Chapter 5

But this time, the real horror of the dream was not the fact that he had stood by and watched while a murderer did his work. The horror was that the dream might come true.

Of course it won’t, he tried to tell himself. The thing yesterday was a coincidence. Had to be. Couldn’t be anything else. Then what about the details? It all happened exactly like you dreamed it. Well fine. For one day, all the right stars were lined up, the cosmic scheme of things became clear, and Donatello had a dream that came true. So what? Didn’t mean it would happen again. But it was so detailed last night too.....you can’t just make those things up.

He leapt up, cursing as he tripped over the desk chair, and muttering some more when he realized he’d never turned the computer off. He checked its clock. 4:46 am. Perfect.

Don paced anxiously across his lab, avoiding by habit the obstacles he knew were there. Couldn’t be. The dream was just a dream. It was a ghostly echo of the previous night’s dream; in fact, it probably mirrored the first dream too closely to be anything other than a tortured memory from his own mind. A school, a bomb, and a man in a black trenchcoat. This one had been just an anxiety dream, because he was so worried about his first dream. Then he remembered what Kelly had said last night.

He kicked a chair angrily, but the pain didn’t distract him enough to forget. ESP. No. No way, no how, uh-uh, forget it! "No frigging WAY!" he whispered loudly to the empty room, and to imaginary parapsychologists who were trying to tell him ESP was real. Don leaned up against a counter, resting his forehead on a cabinet. This was making no sense. ESP and dreams that come true and dreams that might come true and screams and fire and blood and people dying and people calling out to him through smoke and over twisted rubble and men in black trenchcoats washed in blood-

Shit. He needed some aspirin.

Don made his way quietly to the kitchen, not wanting to wake his brothers, and especially not Splinter. If Splinter got him alone, he’d be cornered. He might have to answer questions about the bombing yesterday, and he didn’t want to talk about it until he figured things out in his own mind. Don was usually first up anyway, so he was used to sneaking around in the dark. He flipped on the small light over the kitchen sink so he could see better.

He found the coffee and a clean pot and put in on. Rinsed out a mug and set it down next to the coffee maker.

"Good morning, Don."

Don almost leaped into the air, whirling around with narrowed eyes to catch whoever had startled him.

A low chuckle. "Awful jumpy, aren’t you? You probably don’t need that coffee."

Don finally identified Raph’s voice, low and rasping. What was Raph doing up so early? And why was he sitting in the dark at the kitchen table? Raph answered his question before he asked it. "I just got home. Was out late with Casey. I heard ya moving around in there and I thought I’d wait and say hello."

Don nodded silently and turned back to the cupboard. Found the bottle of aspirin and managed to get two out of the bottle. Popped them into his mouth and followed it with a swig of tap water from the coffee mug. He sat down across from Raph to wait for the coffee.

Raph’s eyes, looking at him across the table, seemed to light up the room. They were bright from wariness, not fatigue, however, and Raph was still sharp. Even after what must’ve been a long night.

"You had another nightmare, didn’t you?"

Don looked hard at Raph. "I-how did you-" he stuttered, feeling embarrassed. Raph cut him off.

"You’re shaking."

Don looked down and realized that he was indeed shaking. His hands were quivering noticeably and he grabbed them to his chest and tried to still his body.

"Care to talk about it?"

"I-no," Don said. "Thanks, but no."

"All right, then." Raph stood up. "I’m going to bed." His voice trailed behind him as he headed for his and Mike’s room. "I’ll be here if you need me...."

When his coffee was made, Don grabbed the pot and took it back to the lab. He poured himself a cup and set the pot on a live hot plate to keep it warm. He hunted through carefully labeled jars of chemicals until he found the graham crackers he’d stashed away. With an open box of the grahams and a mug of coffee, he sat down in front of his computer and signed on AOL.

Very few people on at this time of day. Hackers or students finishing all-night hacking or cramming sessions. Business people getting cracking a few hours early. And mutant turtle insomniacs poking around, of course.

Don got onto Yahoo! and typed "ESP" into the search field. It was time to go surfing.

Donatello rubbed his eyes and looked at the computer clock. 7:23 am. He knew a lot more about ESP than he did before, but it still didn’t help him. He could define "parapsychology," and he knew that the type of ESP where you know what’s going to happen in the future was called "precognition." He had also researched some Greek mythology and read about oracles. A lot of people had tried to predict the future in history. With varying degrees of accuracy and varying amounts of fame and fortune as the result. He found a lot more myth than scientific evidence. But in any case, he still didn’t know if he DID have ESP or precognition or whatever.

One incidence of correct prediction was a coincidence. Couldn’t be anything else. That was science, plain and obvious. He had trained himself as a scientist, always considered himself to be logical, the type of guy who stuck to facts. There were natural rules of nature, and rules of scientific protocol. Protocol meant testing your hypotheses and checking and rechecking until you were nearly nauseous with boredom. But at the end of the nausea was always the answer. What was it that Scully always said on the X-Files? "There has to be a logical explanation for this." Even "fantasies" like giant talking turtles could be explained.....One incidence of correct prediction was a coincidence. A cold, hard, logical fact.

