Leesburg, Virginia – Present Day

Shandy stood by the front door, silent and unmoving.
 If Drake had not been so accustomed to her ways, he would have found her statuesque presence unnerving, but she had been a loyal employee since he had purchased the house. He had grown accustomed to her somewhat odd ways.
 “Shandy.” He nodded at her and she extended her hand to provide him with a double scotch. He idly wondered how she managed to keep his drinks cold when she appeared to have been standing in the same spot which he had left her in hours earlier.
 In his mind’s eye, he envisioned Shandy remaining in place, waiting for him to come and go. It was ridiculous, of course, but amusing all the same.
 “Your supper is warming in the oven, Mr. Conway,” she told him, her dark eyes trained straight ahead and not for the first time, Drake found himself wondering if she was a robot. “Cajun chicken and rice.”
 “Thank you, Shandy. You may retire for the night,” he told her, accepting the drink as he walked into the house.
 She stealthily slipped away toward her section of the house and he continued down the marble hall, toward his office.
 It was undeniably a beautiful property, his house on Grenata Preserve Place.
 Only the truly privileged could afford a colonial style mansion on the outskirts of Leesburg and Drake had worked hard to become a part of that elite circle of people.
 He had everything he could want within the stone walls; ten bedrooms, eight bathrooms, two powder rooms. There was a theatre, ballroom, tennis court and indoor pool inside, while an outdoor heated pool ran all year next to a hot tub designed with luxury in mind.
 There were private verandas for the bedrooms, and high ceilings, marble and teak trim.  Twelve fireplaces could be found and each had its own unique design.
 The house was a showpiece and Drake was often praised for its splendor and magnificence, yet going home never failed to fill him with a deep sense of melancholy.
 What is the point of having all this when you have no one to share it with, to pass it along to?
 He reminded himself that one day, he would be reunited with his boys, no matter how long it took.
 He paused outside the sliding doors of his office, taking in his reflection in an oval mirror hanging on the stair wall.
 How much longer will I have to look for them? It has been 28 years since I have seen them. They are someone else with no memory of me or their mother, I am certain. Even if Ryder or Xavier remember us, would they recognize me anymore? Would I recognize them? Have I passed one of them walking down the street?
 They were more questions for the sleepless nights.
 The man in the mirror was handsome in a stern, no-nonsense way.
 His hair was thick and full, a liberal dose of salt with remnants of pepper.
 Bright green eyes peered back at him from a slightly lined face but if anyone had to guess, they would not believe Drake Conway was sixty-five years old.
 I can barely believe I am considered a senior citizen. I still feel like I am the man in my thirties, screaming out for my boys.
 Drake was sure that it would get easier, that time would bring with it some healing and answers.
 He had left the Department of Defense to join the Federal Bureau of Investigation, thinking that it would open more avenues to catching Oculus.
 Vance Berkley had come with him, Drake insisting on that stipulation as part of his job acceptance, because Drake knew he needed the man close.
 Vance was the only one who knew where the boys had been taken.
 All Drake had known was that they had each been sent somewhere different in North America to be raised by other families.
 “That’s all you need to know for now,” Vance assured him as Drake had recovered in the hospital from several bullet wounds in various parts of his body.
 The doctors had been unable to believe he had survived a shooting with so many bullets at such close range.
 “I need to say goodbye to them!” Drake begged. “Please, Vance.”
His most trusted friend shook his head sadly.
 “They are already gone, Drake. Remember, you demanded this. It was for their own safety.”
 When Vance left, Drake cried for the first time since the shooting.
 He bawled for the loss of his Shirley, for the danger which the boys faced.
 Why would I ever think that they could lead normal lives? How could I have been so naïve?
 It was too late for regrets, especially when he knew he was to blame for the predicament in which they found themselves.
 The boys were gone and their lives, as well as his own, were still in danger.
 Yet Drake knew it was not him who Oculus wanted. They wanted the boys.
 The FBI had proved no more useful in tracking Oculus than the Department of Defense but Drake did not know why he was surprised.
 No one will ever stop Oculus. Nothing on Earth can stop their destruction.
