he had known her.

"Okay," he said laughingly. "How 'bout a 'far out' hamburger?" Expecting her to laugh at herself, he was stunned to see the expression of rage that crossed her features.

"Are you making fun of me?" she said coldly. "And please call me Amanda from now on."

Appalled, he forced his eyes back to the road. "Hey, take it easy, Ma . . . I mean Amanda. I know you must be tired. We'll get whatever you'd like and just take it home with us, okay?"

Her choice was seafood and nothing would do but that they go in to eat. Another surprise since Mandy had always claimed that seafood gave her indigestion. But Bill complied and they entered the restaurant. When seated, Mandy abruptly excused herself and hurried to the ladies room. Fearing that she may have gotten ill, Bill followed her and waited outside the door. What he heard chilled him to the bone. From inside, at first he heard nothing. Then peals of high shrill laughter. Then "Well, ain't you the pretty one and so nicely dressed too." Another peal of laughter. "But your image is about to be changed, Sweetheart, coz I'm stronger than you."

Bill hurriedly went back to the table and pretended to be engrossed in the menu when Mandy returned. She was composed and no hint of the maniacal behavior remained.

The meal was spent in stilted conversation and Bill had the feeling that Mandy was somehow waiting him out, to see what he would say or do. Almost like she didn't quite know him. It was bizarre and he was very concerned.

As they paid, Mandy slapped a pack of cigarettes and a red lighter on the counter and smiled coyly at him. "I used to smoke, you know. I just need a little something extra tonight."

Amanda floated, suspended in the red. Mama was here. She could feel her presence. She had no sensation, just thoughts and memories. She remembered the time Mama came in from shopping and found Amanda hurriedly trying to finish up the dishes. She had turned on the television after Mama had left and got interested in the Brady Bunch. What a happy family they were. She wished her mother was like the one on that show. But she lost track of time and paid for it dearly.

"Amanda. I told you to get those dishes done before I got back. Did I not?"

"Yes, mama. But there was a lot of them and . . ." The slap knocked her into the garbage can, spilling its contents all over the kitchen floor.

"Now look at what you've done! You stupid little klutz. Why are you so worthless . . . so stupid? Huh Amanda? Why?" The next blow knocked her down amidst the refuse. She was eye-level with her mother's red shoes. She watched in numbed acceptance, as one of them lifted, swung back in a red arch and came right at her head. The pointed red toe catching her in the mouth. She had floated in the red for some time after that incident, how long she did not know, but she had awakened in the hospital with two broken ribs and five broken teeth. Her mother had claimed she had found Amanda that way. Must have knocked over the garbage can, slipped down in its contents and knocked the heavy oak chair over on herself. Klutzy child, she was always doing things like that. In fact, that's how Amanda was when the ambulance came. . . sprawled in the garbage with the chair laying across her, one of its legs poking her in the mouth. Amanda the child, together with Mandy the adult remembered and waited, for there were forces building that neither of them quite understood.

When Bill came home from work the next afternoon, he was met at the door by a woman that he hardly recognized. Mandy had a new red dress complete with a red pair of shoes and her hair . . . her hair was platinum blonde.

"Well, how do you like it?" She pirouetted before him. "My new look. Don't you think it's an improvement?"

Bill stood there stunned and hating what he saw. She looked like a cheap hooker. What was happening to her? He and Mandy had been married for two years and he loved her with all his heart. He knew she had a troubled childhood and that terrible thing she went through when the house burned and her mother died. She had been lucky to come out of it alive. But she had seemed well adjusted and happy until recently when the nightmares began. She would awaken at night screaming and hysterical. They had hoped the hypnosis sessions would help her to put the demons to rest. Doc said there was some memory that she was repressing and when uncovered, she would be able to pursue her normal life. But things were anything but normal. Her next session was this afternoon and he meant to have a word with the doc about this.

The silence in the consultation room was unbroken save for the deep regular breathing of Mandy after she finally succumbed to the induced trance. Dr. Anders sighed and sat back. It had been difficult just getting her this far. Now he spoke softly and slowly.

"Mandy, can you hear me?"

"Yes." She spoke in a little girl's voice, which surprised him as he hadn't yet taken her back in time.

