Written for the TIWF Halloween Challenge 2010.

Hello to Lightcudder, Mapu, Ship's Cat and the worthy winner, Tiylaya.

Many thanks to Fran Lavery for reining me in and helping to tighten up this story with her excellent beta-ing. Thanks Fran, a pint of your favourite tipple is on its way. And a big bar of chocolate.

Reviews and feedback are, as ever, welcomed with a shiver of delight. Thanks so much.

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"Hey, Virg. That's a nice painting."

"Thanks, Scott."

"I like the colours."

Virgil turned to his older brother, standing beside him, and smiled wryly. "You don't have to pretend, fella."

"No, really. I like it." Scott's blue eyes flashed gentle amusement, taking in the flecks of fresh paint in Virgil's chestnut hair and the pale yellow smear across his chin.

Virgil turned back to his painting and the two of them appraised it quietly for a few moments in the sunny mid-morning light that came streaming in through the lounge windows.

It was a painting of a house, two-storey, colonial looking, perched on a seafront at the corner of a T-junction, the branch road climbing past the house up a gentle incline. The colour of the house was mint green, faded and weather-worn in most places, with trails of rust scarring the paintwork around window frames. The sky was a stormy mixture of greys and purples, turning pale yellow as it descended to the horizon.

"You know this place?" Scott asked.

"Not really," Virgil replied.

Scott looked puzzled. "You're not painting from a photograph."

"No," Virgil mused thoughtfully.

"So?" Scott nudged his brother. "Don't be cryptic. Where is this place? It kind of looks familiar."

"Well," said Virgil, tapping his lower lip with the end of his paintbrush and getting more paint on his face, "if you want to know the truth, and don't laugh at me, I dreamed about it."

Scott's eyes widened. "You did?" he peered at the painting more closely. "In this much detail?"

"Yeah, mostly."

"But you don't know where it is?"

"No. Could be anywhere."

"Wouldn't you'd get an indication from the detail?" Scott said. "Any stop lights? Road signs? Types of tree, even? Plus, the architecture of the house itself."

Virgil smiled at his older brother who was casting his analytic gaze intently over the whole painting. "I didn't think you'd be so interested," he chuckled.

"Mmm. I love a good mystery, Virg."

"Well, it was a nice enough dream, anyway. Guess that's what made me want to get it down on canvas."

"Maybe one day you'll find out if this place really exists."

"Yeah. Maybe."

Scott put his hand on Virgil's shoulder and squeezed gently. "You're very lucky to have this talent, bro," he said. "You can dream something like this, or a song, and next thing it's right there in front of you."

Virgil smiled, noting the almost wistful look on Scott's face. "It doesn't happen that often, Scott. Most times I have to work at it."

"Still, it's a good thing to be able to do."

The brothers were distracted then, by their grandmother approaching.

"What are you working on today, Virgil?" Mrs. Tracy asked kindly.

"Come see, Grandma." Virgil put his arm out and drew the old lady into a warm hug, turning her to face the canvas.

"Oh my! What a beautiful house."

"I dreamed it, Grandma. What do you make of that?"

"Oh, Virgil, I think it's wonderful. To have such vivid dreams, and of such wonderful places."

"I don't suppose you recognise it?" Scott asked hopefully.

"No," Mrs. Tracy said, "but it does look familiar."

"That's exactly what I thought." Scott said. "Not somewhere I've ever been, but somehow there's an air of recognition about it."

"It's not an unusual view though, is it?" Virgil stated. "A big old colonial house on a sea front. We've probably all seen pictures in magazines or old copies of National Geographic."

"True," agreed Scott.

"Well, I think it's lovely," said Mrs. Tracy, hugging Virgil back. "And I hope you're going to hang it somewhere nice when it's finished."

"Don't worry. Grandma. I will."

Later on in the afternoon, Scott approached Virgil again, this time by the swimming pool. He held two tall glasses full of a cold liquid and handed one to his brother, who still had paint in his hair.

"Grandma made iced tea," he said. "Here you go."

"Hey. Thanks, Scott." Virgil accepted the proffered drink gratefully and took a long swallow. "Wow. Delicious. Grandma sure knows how to make a good iced tea."

Scott pulled up a chair and sat down next to Virgil, slopping a little of his drink onto the ground as he did so.

"Hey, where's ours?" called Alan from the middle of the pool where he and Tin-Tin were laughing and splashing.

"In the kitchen," Scott retorted.

"Man, that's so unfair."

"Deal with it."

"Big galoot," said Alan, flicking water in his eldest brother's direction.

Scott grinned, raised his glass. Then he turned back to Virgil. "Virg, I want to talk to you. About Grandma."

"Oh?" Virgil had been pulling sympathetic faces at Alan, but he was all ears now.

"Have you noticed she seems a bit tired lately. Well, a lot tired."

"Noticeably tired?"

"Yeah."

