Matt Rutherford awoke with a start.
Of course, that's pretty much how he woke up every morning. It had been that way for years.
It started when Matt was around ten years old. He'd carried on conversations with his Great-Grandmother Ruth (his mother's grandmother). He'd talk to her nearly every night just like he'd talk to the living, except he knew that she'd died before he was even born. He didn't understand it at first. He would occasionally say things like "Great-Grandma Ruth told me that Dad probably shouldn't go to the store today," at the breakfast table, making his mother jump. And then later that evening in the news, there'd be a report of a robbery at that store.
His mother just…couldn't handle it. He learned to lie and say that he slept well. He learned to avoid telling them he had dreams at all. Later, he learned he could help people. He developed a strong relationship with the Lima Police Department, and later the Columbus PD.. It was better when he learned it was something of a gift and he could actually help people, that there were the rare few who took him seriously and didn't immediately write him off as a crazy person or a circus freak. That's how he learned to get used to them.
Well, not used to them, exactly. More like, accepting that this was his norm.
"Fuck!" Matt swore under his breath, looking over at the sleeping form of his boyfriend, making sure that he hadn't been disturbed.
Matt took a deep breath and carefully got out of bed, grabbing the journal he kept on the nightstand and as quietly as he could, made his way over to the bathroom. The journal was already half-full, and he got it over a month ago. He'd always kept it on the nightstand because even though he was, well, psychic, and usually remembered the big stuff, he later found it useful to write down everything he could, because in a criminal investigation, tiny minutiae could be a big fucking deal. As soon as he turned on the light, he gently closed the lid and sat on the toilet, jotting down everything he could remember about the dream. He really didn't want to go there again, but he knew if he was going to help anyone, he had to get a better feel of the situation. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, just writing anything that came to mind in the journal.
"Condemned building...blue angels…running water…cold," he scribbled furiously in the notebook. It never made much sense and it wasn't a lot to go on, but something was better than nothing. "Two men who are very, very angry and they think they're doing the world a favor. He's cold. He's in pain. He's very afraid. They've already done bad things, but he knows that's only the beginning. He really, really wishes they'd just end it. Put him out of his misery…he wants to see his family just one more time, especially his dad, but he's most afraid that he's never going to get to."
There was something very, very familiar about the energy he was getting. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the scene again. It was too dark to make out faces. He could see ghosts of breath floating in the air, but that was the only thing he could see.
"Matt?" James called from the bedroom. "Another dream?" he asked, peaking his head in the door.
Matt nodded. "Sorry if I woke you," he apologized, closing the journal.
James shook his head. "Actually, I just got a call. Wanna tag along?"
Matt shook his head. "I've got my Abnormal Psychology final in about…" he glanced at his watch on the sink, "four hours," he told him. He knew how long those initial investigations could take. "I can't exactly be late. But text me the address and I'll swing by later and get a feel for the place."
Actually, if it hadn't been for the whole psychic thing, he wouldn't even have James Duncan in his life right now. While the constant threat that was par for the course as an officer of the law was terrifying, it was the first time in his life, someone was on his side. To James, he wasn't a walking circus act who belonged on talk shows more than in the actual world. He was a person with feelings and thoughts that mattered. Mike Chang had known about his tendencies, but he never really felt like he could talk to Mike about them. Mike was a great friend and very accepting, but Mike had his limits.
James did too, Matt knew, but so far, Matt hadn't screwed this up quite yet, and he didn't intend to.
With a sigh, he wondered how James put up with him. Since he didn't even have a name to go on or anything other than raw emotion, he knew that wouldn't be enough to substantiate an investigation. He decided on trying to go back to sleep for a couple of hours.
'Please…please…' an oddly familiar voice was pleading in the darkness. 'Just kill me and get it over with. Nobody will find me here for days. They'll never trace it back to you. You'll get away with it Scott-free. If you're going to do it," the voice dared, "Do. It." Matt knew this voice. He didn't know it very WELL, but he knew he'd heard it before. Not in a dream like this. Then suddenly a flashlight shown in the victim's face.
Matt, for the second time, woke with a start.
He knew that face.
He knew he'd known the voice from somewhere, and now he had a face to match.
Kurt Hummel.