Disclaimer: As you should know before reading this… Now You See It… belongs to Disney. I only own the laptop I write this story on and a small portion of the fingers I type this with. (They're government issued, with the barcodes and numbers and everything.) Once again, written in Danny's POV, has foster parents, and Aly is slightly annoying. Ok? K.

I really hope this was a dream. Not even a few feet from me was Max. And now at this moment, in my somewhat annoying and sluggish time frame, he was achingly getting closer. I couldn't really feel my body move (if it did move), but that may have been a side effect of the drugs. As in all horror movies, it seemed dark around us…and I was alone. This couldn't possibly get worse! Then, there's a change.

The air around me becomes thicker and tighter, as if I was in an invisible box with a depleting amount of oxygen. Now I know for a fact that I can't move, the air surrounding my arms and legs feels like stone and I'm soon lifted lightly off the ground. In the midst of my panic, I look up to see max a mere three feet in front of me, silently laughing. I don't have time to retort as a searing pain erupts from my skull and stomach. I scream as I feel blood pouring out of my agonizingly painful stomach. I look down, but feel myself grow cold in shock, realizing that there is no wound or blood anywhere. I shiver in pain and trepidation, trying to figure out what was really going on. I look back up at Max, who just grins and whips out a large dagger in the air above his hand. My eyes widen even more as the dagger is swiftly aimed and forced in my direction.

As my eyes open, I can feel the scream at the back of throat cut through the silence of my room. I choke and grab onto my gray shirt that I wore yesterday, needing to check where the dagger impacted. All I see is bare skin in the darkness of my room.

The door suddenly opens, revealing, my foster father flooded by a warm yellow light.

"Danny? Danny, are you alright?" I'm still too shaken up to answer him, not that I really want to, seeing how the Sinclairs like to take one tiny thing I say and turn it into a big deal.

"Danny, are you okay, son? Do you need to talk?" Talking seemed like the last thing I wanted to do; my throat still felt sore and raw from screaming. But in order to make him leave, I had to eventually talk.

"No, I don't want to talk about it," my voice sounds horrible, "It was just a nightmare. I guess it was caused by all the stress of exams." With this said, he started going off on a rant about schools being easier on kids and blah, blah, blah.

"It's fine; I'm fine," I had to cut him off, "I'm just really tired, so I'm gonna go back to sleep. Okay?" I turn around in my bed, with my back facing him. This must have slightly reassured him because he quickly nodded his head with a very detailed 'good night' and closed the door behind him, plunging my room once again in darkness.