"Well," Virgil thought about it for a moment. "Not noticeably." he looked dismayed, as thought he had missed something he shouldn't have missed.

"Maybe I'm worrying too much. I thought she seemed a bit wobbly just now, in the kitchen."

"She's not as young as she used to be. I know that's an old cliché, but she's getting on, Scott. And she still tries to do everything at once."

"I know. She's making a cake right now as we speak."

"Chocolate?"

"Vanilla sponge. That's why I'm here. She chased me out."

"Will you never learn," Virgil grinned.

"It's gonna nag at me now. I'll keep an eye on her, anyway."

"Just don't let her catch you at it. You know what she's like with anyone fussing over her. She reckons that's her job."

Virgil returned to his painting after dinner. The natural daylight had disappeared and now his work was illuminated by the soft glow from a nearby standing lamp. He looked at his artwork thoughtfully. He became so engrossed that he didn't even notice when his older brother arrived at his side.

"Think you'll dream about it again?" Scott asked, causing Virgil to jump slightly.

"Scott, don't sneak up on me like that."

"Virg, a herd of elephants could stomp past and you wouldn't have noticed, you looked so deep in thought."

"I guess I'm just intrigued by it. By the fact I felt I had to paint it, too. As if there's some reason why I need to remember it."

"Maybe that's just the artist in you. You get all sentimental about visions. Signs and portents."

"You can scoff. Oh, yeah...you just did."

"I'm teasing, Virg. I wish I had a fraction of your talent. That mountain series you painted, still takes my breath away."

"Thanks." Virgil looked at his brother face on. They exchanged a warm smile.

"You get one compliment a day. And that was it."

"Well, here's yours." Virgil punched Scott lightly in the chest. "You're a good brother."

"So," Scott grinned, "did you notice Grandma earlier? What did you think?"

"She did look tired," Virgil admitted. "And she let us help clean up after dinner without the usual protests about everyone getting in her way."

"She had her hands on her back, too." Scott appeared thoughtful. "And I kind of noticed she looked a bit faraway."

They exchanged another look, both knowing what the other was thinking.

"It's gonna happen one day," Scott said quietly as Virgil turned back to gaze at his painting.

"I know."

Scott rubbed Virgil's shoulder. "She's gone to bed already. I'm gonna take her some cocoa. Want to come and listen to some stories?"

"Actually, Scott...I just want to work on this for a bit."

"Sure, Virg. She'll probably chase me out again anyway. But I might sit with her awhile if she'll let me."

"If she'll let you? Will you give her a choice?"

Scott laughed. "You know me too well, Virgil."

Mrs. Tracy looked very sternly at Scott when he arrived at her door, but her face lit up at the sight of the cocoa and the cookies he'd brought along with it. She ushered him into her room, which smelled of magnolias, and showed him a chair to sit on while she returned to her bed, gathering her nightdress as she climbed in.

"So, what brings you to an old lady's bedroom at this time of night?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"It's eight thirty, Grandma."

"Yes, and that's late enough for me." Mrs. Tracy sniffed the contents of her mug. "Did you make this?"

"I did."

She took a tentative sip. "Not bad."

"Grandma, it's a spoonful of powder with hot milk on it. Not exactly rocket science."

"And you heated the milk yourself?"

Scott grinned, raked a hand through his hair and almost blushed. "Well...no. Tin-Tin did that. She said she didn't trust me not to burn the pan."

Mrs. Tracy smiled broadly. "You are a good boy, Scott. This is delicious."

"So," Scott went on, settling himself into the comfortable chair. "How've you been these last few days, Grandma?"

"In what way do you mean?" Mrs. Tracy continued to sip at her cocoa.

"You feeling okay? In yourself?"

She eyed him suspiciously over the edge of the mug. "Spit it out, young man."

"Spit what out?" Scott shot her his best look of total innocence.

"You're checking up on me."

"I am not!"

"Yes, you are. Bringing me cocoa and cookies. And don't think I haven't noticed you peering at me all the time, as though I'm about to fall over any second. I should think you're checking up on me!"

"Okay, so I'm checking up on you. Boy, Virgil warned me about being more covert. Guess I've blown my cover already."

"I should have known you and Virgil would be in this together. Pass me one of those cookies, would you?"

Scott handed his grandmother the plate and watched as she selected three different types of cookie.

"So what is it you want to know?" she said, settling back into her pile of pillows, crumbs falling onto the blankets.

"Just how you are, Grandma. Just how you are."

Mrs. Tracy bit one of the cookies, started munching thoughtfully. "Well, I guess I'm just a little bit tired these days, but nothing to worry about. It's the heat sometimes, you know. And my hip sometimes stiffens up, but I find staying active actually helps it. It's sitting still that makes it worse."

"Gentle activity though, Grandma. Not charging around the place like a buffalo."

"A buffalo! Where do you get your ideas."

"You know what I mean. You're in and out of that kitchen all day, making cookies, and cakes and pies and..." Scott stopped, wondering suddenly if he was beginning to sound ungrateful.