 Killing Vance had been more proof that they would stop at nothing to find his children but Drake took comfort in knowing that wherever Vance had hidden them, they were well secured.
 If Oculus had found them, Drake would know it. The adoptive parents had been able to keep the boys and their abilities off the radar.
 But Drake also knew that no one could prepare his children for what to expect except him. He didn’t even know if Vance had told the adoptive families of the boys’ special abilities. The two men had agreed that Drake should not know any of the details of the relocations that had saved his boys’ lives.
 But they are adults now. They are learning to fend for themselves, with their abilities. It makes them more dangerous to themselves. They will slip up and Oculus will find them. It is only a matter of time before that happens and who will protect them then?
 Yet Drake also realized that if they began to show their natural talents, it would also make it easier for him to find them. He knew that there was a good chance that his boys would have struggled as they grew up. Having abilities like they did, but not knowing how to control them would have been difficult enough even with guidance. Without any mentors, they were liable to have acted out – especially in their teen years when every child struggled with their emotions and their feelings of frustration as they became adults. But when he thought of the extra angst and violence that could have manifested for his boys as they tried to deal with things they didn’t understand, Drake reluctantly knew that it was likely that he would find his boys in either the military – or in prison. After all, isn’t that where troubled youth generally ended up?
 It was after that realization that he had shifted positions again, applying to the Central Intelligence Agency. At that point, the search became less an exercise in futility and he began to hear things about the elusive group and their activities.
 The leads had been pouring in for years but nothing had materialized conclusively.
Oculus had been laying low also, and it made Drake uneasy.
 Are they watching me? What are they planning? He wondered, thinking of how he had lead them directly to the house in New Haven all those years ago.
 It was not him they wanted, not really. Could they have given up, believing that Drake had forsaken seeking out his children?
 He found that difficult to accept also. If Oculus had no use for him, they would simply kill him. Drake was the only lead they had to find his sons. Without that angle, Oculus would not leave him alive, potentially setting up an attack on them.
 No, they knew Drake would never give up looking for his sons and they intended to be there when he found them.
 The thought filled Drake with insurmountable dread.
 Sighing heavily, he sat behind the desk and pulled up his computer through the hidden compartment in the desk.
 It was a security feature which Drake found insufferably annoying as it took at least sixty seconds for the flat screened monitor to appear.
 He took a sip of his scotch while he waited and cringed slightly.
 When did I become a man who drinks 100-year-old single malt? What ever happened to drinking Bud and watching the Huskies play the Buckeyes?
 He didn’t remember Drake Conway, husband and neighbor of Bob anymore.
 He was starting to feel very old suddenly.
 Sitting back, he opened his personal email and read through the almost one hundred new notifications.
 The same messages, charities asking for donations, politicians asking for campaign pledges, colleagues seeking his assistance in open cases but Drake’s eyes scanned over everything, landing on the nameless, origin-less email sitting half way through the screen, as he knew it would be.
 Shakily, Drake reached for his glass and took a sip before clicking on his mouse and opening the message.
 How about this? It read.
 He knew who it was from, and he steeled himself for more disappointment.
 Drake took a deep breath and played the video, the hairs on his arms beginning to rise as he stared at the man on screen.
 The man lounged against a retaining wall, drinking a bottle of beer, his seaweed colored eyes scanning the party indifferently.
 Another man entered the frame, pushing the original playfully.
 “You’re a party pooper at your own birthday party!” the newcomer declared.                Drake’s heart stopped entirely as he leaned forward to stare into the screen, studying every angle of both men’s faces.
 “You’re having enough fun for both of us,” the sullen one replied. “Let me enjoy my peace and quiet.”
 The closer Drake’s face got to the computer, the more his pulse began to race as he stared at the twin boys, both in their late twenties.
 Could it be? Have Zander and Aiden been found finally?
 “You’re boring,” the cheerful man declared, shrugging his shoulders and spinning to leave.
   “Happy birthday, Zach and Ari!” someone yelled from out of range. One twin waved while the other grunted in response.
 Drake could not breathe.
 Their names were Zach and Ari, similar to Zander and Aiden. They had the same pale green eyes of his twins, of all his boys. The age was right. There was one stoic and one playful in personality, just as his boys had been.
