A/N: Hello! I haven't been on this site since forever but I had this idea that I wanted to act on. After putting some pieces together, this is the story I came up with. Anyway, this chapter is third person from Lance's POV. Long paragraphs italicized is his narrative part of the story. Anything besides that are just his thoughts. Enjoy.

::BROKEN MOSAIC::
Chapter 1
Two of a Kind

Out of all the things I've ever seen, only about 92 percent were with my eyes. The rest, other 8 percent, were with my mind. Call me gifted. Call me a freak. I've been called both: "gifted" by a girl I knew in the orphanage I grew up in, "freak" by the rest of the children there. I call it a burden. Trust me when I say ignorance is a blessed thing.

The bell rang, signaling the end of seventh period. Lance bolted out of his history class and rushed to his locker. Turn right to forty, turn left till sixteen, turn right until the lock clicks open. He pulled the door and welcomed the sight of his disorganized locker. He dumped his history books inside. He glanced at the calendar. Two weeks into second semester of his junior year. His eyes landed on the schedule beneath. According to it, he had gym eighth period. Lance started searching through his locker for his old sneakers. He pulled out his Nikes just before the locker door slammed shut. He looked up and saw Jake.

"Yo, Lancelot!"

He cringed at the sound of his full first name. He wondered what his parents had been thinking before they gave him up for adoption. It had to have been some joke to be named after a knight of King Arthur. And after seeing Excalibur the movie, the name irked him even more. He had told everyone to call him Lance. The only one who refused was Jake.

"What is it?"

"Did you see the new girl?"

"No."

"You have to. She's hot."

"I'm sure she is," he muttered sarcastically. He could care less about the new addition. But on the way to gym class, all Jake could talk about was the mystery girl. He described what she looked like, what made her stand out, why she was perfection. Jake continued the one-sided conversation from the hallway to the locker room and then to the gym. Finally, he stopped.

"There she is," Jake said, pointing.

Lance raised an eyebrow. Black curly hair, big hoop earrings, tanned skin, a magenta Juicy Couture outfit, and a matching Juicy purse on one arm. No wonder she stood out. And she was pretty. But he wondered if she was annoying. She left the gym and he assumed she went the locker room.

His other friend Shaun smacked Lance in the back as a greeting. "What do you think of the new girl?" He asked.

Lance shrugged. "Alright I guess."

"You're blind man," Shaun said, shaking his head in disbelief before picking up a racquetball racket. "Come on. Let's find a court."

Racquetball. The most evil game invented for a gym class. The ridiculous goggles, the mad people who was determined to make sure that ball was moving at one hundred miles per hour , and the one uncoordinated person who would hit the ball and knock out someone out in the process. A KO was rare but people did get hit in the head pretty often.

Lance and Shaun teamed up against crazy Jake, who claiming he had the skills of a cheetah. Jake whacked, Shaun swung, and Lance hit. So far no one, had missed. Then halfway through their game, another court's ball came onto their side and the people started to yell impatiently for their ball. Lance got distracted and missed the point for his team.

"Ha!" Jake yelled, doing a little jig.

Lance shook his head and went over to retrieve the ball. He reached out for the ball and accidentally touched another hand that quickly grasped it. Immediately, he felt a spark shoot through his arm and the person ended up dropping the ball. Lance looked up and saw it was the new girl.

"Sorry," he said immediately, giving her a funny look as he picked up the ball. The spark he had felt was either static shock or something else. The former was more likely; the latter was almost impossible. When the impossible spark existed between two individuals, that meant that both had a supernatural awareness.

"That's okay," she replied, giving him a weird look as well. She stuck her hand out. "My name is Veronica Martinez."

He reached out for her hand, preparing to feel another shock, but there was nothing. Yep. Definitely static. "I'm Lance Webber," he replied. Absentmindedly, he threw the ball back at the impatient players. Whether they needed Veronica or not, they went back to their game. "Um, you like it here so far?"

She raised an eyebrow. "It's okay. Most of the girls already hate me but that's understandable."

"Really?" Lance questioned, feeling nervous now.

"Yeah."

"Lancelot," Jake said. "Are you playing or not?"

"Go on without me," Lance said, not bothering to look at his friend. His eyes were on Veronica. Now that he was up close, he could see what Jake had meant.

"You play any sports?" She asked, adjusting the goggles that did not subtract from her beauty.

"Uh, football," he replied.

"So you're a jock."

"Not really."

"Okay," she said, clearly about to leave now.

"Wait," he said and she stopped, sighing loudly. "Why are you looking for a jock?"

"Because of the high school hierarchy," she answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Jocks are always on top. So why waste my time starting from the bottom? I have to make the best of my two weeks."