"Because I want to," she said firmly. "And because it's worth it to see the looks on your faces when those cakes and pies and cookies arrive."

"Grandma, that came out wrong, I wasn't saying you should stop. But maybe slow down a little."

"Oh, Scott. You're a darling boy and your concern is touching, yours and your wily brother's. But really, I'm fine. I love rustling up goodies for you all. Land sake's, if it wasn't for you boys and your father, and Tin-Tin and Kyrano, I would have been gone a long time ago."

"Don't talk like that, Grandma."

Mrs. Tracy smiled at the worried look on her eldest grandson's face. She leaned over and patted his hand. "Scott, my dear, I have no intentions of going anywhere just yet. But if you're concerned, then I will try and pace myself a little bit. Just for you, because you are so like him."

"You mean dad?"

"I mean your grandfather," she said, her eyes twinkling.

The next morning, Virgil arrived in the kitchen, yawning and dragging his slippers across the floor.

"Here's our little ray of sunshine," said Scott, already up and dressed and drinking coffee with Jeff and Gordon at the table.

"Stick it," Virgil mumbled, making a beeline for the coffee machine.

"Isn't that nice," growled Jeff, affably. "Good morning to you too, son."

"Morning," Virgil croaked, pushing his fingers through his hair, making it stick up like Stan Laurel's.

"Pleasant dreams?" said Scott, eyeing Virgil with amusement.

His brother turned his head and directed a sleepy gaze at him. "Maybe."

"Anyone I know?" grinned Gordon.

"Not unless you know some women," Virgil replied, bringing his steaming mug over to the table and landing like a lead weight into a chair opposite Scott.

"I think I know more women than you, Einstein," Gordon laughed, indicating Virgil's stuck-up hair.

"We've been talking about Grandma," said Scott. "Dad's noticed her tiredness too."

"I've been thinking of taking her to the mainland for a check up," said Jeff. "But you know she'd hit the roof if I suggested anything like that to her."

"She sure would," Virgil agreed, his head sinking down towards his mug. "Personally, I think you should leave it. She's not incapacitated or anything like that."

"No, she made that quite clear last night," said Scott. "Told me off for fussing."

"Didn't I say she would?"

"She said I was like Grandpa."

"She says I'm like him too," laughed Jeff. "Stubborn as a mule."

"Are you saying I'm stubborn as a mule?" Scott said, his eyes widening indignantly.

"Ohh noo," said Gordon as their father chuckled into his coffee. "As an ox, maybe."

Mrs. Tracy shuffled into the kitchen right at that very moment. "Are you fellows talking about me?"

she asked, peering at them suspiciously.

"Yes, Grandma, we're talking about you," said Scott. "All good stuff."

"I should hope so." Mrs. Tracy went over to the kitchen cupboards and started taking down bags of flour and sugar.

"What are you doing, Mother?" asked Jeff.

"I've decided to make some chocolate brownies," Mrs. Tracy replied. "They always go down well."

Jeff and Scott exchanged a look.

"And don't you try to discourage me," she added, before either of them could say anything.

"Well," said Gordon, getting to his feet, "I've got some work to do in Pod 4, so if you'll excuse me, folks."

He left the room, taking his coffee mug with him, grinning at Virgil on the way out.

Humming a merry tune, Mrs. Tracy took eggs and butter out of the fridge and located some dark chocolate. As she stood up, Scott, Jeff and Virgil all thought they saw her wince.

Scott shook his head at Jeff and mouthed, "what is she doing?"

"Mother, it's early. Come and sit with us," said Jeff.

"I don't need to sit," Mrs. Tracy said. "I've been lying down all night."

"Now who's being stubborn?" Scott muttered under his breath.

"Grandma, come and relax," smiled Virgil. "Before these two explode."

"Oh! Let them explode, with their fussing. They want me to sit in a rocking chair knitting all day long. Well, I'm not about to resort to that!"

"No-one said that, Mother." Jeff said with exasperation.

"You know how you all love my chocolate brownies."

"We sure do, Grandma. Best brownies this side of Kathmandu." said Virgil. He got up to return his empty mug to the sink and went over to hug his grandmother tightly. "We love you, Grandma, and we love your brownies."

She leaned into Virgil's strong embrace and hugged him back with a fierceness that surprised him.

When she finally let go, she wobbled a bit but regained her composure almost immediately.

"Now hurry up and scoot out of my kitchen," she scolded. "I've got work to do."

Later that morning, after he'd woken up properly and showered, Virgil began work on another canvas. He sketched loosely with a piece of charcoal, his hand moving quickly. Scott saw, and came over.

"Another dream?" he asked, watching.

"Yeah. Kind of a continuation," Virgil murmured. "Same house, different viewpoint. Closer. And the front door was open this time."

"Really." Scott took in the details of the sketch. A closer view of the porch of the house, with the door ajar. "Think it's trying to tell you something?"

