Chapter 1
Precognition

Here's a little snippet of historical information you probably haven't heard before. Two weeks before John Wilkes Booth assassinated him, Abraham Lincoln had a very vivid dream about a funeral in the White House. In his dream, it's been said that he asked a soldier who the services were being held for and the soldier told him, "The President of the United States." When the sixteenth President told his wife about the dream, she made a joking remark that he would probably die in office. I'm betting that she probably regretted that joke later on.

Many people who were set to voyage on the Titanic on April 10th, 1912 ended up canceling their trip. They claimed that they had dreamt about the ship sinking and that they felt uncomfortable about leaving. Five days after she set sail, the Titanic sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. Pretty freaky, huh?

These are just some of the many stories about forms of precognitive dreams. I could go on forever about them. Trust me; I'm very well educated in that field. I've been a precognitive dreamer for as long as I can remember. And while you sit back and think how cool it would be to have dreams about the future, I'm going to tell you right now that you're mistaken. It is not cool. Seventeen years of precognitive dreams can screw you up big time.

But it's not like I'm some kind of whack-job or anything like that. In fact, I think I'm kind of normal. Normal in my own kind of terms, anyways. I'm not epic or awesome like the people you see in DC or Marvel comics. I wasn't sent to a school for mutants and I don't pick fights with bad guys around the city. I can't lift cars, control time, blow stuff up or even run really fast. My strength is more unique than that. I get my strength from my comrades. I was chosen to lead them, even though I can barely chew gum and walk at the same time. I did the best I could do and by God, I think I did a pretty good job. But, hey, I'm getting way ahead of myself here . . .

First of all, I should probably tell you a little bit about Queensland so we can get the ball rolling. Queensland City was once the third-ranking mega city in the world, bumping Seoul, South Korea down to fourth, nestling comfortably beneath New York City. It was famous because of its environment-friendly resources and high rates of energy saving. People left behind their polluted, smoggy cities and began to populate Queensland instead, causing it to flourish an impossibly fast pace. My grandmother and I were just two of the millions of people that moved there for these reasons. How could you blame us? The air was clean, the location was great and there was just something about city life that totally kicked suburban living's butt.

Queensland was also the birthplace of the North American corporation known as Wonderland Inc., which sold everything from women's makeup to automobiles. When World War III started, we lost China as a major manufacturer and suffered greatly because of it. So you can see why a corporation like Wonderland came in handy and why they became so powerful. Big corporation or not, if you save America, you're likely going to get a lot of power because of it.

Almost a year ago, while the company heads at Wonderland sat in their safe little skyscraper, talking about big business deals and smoking cigars, something much more important was going on. Yes, this is where the story starts. So if you weren't paying attention until now, it's time to wake up.

Christmas had been over for a few days, leaving a cheery, pleasant feeling behind. People were taking it easy, calming their paces. After the usual holiday rush, everyone was gratefully taking a break. Wreaths and Christmas lights that had decorated the streets were gone now. In their place, silver banners and glimmering tinsel had been put up for the fast-approaching New Year. These decorations caught the lights of the city perfectly. They scattered tiny flickers of silver light everywhere, as if the moon had become one giant disco ball, topped over with a light snowfall. Usually, this was my favorite time of year in Queensland. The sight of it always brought a warm, fuzzy feeling to me. But as I stared at all of this from behind the glass window of Eric's car on that particular night, all I could feel was anger.

"Don't be upset, Alice. Everyone screws up."

For some reason, Anne's words only made me feel worse. I allowed my forehead to fall and press against the window. My eyes narrowed, transfixing themselves on the scenery outside. I wanted a distraction. But I found none. The tension in the car was far stronger, being so incredibly thick that I could have choked on it.

In the front seat, I often caught Eric's eyes flickering towards the rear-view mirror. His expression was easily readable. It was a slight mixture between disappointment and concern. I forced myself to go back to looking out the window, my stomach churning along with my emotions. My legs uncrossed themselves and I pulled them upright, so that I could hug my knees to my chest. I was overwhelmed with negative emotions in that car and this seemed to be the best way to keep myself from letting them consume me entirely.

