“She was there in the shop, the girl from my nightmare. She was fucking standing right in front of me and she said the same thing she did in the dream, exactly the same! I was so freaked out I had to get out of there and I ran but it was snowing and dark and I got lost in a bad neighbourhood. I couldn't stop running and I wasn't looking where I was going and I ran under a bridge and right into this fire some homeless guys had stoked with booze…”
Frank stops for a moment and wipes his eyes on the back of his hand, not looking at anyone. “I tripped and fell,” he continues shakily, “And m-my sleeve caught fire, my whole jacket! It was so hot I thought I was gonna die but they just fucking laughed at me! My arm was burning and the f-fire started to spread. That's when they kicked some snow over me a-and put the fire out but they were scary guys and I ran off again cos I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted to get back to the venue but I couldn't find the way and my arm hurt so bad I couldn't think straight. I guess I sort of walked around for a while, like in shock or something. Then this lady found me and brought me here to the hospital.”
“Oh Frankie,” Brian mutters sadly.
“Why didn’t you call us or answer your phone, buddy?” Ray asks gently.
“I lost my phone,” Frank sniffles, “It must have fallen out of my pocket when I fell. I didn’t think you’d be missing me yet.”
“Of course we were,” Mikey cries, “No one could find you and we were worried you might be dead or something!”
“Are you sure this girl in the store was the one from your nightmare?” Gerard asks softly, “You’re seriously sleep-deprived Frankie, maybe you were just imagining the deja vu.”
Frank fiercely shakes his head, his reddened eyes wide, “No, it was definitely her,” he insists, “And I’ve never met her before in real life, Gee, I’m sure of it. She wasn’t a fan from a show or a signing cos she didn’t recognise me and she had a Chicago accent so she’s not from Jersey. I wish I could show you but you have to believe me! What she said and then the fire, it all came true, like a warning or something!”
“That sounds pretty creepy,” Bob remarks.
“Or pretty crazy,” Mikey mutters, looking worriedly at Frank.

“Alright, let's not talk about this here,” Brian says decisively, “I need you guys out of this hospital and safely back on the bus.”
“I'm just waiting for the docs to give me some painkillers,” Frank sighs, still shivering with anxiety.
“Ok,” Brian nods, patting his shoulder with a comforting hand, “But then you need to discharge yourself, alright? Gerard, stay here and help him. We'll find some transport and meet you outside. Come on guys.”

“You'll be okay, Frankie,” Gerard comforts, taking off his coat and handing it to his friend as the others walk away, “It’s over now.”
Frank sighs wearily and shakes his head, his eyes ringed with dark circles of exhaustion. “This isn’t over, Gee,” he whispers miserably, pulling the coat on over his hospital shirt and zipping it snugly up to his chin, “If one of my dreams can come true then that means all of them can and I’ve been dreaming some seriously messed up shit for the last two weeks. People could start dying!”
“Dude come on, be serious. Nightmares aren’t real! As much as they scare us, they can‘t come true and what happened to you tonight was all just some horrible coincidence. I’m sorry you had to go through it but it's over now. We'll keep you safe, I promise, and you’ll feel better tomorrow.”
Frank stares sadly at his best friend, hurt burning in his sleepless eyes. “You don't believe me do you?”
“Frankie, it's not about believing you. I'm just trying to put things in perspective.”
“Don't fucking patronize me, Gee, I can't take that! Not from you. Let’s just go.”
***
When everyone is back on the bus Brian takes Frank aside and presses a bottle of powerful sleeping pills into his hand. “These’ll make sure you get some decent rest tonight.”
“But I don't want to sleep,” Frank says nervously, “What if the nightmares come back? I don’t want that!”
“Frank, listen to me. You NEED to sleep. Aside from the nightmares you’ve been awake for almost two weeks straight and you’re exhausted. If you don’t get some proper rest there will be serious consequences to your health. Do you understand?”
Frank nods miserably, his head aching, too tired to argue. Looking at the plastic bottle of pills, he realizes they aren’t just over the counter meds. “These are prescription. Where did you get these?”
Brian just shrugs, “My job is to make sure you guys have everything you need and you need these tonight. Don’t worry, they’re on the level. Just sleep, Frankie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

That night, dosed heavily with tiny miraculous pills, Frank sleeps so deeply that he can’t remember his dreams and finally finds some real healing rest.