Virgil glanced askew at Scott. "Are you serious? Like some kind of a psychic message?" He said this last bit with a straight face, knowing how Scott would react.

Scott held his hands up. "Whoa, I didn't say anything about psychic messages. It just seems strange to have two similar dreams about the same place. Two dreams that have made enough of an impact on you to make you want to paint them."

"Like I said, Scott. It feels like a nice place. I'm not spooked by it at all."

"Could turn out to be an interesting series, anyway. That is, if you continue to have these dreams."

"Could be." Virgil went back to sketching. Scott recognised the intense look that came over Virgil's face as he worked.

"Want me to leave you and your Muse to it?" he asked.

"Naw, it's okay, Scott. You can stay if you want to."

Something about that open doorway looked inviting. Virgil tipped his head to one side, and then the other, lost in thought.

"I've been looking at your other painting, Virgil," came a quiet, almost shy voice. He and Scott both turned to see Tin-Tin approaching, her big green eyes almost luminous in the sunlight pouring through the window.

"Hi, Tin-Tin. Guess you know the story behind it, then."

"Scott said it was a dream you had."

"Yes, quite a vivid one too. I just felt I had to paint it."

"I'm a great believer in dreams," Tin-Tin said. "Not just as messages from the subconscious, but as messages from the spirit realm. Although I don't think Scott here feels quite the same way about that." She smiled at the eldest Tracy brother who looked back at her with a cocked eyebrow.

"Hey, I'm ready to believe anything once the evidence is there," Scott protested.

Virgil looked at her intently. He wasn't surprised at her words, though. Tin-Tin was half European, but her ideals and philosophies were very Eastern. It made her a fascinating character.

"Do you think some spirit is trying to get through to me?" he smiled gently.

"That's not for me to say Virgil. But they are quite lovely pieces."

"Thank you, Tin-Tin. I was saying to Scott that there was nothing ominous about these dreams. In fact, this place seems to be inviting me in. See? The open door."

"Perhaps the next time you dream, you'll actually get the chance to go through the door," said Tin-Tin, making a point of ignoring Scott's slightly sceptical expression.

"Who knows?" mused Virgil. " All I can say is, I'm kind of looking forward to whatever happens next."

The warm smell of chocolate brownies wafted through the Tracy villa, seducing all who came into contact with it. A crowd soon gathered in the kitchen as Mrs. Tracy took the baking tray out of the oven.

"I'm torn," Scott said to Virgil, watching his grandmother closely. "I want her to slow down, and then she goes and does something like this."

"Close your mouth, before you drool all down the front of your shirt," Virgil grinned.

"That smell," sighed Alan. "You'd think you'd died and gone to Heaven."

"Chocolate Brownie Heaven," agreed Gordon, a faraway look in his eyes.

Mrs. Tracy put the baking tray on to the counter and began cutting the brownies. Her grandsons lined up, eagerly waiting for theirs. She cut lengthways, and then began cutting vertically. Midway through, she appeared to falter, wavering slightly.

"Grandma?" said Scott, ever alert. He stepped forward, steadied his grandmother's elbow.

"Oh, I'm all right, Scott," she said. "Just the heat, I think. And the smell of these brownies is very rich."

Tin-Tin came over. "I'll do the brownies, Mrs. Tracy," she said softly. "You go with Scott and sit down."

"Land sake's, don't fuss," Mrs. Tracy said, but she made no further objection as Scott led her through to the lounge to sit in the cool breeze coming through the patio doors.

Jeff looked up as his mother came through the doorway escorted by his eldest son.

"Everything all right, Mother?" he asked, concerned. "You look a bit pale."

"The heat," said Scott. "That kitchen's pretty steamy what with all the baking that's been going on."

Scott and his grandmother both looked up to see John Tracy peering down at them from his portrait on the wall.

"Hey, John," said Scott. "Just checking in?"

"Yeah," replied his blond brother. "I was starting to wonder where everyone was. Hi Grandma."

"Hello, John dear. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Grandma. Whatcha been up to?"

"I've made some brownies," Mrs. Tracy said. "I only wish you were here to have your share."

John laughed. "After I gorged myself the last time? I think I can hold out till I get back, Grandma. Won't be long now. Another week and a half. I can't wait to get into that pool." John leaned forward then, narrowing his eyes at his side of the screen. "You okay, Grandma?"

"Oh, feh! All this worrying, I don't know."

"Geez, I only asked," said John, perplexed.

"It's your brothers, they think I'm about to keel over any day." Mrs. Tracy made a show of looking cross, but she patted Scott's arm with affection. "They don't know how strong I am."

"Um, I think we do, Grandma," said John with a crooked grin.

"Grandma thinks she's still a teenager," said Scott.

"You're only as young as the person you feel," Mrs. Tracy smiled, giving him a squeeze.

"So how are the airwaves, John?" asked Scott, squeezing her back.

