Disclaimer: Peter, Caine, and the rest don't belong to me blah blah blah..all others are mine.

Authors note: Sorry for pulling my story, but there were somethings that I wanted to modify. Faelynn is now Aurora, so please no one get confused. Thanks!!

~~Begin Story~~

Peter walked down a long, narrow black corridor with an endless row of matching doors on either side. He looked down at his attire seeing was dressed in an all white suit, from head to toe making him stand out against the dim candlelight. He ran a hair over his head feeling that his hair was slicked back, which was a rare if never occasion. Peter's heart began to race as fear warmed over him.

"How did I get here? Better question. Where the hell am I?"

Peter looked towards the end of the long hall. As if out of thin air, a white door formed there. Peter shook his head, as if to clear his mind of whatever illusions he was seeing, yet the door remained. Sweat started to form on his brow and anxiety welled in the pit of his stomach. He could feel a strong power rippling through the air.

He swallowed the lump forming in the back of his throat, and started towards the door at the end of the corridor. Peter knew that was his destination. He knew that behind that door, lied the source of the energy he felt. With each step he could feel the power growing. Peter walked faster. The closer he got to the end of the hall, the more doors appeared on either side, extending the hallway, but keeping him away from his goal.

Peter began to run. He ran, and ran until his chest tightened, and his legs were burning. He felt the acid raging through him. His body screamed for him to stop, but still he continued. He pushed himself farther than he had ever done so before. Something was waiting for him behind that door. Something important. Something with a lot of power. Peter had to get to it. He didn't know why, he just had to.

The doors kept coming and Peter finally, could take no more and collapsed to his knees. Sweat trickled on his hairline and down his spine. He took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm his raging lungs. He glanced up at the door that called to him, longing for him. Peter ran a hand through his damp hair, still trying to steady himself.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!" He gasped between breaths. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!!"

"HELP ME!! NO!! STOP!!" A girls voice cried in fear.

He heard the plea coming from behind the door he had been struggling to reach. Someone was in trouble, and he would not stand by and do nothing. Peter jumped up and ran for the door again. This time with new determination in his heart Peter knew he could do it. He pushed harder, and harder. His arms felt the same burning as his legs, his heart pounded, and lungs tightened in his chest. Just when he thought failure would yet again consume him, and his body screamed for mercy, Peter reached the door and thrust it open. A bright light blinded him, and he threw his arm up to shield his eyes. He blinked rapidly and things began to come into focus.

A teenage girl, with long, curly black hair lay on the ground. She wore black cargo pants, blue sneakers, and a short blue shirt that was half purple from blood. Peter couldn't tell the origin of it, but there was too much for it to be from something small. Her face was covered in a mixture of tears, bruises, and blood. Her terrified amber eyes, were red and swollen.

A tall man with broad shoulders, and a short blonde crew cut towered over her. He held a black, leather belt in one hand, slapping it against the open palm of the other. He was wearing a gray suit, with a white shirt, and green tie. The sleeves of the jacket were rolled half way up his forearm. Muscles bulged underneath the cloth. He had a long face. His smile accented his square jaw, and made his forehead seem smaller than it was. There was a sparkle glimmering in his aqua eyes. It looked as though he was enjoying himself immensely.

Peter's anxiety turned to anger. His body heat began to rise as the rage spread through out him. She was just a kid, and this monster, for lack of a better word, was actually enjoying hurting her. That sick bastard was having fun. Peter clenched his fist and took off at a full speed run towards the attacker. Half way to his target Peter hit something that sent him flying to the floor. He looked up, but didn't see anything.

"What the hell?"

Peter got back up, but still he could not see anything blocking him. He put his hands up and pushed. He couldn't go past where he was standing. He felt like a mime trapped in a box.

"Leave her alone!" He yelled, beating on the invisible barrier with his fists.

Peter yelled as loud as he could, but still the man continued to hit her. He pounded on the invisible wall, but to no avail. It seemed as though they could not hear her.

The man had started hitting the girl with the belt again. She cried out in agony and threw her arm up to shield her from the merciless beating. After several vicious blows he finally stopped. He leaned down and grabbed her by her hair.

"You've pissed me off one too many times bitch, he said in a calm, cold whisper. "But after today, you'll be out of my hair for good, and your power will be mine."

He whipped the belt across her face, letting her fall backwards. A cry of pain left her lips has she hit with the ground with a significant thud. Then from underneath his jacket he pulled out a pistol. "No!!," Peter screamed. "Attack me you bastard! Leave her alone!"

Peter reached to his side to grab his gun, but only found air in its place. Usually Peter tried not to use his gun unless truly necessary, and while at most times he tried to find other solutions, this is one time the young cop would have been happy to use his weapon.

"Now, I can finally be rid of you," The man said, as he clicked back the hammer of the gun.

The girl looked up to him with wide, terrified eyes. She was shivering violently.

"Please don't," She pleaded.

"Too late for begging, Princess," he told her. "Now it's time to die."

