Have you ever had a dream that seemed to follow you since you were a child? You know, the type of dream you have constantly that never changes? I have, except it was really a nightmare.

The nightmare would always begin with me walking into a gorgeous yet dark house, stepping over shattered glass lying on the tile floor. Raven feathers seemed to fall from the ceiling and began to cover the floor with its noble black color. In the dream, I would catch one of them in my right hand and inspect it closely, yet I wouldn't find anything strange about the feather itself. Keeping the feather gripped in my right hand, I walked further into the room. Just around the corner of the island counter, I saw a limp hand on the floor. My dream self moved toward it and I discovered two figures lying on the ground next to each other, one of them whispering my name. Spilled ink dripped from an ink pot on the island counter and onto the floor next to one of the figures, spreading out along the tiles in a mess of darkness. Soon, the raven feathers began to cover the puddle of ink and the bodies of the two figures, which was how the nightmare would end.

I had that nightmare about once every month since I was eight-years-old. The few times I was able to have access to the library in the foster care building I was at was spent researching dream meanings. I never found anything useful until I searched for raven feathers and ink specifically. However, even then, the ink was supposed to mean I didn't feel like I had control over my life and the raven feathers could mean change. Considering I hadn't been adopted by anyone, the meanings were self-explanatory to me at the time.

However, my life spiraled out of control on my seventeenth birthday as everything changed drastically.

My adopted family planned a party to celebrate my birthday and the fact that it had been five years since I moved in with them. They changed me for the better. I was alone for most of my life, but then they found me and raised me like I was their own son. When I arrived home from the skate park, I found my new mother and sister lying on the floor, battered and blood trickling down the side of their heads where they had been knocked unconscious. Glass covered the tiled kitchen floor and I heard people talking upstairs. I quietly ran over to my mother and sister, gently resting a hand upon their shoulders, whispering. "Mom, Addie, wake up. Please..."

A small groan sounded from Addie and I turned my attention toward her, "Addie?"

"Damien." The younger child muttered, her eyelids fluttering slightly. "Damien..." Then, she was unconscious once again, making me curse quietly. Above me, I could hear two steps of footsteps on the second floor and I stilled instantly, making sure I wasn't imagining the sound. Voices soon erupted from upstairs and I knew instantly that I wasn't just hearing things.

I rose to my feet quickly, recognizing this scene from the nightmare that constantly plagued my sleep. A cold feeling settled in my stomach and I grabbed the phone lying on the counter, knocking over the pot of ink my mother kept there for handwritten letters. "No, no, no." I whispered frantically, attempting to catch the falling object with my left hand, but it was futile. The pot of ink fell onto the tile floor and shattered, glass and ink flying everywhere. I winced at the loud noise, then heard the footsteps above me run toward the stairs.

Panic overcame me and I tried to dial emergency services, but there wasn't a dial tone when I brought the phone up to my ear. Through the kitchen, I could see the stairway and I froze when I saw two men appear on the stairs. There was a moment of silence before one of them yelled, "Don't move!"

I ignored their warning and ran out through the shattered glass door behind me, the glass crunching underneath my feet. Now in the yard, I vaulted over the wooden fence and ran down the street, hearing the two men pursue me. Frantic, I turned into an alley and increased my speed, searching for a way to get away from my pursuers. I tripped over a fallen garbage can, unable to see clearly in the darkness and fell onto my side. Quickly, I rose to my feet and ran again, blood soaking into the material of my pants from a burning scrape on my knee.

"Get back here!" One of the men yelled, his voice seeming to get closer and closer with each passing second.

I didn't know what these people wanted. I didn't want to find out, so I continued running for my life. I tried to find a place to hide from them, but they were too close. I wouldn't be able to attempt to hide without them seeing where I was. I turned around another corner and ran down the paved road, noticing I had just crossed into the bad part of town. I hadn't meant to come to this place, I was running on adrenaline and fear, but instinctively I knew I would regret coming here. Call it a sixth sense, but I knew I had to get out of this part of town before something happened to me.