But what if there were TWO incidences?

Don thought about the dream. His first dream said P.S. 116, 12:12, a red car would explode. This dream said P.S. 51, 12:07, black Lexus. And of course the man in black was supposed to be present. But no eyewitnesses had seen a guy in a black trenchcoat on the scene of the explosion. That was the hope Don clung to. If there was no black trenchcoated man, Don was wrong, he wasn’t precognitive, and he was off the hook. But even to himself, he had to admit that a man in a trenchcoat was perfectly ordinary. No one would think to connect him to the crime. Especially since he planted the bomb in someone else’s car.

Don sighed and rested his chin in his hands, elbows propped on the computer desk. He wondered why this was happening to him. He was just not prepared to cope with all this....knowing. Knowing things were going to happen. Knowing when. Knowing where. Knowing who. Knowing how. And what was he supposed to do, anyway? Walk up to P.S. 51, find the guy, and say, "Hey, pal, I know what you’re planning to do, and I don’t think it’s a good idea"?

That would be a terrific way to get himself in trouble. In front of a school in broad daylight...And if he couldn’t stop it from happening, more trouble. Crime scenes would have cops and witnesses and reporters. Nobody would remember the black trenchcoat, but they’d sure as hell remember the likes of him...."No, really, officer. I’m just a run-of-the-mill mutant turtle. I had this premonition that this bomb would go off, and so I came to check it out. You’re looking for a guy in a black trenchcoat." Yeah, sure. That one would go over well. He wondered what his brothers (and more importantly, Splinter) would have to say when he showed up on CNN, "the main suspect in the public school bombings."

7:31. There was a tentative knock on the door. "Bro?"

It was Mike. "Yeah?" he called back.

"Splinter says you should come out now...we’re gonna practice."

Don sighed. "Kay." He didn’t feel like practicing. Not at all. But Splinter would want an excuse, and he wasn’t sure he had one. "I’m haunted by premonitions of death." That was one excuse he’d never used to get out of practice before... Even if it did work, a long chat with Splinter was probably not preferable to the practice. Besides, maybe it would distract him from his thoughts. Maybe.

Practice was normal. Warm-ups to stretch the muscles. (Don remembered the ache of sore legs and arms the few times he’d forgotten the all-important stretches. Don knew from experience, as well as from Splinter’s warnings, that missed stretching could mean pulled muscles or worse.) Then some katas, with and without weapons. Sparring. All the usual things, that Don moved through like a zombie. He shut off the parts of his mind that tried to rationalize or justify, letting the physical actions lull his mind into a blank and unemotional state.

Too blank. Don was clipped by what he recognized as the wooden grip of a ‘chuk. Don staggered and almost fell as he slowly came back to himself. Dammit, must’ve been spacing out or something...

A hand grabbed his arm and supported him. "Whoooppppsss!" Mike’s tone was light, but his face showed concern. "Sorry, Donny, thought you’d see that one coming."

Donatello reached up to touch the tender spot on the side of his head. Right near his temple; he was lucky the blow hadn’t knocked him unconscious. That was gonna be a bruise...How humiliating! "Nah, I’m fine," he told Mike. Mike wasn’t fooled. He dragged Don to the edge of the mat and forced him to sit with his shell up against the wall. Splinter had ordered a halt to Raph and Leo’s spar and was now making his way toward his injured son. Great.

"Donatello? Are you all right?" His fingers gently explored the injury.

"I’m fine, Master. Just a little...dizzy." Don rested his head on his knees.

"Mmmmm..." Splinter said doubtfully. "I think practice is over for today. Put ice on that, and lie down for a while."

"Okay," Don muttered. Raph and Leo were standing in their places at the center of the mat, openly staring at him. He was going to hear about this for days to come. Conked on the head like an amateur! Don was disgusted with himself.

"Do as I say, Donatello," Splinter warned. "Blades are not the only dangerous weapons. Nunchuku are designed for dealing such sharp blows, and wooden weapons are just as dangerous as metal ones. You are lucky you did not receive a concussion."

Don must’ve heard that speech a thousand times. Never, never play with weapons. Even wooden practice swords can be dangerous. Bos and nunchuku are always dangerous. Fighting is not a game.

As Splinter frowned at him and moved away, Don tried to get to his feet, head still spinning. A suddenly contrite Mike helped him up. "Geez, Donny, I’m really sorry. I didn’t think I’d really hit you, I mean, we were just practicing, it wasn’t a hard move, I thought you’d block it-"

Don gave Mike a weak smile. "Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. Just need to...lie down a minute." And Don made his way back across the mat, bending to grab his bo and almost falling over. He felt his brothers’ eyes on him. Don’t look at them. You’re fine. Don’t look... He slowly reached the door and went into the kitchen to fill a bag with ice, wrapping the bag in a hand towel. He passed Leo on the way to his room and brushed quickly past before the other turtle could ask questions. Inside his room, he lay back on the pillow and held the ice to his aching head.