Peter beat desperately against the barrier, but still they ignored him. He turned his head, and as the gun fired... he woke up.

Peter looked around his room. He was breathing in short gasps as his eyes scanned the apartment. Nothing was out of place. At least not here.

He kicked off his covers, sitting on the edge of the bed he dropped his head in his hands until his heartbeat slowed. After taking a few minutes to compose himself, Peter got up and went to the kitchen. He opened up the cabinet and took out a small glass. He turned on the faucet and pushed as far as he could towards cold. He filled the glass and turned the faucet off. He looked at the microwave. The green numbers glowed four thirty a.m.

"Great, I can't even sleep well on my day off."

He slammed the cupboard shut and went to the table. He sat down at and took a big swallow, letting the water slide down his throat. He felt the coolness spread across his chest and he took a breath.

"That was one hell of a nightmare. I just wish I knew why I keep having it."

Peter finished his drink, with troubled thoughts still on his mind. He put the glass in the sink, and with a deep sigh returned to his bed only to fall into a restless, but mercifully dreamless sleep.

The next morning Peter woke earlier than he would have liked, but he wanted to talk to his father about the recurring dream he'd been having. He had a quick cup of coffee as soon as he woke up. Then after taking a shower, he dressed in black jeans, and a forest green button down shirt, with his black cowboy boots, and left for China town. When he arrived at his fathers apartment, Caine was dressed in his beige pants, and a green shirt a bit lighter than Peters, with his flip flops. He was already busy with the morning chores of watering the plants.

"You are here early, my son," Caine said without even looking to see who it was.

Peter by now was used this. Over the past few years of being reunited with his father, he'd learned that Caine knows things without being having to be told. Needless to say that it still freaked him out sometimes, but little by little he'd been learning to deal with it.

He stood a few steps behind his father with his hands on his hips. "Yeah, well I need to talk to you."

Caine turned to face him. "About the dream you have been having?"

"How did you know?" Peter raised a hand to stop Caine from answering. "Never mind, you always know. Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about my dream."

Caine put down his pitcher, walked over to Peter and put an arm around his shoulder.

"Perhaps we should talk about it over a cup of tea."

Father and son walked into the kitchen. Peter sat down at the table while Caine prepared the tea. Peter told his father every detail of the dream. The power he felt, the girl, the beatings, the invisible barrier, everything.

Caine sat down at the table, handing Peter a cup of tea. "You have no idea where this power came from?"

Peter sipped his tea. "At first I was trying to find the source, but once I got through that door, I was more worried about the kid. I just don't understand why I couldn't get to her."

Caine shrugged. "Perhaps you were not meant to go to her."

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps this young girl is meant to come to you."

Peter shook his head. "I don't think so Pop. In my dream that guy was trying to kill her."

"Yes, but dreams are only a premonition of something that may happen. Not will happen. Maybe you are somehow meant to stop this murder."

"Maybe, but for now I'm going to go down to the precinct. I'll give Kermit her description and see what he comes up with."

Caine raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Peter asked. Caine shook his head. "It is just that I have never seen you so persistent from a dream."

"Yeah well, that's because no dream has ever gotten to me like this one has. Anyways I'll see you later Pop. I"ll let you know if I find anything."

Peter got up and kissed his father on the head.

"I will help you in any way I can, my son."

Peter nodded and turned to leave. As he went to walk out the front door, a girl walked in. She looked tattered and tired. She was about five four with long black hair that fell in tattered curls down her back. She was wearing black cargo pants, and a short blue top. She had a light blue back pack slung over her right shoulder.

Peter looked at the girl in disbelief. It couldn't be, could it?

The teenager looked up at him with amber eyes. She had a cut above her forehead and a fading bruise on her right cheek.

"Help me, please," she whispered as collapsed.

Peter grabbed her and picked her up. "POP!" Peter brought her over to the window seat and laid her down.

Caine came out of the kitchen. Seeing the situation he quickly went to them. Peter moved out of the way so his father could tend to her.

"Quickly Peter, bring me that glass jar there."

Peter quickly walked over to the shelf is father pointed to and brought him the required herbs. Caine took an herb out of the jar, opened the girls mouth, and placed it on her tongue.

"Will she be alright?" Peter asked.

"Yes. She is tired and worn. She needs to rest."

Caine grabbed the afghan from the end of the seat, and laid it across the girl. He turned to face Peter, who was standing with one arm crossed over his stomach, running his other hand through his hair. He wouldn't take his eyes of the girl.

"What is it, my son?"

Pulled from his thoughts, he looked at his father.

"That's her pop. That's the girl from my dreams." He returned his gaze back to the sleeping girl. Seeing her now Peter realized that she couldn't be more than sixteen, if that. He looked at her features over and over again. Her tan skin, and high cheekbones. Her slim waist, and raven hair. It seemed like a strong case of de ja-vu. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming, but the knots forming in his stomach convinced him it wasn't. Peter knew she was real. He just hoped that the rest of his dream wasn't. ~~~~~

Ok everyone let me know what you think.