"I'm tracking a tropical storm in the North Atlantic, Scott. It's building up, but otherwise things are quiet," John replied. "Which is good news, of course- gives me the chance to catch up on a little stargazing." He looked over at something past Scott's shoulder. "That a new painting of Virgil's?"

"Uh-huh. He's been dreaming about this house, wanted to get it down on canvas."

"Dreaming about a house?" John's eyes widened.

"Yeah. What's up?"

"I've been dreaming about a house."

"You have?" Scott looked equally surprised. "Guess I'd better go get Virg for you, you can talk to him about it. He's pretty keen on this whole episode." He went back to the kitchen to get his brother.

"Virgil," said John immediately, as soon as Virgil arrived. "What's this about you dreaming of a house? Can I see your paintings?"

"Sure," said Virgil. He went over to the far side of the lounge and collected the first painting. "This one's dry," he explained, holding it up so that John could see it.

"That's the same house," said John, wide-eyed. "I dreamed about it three nights ago."

"You did? Me, too. And then last night I dreamed the front door was open."

"I've just had one dream," said John. "But I'll sure let you know if I have any more."

Jeff eyed his sons quizzically "Sharing dreams?"

"I'm as puzzled as you, dad," said Virgil.

"I suppose it may not be all that uncommon," said Mrs. Tracy. "Especially in a family as close as this one."

"Worried it's a sign of madness, dad?" grinned John, affecting a slight twitch, his blue eyes flashing mischievously under his mop of blond hair.

"Well, I never know with you boys," Jeff smiled, joining in the fun.

Scott returned with a handful of brownies. He took his grandmother out onto the patio and sat with her in the shade. A slight breeze toyed with loose wisps of her grey hair, lifting them and twirling them around. Scott regarded her silently, thinking how tiny she looked. When he and his brothers were small, she seemed like a giant. He could remember tugging at her skirt, wanting to go outside to play. Now they all towered over her, especially him.

"Well, this is nice," Mrs. Tracy said, settling into her chair. "And such a lovely view."

"Can I get you anything?" Scott asked.

"No, dear, I'm perfectly all right. You just leave me here for a little while, I'll be fine."

"I was going to sit with you."

"You don't need to. I'm happy just to sit with my thoughts."

Scott fidgeted. "Want to share any of those thoughts?"

"Scott sweetheart, I'm perfectly all right. Now you just run along."

Scott shook his head in amusement. She used the same tone as when he was small. He got up, ruffled her hair. "Okay, Grandma, you win."

"Just like your grandfather," she smiled.

"She's asleep," said Jeff, quietly.

"Think we should leave her?" said Scott. "She looks a little uncomfortable."

Mrs. Tracy was still sitting out on the patio, her head on her chest, lightly snoring.

"Leave her, son. I'm loathe to wake her up."

"What are you going to do? Are you going to take her for a check up? You could have the doc come here. It's be less of an upheaval for her."

"We'll see, Scott."

"She keeps mentioning Grandpa."

"Yes, I've noticed that too. Guess she misses him still."

Kyrano joined them. "I shall make Mrs. Tracy some ginger tea for when she wakes up," he said, looking at the old lady with kindness in his eyes. "It will revitalise her."

"Thank you, Kyrano," said Jeff.

"She is happy, Mr. Tracy," Kyrano added enigmatically.

Jeff turned to his friend. "How did you know what I was thinking, Kyrano?"

"It is obvious, Mr. Tracy. You are concerned."

"Just a little, I guess," Jeff agreed. "She's not getting any younger, after all."

The young man sat on the riverbank, smiling in the sun that warmed his handsome face. She approached shyly, her bare toes whispering through the cool grass. Her long brown hair fluttered against her cheeks, she hooked it back behind her ears.

The young man turned his face towards her, blue eyes sparkling. He held out his hand for her to join him. She sank down onto the ground. He stroked her hair, she leaned against him. The river glittered in the sunlight, small flies hovering on its surface. The air smelled of apples. The young man put his arm around her.

Mrs. Tracy woke quietly, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"Grant", she said softly.

Later that evening, John settled himself down for his sleep shift. Night and day were pretty much interchangeable up here in Thunderbird 5, but he tried to keep to the same routine, and he normally found that sleep came easily once he'd read a few chapters of a book or listened to some soothing music. He pushed his mop of blond hair away from his face and buried his head in the soft pillows.

He was asleep within thirty minutes.

He stood outside the house, looking up. The front door was open. He climbed the four wooden steps to the porch and crossed it without hesitation.

He pushed the door fully open and poked his head inside.

"Hello?" he called. There was no answer. He went in.

The hallway was dark and empty. He could hear a clock ticking somewhere.

There was a bright flash and a bang. A thunderstorm. The wind began howling.

He woke up.

John contacted Virgil privately the next morning as Virgil was slowly waking up. He heard his wrist communicator bleeping and reached for it with his eyes shut.

