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I dream in my dream all the dreams of other dreamers,
Lightning crashed. Rain fell in torrents, soaking the grass and earth, causing mud puddles to form. Through the raging thunderstorm, gunshots rang out. What happened? The boy was rudely awakened from sleep. Something was wrong, he sensed. Very wrong. He quickly went over to his twin's room, through the adjoining bathroom, and hurriedly shook her awake. She looked at him with groggy silver eyes. Shots came again over the rumbling thunder. He finally identified the sense of unease — the sound. It was familiar from the movies — Die Hard, Terminator, Aliens… Guns. The girl looked at her brother, sleep forgotten, and swallowed the lump of bile that had suddenly welled in her throat. He tilted his head towards the master bedroom, where the shots had originated. He took her smaller hand and together, they tiptoed to their parents' room. Illuminated by the lights of the bedroom, four dark figures surrounded the bed with its red splattered sheets… Red? she thought perplexed, but Mum hates red! Then it struck her. Those weren't red sheets — they… they were white sheets, white sheets stained… stained with blood! She screamed. The assassins turned, surprised at the sudden intrusion. One face would remain seared in her mind, one that would return to haunt her nights for the years to come. The expression on his face the split second their eyes met was etched deeply in the depths of her memory. The childish cruelty in his eyes terrified her – he was like a child watching the gyrations of a beetle from which all the legs but one had been pulled out. She turned and fled, her twin a step behind …
Nicole Storm — or Nykki as everyone called her — woke up perspiring. For eight years the same dream had plagued her nights, tormenting her soul. "Calm down," she whispered to herself, her breathing shallow and rapid. "It's only another dream, you've had it for eight years, what's wrong with another one?" She tried to reassure herself but failed miserably. She took deep, calming breaths to slow her erratic heartbeat. She gradually settled down, but uneasily, and when she finally managed to fall asleep again, the nightmare continued.
They scrambled towards the open window at the end of the corridor that seemed to be a million miles away. The fourteen-year-old girl clambered out clumsily, followed by her brother. Hard on their heels were the four killers. The twins slid down the pipe, the rain pounded incessantly on them, their feet sinking into the sodden ground, cool mud oozing between their toes, and ran off into the darkness. Behind them, they heard the sounds of a door slamming, and the thrashing of heavy figures through the undergrowth mingled with the falling of rain. The men were still following them.
Nykki moaned in her sleep and tossed about, blankets and sheets becoming a tangled mess around her waist.
They ran across the rough ground, unaware of the sharp shale which bit into their feet, movement fueled by fear. The rain slackened and stopped. It seemed like hours later when they knocked on the door.
She woke up again. It was six in the morning, and the sky was still a cold pearly gray. She took a quick shower, the hot water gave her something to think about besides her nightmare. She changed into a navy blue track suit, then slipped out of the hotel room, careful not to wake her snoring twin. She stepped out of the huge double doors of the Washington Hilton and took a deep breath. The air was crisp and cool, without the usual acrid smell of exhaust fumes. The sun had just risen and was a light yellow haze over the horizon. In the distance, a dog barked, another answered. She jogged slowly down the quiet street, deep in thought. Damn, what did I get myself into? she wondered to herself. She felt her muscles settle and relax after a night of restlessness. I suddenly decide against going on to work at Bancroft & Benson — one of the most prestigious law firms in the country — to enroll in a sixteen-week course at the FBI Academy. And of all the stupid things to do, to enter as a boy. Hell! What am I doing? I'm a lawyer, not some rookie cop! Tomorrow, Quantico, FBI Academy, sixteen weeks later? Nykki grimaced. Nicholas Shane Storm, it'll be a wonder if I don't kill you after this! Why in the world do I have to dress up as a boy, why can't Nick go as a girl instead? Damn the bloody asshole who calls himself my twin! she thought furiously. A voice in her head admonished her. Not fair, the voice said, you know the real reason. Shut up, Nykki thought back to the voice. It was true, she did see the necessity of going under an alias. She also knew that it was much easier to pass herself off as a boy than for Nick to dress up as a girl, but pure stubbornness would not let her admit it. She had been on the run for the past eight years, always looking over her shoulder for unknown pursuers. The people who had killed her parents were after them to finish the job. Richard O'Malley, their father's ex-partner, had looked after the twins since the death of their parents. He was the one whom they had gone to that night, and if he had not taken them in, she didn't know where they'd be today. It's all Uncle Mal's fault for influencing Nick! she thought furiously. Damn! I shouldn't have let Nick talk me into this idiocy! But the forms had already been signed, their rooms prepared at Quantico. Nothing could change the fact that she was going to be in the FBI academy the next morning. "But I'm sick and tired of being someone else, I have no identity at all!" she muttered under her breath. "Every time I go somewhere, it's never as myself… I have never entered a school with my real name… When will all this end?" She continued jogging, oblivious to an old man who was staring at a girl talking to herself. "I'd rather take a stand and fight till the death than to run again!" Suddenly, the sorrow she had always managed to keep at bay asserted itself. She stopped in the middle of the quiet street as her memories threatened to overwhelm her. "Dad, Mum, why did you have to die?" she whispered softly. "Why?" Out of habit, she reached up to brush a strand of sable hair from her face, only to touch the rough-cut stubble on her head. She sighed irritably. She forced herself to block out all her emotions, to seal them off behind the wall she erected years ago, to present only an expressionless facade. Never again will she be that naive, vulnerable girl… innocence died eight years ago. She sighed once again, then returned to the hotel, her jog forgotten.
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