 Yet Drake knew inherently that the men he watched were not his children.
 He sank back into his chair, the life depleting from his body.
 How many videos had he seen over the years? How many driver’s licenses and security camera screenshots had fallen into his lap?
 All of them had potentially been Ryder, Xavier or the twins but not one had proven so.
 Did Vance lie to me? Did he send them overseas so I would not go looking? Did they die in the attack and he wanted to spare me?
 Drake had no way of knowing, as the man who held the answer to that question was dead.
 But Elise is not.
 Slowly, Drake raised his head, shocked that he had not thought of it before.
 There had not been a shred of paperwork pertaining to the Conway boys’ whereabouts when Vance had died.
 Drake had lived in constant fear that Oculus had stolen the information when they had murdered his friend all those years ago but as time passed, Drake could still feel that his sons were very much alive wherever they were.
 Even so, he had lived in a state of limbo, never truly knowing until the phone had rung earlier that day.
 The Contact had spoken for the first time in years.
 There had been another Oculus attack. In Berlin, this time.
 Oculus was still searching for something or they would not have made themselves known.
 If Oculus had never discovered the boys’ whereabouts when they killed Vance, he must not have documented their movements. But he likely told someone. Like Elise, his wife.
 He nodded slowly and swiveled in his chair to stare out of the back window of his office.
 Night had fallen into an eerie inky blackness which seemed accentuated in the silence of his surroundings.
 He wondered what the boys were doing, if they had any idea who they were or what they were capable of yet.
 They must know, Drake thought, a mixture of exhilaration and fear overcoming him.
 He should have been there to guide them.
 It was not too late, provided they were still alive...and had not conformed with Oculus.

 Shirley pulled a knife out and began to cut the pie in pieces and Drake was suddenly overcome with a sense that he had been there before.
 Oh no, he thought, his heart beginning to thud dangerously in his chest.
 A strange feeling began to emanate through Drake and time slowed as he watched the scene unfolding before him.
 Deja vu.
 Fear gripped his heart and he backed up the chair, rising to his feet as the doorbell rang.
 “Who could that be?” Shirley asked, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner.
 Drake opened his mouth to respond, panic sweeping over his body as he reached for the twins, snatching them from their chairs. Instantly they began to wail in protest as their father kicked over the table.
 “Don’t answer it!” he cried out as his wife hurried toward the front door. She turned to stare at him in stunned surprise.
 It was too late.
 The door flew inward and they drew in, like a swarm of buzzards on a corpse. Their leader smiled coldly at Drake, raising his weapon to fire once between his wife’s eyes, ending her scream before it had a chance to start.
 Drake had no chance to think, only react, throwing the twins into Ryder’s arms as he scooped Xavier from his chair.
 Their wailing filled his ears as he reached into his ankle holster and began firing at the half dozen men dressed only in black.
 His bullets did not slow them and they drew closer as the children took cover beneath the buffet, quaking in fear.
 When the first round hit him, Drake knew that it was his fault. He had brought a plague on his house when he had been warned time and again about the consequences.
 His shoulder was on fire but it did not stop him from pulling the trigger again and again, hoping to take out at least one of them.
 One less of them is one less threat, he thought as more ammunition riddled his body, but he knew he was outnumbered and outsmarted.
 He had lied to his sons.
 He could not protect them. He had unwittingly brought danger directly to their doorstep.
 And the children would never be safe again.
 He began to topple, his face falling toward the upturned table but some how he did not crash to the floor.
 As if in a dream, he turned to look at Xavier whose liquid eyes seemed to penetrate his, the small face reflecting fear and confusion. Drake found himself suspended momentarily, as Oculus closed in on them until suddenly, Xavier wrenched his eyes away, dropping his father unceremoniously to the floor.
 “No more hiding, Dray-ke,” the leader rasped, his face inches from Drake’s as he raised his pistol to shoot him between the eyes.
 Suddenly, the leader’s head exploded into a million pieces, splaying blood and brain matter about the room.
 In slow motion, Drake turned to watch his children, Ryder and Xavier were now in the arms of a soldier, while the twins sat cowering beneath the buffet.