"What," he mumbled, not knowing or caring who it was.

"Virgil, it's me, John."

"John. What the hell do you want."

"Virgil, it's 8.30 where you are, rise and shine, good buddy."

"Yeah. I'll do just that," Virgil snorted. "What is it?"

"I had another dream. Just in case you're interested."

"You did?"

"Yep. I got inside the house. Nothing much happened though. There was a storm and I woke up."

"A storm?" Virgil was puzzled. "In space?"

"In the dream, you knucklehead," John laughed. "There was a storm in the dream. I went up the porch steps and into the hallway. Then the storm made me wake up."

"So nothing happened?"

"Nope. Worth a mention though, I thought."

"Of course, John."

"How about you? You dream anything?"

"No. Not this time. I was out for the count, I think. Can't recall any dream at all."

"Well, I'll leave you to it, Sleeping Beauty. Time for some of us to get to work."

"John had the dream this time," Virgil told Scott as Scott prepared to do his rounds of Tracy Island's security systems. "He managed to enter the house, but then a storm happened and he woke up."

"A storm?" said Scott. "In his dream?"

"Yeah. I'm beginning to wonder what this all means."

"Well, Virg, it's just you and John so far. I can't explain it, myself."

"I know, Scott. It's weird, though."

"I know, but listen, Virg, I gotta make these rounds. I'll catch you later, okay?"

"Sure, Scott. See you."

Virgil felt himself deflate a little. Scott seemed to be losing interest already. A dream was a dream. It went on inside your head. It wasn't anything real, anything material. It wasn't Scott's field of expertise. His brother had bigger things to worry about. With a sigh, Virgil went over to his beloved piano and sat down, lifting the lid.

Mrs. Tracy appeared shortly, attracted by Virgil's gentle music. She stood next to the piano, smiling to herself.

"Sit with me, Grandma," Virgil invited, shifting along the piano stool to make room for her.

Mrs. Tracy accepted the invitation and joined Virgil on the stool. She lifted her right hand and added to the melody he was playing.

"Hey," Virgil said appraisingly, "that's not bad."

"I could hold a tune in my day," she replied.

"You should play more often. Keep in practise."

"Oh, I'm nowhere near as good as you. You get it from your mother."

"You underestimate yourself. You're pretty good."

They carried on for a while, Virgil playing the melody, Mrs. Tracy adding the top notes.

"We could get a Cabaret act together," Virgil smiled. "What do you say, Grandma?"

Mrs. Tracy didn't answer.

"Grandma?" Virgil stopped playing, put his arm around his grandmother who had gone pale. "Grandma, are you okay?"

She nodded a little weakly. "I just felt a bit odd there, that's all," she said.

Virgil cradled her in his arms, pulling her against him. "You'll be fine," he murmured into her hair. "We'll go get you some tea, how about that."

"Yes, Virgil, tea. That would be lovely."

John was oiling his telescope when he became aware of the transmissions. He hurried over to Thunderbird 5's main console and turned up the volume, a small frown creasing his handsome features. The storm he had been monitoring in the North Atlantic had grown quickly over the hours into a Category Three hurricane, and was now posing a threat to the Carolina coast. These storms were commonplace every year, and the State Emergency Services were always well prepared, but usually they would get at least one callout dealing with floods and mudslides in the aftermath. He set the recording device and contacted Base.

Virgil and Alan were sitting in the kitchen with their grandmother when Scott returned, dusty and hot, from his security tour of the island's defences.

"Everything okay?" he asked, heading straight to the fridge for lemonade.

"We're just making sure Grandma takes it easy," said Alan.

"I'm really all right, boys," Mrs. Tracy protested. "I just felt a little tired."

Scott poured a tall glass of lemonade and downed it in four massive gulps. He poured another and put the lemonade back in the fridge, kicking the door shut with his foot. "You're pushing yourself, Grandma," he said. "But you won't listen."

"If you think I'm some feeble old ninny, then you're mistaken," Mrs. Tracy grumbled.

"I never said that," Scott laughed. "I know darned well you're not some feeble old ninny." He drained his glass, rinsed it under the tap, and headed towards the lounge. "I'm going to get showered," he said. "Catch you all later."

In the lounge, Jeff was perched on the edge of his desk, talking to John. "Ah, there you are, Scott," he said, beckoning his eldest over. Tin-Tin was there too. She had been helping Jeff with a pile of paperwork.

"What is it, dad?"

"North Atlantic hurricane heading for the Carolina coast. Category Three. John's monitoring the situation now."

"Hey, Scott," said John. "We may or may not be needed, but best to be aware."

"Sure thing," Scott agreed. He turned to see Tin-Tin wrinkling her nose.

"You need a shower," she stated, bluntly.

"Don't like the smell of a real man, huh?"

She lowered her head, smiling coyly.

"Keep me informed, dad," Scott grinned, patting Jeff's shoulder. "I'm going to get cleaned up before the lady faints."

