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THiS MAY CALL FOR A PROPER [iNTRODUCTiON];;

"What are you doing?"

"Someone shut her up! Tape her mouth or something!"

"LET ME GO! STOP!"

And if it was rehearsed, the screaming cued perfectly.The ear piercing shriek was enough to make Brendon jump from his slumber and shake uncontrollably. Ever since the other night when he spent the night at Spencer's place, he'd been having the same dream. Except it wasn't a dream.
It was more like a repetitive nightmare.

It took him several minutes before he could even manage to get himself to his feet again. The cold sweat drizzled down the side of his face, landing safely onto the polished wood below his feet. The room was dark, only a glimmer of moonlight forced it's way through the dusty blinds. His muddy brown eyes flickered around the darkness, making sure that he didn't fall over some random piece of junk that always occupied the floor space. Clambering over to the window, Brendon forced it open and poked his head out. Yet again, there was no one outside. He wondered why he continued the foolish routine of looking outside, when he damn well knew there would be no one there.

Leaving the window open a bit, he scurried back over to his bed, tripping over a hoodie from the previous night in the process. He hid beneath the red linen sheets, as a child who read a book of horror stories would've done. He didn't enjoy admitting it, but he was afraid. Afraid if this was supposed to mean something, or if he was just plain going crazy. He buried his head underneath the protection of his pillow, making another attempt at falling back into the deep slumber he once called a "peaceful sleep". His eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled deeply, giving into the haze around him.

It wasn't even ten minutes before the images hit him like a blow to the face. The blood strewn floor. The headlights of the fleeing car. A glimspe of messy, dirty blonde hair scattered every other way. And the unforgettable lifeless eyes that once possessed the spirit of a female.

Brendon immediately jumped up, nearly pulling the phone out from the wall. His fingers fumbled as he dialed, which didn't matter to him. He couldn't see in the darkness anyway.
"Hello, Ryan?"
"Jackson's Burrito Hut. If you're not gassy, it's not Jackson's."
Brendon groaned. Couldn't places of establishment think of better catchphrases than that? Hell, even Nike had a better catch phrase, and it was just three words.
He pressed the button in the center of the telephone, continuing the process off calling his friend. If another idiotic restaurant picked up, it wouldn't be too pretty.


"Hello?" A tired voice yawned out from the other end of the phone.
"Hey, man. It's Brendon."
"Hey. What's up?"
"Can I come over? There's something I need to talk to you about."
"Brendon. It's.." Brendon heard a clatter of object, which meant that Ryan was probably stumbling around, trying to find the time. "Three o' clock in the morning. Can't it wait?"
Brendon groaned again. Ryan wasn't making this easy. "NO, MR. ROSS. THIS CAN NOT WAIT."
"Okay, okay. See you in a bit."

Before Brendon could even respond, there was the immediate click right after. Ryan hanging the phone up on you before you said goodbye was a quick giveaway that he was agitated. He could be so predictable every now and again.
Brendon flicked on the light switch, quickly gasping at the harsh light to his eyes. After recovering, he slid on a pair of jeans and exited his home. He didn't have to drive, considering that Ryan's place was simply a couple of doors down. Thank God, they didn't live too far apart. A drowsy Brendon plus a car equaled fatal results.

Standing at the door, he knocked several times and rang the doorbell twice. He could hear the familiar dazed stumbling, followed by the door creaking open to reveal a half-asleep Ryan Ross. He wore a "I HEART BOYS IN GIRL PANTS" T-shirt, which cracked Brendon up every time he saw it, and a pair of shorts. It was apparent that he was awaken by Brendon's call.
"Come in before I change my mind," Ryan yawned, stepping to the side as he rubbed his eyes to allow Brendon to enter. Brendon trudged in behind the lead guitarist, taking a seat at the table where they shared so many memories at. Namely, strip poker between the four boys, which would always end after he pretended to flash his "breasts" and Ryan left the game in disgust. Ah, good times. Good times.

"Be quiet. Rachel's asleep." Ryan added, gliding ever-so gracefully over to the counter. "Don't worry, Ry-Ry. Bren-bear won't wake Rae Rae Ross." Brendon cooed in a baby voice, automatically receiving the famous death glare.
How did a lunatic like Rachel end up with Ryan? Maybe Starbucks was an aphrodisiac or something. He'd never figured it out. Yet, he adored Ryan's girlfriend. She brought a little flavor to the scene. And besides, who was he to judge love? After that whole Audrey Kitching, he dropped referring to love and himself in the same sentences.

"So, what's this about?" Ryan stirred the freshly-made coffee with a small spoon before sipping cautiously.
Brendon sighed. How was he going to explain this without sounded completely straight out of the loony bin? God, there was no way he would manage to do that. "Have you ever.. had a really bad dream that kept coming back to you?"
Ryan stood there, contemplating the situation for a minute. "Meeting Rachel's parents. Why do you ask?" Suddenly, a deadly serious faced crossed Ryan's features as he furrowed his eyebrows.
"Is this why you came? To discuss me and Rachel's relationship? Look, Brendon, I told you tha-"
"That's not what I'm talking about."
Ryan blinked, running his fingers through the mess of brown hair. "Then what are you talking about, Brendon? 'Cause you're about as confusing as two cats fighting about who should get into the water first."
Brendon twiddled his thumbs for a minute before inhaling sharply.
Oh God.

"I keep having these dreams. And there's this girl. She always dies. I don't know how and I don't know where. But she dies. They happen every night. I don't know if I should take heed of them or ignore them."

Ryan listened to Brendon, blinking his beautiful eyes several times over, like he was trying to understand better. He tried to think of a better response than, "Well, you're fucking loony. Congrats."
"Brendon. You just need some sleep, that's all. All of these gigs must be getting to your head. It's probably stress, that's all. We have a big gig tomorrow. Go home and sleep. It'll be fine." He reassured with a smile.
"Now get the Hell out."

After burning his tongue from a cup of scalding coffee, Brendon made his way home and climbed back into his bed. His eyes wandered over to the struggling moonlight, a small smile gracing his lips.
Ryan was probably right. All he needed was some good ol' sleep. His eyes slowly closed within several minutes.
A cold breeze past over him. Brendon rolled around, mumbling a bit. "Left the damn window open.." He muttered. He was not looking forward to getting out of bed at all. His eyes opened hesitantly, struggling to see if the window was open.

But what he saw made his eyes stay wide open.
There, in front of him, was the fairly real image of a young woman. Her dirty blonde hair was splattered with blood, along with her clothing. Brendon opened his mouth to speak, or most likely scream.
But she got the first word in. She hovered over him, leaning forward and looked him in the eye. Then, her raspy, dead-like voice spoke.
"Help me.."