Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe, but the characters in this story that you do not recognise are my own.

Info: Yes, I am a J.J.Abrams fan and yes, there will be more chapters to come, but they won't come unless people R&R my story. Thanks!!

He was standing under the light post when he first caught my eye. His flat hair wavered like feathers being rustled by the cool winter breeze and his black trench coat flapped to the side to reveal his black and grey striped cotton vest, wrinkled white shirt and baggy jeans. On his hands were black gloves.

The orange glow from the light above illuminated, and shadowed, each feature of his body and face. I didn't know who he was, but every time I waited for the night bus to retrieve me from the cobblestone gutter, he would always be standing across the road. He went on the same bus as me but always stood opposite of the actual bus stop; as if afraid to stand next to me.

As I made my way onto the bus and down its deserted aisle to the third row from the back, I would always wait and watch the man from across the road to walk calmly on board, purchase a ticket from the driver and walk up towards me and sit always two rows in front of my own.

His action's always puzzled me, so after my shift at Allamanacs bookstore had ended, I walked outside the store and stood under the bus stop sign until the bus came. Exactly five minutes after I had arrived, the mysterious man across the road made his way along the pathway to his usual spot and waited calmly for the bus to arrive; braving small glances over at me to see what I was doing.

Once the bus drove towards its checkpoint and hissed opened its doors, I stepped inside its interior, bought my ticket and waited patiently in my usual seat, ready to watch the man from over the road to seat himself in front of me. Only this time, he did something different. He continued to walk up the aisle and sat himself on the row of seats next to me.

I was nervous for an unknown reason. My satchel bag was the only distraction I had besides the man and the outside world, so, unclipping the two locks on my bag, I flipped back the flap to retrieve my Ipod. A soft voice stopped me. "Excuse me?"

I withdrew my empty hand from my bag and looked across the aisle and at the man. "Yes?"

He shifted himself to the next worn seat, leaning across slightly to see me better under the weak florescent light, and answer coolly, "You must think I'm a loon or something," His thick English accent seemed to echo around the bus for a while before he continued, "because, you know, I stand opposite the bus stop, or that I, uh, never talk to you." I smiled slightly at his jabbering and uncomfortable movements, mostly involving him straightening his jacket or wiping his brow. "I was just wondering if I could by you coffee, sometime?"

"Well, it's almost," I looked down at my watch and gaze a sarcastic sigh, "ten-thirty."

"Well, probably not tonight. Maybe, tomorrow night perhaps?" The man in the seat next to me shifted uncomfortably, as if something had stung something sensitive on him.

I pretended not to notice and grinned. "I don't even know you're name."

That's when I saw it. I knew there was something strange about this man. Not because he was having some kind epileptic fit, or that he had a problem being in one place at one time whilst talking with someone. It was his hands. Not once, even on hot nights, did the stranger ever take off his gloves. But when he did so, so he could shake my hand without being a totally stranger, I couldn't suppress a gasp.

Removing the layer of thin black leather, the foreigner extended his now exposed hand to me and answered with a warm smile, "How silly of me. My name's Jason. Jason Reilly." His arm wavered slightly as I didn't shake it after a few seconds. "You're not going to shake?"

I looked down at his hand, horrified at its grotesque abnormality. I thought the man had bad arthritis at first glance, but as I observed it more, I noticed that his fingers were almost like claws, their spiked talons blackened, and that his skin was more leathery than his faux leather gloves with a slight reddened tinge to it. Jason noticed my troubled look and widened his smile, making him look more menacing than reassuring. "Don't worry. You'll be next."

I looked up at him sharply with a look of horror and felt the abrupt stop of the bus. The driver stood up from the seat, his slight paunch shaking from his long strides, and rushed up to what I thought was an attempt to save me. Instead, he grabbed my wrist tightly with his gloved hand and forced it into Jason's. I squirmed under their strong grips but as soon as my hand came into contact with his, I knew there was no escaping his death grip.

Hope you enjoyed reading it. R&R!...please.
Later Taters