***
The following day the band fly to Los Angeles for the next leg of the tour and Frank sleeps for most of the plane ride. His arm doesn’t hurt too much - luckily the burns are superficial - and since it’s his left arm he decides after a little practice that he can still play his guitar as long as he doesn’t get too carried away. Reluctantly, the band agree that he can stay on the tour. “But if the nightmares don’t stop, you are going home,” Gerard warns him, “We care too much about you to let you run yourself into the ground like this.”
The Californian weather is dazzlingly bright and sunny compared to the snows of Chicago and despite a thick city smog hanging overhead it's still a beautiful day. After a couple of hours hanging around their motel the band decide to head out to find a pizza place.

Frank trails behind the others as they wander down the sun-drenched boulevards. Despite feeling a little more rested he's not in the mood to talk to anyone and behind his aviator sunglasses his eyes are stinging as a persistent headache pounds inside his skull. In the blinding sunny daylight the events of last night seem ridiculously distant, almost like a horrible nightmare themselves, but the constant itch of bandages on his arm remind him that he can't pass any of it off as just his sleep-deprived imagination.

A lone cloud passes over the sun for a moment, smothering its light, and Frank's stomach twists with anxiety as he thinks about the coming night-time and having to go to sleep again. He can’t keep taking the pills Brian gave him forever. What if he gets addicted or something? That’s the last thing he needs. He's going to have to try and sleep naturally at some point but what if his dreams never go back to normal?

“Hey.” A soft, friendly voice cuts into his dismal thoughts and he looks up to see that Bob has drifted away from the others to walk beside him. “Oh, hey.”
“So, um, about last night,” Bob begins, sucking nervously at his lip ring, “I just wanted to tell you I don’t think you’re crazy, man.”
“That’s okay,” Frank sighs, kicking a stray soda can across the sidewalk, “You don’t have to try and make me feel better.”
“No really,” Bob adds earnestly, “I mean people have premonitions before disasters or accidents all the time, like that guy who painted what would happen on 9/11 or the people who cancelled their tickets on the Titanic at the last minute because they had a ‘bad feeling’ about it?”
Frank nods slowly, watching the other guys stop at a street crossing up ahead. “I guess,” he mutters.
“It happens more often than people think,” Bob finishes half-heartedly, “I just thought you’d want to know that I believe you.”
“Thanks,” Frank replies, smiling slightly, “I really mean it, Bob. Thanks.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Ray asks as they gather together on the crossing and Gerard pushes the button for the lights.
“Nothing,” Bob shrugs.
Then Frank suddenly runs into the stream of oncoming traffic, ignoring the Don't Walk sign and dashing in front of the moving cars before he can stop himself. The asphalt is sticky under his sneakers and car exhaust billows around his head as horns honk in alarm. He’s not even half-way across the busy road when a speeding Chevy pick-up truck hits him dead on. The impact from the vehicle's bumper breaks the bones in his legs but he barely has time to feel the pain before he’s thrown headfirst over the truck's hood and his skull is shattered against the windshield!

“Frank, hey! What’s wrong?”
“What’s he doing?”
“Frankie!”
Frank opens his eyes, feeling the wet warmth of blood running down his face as his breath comes in panicked gasps that burn in his throat. His friends are staring down at him in surprise and he blinks up at them through the sun’s glare, feeling a smooth warm pavement under his body but despite what just happened to him he can't feel any pain. Looking down in shock at his body he can't see any blood on his clothes and there are no broken bones. But the Chevy hit him, he remembers it! He felt the impact! Why the fuck isn’t he dead?! Gerard and Bob are kneeling on either side of him gripping his arms like they're trying to hold him down. What the hell is going on?
Squinting into the sun, Frank realises that his sunglasses have come off and his throat feels raw like he's been screaming but he doesn’t remember doing that. “What...W-What just happened?” he croaks fearfully. Without answering Bob glances at Gerard who nods uncertainly and they both let go off Frank’s arms. He immediately reaches up to touch his face and finds out that it’s wet with sweat, not blood. “What the fuck?” he whimpers, trembling with panic and terror. Why isn't he dead? Why isn't he hurt?!