"Two weeks?"

"Yeah. I don't last with a foster family for more than two weeks before I'm bumped to another. Time's a scarce thing. Got to make the best of it."

"I have a foster family, too," he told her, trying to have something in common with this girl.

Veronica gave him a fake smile, changing his opinion completely. "Really? I guess that means we have so much in common."

"Yo! Watch out!" Shaun yelled. It was too late. The racquetball, going really fast, hit Lance in the head.

----

In the nurse's office, Lance sat down on a chair as he held an icepack to the bump on his head. He was surprised at his luck. Usually, he would have ducked those balls, seeing them coming because he was always aware of stray balls getting hit by uncoordinated people. But this time, he had been distracted by Veronica.

He had known a Veronica when he was little except he had called her 'Nikki'. She had been like him, able to see the imprinted memories by touching an object. Even the figures created from them. But when, he had left the orphanage, he had lost the only person who shared his gift.

He heard moaning from the door and looked over. He saw that it was Veronica, complaining to the nurse.

"But I really don't feel so good," she said. "I get the worst cramps. I can't sit through next period."

The nurse shook her head and allowed the girl to come in. "Lie down for a while."

"Okay," Veronica moaned as she lied down on the bed in front of Lance. A few minutes passed. "Where's the nurse?" she suddenly whispered.

"In the back."

Immediately, the girl whipped out her cell phone and started texting like mad. "Sorry for my attitude before. You're alright I guess."

Lance raised an eyebrow, not fully believing her. "Thanks."

Silence. Then:

"Do you drive?" She asked flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"Yeah," he replied. "Why?"

She continued texting. "There's this raid tonight and I need a ride after hours. And since you're the only goody-two-shoes around here, I'm asking you for one."

"How are you so sure I'm a goody-two-shoes?" He asked, slightly offended.

"Well, do you drink?"

"No."

"Do coke? Crack? Heroin? Meth?"

"No."

"See?" She grinned. "I've proven my point. So you will give me a ride, right?"

"I can't sneak out of my house."

"Oh, come on."

"I'm a goody-two-shoes, remember?" He said purposely, his eyes on her.

She rolled her big eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "We'll have fun tonight." She sat up and touched his arm, leaning closer. "I know you want to."

"I'm not . . ." His voice trailed off as anxiety set in.

The temperature had dropped and he felt the disturbance in the air. He waited to see if this would be the focal point of the activity, if it would appear before his eyes. He heard Veronica shift and glanced at her. She was no longer grinning playfully. She sat rigidly, anxious like him. Almost immediately after the disturbance passed, the girl relaxed. Lance frowned as his heartbeat slowed. Does she have the gift, too?

"Are you . . .?" He didn't know how to say it without sounding weird. He had never mentioned this to anyone out of the fear people would mock him. But if she was like him, then he wasn't alone and he could share all his bizarre experiences with her.

"Am I what?" Veronica asked.

He was about to say but the nurse came out. "Ms. Martinez, you can head back to class," she stated. "Apparently, you're feeling a lot better."

Veronica rolled her eyes, and stood.

"I'll give you a ride," Lance suddenly said. If he was going to find out if she was like him, then he should try it when they're alone. That way, she wouldn't feel the need to hide anything.

"Really?" Veronica asked, her smile on her face. He nodded. Quickly, she reached into her bag and pulled out a pen and paper. She scribbled something down, ignoring the dirty look from the nurse, and then handed the paper to Lance. "That's my address," she explained with a wink. "Don't be late."

"I'll try not to."

----

It was bad. Climbing out of his second floor bedroom window, moving along the roof visible to the street, crossing a branch that swayed too easily in the wind----all these dangerous stunts so he could meet a girl. Although he thought he was passed his rebellious phase, he was still sneaking out of his family's house to go to a raid all because Veronica, who might not even have the gift, said it would be fun. JuSt for coming out, he went from a sensible and mature young adult to a stupid teenager.

As Lance waited outside of Veronica's house, he worried what would happen if this went according to plan and they both made it to the raid. How long did she plan on staying there? This was a school night after all. He could not stay awake during classes with only two hours of sleep. He looked at his watch. Twelve-fifteen; he was already late. He now wondered if he should peep the horn or throw a rock at a window, hoping it was hers and not her foster parents'.

Finally, Lance saw Veronica emerge from the side of the house. He raised his eyebrows at her outfit. She was wearing a short skirt, a winter jacket, and black boots that passed her calves. The jacket made sense, the skirt did not. It was twenty degrees outside. A wind blew and she hurried to the car. He unlocked the car and she opened the passenger side. She slid in and closed the door. Seeing how cold she was, he turned on the heat.