 He was losing consciousness, willing himself to heal as he had done so many times before but there were too many wounds.
 Ryder’s dark head tilted and he stared up at the man gripping his arm.
 Again, there was a splash of red against the room, the head of the soldier holding the older boys was suddenly…missing. As the twins shrieked in terror, Xavier seemed to study the situation. He looked terrified and in control at the same time. Confused, and yet thoughtful. His eyes squinted slightly as he regarded the scene.
 The others froze in their spots, disabled by the three-year-old who had stopped them in their tracks.
 A cold harsh reality seemed to settle into the militia as they realized that they were about to be overpowered by two children.
 Drake’s eyes began to close, but not before he cried out to the boys silently.
 Don’t stop fighting! Don’t let them take you! They are Oculus and you must fight against them!
 He had no way of knowing if they heard his last words, before he faded into blackness.

  He woke in a cold sweat, something he had long ago learned to expect.
 The clock read four thirteen a.m.
 Seventeen minutes before my alarm, Drake thought ruefully. Not that it mattered; sleep was always a fleeting concept with him.
 The nightmare was not a nightmare. Not really. It had happened, and it could never be forgotten, regardless of how much time had passed.
 It replayed over in his mind while he slept, as if it had only just occurred.
 He threw his muscular legs over the side of the bed and pulled himself up from the lonely California King bed.
 It was ridiculous to have such a large mattress for a man who had never gotten over the loss of his wife, yet the interior decorator had insisted that anything less would not fit the room and Drake had not bothered to argue. He had bigger battles to fight.
 He made his way out of the back room, through the sitting area of the bedroom and opened the double doors leading to the hallway.
 Heading down the floating staircase, he debated between warm milk and scotch.
 Maybe both, he mused.
 Slipping into the kitchen, he pulled open the stainless-steel fridge and pulled out a carton of milk. As he reached for a glass, he began to laugh.
 Why am I reaching for a glass? He asked himself. I live alone. No one else drinks from this carton and no one else ever will. I am alone and have been for decades. When will I accept that the boys are gone, that I will never learn of their whereabouts?
 His chuckle turned into choked sobs and he lowered himself onto a bar stool at the kitchen island, staring at the milk blankly.
 It is time to let go. I cannot defeat Oculus alone and there has been no solid sign of the children. I am living day to day in an uncertain state of madness and fear.
 He blinked to stave off the torrent of tears threatening to course down his cheeks and opened the carton, putting the cardboard to his lips.
 Wherever you are, sons, I have never stopped loving you, he thought mournfully, a silent toast and tribute to them.
 As he went to pour the cold liquid down his throat, a chiming noise caught his attention.
 Drake lowered the carton, his eyebrows rising.
 It was his cell phone, ringing in the library.
 Sliding off the seat, he hurried to catch the call, wondering who would be trying to reach him at that hour of the morning.
 Nothing good can come of this, he thought grimly, snatching up the cell from his desk.
 The number was unknown and Drake felt his palms grow sweaty.
  “Yes?”
 There was a long silence and gooseflesh prickled Drake’s skin as he waited. Someone was on the other end, someone important. It was like the quality of the silence imparted a certain authority.
 “I know you are there,” Drake said flatly. “Tell me what you want.”
 “I have found your son.”
 The news sent a wave of dizziness through Drake. His heart stuttered and his breathing stopped altogether.
 “Are you there?” The Contact asked.
 “Yes,” Drake breathed. “Which one?”
 “The oldest one.”

  Ryder.
 Drake’s eyes closed as he conjured the image of his dark-haired boy. This time, the tears could not be stopped as they began to flow down his cheeks.
 “Are you sure this time?” Drake asked, forcing himself to keep his composure. How many times had he heard those words over the past years, only to be sorely disappointed by the outcome.
 “It is him.”
 “How can you be sure?” Drake demanded, refusing to allow his hopes to be raised by another false lead.
 There was a mirthless chuckle.
 “You will see,” The Contact replied evasively.
 Drake paused, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest. The Contact had definitive proof. Drake had never heard him sound so sure of himself.
 “Where is he?”
Again, The Contact laughed humorlessly.
 “You’ll see. I will be in touch.”