Gerard helps him to his feet and Frank looks around to see that he’s safe and sound on the crossing with his friends and a small crowd of strangers has gathered around to stare at him curiously. Beyond them, traffic is streaming calmly past in the street as if no accident had ever occurred and an anxious nauseous confusion starts surging through his guts. He ran into the street and a truck hit him, he’s sure of it! He remembers!
“What h-happened?” he asks Gerard in a hoarse croak, looking helplessly into his friend's worried eyes as he tries to keep his voice from shaking.

Without answering, Gerard puts his arm around Frank’s shoulders and pulls him gently away from the crowd of onlookers and into the nearest building - a small coffee shop. Sitting Frank down at a table, Gerard pulls up a chair opposite and Ray and Mikey go to the counter to order something while Bob sits down next to Frank. “Are you okay?” the drummer asks nervously.
“Yeah, I think so,” Frank lies. Truthfully, he feels like he’s going to vomit or pass out. “Please guys, just tell me what happened out there.”
“You tell us,” Gerard replies, “One minute you’re standing there with Bob perfectly normal and the next moment you collapsed and started screaming and shaking! We had to hold you down in case you hurt yourself.”
“What?” Frank gasps, completely stunned.
“You don't remember?”

“No! Did I say anything while I was…like that?”
“Nothing that made sense,” Bob sighs, picking at the paper menu on the table.
“What do you think happened?” Gerard asks seriously, sliding his sunglasses up into his hair.
“Well, I...I ran into the street,” Frank stammers, his chest tight with anxiety, “After me and Bob joined you guys I ran into traffic and a truck hit me, a blue Chevy! It broke my legs, and m-my head smashed into...I think it fucking killed me!”
“No it didn’t,” Gerard says calmly in the slow patient tone that people use to talk to small children, “Nothing hit you. You’re fine.”
“You didn’t run into the street, Frank,” Bob adds seriously, “That never happened. You were hallucinating.”
“No I wasn’t!” Frank yells in frustration, “It happened, it was real!”
“Frank listen to yourself, you were obviously NOT hit by a car,” Gerard snaps, ignoring curious glances from nearby tables, “You’re not even hurt!”
“But…it felt...” Frank trails off, lost for words. Gerard is right, he isn't hurt. It all sounds so ridiculous now. “I must be losing my mind,” he whispers, tears burning in his eyes as a dark chill of dread settles into his skin, “Ohgod...” Burying his face in his arms on the table, he tries to swallow the hot lump in his throat thinking 'Don't cry. Not here. Don’t you dare fucking cry!'
“Frankie?” It's Ray’s voice. He and Mikey must be back with fresh coffee and comforting words. Like they’re gonna help.
“I’m not crazy,” Frank sobs, still hiding his face, “I’m not!” Silence from the table. Nobody knows what to say but the air suddenly rings with the unmistakable squeal of braking tyres followed by a massive BANG! Everyone in the coffee shop including Frank and Gerard jumps to their feet and dashes over to the windows. “Oh my god!” Mikey gasps, staring out at the mess. A blue Chevy pick-up has crashed into the side of the restaurant next door and behind the smashed vehicle its dark rubber tyre tracks lead back into the street where a young man is lying motionless in a pool of blood and broken glass.

People start flooding out of surrounding buildings towards the commotion and a hysterical young woman with a bad tan runs into the coffee shop screaming at the top of her lungs. “Someone call 911!” she shrieks, pointing outside, “That truck just hit a guy and I think he's dead!”

Notes

((I know these chapters are kinda short but that's the way it's going. let me know in the comments what you think. I'm sorry for any typos. I love you, faithful readers! Will update again soon. xx))