Chapter 1

-RIIINNNGG ... RIIINNNGG!-

-RIIINNNGG ... RIIINNNGG!-

It took me three tries, but I finally found the phone. Not an easy thing to do in pitch black, with a numb arm. My initial impulse was to simply silence it by chucking it against the wall, but somehow, through my sleepy and irritable haze, I was hit by a sudden attack of reason.

"'ello?" I groaned.

"Marcus? It's Travis."

"Uncle Travis?" And just like that, I was wide awake. "What -"

"Look, I'm sorry about calling so late." I glanced at my clock radio and saw that it was a quarter to four in the morning. If it had been anybody else, I would have simply growled, cursed them off and hung up.

What can I say, I like my sleep.

"I'm also sorry that I haven't kept in touch much since the funerals."

"That's ok Travis..." I said, but not really meaning it.

"No it's not. I could blame it on grief, or maybe being overworked, but they're no excuse. I promise to make it up to you, hopefully next time we meet. Whenever that may be. But right now, I have something really important to say."

"Go head." I felt much better with his obviously heartfelt apology, but I was also grateful for the subject change.

"Listen, I just sent you an email. Read it. Believe it. It's not spam, a joke or hoax – it's real and it's serious."

"Travis, what are you talking about?" I could really hear the fear and urgency in his voice. Two states of mind that I had believed were completely foreign to my laid back and confidant uncle.

"Read the files, then get somewhere safe." I could hear other voices in the background through the phone. He continued talking hurriedly in an almost whisper. "I need to go. Send a message to the address at the end of the email. Good luck kid ... be smart and stay safe."

-Click-

For a good ten minutes I simply stayed there in the dark, sitting up in bed with the phone clutched in my hand. My mind seemed to be having problems engaging. I didn't know what to think or feel at the moment.

My uncle Travis, the only close relative I had left, had called in the middle of the night, after almost ten months of silence, to apologize and say "check your email".

I wasn't sure if I was happy he called or pissed off – probably a bit of both.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, making a significant effort to reboot my brain. I decided that there wasn't much I could do about my uncle now. I'd deal with him later, in person, whenever that would be.

I leaned over, reaching out in the dark for my laptop on my desk. Thanks to practicing the same maneuver thousands of times before, I grabbed it with only a minimal amount of groping and fumbling. I brought it to me and then simply waited for it to boot up and connect to the local WiFi.

Sure enough, a minute later, I found Travis's email in my inbox, tucked in between a message offering discount Rolexs and another guaranteeing an extra three inches in length and another in girth. Opening his message, after deleting the SPAM, I spent the next hour going through several pdf files. Wanting to be thorough, I printed them all out and reread them carefully, highlighting passages and doing some research on the internet. I was no longer tired, despite the time. I worked solidly over two hours.

When I was done, I shut down my computer, walked stiffly into the bathroom and threw up in the toilet.

Of course there was no way that I was going back to sleep after that. I got dressed and left the apartment for a run, hoping that it would clear my head and allow me to think and plan. It's something I have done before that usually helps me deal with stress. Thank God it worked this time – my mind had just about stalled, overloaded by the sheer enormity of what I had read in one simple email.

Jogging through the still dark streets of Seattle, I shifted my mind into problem solving mode. If there was one area where I excelled, it was planning – I could plan actions, envision numerous consequences, good and bad, and adapt accordingly with speed and accuracy.

My father used to joke that I should grow up to be a general.

By the time the sun started rising I was sore and physically tired, but also strangely energized. I already had the bare bones of a plan and was on my way home.

A little past seven thirty, I started to hear movement from my roommate's bedroom. Dave joined me in the kitchen a few moments later, still not fully dressed and apparently half asleep. I pointed out a cup of coffee that I had already prepared and a box of fresh donuts I had picked up on my way home. His only response was a grunt which I choose to take as a "thanks" as he sat down and began his morning caffeine intake.

Dave Walnot was the first person I met at the University of Washington about three years ago, and somehow we became best friends and roommates, living in our own apartment. He was born and raised in Liverpool, England and was one of a dozen kids (all siblings and cousins) living in one cramped house, along with his parents and a smattering of aunts and uncles. According to his multitude of stories, he was a real hell raiser and an aspiring criminal delinquent, all while managing semi-decent grades, helping with the younger children and working a part-time job.

Then something happened, I'm not sure what. He apparently got in some pretty big trouble and it wasn't exactly comfortable or safe to stay in the country. Seeing as he had some money saved up and he wasn't particularly close to any of his family, he decided to leave for America. He ended up here in Seattle with a student visa and enrolled in the University of Washington.

"So, you're up early." He finally spoke, after pouring his second coffee and finishing his donut.

"I got some bad news last night ... Real bad."

"You in trouble?" He asked skeptically. Usually, whenever I was involved in some sort of problem, he was usually the one that had dragged me into it.

"We all are Dave." He stopped his reach for a second donut. Looking at me closely, he could tell that I was serious.

"You gonna keep me in suspense, or what? Build up the drama, then hit me with a surprise twist ending?" He usually did that - use mockery to defuse a tense situation. I appreciated it.

"Let's wait until Missy gets here. I don't want to repeat myself." I replied with a slight smile.

He nodded thoughtfully and we proceeded to continue drinking our coffee and eating donuts in companionable silence.

"Morning boys." Speak of the devil; not even a minute later there she was, padding into the kitchen wearing nothing but a small t-shirt, panties, fluffy bunny slippers and a big cheery smile.

About the only thing I could ever be remotely jealous of Dave was his girlfriend Missy. Cute, sweet and sexy sums her up quite well. They met a month or two after Dave and I did and fell instantly in love, despite their many differences. Well, according to Dave, they fell instantly in lust first, with love coming a few days later, after they actually got to know each other.

He was a dark skinned and reformed criminal from Liverpool, while she was a blond and curly haired, blue-eyed, country girl from somewhere down south. She was perky, eternally happy and upbeat, friendly with everyone, while he was standoffish, somewhat moody, and emotionally scarred. Yet somehow, they were perfect together, bringing out the best of each other.

"Hello luv."

"Morning Missy."

She hardly even slowed down on her way to the fridge for her usual orange juice and cereal as she kissed Dave good morning and patted me on my head. She quickly filled a cup and prepared a bowl with practiced ease. Even though she lived in her own apartment with two roommates of her own, she spent so much time here with us, that she might as well have been paying rent. She then hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter and started eating.

"Any plans besides classes?" she asked genuinely curious about our days.

"Actually," I answered, "I don't think any of us will be going to classes."

Her spoon stopped on the way to her mouth. "What does that mean?"

"That's right ... apparently Marcus here has some big bad news for us." They both looked at me expectantly.

"Let's get a bit more comfortable," I said heading for the living room, with a fresh cup of coffee.

Moments later we were all gathered around the coffee table – Missy was sitting cross-legged on the couch still eating her cereal, with Dave sitting on the floor in front of her, slowly working on his third cup and donut, while I was sitting in my armchair with a couple of printed out copies of the documents Uncle Travis had emailed me.