A hand touched my shoulder. I didn't have to look up to know that it was Nicholas, because I could feel his weak, yet encouraging smile trying to cut through the awkward silence. He mussed my hair out of its flipped style, leaning in a little bit.

"Really, it's not your fault," he said quietly. "We should have listened to you."

When I finally willed myself to look at him, I had to quickly look away again. Sure, he was smiling at me in an attempt to comfort. Nicholas was really good at that. But I could see his bloody knuckle, the broken fret-board of his bass guitar and the obvious look of loss that was hidden behind his expression. The sight was a pitiful one. I felt like I had ripped a limb from Nick or something, because that's how important that guitar was to him.

The whole situation made me feel like the driver of a van during a robbery. You aren't the one who robbed the bank. You didn't steal the money. But without you, it wouldn't have happened. You are an aid to the crime.
My dream from the night before had tried to warn me, just like my dreams usually did. It warned me of the strings that were too tightly tuned. Old guitars did not tune the way modern models did, after all. It warned me that they would snap halfway through our song, breaking the fret-board in half and slicing up Nick's hand. I had seen that happen, as well as the stage equipment failing. In my subconscious, our entire performance fell apart. If I had paid more attention to it, maybe it would have been prevented.

"Your dad is going to cry." I remarked softly.

"Huh?"

"When he sees the guitar, I mean."

"Oh."

Nick looked down at the broken instrument in his lap, a frown creasing his face. His mousey-brown hair fell over his hazel eyes, blocking the emotion they held from my view. I knew he was thinking the exact same thing I was. It would be very hard to fix the damage, as they didn't make bass guitars like it anymore. It was an Aerodyne Precision Bass, transparent blue with a white scratch-plate. His dad had bought it way back in the early 2000's, brand spanking new. It had aged finely like wine over the years, but now, it was ruined. It held permanent scars that weren't going to be fixed very easily.

From the front seat, Anne turned back to look at us, reaching out to brush her fingertips across the smooth front of the stringed instrument. She smiled sadly, resting her hand over one of the curved edges and gave it a pat of appreciation.

"It lived a good life," she said to Nick, who could only nod in response. "And it played some great tunes."

"Y-yeah." Nick replied, his voice wavering slightly.

The sound of his voice alone gave away that he was holding back tears. I wanted out of the car right at that moment. I wanted to go home and hide on the couch with my fuzzy purple robe and a good slasher film. Maybe there was still some pecan ice cream leftover from the other night . . .
All these comforting thoughts were pulled away suddenly as Eric slammed on his breaks, causing the car to jerk to a halt. The sudden force made my body rock forward, my arms releasing my legs so that they were no longer being hugged against my chest.

"Idiot!"

Eric's voice made me jump in surprise. From the side of his face that was visible in the rear-view mirror, I could see his eyebrows pulled together in a glare, teeth gritted furiously. When Eric was mad, it was always something to greatly fear. Kind of like the Incredible Hulk.
I arched my neck a bit, leaning off my seat to try and see what it was that stood beyond the windshield.

It was a boy.
He stared at us with wide eyes, like a deer caught in the headlights. Of course, I'd never seen a deer in my life before. But the metaphor was kind of fitting, seeing as how he was caught in the headlights. Shut up, I'm trying to be creative.
All we could do was stare at this weirdo in silence, while he stared back. He wore stark white pants and a matching jacket that was ripped, strips of frayed fabric hanging over his arms like vines. His platinum-blond hair was shaggy, but was kept neatly groomed. Bangs fell over his forehead, but flipped out at at the sides to show his blue eyes. The light colors of his clothes and hair illuminated in the headlights made him glow like an angel. Our eyes (both the same shade of blue, as a matter of fact) connected for a split second. Then, Eric pounded his fist against the horn of the car with an angry growl. The sound startled the boy and in the blink of an eye, he had darted down an alley, fading into the darkness.
I craned my neck a little more, trying hard to get one last glimpse at him. But he was gone.

