Twelve Thirty Four. AM. It seemed to him as though it had been 12:34 a lot lately. Why just yesterday when he looked up from his desk to the growl from his stomach, the clock on his PC had read 12:34 hadn't it? He was sure it had. Last week walking through that electronics store, a clock radio had been flashing 12:34 even though it was well after five. In fact, he could recall at least four separate incidents in the last couple of weeks wher the time 12:34 had shown up. He was sure actually that it had happened more often than that, he just couldn't remember specifically.

No use trying to sleep now. May as well get up and watch some infomercials or surf the net some. What did it mean this time? This was how it always started wasn't it? Some bizarre recurring dream or some sign from . . . well no, not God really, but from something. It wasn't even really worth thinking about because he could never figure these things, these premonitions out could he? When it finally did make sense, it was right in the middle of all hell breaking loose and all you could do was jump on and ride it to whatever conclusion was waiting for you.

Maybe this time was different. Maybe this time he could figure it out and beat this blessing/curse to the punchline. He actually laughed out loud at the thought of it. No, sometimes when he kept seeing numbers, they turned out to be Lotto numbers. So the next time it's numbers, he bets religiously on the Lotto and it turns out to be two flight numbers, of planes that ended up smack in the side of two of the largest buildings in the world.

Next time it's not numbers, but a face in a dream. A dream that comes night after night for weeks or months maybe. Until finally he sees the face and it's attached to a body throwing out the 1st pitch at a Mariner's game.

Then there was the girl. He almost beat the girl, but she won out in the end. "Won" probably isn't the best choice of words. Eluded. She eluded him in the end. She's probably the reason he's awake now at 12:34 this morning. Even after her "event", she comes to him in his dreams. She's more peaceful now than she was then, and she always forgives him, but still he dreams.

Sitting bolt upright in bed, eyes wide, drenched in a cold sweat and panting as if he had just run a 10K, Dave Nichols knew this time was more important than all the others. This dream, this fucking dream, wasn't going away and it was getting more intense each night. The girl, it was always the same girl, was getting more panicky every night. This was the first time he knew the outcome was going to be bad. He could sense it . . . smell it almost. He knew the girl wasn't going to win the Miss American Pageant. In fact, he knew she wasn't going to see her next birthday. He wasn't quite sure how he knew, he just did. He had never known before. What if all those other times were just training for this one? What if he should have known, but just missed some important clue? He could play the what if game all day, but the question he asked himself now was "What do I do about THIS one?"

The dreams started innocently enough a couple of weeks ago. She was about 11 or 12 and she stood on the sidewalk, laughing and playing hopscotch with a few other girls. The sun was shining, her neighbor was cutting his grass and it seemed to be a happy little community. In fact, if the dreams hadn't started changing, he probably wouldn't have even known they were about her.

The second dream was nearly identical to the first. Nearly. Same kids laughing and playing, sun shining, and the neighbor cutting the grass. Except this time, no noise came from the lawnmower. Just a neighbor pushing a silent lawnmower.

<To be continued>