"Well, Mr. Tracy, do you think this storm is going to get any worse?" Tin-Tin asked Jeff after Scott had gone.

"I don't know, Tin-Tin, it's hard to tell. This one has worsened over the last week or so. There's every chance we might be needed once it hits the coast."

"The entire coast is on Hurricane Watch," John told them. "All coastal town and cities have put evacuation plans into action. They're normally very well prepared for these eventualities."

"All the same, John, we'll be ready," said Jeff.

After his shower, Scott dressed in jeans and a loose cotton shirt and lay down on his bed, feeling the urge for a nap. He had a nagging ache in his shoulders, the result of pulling a muscle on their last rescue mission, and his tour around the island's security checkpoints had aggravated it slightly. He picked up the book he'd been attempting to read for the last three weeks, never having got further than chapter four. It was a good enough action thriller, but he found he kept reading the same paragraph over and over, unable to fix the scene in his head. He made another attempt to get past the impasse, but once again his eyelids grew heavy before he'd reached the end of the page. The book fell onto his chest and he drifted off into sleep.

"Scott."

Scott shot bolt upright. Who the heck was in his room? He looked around, his eyes wide. There was no-one there.

"What the...?" he muttered to himself, raking his fingers through his hair. The voice, male and authoritative, had been so real. He blinked, still half dazed. "Gordon, if that's you..."

But somehow he knew it wasn't.

Mrs. Tracy was also napping. Virgil and Alan had insisted on taking her to her room so that she could get into bed properly. She had resisted, of course, but two determined young men were more than a match for her, and she had to admit that she did feel a little weary.

The riverbank again, and he was there waiting for her. The sun shone in his brown hair, lit up his blue eyes. She ran towards him and he picked her up and twirled her around, laughing.

"I miss you," he said.

"I miss you too," she replied.

He looked deep into her eyes, stroked the side of her smooth cheek with gentle fingers. "They are good boys," he smiled. "They are coming."

Her eyes opened.

The occupants of the house scurried back and forth between the house and their car, loading their belongings before the storm hit. All around them was activity, up and down the windy, blustery seafront, people were packing up cars and trucks in preparation for evacuation inland. It looked like a big one this time. It had lingered off shore for days, biding its time, it seemed. Now it was ready to hit. Hurricane Giselle. Such a pretty name for such a destructive force.

The woman climbed the stairs with boxes and boxes of possessions they couldn't take with them, storing them as high as she could in case the house flooded. Her husband secured windows and doors and checked the eaves and guttering, hoping the high winds wouldn't tear the roof off.

In the kitchen, the woman looked at the wooden box that sat on the table, its contents spread out on the tablecloth. She had been in the process of sorting out these antiques, having bought the entire crate at auction just a week ago. There were old photos, medals, bits of jewellery, keepsakes, folded and yellowing letters, hundreds of postcards. Different people, from different eras, some ancient, some less so. All piled into one box and sold for thirty dollars.

She picked up the photo she liked best. It was hardly faded at all, in fact it could have been taken in the last five years. It was of a beautiful couple holding two children. He was handsome and smiling, she was attractive and still carefree. The two children, boys, were gorgeous- one mischievous and lively with bright chestnut hair, the other a baby with hair the colour of white gold. She wondered who they were and whether they were all still together.

Her husband's heavy boots stomped into the house. "Y'almost ready, Laura?"

"Yes, Mitch, almost," she called back, stuffing the mementoes back into the box and hefting it high up onto a nearby shelf.

Her husband came into the kitchen and enfolded her in his arms. "Everything'll be fine," he said, soothingly. "Your sister's waiting for us. The house has stood here for years. It'll still be here when we get back."

"Sure," she smiled warmly.

They left the house together, battling through the wind, locking the front door behind them.

"How's that hurricane, John?" asked Jeff, frowning at the young man's portrait.

"Expected to hit within the next couple of hours, dad. Evacuations have been well under way since yesterday- this could cause some pretty extensive coastal erosion and flooding far inland."

"Of course, all the State Emergency Services are on standby," said Jeff.

"Yes sir. I'm monitoring all services. There are emergency shelters set up all along the evacuation route."

"Good man, John. Stay with us."

"Sure, dad."

"Nothing to do now but wait," said Scott, hovering nearby with Tin-Tin.

"Yes. Although they are pretty well prepared for hurricanes out there."

"Could always do with a little extra help, though. Right?"

"Don't be so eager, son," Jeff smiled. "Let's hope things don't get that bad."

Mrs. Tracy left her room and padded down the hallway to the lounge. She made her way across the room to Virgil's easel, where his second painting of the house was still propped and drying.

"What is it, mother?" asked Jeff, coming over to join her.

"Oh, I don't know, son," she said, puzzled. "John and Virgil have been dreaming about this house, and I've been dreaming about your father."

"You've been dreaming about dad?"

"Yes. Quite lovely little dreams where we're both young again. They just seem so real."