"Friggin' weirdo!" Eric snapped.

His foot hit the gas pedal and the car lurched forward, once again taking me by surprise. The cracked old buildings and apartment complexes of downtown Queensland went rushing past the windows. I settled back into the leather interior of the car, my mind taking a break from the strange boy in white.

Anne's house was our first stop. She lived in one of the better complexes that sat right on the border between 'downtown' and 'uptown', along with her mother, father and little sister. She wasted no time getting out of the car, smoothing her fashionable black dress and fixing her long, dark hair as she went. In a matter of moments, Anne had collected her shiny red guitar from the back and had it slung over her shoulder by the strap. She gave us a half-hearted smile, her polished fingers curling into a little wave, then left with an awkward-sounding goodbye. I felt almost envious of her. She didn't have to ride all the way home with an angry Eric, let alone have to share the same apartment building with him.
Only a few blocks away was Nick's place. When the car pulled up next to the curb, I got out of the car and helped him out on his side, opening the door so he wouldn't disturb the destroyed Aerodyne in his arms. He smiled weakly, but I could see the pain on his face.

"Thanks, Al." he said quietly, bowing his head a little bit.

I couldn't bring myself to respond. So I sat there like a dunce, staring after him as he headed up the front steps. He moved slowly, like someone carrying a casket at a funeral, until he finally vanished inside the paint-chipped old doors, leaving my sight.

The silence on the way home was even worse than it had been before. Eric stared ahead through the windshield with a strong look of concentration, like he was making sure there weren't any bombs placed on the side of the road. A strong sense of relief washed over me when we slowly came to a stop and the familiar old white building came into view.
We didn't unpack our equipment at all. Eric pulled into one of the parking garages on the side of the building and locked the doors once we were fully out of the car. After that, we simply headed inside.
The apartment I shared with my grandmother was on the second floor, while Eric lived alone at the eighth. I fumbled quickly to pull my keys from my purse. They jingled noisily as I lifted them up to the knob, my hands moving expertly to unlock the door. I swung the door open, my eyes downcast, my legs wanting to rush as far away from Eric as possible. But he caught my arm suddenly and pulled me back, his green eyes narrowed at me seriously.

"It's not your fault, Alice." he said quietly.

I forced a smile and tried to pull gently from his grip.

"I know." I said, yet my voice was unsure of itself. "You guys have been saying that all night."

Eric's grip tightened, causing me to wince a little bit and he pulled me closer to him. His angry expression lightened, however. He looked almost a little bit sad. His arms moved to wrap around my shoulders in a tight, comforting hug, while his rough, drummer's hands patted me on the head.

"I'll tell you as many times as I have to," he said. "You have a gift, Al. But not every gift comes without flaws. Fate isn't changeable."

My body un-tensed a little and I sighed. Once again, I couldn't bring myself to say anything. I pulled away from him and stepped through the doorway, trying my hardest to look a little bit positive.

"Thanks, Eric," I said. "See you tomorrow."

The door slammed shut in his face before he could say anything more.

((Waahh, that took SO long to write! I wanted kind of a slow introduction, but I hope that this chapter wasn't too boring. It will get much better, I promise. In response to one of my reviews, yes, this story is kind of connected to the other one. Actually, it is the other one. I'm rewriting it in a slightly better format, not only because I've been meaning to, but because I chose to write it for my novel in a creative writing class.

Also, I'm going to apologize now for my lack of instrumental knowledge. If you play guitar or bass or whatever and my information sounds kind of retarded, I'm really sorry! It's not exactly my field of expertise. Anywho, hopefully, the next chapter shouldn't take me as long as this one did. And hopefully it will be a lot more interesting, too. Thank you for reading!))