However, I wasn't able to act on that sixth sense quickly enough. A flash of headlights appeared around the corner of one of the buildings and I yelled, "Help me!" The car stopped and I ran toward it, waving my arms in a desperate attempt to gain their attention. Suddenly, the car lurched forward and the motor roared violently at the abuse. I didn't have time to move out of the way and my fear rose at the realization, so I tried to jump onto the hood itself.

The front of the car caught my knees, making my body twist in the air several times before it came into contact with the pavement. I rolled a few times before finally stopping, motionless, in the middle of the street, a groan of pain escaping my lungs. I heard the car stop and the two men pursuing me grabbed me by the arms, dragging me toward the trunk of the car. I could feel the blood begin to trickle down my neck from the back of my head, soaking into the collar of my T-shirt. Barely conscious, I couldn't fight back as I was thrown into the trunk, my wrists and ankles bound together by the time the trunk closed. As the car began to move, I blacked out completely.

I dreamed of a raven following my every movement, its feathers flying through the air around me. Beneath my feet was the spilled ink and, soon, the feathers that had fallen to the ground were soon soaked with the black liquid. Needless to say, I woke up on the cold cement floor of the room I was being held in, shivering from fear and cold. The headache I had made me nauseous and my limbs were still bound together, making them numb from the lack of blood flow. My entire body was in agony from being struck by the car and was intensified with every movement. Panic soon overcame me and I tried to call out for help, but my injured ribs prevented me from yelling. I was alone in the room with nothing but the pain in my body and the thoughts in my mind.

All those years I thought my first nightmare was just the result of me not being adopted.

However, now I knew what that dream was truly trying to tell me.

First, the ink symbolized how I lost control of my life, which was evident with my capture.

Second, the feathers meant that everything would change soon, which it did. I had been adopted and now kidnapped, held in this room for an unknown reason.

Third, I found another meaning with this new dream that incorporated the raven itself: death.

A loud click echoed in the room as the door was unlocked from the outside before swinging open. A man stood there, a baseball bat in his left hand, "Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."

Through my own fear, I glared at the man, "What do you want with me?"

"Ah, straight to the point, I see. Just like your father, the undercover agent that ruined my life." The man mocked, walking closer toward me. "Speaking of your father, tell me child, what was the last thing he said to you before he abandoned you?"

I growled, "What's it to you?" The man swung the baseball bat toward my head and I closed my eyes, startling when it slammed into the concrete just a few inches from my skull.

"I'm the one who asks questions here, not you." The man growled back, "Now answer my question."

I didn't understand what this guy wanted to hear. My real father walked out on me when I was six-years-old and left me at the orphanage. Also, why did this guy say my father was an undercover agent? He was just a businessman. "He just told me to pack my things and that I was going to be staying with some new people. He didn't say anything else."

"I don't believe you." The man remarked and prodded my hurt ribs with the bad, making a small whimper of pain escape my lungs. He laughed, "Don't worry, I'll give you time to reflect. Beating you isn't ideal, considering my men already hit you with their car. I'm sure you're feeling the effects of that. Now, let's see how long you last without food or water until you're ready to answer me, Steele. Although, who knows, maybe your precious father will finally get our message and come running straight to us before you die from dehydration first. Think about it, Steele."

I wasn't surprised that the man knew my real last name, since he apparently knew my real father. Damien Steele was the name I was born with, but when I was adopted it became Damien Connors. I watched as the man left the room and shut the door, locking it behind him. I began to strain against the thick material binding my ankles and wrists, desperate to escape. Two bleeding wrists later, I realized that the struggle was futile.

I was stuck in an unfamiliar place with people I didn't know, captured for information I didn't have about my father.

If only I had listened to the warning given to me disguised by the spilled ink and raven feathers.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: This oneshot has been written for a contest created by Nightlck. This was a really difficult prompt to write about, but it was interesting to see where this went. I'm more of an action/adventure/suspense type of person, which is where this came from. Anyway, this was really fun to write I highly recommend people to do these challenges.

Thanks for reading!