"But that's wonderful, mother."

"Yes, I suppose it is. But it's a mystery, too."

"Well, I can't say I know much about dreams, but if it makes you happy, then surely that's a good thing?"

"I'd just like to have it explained."

Jeff laughed, hugged his mother's shoulders. "At least I know where I get that from," he chuckled.

Scott and Tin-Tin watched them from Jeff's desk. "What do you make of all this dream stuff, Tin-Tin?" Scott asked.

"I think it's quite charming," said the pretty Eurasian girl. "They don't appear to be bad dreams. As to whether they mean anything, I'm as baffled as anyone. Why, Scott? I thought we'd had this discussion."

"Well, I don't know whether I should mention it..." Scott trailed off, rubbing his chin.

"Mention what?" Tin-Tin peered up at him. "Have you been dreaming too?"

"No, I wouldn't call it a dream, Tin-Tin. I..." he hesitated, looking faintly apologetic. "Well, I heard a voice."

"Oh?"

"I went for a nap, started reading a book, dozed off. I guess I hadn't been out for more than five minutes, if that. Then I heard someone say my name. Like, I really heard it. As if the guy was right there in the room, and as if he knew me."

"And did he say anything else?"

"No. Just 'Scott'. It damn near scared the crap out of me, though."

"How odd!" Tin-Tin turned her gaze back to Jeff Tracy and his mother, still standing at Virgil's easel. "Something strange is certainly going on."

"And there's Grandma's condition, too. She's definitely not been herself lately."

Tin-Tin looked up at his concerned face. "I can see you're worried, all of you. But try not to be. It will only make Mrs. Tracy self-conscious, and you know how she worries about you, too. Every time you go out."

Scott sighed deeply. "You're right, Tin-Tin. But it's a hard habit to break."

"I know, Scott. But you're a close family. Whatever happens, you'll always have each other."

"Hey," he chided, putting his arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. "We're a strong family. We'll always have each other."

Hurricane Giselle hit the coast and immediately began battering it into submission. The Tracys watched the news as huge waves crashed over the seafront promenade, shaky footage filmed by experienced news crews and amateur storm chasers alike. Trees, crippled and bent double, wantonly shed their branches and leaves. Trash cans and their spilled debris littered the streets, bouncing and rolling. A couple of foolhardy souls clung to the promenade railings, attempting to lift themselves horizontally off the ground.

The announcer had to shout over the roaring wind, her voice hoarse, the words ripped straight from her mouth. The noise was thunderous. Rain lashed the camera. The skies boiled, grey and angry.

The sea encroached on the land like an unstoppable monster.

"Mercy," muttered Mrs. Tracy. "Would you look at that."

Virgil held his breath anxiously. It all looked very familiar. The coast road, the shape of the seafront.

The footage was so shaky, so blurred with rain. They kept panning to the announcer, battered and bedraggled in her huge yellow windcheater. He wanted to see more. He fidgeted nervously.

"That's some storm," said Alan, sitting on the sofa with Tin-Tin and Gordon. "I'd be real surprised if we don't get a call out to help with the clean-up operation, at least."

Then, as they were watching, a massive wave surged over the seafront railings and crashed onto the coast road like an enormous angry fist. The television announcer shouted audibly, a tone of panic in her voice. "Those two people, where did they go?" she cried above the tempest.

The Tracys all sat up as one, glued to the screen.

"She must mean those two fools who were holding onto the railings," said Scott. "God knows what makes folk do such idiotic things in the face of danger."

Another crashing wave hit the road, and the camera shuddered and tipped over.

"We need to get out of here!" someone cried offscreen.

"Dad...?" Scott's tone was urgent.

"I know, Scott, I know...we should get out there."

Virgil also turned to face his father, his honey brown eyes pleading to be told to get going. "Dad, with the time it takes us to get out there, we'll be ready for when the call comes."

"If the call comes."

"Dad!"

Then they heard it. Someone on the television screen said the words.

International Rescue, and help.

"Only we can get into the teeth of that storm, dad," said Virgil.

"Okay, boys, you're right. Scott..."

Scott was already up and heading across the room. "Yes, sir."

"Virgil, take Gordon and Alan and Pod 4 just in case you need to get into the ocean. It may be easier for Scott to land Thunderbird 1, and for you to use rescue winches from the air. See how things go."

"Sure thing, father." Virgil and his brothers got moving.

The Tracy swimming pool slid back and soon Thunderbird 1 was screaming into the air, her sleek silver body flashing in the afternoon sun.

Minutes later Thunderbird 2 launched, rumbling after her little sister.

"Oh, I do hope they'll be all right," Mrs. Tracy fretted.

Tin-Tin went over to sit with the elderly lady, remembering how worried Scott had been. "They'll be all right, Mrs. Tracy," she soothed. "They'll be home before you know it, you'll see."

John, from his portrait on the wall, exchanged a look with Jeff.