Jack woke up to find himself back in the hospital room, shaking in fright. That night's memory fresh in his troubled mind.

He sniffed the cold morning air, starting to hallucinate. He was back in the cabin, he didn't need to close his eyes. His mind had placed him back, waiting for Matt to return that cold, dark day. Almost an hour had passed simultaneously in Jack's parallel worlds. His anxiety grew deeper. Matt's voice rang in his ears. "In case Brandon and Clare return". He could hear the shrill scream of the wind and wondered if he'd be able to hear Matt call out.

Enough was enough. He couldn't handle sitting around waiting anymore. He ripped himself off the bed and scrambled to the door. His shaking cold hands reached for the knob and pulled at the heavy door with every ounce of energy he had left. Then, he walked out into the blinding snow towards the trees. He had a feeling Matt hadn't listened.

He screamed out Matt's name at the top of his lungs, and wondered whether Matt could hear him. He couldn't even hear himself over the hauling wind. He heard his own name being called out, and turned to see the dark figure of the cabin. He stared at it, something was unusual. Jack marched on into the wood, bumping into branches.

"Mr. Harrison!" the familiar name rang in his ears as he collided with a tree. "Mr. Harrison, you shouldn't be walking" he heard a soft female voice order. He felt himself being gently shaken by his shoulders but saw no arms. "Mr. Harrison, you are strictly asked for forty eight hours bed rest".

Slowly, Jack reeled back, finding himself standing amidst a group of nurses in a white corridor. "Mr. Harrison, please. I must take you back to your room". A nurse grabbed a wheel chair and helped him into it. She then wheeled him back to his room and into bed.

"I could have saved him" Jack whispered from a trance.

The nurse stared at him sympathetically. "There was nothing else you could've done".

Jack looked at her for the first time and really saw her. "I should have gone to look for him earlier. He wouldn't have hit his head. I had warned him. I told him not to leave the cabin".

"Go where?" she asked curiously. The mystery surrounding Matt's untimely death had so far gone unanswered.

"He wanted to get more wood".

* * *

"Excuse me. My name is Henry Richards," a tall gray-haired man with a slight English accent said, leaning over the reception. "I'm here to meet Miss Peterson. Clare Peterson, that is". The suited man straightened his posture and smiled warmly.

Joyce looked up, putting down the pen she was writing with. "What relation might you have with the patient?"

"I'm her uncle" Henry hesitated a moment.

"Let me check. I don't want to disturb her if she is resting", Joyce smiled and swiftly walked to Clare's room. She didn't want to leave the station unattended for too long. "This way".

Joyce eased the door open and peered inside. Clare was awake and lost in thought. "Clare, someone's here to see you".

Clare sat up, almost hoping it was Brandon, but Henry Richards stuck his slim neck in.

"It's your uncle" added Nurse Joyce.

Slightly disappointed, but relieved to see another friendly face, Clare grinned. "Hi, Uncle Henry".

"Well, I'll leave you to it". Joyce looked at Henry and left.

Henry approached Clare's bed. "How are you?" his voice quivered.

"So good to see you, Henry" she smiled wider and patted the empty mattress in front of her.

"Likewise," his said, taking her into his arms tightly. "You had me frightened to death." He sat on the edge of the bed. "When the news about the bus crash was aired, I had a terrible feeling you were involved". He reached out and held her hands in his. "I prayed every day, that you were out there, alive". Tears crept to the corner of his eyes.

Clare wiped his tears away. "I'm glad you were praying. Something I was never good at." She managed to smile. "How's dad though?"

Henry looked away. "He doesn't know I'm here".

Clare nodded. "He doesn't know I'm here either?" her face clouded with suspicion.

"No. I left him a message. He'll join us as soon as he is able to get away from work".

"When did you leave this message?"

"After you called me yesterday" he replied with a hesitant tone. "I'm sure he has a good reason, Clare".

"I'm sure he does. As always" she said sarcastically. Her desperate eyes skimmed the floor until they landed on the bag Henry had brought with him. "I bet he doesn't even know I nearly died." Her eyes vacantly returned to face him.

Henry awkwardly shifted his position on the bed, his eyes holding Clare's gaze. "Do not accuse your father of such callous behaviour, Clare. The man is trying his best".

"Best..." her voice trailed. She stared at the frosted windows. "I shouldn't be so bitter, right?" she looked at him, anger flashing across her eyes. "After all, he's a very busy man".

"Clare," Henry's stern accent become more apparent, "your father cares about you whether you want to accept it or not".

Clare sat a moment, hurt that Henry was taking Daniel's side. She got off the bed and walked across to the window, fighting an urge to start sobbing. She wiped away the frost from the window one stroke at a time. "My father cares so much, Henry. That he sent his butler to see if I was still alive".

"Is that all I am to you? A butler?" Henry asked hurtfully. "I came of my own accord, Clare. It's my right, I don't need your father's orders".

Clare ran her gown's sleeve across her nose and turned to him. "Then tell me, Henry. Why is it that he is not here himself? Why did he never attend any of my recitals? Why is it that my father forgets my birthdays? Why?" She leaned on the wall, sliding down to the cold laminated floor, sobbing.

Henry approached her, and sat down, holding her in his arms. He let her sob.