"What's the address?"

She took out her cell phone, looking at a previous text. "A warehouse near the dockyard."

"The dockyard?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No. I just remember that a girl died there a few years ago."

"Really?"

Lance nodded. "But as I said, it was a few years ago. Shouldn't make a difference now." Maybe the remnants won't be too strong, he thought and quickly dismissed the fear of seeing any images of death. He put on the radio, hoping to drown any leftover fear and to kill any possibility of an awkward silence. And then they were off.

----

The dock warehouse was full of people. Techno music pulsated through the walls and blasted through the windows. Lance and Veronica rushed inside to get away from the cold. The moment Veronica set foot on the dance floor, she started moving to the music. She looked at Lance. "Aren't you going to dance?" She yelled over the music.

"Not really into techno!"

"Your loss!" Then she disappeared into the crowd.

Lance looked around and went over to the table. He looked at the punch, wondering if it had been spiked by some hardcore partier. The possibility in mind, he decided to stay away from the drink and took some chips that seemed safe enough to eat. The music genre changed; it was now hip hop. The music's affect was making everyone go from energetic dancing to grinding and everything else.

Why am I here? He asked himself. He hoped his parents never found out about this.

A chill came over him and he looked around the crowded place. Something was wrong, but he didn't know what. If it was what he thought it was, then the remnant he feared was stronger than he wanted. He looked to his left, right, then Veronica appeared next to him. "You want to go now?" He asked, hoping she would say yes.

"No. Dance with me." Before she had given a warning, she took hold of his hands and moved closer to him. Lance backed up a little.

"I told you I don't dance."

"Just for a minute," she muttered. "Some guy was hitting on me and I told him I had a boyfriend. So be a knight in shining armor and pretend that you're him."

Lance sighed and allowed the music to control him. When she started to moving against him, he didn't protest. And when she wrapped her arms around his neck, he didn't pull away.

"Look over to you left casually," Veronica said.

Lance followed her directions. At the punch table was a guy staring at them. "That's him?"

"Yep. He's pissed off. I hope he doesn't try to fight you for me."

"What?!"

"Joking," she said.

Lance looked over at the guy again. Finally, he saw the shadow that he had sensed three minutes ago. It hovered above the guy before going inside his body. "Damn," he said under his breath. Worried that Veronica heard him, he looked down. Her eyes were on the guy, too. Does she see it? He wondered, realizing how less energetic her movements were.

"I changed my mind," Veronica said. "I should talk to him."

"I have to bring you home tonight," Lance said, glancing at the guy. He was moving in. "You can't." If she's so eager to go, then she definitely can't see them. Tonight was a waste.

"You're my chauffeur, not my guardian," she said with a grin, unlatching his arms from her waist. She gave Lance a wink and walked toward the guy. Over the music, Lance could not hear a word they were whispering. He could just sense the bad impressions from the shadow, the unknown entity that was in control. Veronica gave Lance a serious look before allowing the guy to take her hand and lead her through the crowd. Lance groaned and followed, pushing his way through bodies.

As I said before, a girl died at the docks a few years back. The news channels talked about it for a week. They said that the crime was bloody, the body completely mangled. The perpetrator was discovered and his house was surrounded. Before the police could apprehend him, he committed suicide. It was one of those you'll-never-take-me-alive statements.

The crime was violent or so I heard. But coming here, I could already sense the remnants--that is, the memories that were imprinted into an object or place due to powerful emotions. My five senses automatically react to them during contact with the place or object. Then a sixth sense takes over, a second sight that allows me to see what was once there, no matter how gruesome. That's why I hate remnants. However, I hate shadows even more---the physical manifestations of remnants. They think on their own and take possession of those whose emotional state of mind is mostly filled with pain and anguish. Anger even suffices. I never could recall a time when I met a shadow of good intentions.

Lance spotted Veronica and the shadow leaving the warehouse. After pushing passed a few more people, he got outside. The two were heading straight for the docks. Lance followed them as stealthily as possible.

Veronica stopped short of the docks and frowned.

"What's wrong?" The shadow asked.

Lance moved in closer, seeing that trial of mist leaving its mouth. Dammit.

Veronica bent down and touched the wood of the dock through the dock. She closed her eyes.

What the hell is she doing?

She suddenly jumped up and her eyes gazed at the end of the docks. Her horrified expression was followed by nervous laughter.

Lance stepped closer and made the wrong move.

Veronica's large eyes were on him. Through the eyes of the possessed man, the shadow glared at him. Lance gulped, realizing he couldn't turn back.

Because I hate them so much, I had little practice dealing with them.