A soft summer breeze passes through the leaves on a tree. A yellow leaf drops from a branch, and flutters to the ground, until it lands upon an old cracked sidewalk. Jackson stares at the leaf with an expression reminiscent of the torn paper's message about Lex.

"Almost autumn," he hears someone say.

Jackson looks off towards a small unkept house, nestled at the edge of the woods. In the open garage stands Melissa Wu amongst cluttered artwork, supplies, and tools. Her t-shirt's sleeves have been cut off and neck-line cut low. Her jeans have a revealing hole at the spot which once was a back pocket. She wears heavy black work shoes. A dog rests nearby on the floor.

"It's only the end of June."

"Yeah," Melissa shrugs. "But everything's always in transition. If you focus, even now, one week into summer, you can feel autumn coming." She pauses. "Almost like being able…to see the future."

Jackson reads her intention loud and clear. Melissa returns to her artwork. The dog growls softly as Jackson approaches the garage.

Entering the garage, Jackson gets a closer look at Melissa's artwork. It's abstract sculpture and canvas work, and pretty bad, at that.

"Know what this is?" Melissa asked, gesturing for him to approach her.

He tenses, awkward, but moves closer. Melissa lifts a plastic cover off a canvas. Beneath is a mess of green and brown and orange. Teen angst is poorly communicated. Glued to the center is a twisted piece of metal.

"Like, um…you're mad about something?"

She sighs. "Thanks a lot."

Then proud, but not enough to make her appear foolish over her bad artwork, Melissa indicates the metal.

"A piece of debris…from the plane. I went to shore off the crash site and it washed up on the beach."

"You went there?" Jackson said. "I wanted to go there, but I thought it was off limits."

"It is. But that didn't stop me. Shouldn't stop you."

Jackson gently touches the piece of the plane, almost expecting to feel something more than cold metal. He looks to Melissa.

"Why were you there last night?" he questions.

While she cleans brushes with a can of turpentine, she says, "Look, I've seen enough television to know the F.B.I. doesn't investigate teen suicides. But they were there last night, which means: one, they still don't have a clue what caused the crash. Or two, they haven't ruled out anything. And the fact that seven people got off the plane is weird enough, not to mention, that one of those people had a vision, or whatever, of it exploding minutes before it actually did explode, is highly suspicious. And it doesn't help that the visionary's friend just committed suicide."

Jackson eyed her for a long time. Melissa turns away from him, returning a can of turpentine to a shelf.

"Why were you there last night?" he asks again.

Melissa turns to Jackson. The two couldn't appear more different. She moves to an ugly black and green globular sculpture with a white dot in the center. "Know what this is?"

Jackson cocked his eyebrows, probably thinking "a mess?" but tactfully shakes his head "no."

"It's you."

Remaining dry and stoned-faced, Jackson tenses, uncomfortable.

"Not a likeness," she continues. "It's how you make me feel, Jackson."

"I'm…really sorry."

"Like you, the sculpture doesn't know what, or why, it is. Reluctant to take form," she explains. "And, yet, creating and absolute, but incomprehensible attraction."

Uncertain, and yet moved, Jackson listens.

"Before that day, you were just another suburban nothing that would never have anything to do with my life. And I'm sure you thought I was some Marilyn Manson body-pierced freak, or whatever," she pauses a beat before continuing. "But at that moment…on the plane…I felt what you felt. I didn't know where all those emotions were coming from until you started freaking out."

Jackson sighs, embarrassed.

"I didn't see what you saw, but I felt it. Okay, I'm not into all that X-Files bullcrap…but it was a psychic connection. Why to me? Why to you?"

Jarred, he eyes her, frightened.

"And you can still feel it, can't you? Something from that day is still with you. I know because I can still feel you."

Jackson is increasingly uncomfortable with the subject, but eased by Melissa's apparent, somewhat, understanding, tone.

Lowering her tone, she says, "That's why I was there last night."

"I've never dealt with death before. I wasn't alive when my grandparents died. I wish I could know. I mean, all this…could just be in our heads. Now it feels like it's everywhere."

"It?" Melissa asked.

"What if Lex…is just the first…of us?" Jackson said.

The idea sends a shot of apprehension through Melissa. "Is that something you're 'feeling?'"

"I don't know," Jackson said. "I wish I could just see him…one more time, then, maybe, I would know."

"Then lets go see him."

Jackson reacts, shocked and yet her impulsiveness is exciting.