"Where are you, Mandy?"

"Don't call me that. Mama will be angry. I can only be Amanda."

"All right, Amanda. Where are you?"

"Home."

"What day is it?"

"May 13. It,s my birthday. I,m eight."

"Are you going to have a party?"

"No. I'm too bad. I'm just supposed to be quiet so Mama can sleep." Mandy's face took on a worried tense look.

"So what are you doing?"

"Playing with my doll," she said dreamily. The tenseness fled from her expression and pure delight replaced it. "Aunt Sarah gave her to me. Isn't she beautiful? She loves me and I love her." Then her face darkened as she whispered, "But I'll have to hide her before Mama wakes up."

"Why is that?"

"Coz I'm too bad to have a doll. I told you," she said annoyed. "Aunt Sarah came while Mama was asleep and gave her to me. I want to keep her so much." Mandy's hands were up in front of her as if holding a small doll. She clutched the imaginary doll to her chest and began to cry. "I'm going to hide her so I can keep her."

"Surely your mother wouldn't mind you keeping her since she was a birthday gift, would she?"

"No. She'll be really mad if she sees . . . ." Suddenly her eyes opened wide and sheer terror filled them. She jumped to her feet still clutching the imaginary doll to her.

"What's wrong, Amanda?"

"She's coming! I've got to hide her." She scurried around to the back of the couch and made the motion of shoving something under it. The make-up on Mandy's face began to run as she cried in earnest now. Then she put her arms over her head and shrieked. "No!"

"What's happening, Amanda?" But she didn't answer. She dropped her hands and dove for the place where she had hidden the doll.

"No. Mama, No. She's mine. Please don't hurt her." Her mascara smudged eyes followed something up as though it was being lifted. "Oh no. Mamma, don't burn her. Please."

"Amanda, can you hear me?" Dr. Anders went to her and snapped his fingers in front of her face, but she didn't see or hear him.

Amanda watched helplessly as her mother flicked the red lighter and held it to the hem of the doll's dress. Her mother's red painted lips curved in a cruel smile as the dress caught fire. "That'll teach you to accept presents without my permission Amanda. Where are you going? Get back here."

Something had cracked in Amanda's small soul. The protective instinct she felt for the doll had accomplished something she could not muster for herself. She felt a fury so blinding, she could hardly see where she was going as she ran for the kitchen and grabbed the can of lighter fluid by the back door. When her mother appeared in the doorway, she squirted and squirted the fluid straight onto the red dress. Flames jumped from the flaming doll, which her mother was holding by one foot, to the dress. The lighter fluid exploded into flames and her mother's blonde hair went up like a torch. The cold smug expression on her mother's face changed to shock and then rage, and finally pain. She dropped the doll and reached for Amanda. But her red dress was now engulfed and she stumbled and fell onto the flaming doll. Amanda pulled her doll out from under her mother. It was still smoking but she hugged it to her chest, never noticing the pain. Then she squirted and squirted until the can was empty. The whole kitchen was in flames now and she dropped the can and ran for the back door. Before she left the now well involved house, she heard her mother's last words. Her voice was guttural and horrible. "I'll come back. I'll come back, Amanda."

As Dr. Anders and Bill watched helplessly, the drama of twenty years ago unfurled before them. Mandy suddenly changed her demeanor altogether. She became an adult again, but cold and cruel. She was holding something up in front of her sneering into the mirror. Bill and Dr. Anders caught the image in the mirror. A small girl dressed in battered blue jeans and a blue T-shirt held a large can of lighter fluid. Her slight frame shook as she aimed the can at the woman on this side and squeezed. The woman in the red dress standing there before them was suddenly engulfed in flames. She screamed and fell on the carpeted floor writhing in pain. Bill and Dr. Anders jumped to their feet stunned and bewildered. The small girl in the mirror now clutched a scorched and smoking doll. She tenderly kissed the doll's cheek. For an instant, her blue eyes stared straight at them. Then she turned and was gone. The woman on the floor sighed and lay still. It had only taken a second, but the fire was so intense, she was dead before they were able to get close enough to her to extinguish the flames. But before she died, they heard her say, "You can't have her, Mamma. She's mine."