"Why?" Clare whimpered. "I don't exist in his world".

"Don't say that, darling" he pushed her hair back from her face.

"Every time I'm in his way, he sends me off. This trip was his idea as well".

Henry held her for a bit longer and let her cry.

"I don't know how I'll be able to prove to you, Clare. That all your convictions about your father are not true". He cupped her face and wiped away her tears with his thumbs. "However, this is not the time, nor the place. Talk to your father. I would love to sit here, and agree with you. That Daniel is this, and Daniel is that, but having worked for him over seventeen years, honey, I think I know him at least that much. He just never learnt to express himself, especially after your mother's death".

Clare looked away not wanting to hear anything to do with her father.

"Talk to him like you talk to me. You will be surprised. He has a lot to say, and so do you."

Clare turned back to him. "Has something happened?"

Henry didn't reply, instead he grabbed the bag which he had brought, and pulled it towards them. All the while, Clare stared at him, repeating herself. Henry opened the bag and took out a package and handed it over to her. "I thought you might need this along with some clothes, just in case you wanted to call up friends".

Clare took the mobile phone with a hard look on her face. "Henry, you didn't answer me. Has anything happened?"

Henry hesitated. "It's your father's news to deliver". He straightened up, "I must be leaving now. There is a lot I have to get done today". He leaned in and kissed her on the head, "I love you, kiddo".

"Love you too, Henry".

"Now then, I'll be back to pick you up tomorrow morning".

Henry shut the heavy doors of the penthouse behind him as quietly as he could. Standing just inside the doors, he looked into the family room. It was a room that had been too neat and ordered for his liking. Recently, however, it was different. Toys littered the room like debris. Chaotic and homely after so many years.

Laughter and children's excited screams filled the air. Henry however, feared that the new found excitement would certainly reduce upon Clare's return. Henry wasn't able to tell Clare that as of recent months, her father had commitments other than business to take care of. He also knew Clare could remain unaware unless Daniel himself let her know.

How much longer could this go on? Henry knew all secrets had a way of revealing themselves sooner or later, and this time, he planned on making it sooner. After all, they were his family. His people. And by God, he was going to bring them together.

"Clare deserves to know" he mumbled under his breath, walking down the hallway.

He walked through the third door to his left, and into the kitchen. Inside, young Mrs. Peterson was struggling with her three kids. Wrapped up in an apron, trying to feed the baby and entertain the two older children at the same time. Without turning around the woman spoke. "Henry, where have you been?"

She turned to see Henry grab a clean apron from the kitchen cupboard. "The children are driving me crazy," she exclaimed removing a loose strand of her brunette hair from her face. "How do you handle them alone?"

The old man smiled bleakly. "Practice! Clare was very difficult as a child. Your munchkins are a piece of cake". He walked across to the high chair and picked up the baby. "Jimmy, here is an angel compared".

The woman laughed. "What about my other two?"

"Nothing to it. Feed them, give them toys to play with, or TV" he reciprocated her laughter, all the time playing with Jimmy's plump little hands. "Isn't that right, Jimmy?" The baby giggled as Henry tickled his exposed tummy. "Do I smell pie?" Henry asked, sniffing the air.

"Or whatever's left of it," Margaret walked over to the oven and opened it for Henry to witness. "I burned it to charcoal".

"Don't worry. A little soak will get that out," he plunked Jimmy back in the high chair. "Besides, I've got this little man to help me. Haven't I, Jimmy?" Again Henry tickled Jimmy, and again the baby giggled. He took off the dirty bib from the baby's neck. "I've got to say, Daniel certainly passed on the calm gene to this one".

Mrs. Peterson smiled in satisfaction, taking the burnt dish out of the oven and sat it on the side of the sink. "Henry. When is Clare returning from this ski-trip? I have made it clear to Daniel that, this time, I'm not leaving until I've met my eldest daughter". She took off her disaster of an apron and threw it across the room to the laundry basket, missing her target. "How long can she keep avoiding me? I'm her step-mother after all".

Henry opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

"I still find it hard to believe she missed her father's wedding".

Henry cleared his throat, guilt creeping in. He hated having to lie to Clare and the new woman in Daniel's life. He knew it was wrong of Daniel to keep his two lives separate. They were bound to clash one day. Obviously Daniel has no idea how big a clash it will be! Henry thought and focused on the conversation at hand. He could not afford to blow his plans. He couldn't risk telling Margaret Peterson she would be meeting Clare Peterson in a day's time.

If Daniel finds out... Henry shook his head, adamant to avoid that happening. "Well, I spoke to her this morning" he finally said. "She sounds like she misses home. I say give her a week, or less, and she will come crawling home".

Margaret sighed, sitting down on the high chairs at the breakfast nook. "I hope so" she said looking over to her two older children playing on the floor. "Denise is in love with Clare from all those videos you've shown them".

Henry smiled. "Yes, they would get along quite perfectly, and I suspect some quality time at the shopping mall will take place".

Margaret chuckled. "Jason is sceptical, I have to say".

Henry looked at Margaret's middle child. "I wouldn't worry about that, Margaret. Surprisingly, Clare's good with kids".

"I think he is getting accustomed to the idea of having two big sisters".

Henry scoffed in amusement. "I suspect he's itching to meet her though".