The man hummed as he cleaned around the small apartment. He carefully lifted each of the jars that held his pieces and dusted under each of them. He was happy to have his voice and sight and soul back. There were other parts still missing though. He would find them. He wouldn’t stop until he was whole.

He ran the dust cloth over the bar along the wall then paused at the mirror. He wiped it clean, his dark eyes taking in the features of the stranger within the image. Soon he would be whole and the image would be perfect – like it had been.

Miles woke with a start. A soft cry from down the hall told him Emery was awake too. Then the door to his bedroom creaked open and his brother peeked it. “I had… a nightmare, I think,” the older boy said softly. “Can… um,” he paused uncertainly.

“I had a nightmare too,” Miles murmured. “Do you want to sleep in here?” In moments Emery was settled on the foot of his bed. They regarded each other for a moment before Miles said, “I was dreaming about the killer.”

“Me too,” Emery replied, his voice tight with anxiety. “He’s… something is very wrong with him, Mi. He’s… not…”

“Brother, he’s crazy,” Miles said. “If our dreams are right, he thinks the people he’s killing somehow have… pieces of him inside them. He won’t stop until he has all the pieces either.”

“The question is, how many pieces does he think he’s missing?” Emery murmured. He let out a shuddering sigh and added, “Tea?”

“Sounds good,” Miles replied. They were certainly not going to get any more sleep that night.