His breath was coming hard in his chest as he ran, and he had to struggle to keep going. Behind, he could hear nothing. The only sound was his laboured breathing. But he knew his pursuer was there, waiting, following quietly.

He had no choice. He stopped, and pulled something from his pocket. Muttering under his breath, he drew a circle in the air in front of him. Then he took a handful of dirt and threw it at the air, breathing hard as he did so. The air in front of him shimmered for a moment, and then a street appeared. It was not what he had expected. The First Dimension? But he had no choice. Already, despite his pursuer being quiet, he could hear the slight crunch of his feet on the dead autumn leaves.

He took a deep breath, praying it was a quiet one, and leaped through the portal, to the other side. A bell tolled the 9pm mass, calling the Catholics of this dimension to pray. Were they like those in the Third Dimension? He couldn’t tell.

In front of him stood a large house, looking rich in a shabby neighbourhood. There was a large evergreen in the front yard, and some flower beds, withered from an early frost. Without turning to see if his pursuer had followed him through the portal, the man dashed through the door, stepping through the wood as though it were air. He wasn’t going to wait to see if his pursuer was following him; he hoped his pursuer wouldn’t. They both knew the rules, and just by forming a portal to the First Dimension, the man was risking his neck. But he had no choice. He was dead either way. At least this way, he might escape.

Dashing up the creaking stairs, taking them two at a time, the fugitive ran for his life. He stopped on the landing. Snoring could be heard coming from a room across and to the left of him. He didn’t like the sound of it. He sensed a continuation of stairs directly to his left, though, so he headed in that direction, and ran through the wood of the door.

A slight breeze blew through the open window, causing the airy white curtains to billow and dance like the fairies in Willowmere. The walls were a terracotta color, and the bed and dressing table were white with a gold trim. Some decorative pictures hung on the walls, and there was a dresser beside the bed.

And in the bed, wrapped in a bronze blanket, was a woman. In the dark, it was hard to tell what she looked like, and she was facing away from him. But he could tell that she had blonde hair. And she was in danger.

“So, this is where you decided to finish our little discussion? In the bedroom of a child?”

The man turned to face his pursuer. The other man wore all black, with black hair and gray eyes, he had a scar running down his left cheek, under his chin, and ending at his Adam’s Apple. His skin was pale, almost like ivory. He was dangerous.
“Luther,” the man breathed, his fear radiating from his tired limbs.

“Yes,” hissed the man, baring his teeth. “Give me the Key,” he said, holding out his black-gloved hand, “and I will spare your life.”

“No, you won’t,” the man retorted.

Luther tilted his head. “No, you’re right,” he said. “You don’t deserve to live; not after what you’ve done. But I will give you a quick death.”

“Not good enough.”

“Then why don’t I just kill this young girl here?” He suggested, walking around the man, to face the bed. “She will die peacefully, and her blood will be on your hands. It’s the best of both worlds.”

“What makes you think she wants to die?” The fugitive demanded.

“Just listen to her thoughts,” Luther said, sitting down on the bed and stroking her forehead. She murmured in her sleep, and turned onto her back, her face seen. She was biting her lip, and her eyes were squinting, though they were closed. “She hates it here.”

“That doesn’t mean she wants to die,” the man replied. Luther knew he didn’t want innocent blood on his hands; he was playing with him.

Luther merely smiled and stroked her forehead again. She murmured in her sleep again.

“Stop it!” The man cried. “You’re giving her nightmares.”

Luther smiled like a mad man. “So? Give me the Key, and she will be fine.”

“No,” the man replied. One life was not enough to give up the Key.

“Then she dies,” Luther said, and gripped her forehead. He began to chant unintelligibly.

The man growled under his breath, and attacked Luther, knocking him to the floor. He grabbed the other man’s collar, and held him against the wall. “Leave her alone, Luther!” The man hissed. “This is between you and me.”

“See you in the Third Dimension,” Luther chuckled, and slipped through the floorboards.

There was a long moment of pause, and the man breathed hard, the ordeal having torn a lot out of him. He turned to look at the young woman. She was breathing regularly again, and on her mouth was a smile. She looked quite pretty with the smile; almost beautiful. She had pale ivory skin, red lips, and from this angle, it was obvious to tell that she had blonde hair.

The man approached her, and closed his eyes, searching her mind for her Name. When he found it, his eyes flew open. “Take this Key and hold it dear, for the lives of my people rest in your hands. Guard it as best you can, with your life if you must, and at all costs, do not let it fall into the hands of Luther,” he said, holding her hand. A warm golden light passed between his skin and hers. When it died away, he sighed, relieved. Then he heard a quiet sigh, and a groan.

She was waking up.

AN: R&R, please. :D CC is welcome, flames are not.