Welcome to my first attempt at a Glee fanfic. I am starting this with a Teen rating, but it may change to Mature rating as the story develops. I love reviews (good or bad), so if you have a minute, please tell me what you think.

Chapter 1: Blood

Kurt Hummel sat alone huddled on a cold floor, his arms wrapped tightly around him, as horrifying images flashed through his head and his body shook with overwhelming grief. He wanted to believe that this was not happening, that he was somehow caught in a nightmare so real, his mind couldn't tell the difference. Because if this was real, if this was really happening, he didn't know how he would survive, he didn't know if he would even want to. So caught up in his grief, anguish, and denial, he never heard the door open, nor the sound of rushed footsteps, until he was pulled off the floor and strong arms wrapped around him.

"Oh God Blaine," he sobbed, his body shaking violently. "There was so much blood. So much blood everywhere."

"Its OK Kurt," Blaine soothed. "Its going to be OK."

"No, no," Kurt replied, as the insidious images continued to bombard him. "I'm scared, scared that one of those doctors will come out here with their distant emotions, and professional demeanor, and tell us they did everything they could, but it wasn't enough, it was too late."

"Kurt, we don't know that," he said, pulling back a little to make eye contact. The desolation he saw reflected in his partner's eyes tore through him, and Blaine began to doubt that all really would be well in the end.

"You weren't there Blaine," Kurt answered, as he stepped out of the warm cocoon of Blaine's embrace. "You didn't see that room, everything torn, shredded and blood. All that blood, no one could survive after having lost that much blood."

"Kurt, Blaine." They turned in unison to see Kurt's father and stepmother Carole, make their way into the waiting room. Kurt didn't hesitate, he flung himself into his father's arms, needing his strength, his comfort, as a new round of sobs overtook him.

"What is going on? Tell me what has happened," Burt asked, taking in his son's disheveled appearance, and the blood that stained his shirt and pants.

"How about we all sit down," Carole said calmly, leading them over to a set of chairs.

"I don't know where to begin," Kurt said. "This all seems surreal, like its happening to some one else, like on of our damn performances and I'm waiting for the applause to let me know its over."

"The beginning is usually the best place," Carole replied, taking Kurt's icy cold hands into her own. She was so proud of him, of the man that he had grown into. She would have moved heaven and earth to spare him this kind of pain, and the look in his eyes let her know that he knew it, and that he loved her just as much.

"We get a lot of fan mail," Kurt said, his voice wooden, his eyes almost devoid of the spark that made him so animated. "Fans can be a little over zealous at times in their devotion, lavishing praise and gifts on their favorite performer. There was no way we could read it, and respond to all of it ourselves, so Artie hired some one to do it for us."

"Where is Artie?" His father asked, drawing Kurt's attention to him.

"He stayed at the theater to answer the initial round of questions the police had," Blaine replied. "Quinn is on her way there now, as ARK 's legal representative she wants to be present when any of us have to give a statement, or be questioned by the authorities."

"For the most part, our fan mail is innocuous," Kurt continued. "There are a few fans who are overzealous, but still harmless. We have a few that strayed into the fanatic category, but not in a dark, malicious way. Any mail that seems threatening, is copied and then forwarded to our security team so that it can be evaluated."

"Several months ago, a series of letters arrived for each of us from the same individual. At first they seemed normal, with things like, good luck, you guys are fantastic, your performances are inspiring. The second set of letters were the same, except for one. It was more specific and targeted straight at Rachel. After the second set of letters, she was the only one to continue getting correspondents from this person."

"Do you remember what they said?" Carole asked.

"It was hard to forget some of them," Blaine replied. "There were things like, "You don't give credit where credit is due, or, "You should thank all the people who helped you get to where you are now."

"You're an ungrateful bitch, and one day...won't be soon enough," Kurt took over, when tears choked Blaine up. "The standing ovations will not be yours for much longer."

"It was variations on the same theme, over and over," Kurt said. "The letters were always written in red ink, the writing style calligraphy, the paper heavy vellum and the envelope wax sealed, with an image of Bacchus stamped into the wax."

"Let me guess," Burt interrupted him, with a wry smile. "Knowing Rachel the way we do, she refused to believe that any one would want to hurt her. You maybe, but definitely not her."

Kurt gave a mirthless, little smile as he shook his head. "She felt like we were blowing it all out of proportion; after all, it was only letters, all received on the same day of the week, week after week. Nothing gruesome, no graphic pictures, no dead flowers, just words she would say."

"Artie, and the security team wanted her to have a personal bodyguard," Blaine said. "I thought the two of them were going to come to blows over that. She wouldn't relent and to maintain both their business and personal relationship, Artie backed down."

"But he went ape shit crazy when he saw the last letter," Kurt said, his voice so low, they had to move closer to hear him. "I've only ever seen him this mad once; we were still in high school, and then again last week. He was furious with her, said she was taking risks by not giving the situation the attention it required."

Kurt fell completely silent, his head dropping forward, his hands coming up to cover his face. Nobody said anything, each lost in their thoughts for the moment, needing the silence to regain their composure and come to terms with what might be coming.

"The last letter," Blaine began, then stopped as the words froze in his throat. He clutched at Kurt's hands, squeezing so hard his knuckles turned white. "It said, Rachel, since you don't know what your heart is for, or how properly to use it; I'll come take it from you and keep it somewhere safe."

"Dad," Kurt burst out, grabbing for his father.

"Oh God Dad; that's how I found her," he sobbed, clinging to Burt. "The room was in shambles, there was blood, so much blood, and...and..OH MY GOD!"

Burt tried to pull his son into his arms, but Kurt broke free of him, and began rapidly pacing back and forth, pulling at his hair, and trying desperately, so desperately to erase those God awful images from his mind. He didn't know if he could handle this, if he was capable of retaining any of his rational mind as long as the images were ingrained behind his closed eyes. He heard his father stand, and felt those strong hands grab his arms, bringing him to a stop. He opened his eyes, and looked into his father's face and then crumbled.

"She was laying on the floor of her dressing room, chaos all around her," he said in voice not unlike that of small child's. "Blood everywhere, and a knife, a knife buried so deep into her chest, I swore it pinned her to the floor."