AN: Yes, I messed around with the ages. So sue me. It works better this way.

Natalie likes to colour. Today she draws a tree whose branches hold seven red apples, one for every year of her life. She draws herself among the leaves, sitting high above the grass. Her parents stand on the ground by the trunk of the tree. Her father smiles, her mother only sort of does.

The air moves in the room. Natalie isn't alone anymore. She looks at the boy – the man – sitting on her bed, watching her. She's never met him, but she knows him.

Natalie's mother has a picture in her side table drawer. It's of Dan and Diana and a little boy. Natalie sometimes sneaks in and looks at it when her mom isn't around, because the picture sometimes makes Diana cry, but only sometimes. It's an old picture, Natalie knows, older than her. She knows the boy is her brother. She knows he's dead.

This boy is a lot bigger than the boy in the picture, but he's still the same one.

"Hi," says Natalie.

"Hi."

"What's your name," she asks him.

"Gabe."

"Oh. I'm Natalie."

He smiles a bit and nods at her. Natalie goes back to her picture and finished colouring in the apples. When she looks back, no one is there.