The day Charly Beck’s love for him died was the day a part of Randy O’Brien died, too. He's not sure how to define that part. May be the part that could love people, or could care for them, or could have hope and prayer and all that. But he didn't know. He just knew that his heart bled and his soul screamed at the devil for taking his first and only love. He loved medicine and his friends and his business, sure, but it wasn't his first love, wouldn't be his last, and not his only.

He was glad that a lot of his friends arrived for the homecoming. Dave Landers, his best friend, his girlfriend Stephie Harrington, who had been as close to Charly as he since their arrival at the Clinic. Her three kids had stayed home with a sitter.

Andrew Chaser lit his Salem cigarette, leaning back to the outside of the encircled group. He bent his head down, as he blew out the match. Some flurries of snow blew all across his face and body. He closed his tan trenchcoat more tightly around him; it was so bloody cold out. He spied on Randy, interested in what he had to say.

The final end of my piece, Chaser mused, blowing out some smoke, my editor will kill me, if I don't finish it. Aw, shit, who gives, who cares, not me.

Chaser brought the cigarette to his taut lips. "What are you doing after this?" he asked, leaning over to Dave.

"Hell of a time to ask," he whispered to Andy. "May go to our apartment. I dunno. Why?" He stared at Andy, long and hard, trying to pierce into his mind and heart, trying to discern his meaning and purpose. He didn't like what he found out. "You gotta be-- No, I can't." Chaser smiled, again breathing in the smoke. "Fine. We'll talk."

"Five copacetic with you?"

Dave nodded and walked over to Randy, who was leaning over the casket, looking into her eyes.

"Randy, are you okay? If you need anything--"

Randy was leaning over the couch, hugging its sides, and his mouth was pointed straight to Charly, almost as if he were about to kiss her. He wanted to, to hold her and love her and kiss her like crazy, as hard and as passionately as he could. It hurt me not to.

Dave wrapped his arm around Randy's shoulders and they both walked away from the casket. "I know, I know."

Chaser kept his eyes fixed upon them in a lock. He dropped his cigarette to the wet ground and he made a mental note to ask Landers about their little discussion and the whys and wherefores of it all. He liked to make mental notes. It was sort of a hobby for him. He didn't forget all that much. Well, not too much.

And he thought back to Charly and what she meant to Randy. I nailed you both, he mused, but Landers-- you're next on my list.

On the couch, Randy nuzzled on the ear of Charly Beck. It must have felt weird for her to be kissed by a doctor who was trapped within an antibody. Maybe he could make amends with her. He once admitted to her that he was prejudiced against blacks. Now that has changed since his skin color was now black, also.

“I love you, Randy,” she whispered in his ear and kissed him on his cheek.

“Tell me a story of the earlier days, before you joined the Clinic. Tell me of your life before me. Tell me all. I want to know more about you.”

“Of course, I’ve got the perfect story to tell you…”

Wisconsin, 1986.

Charly Beck would later tell her friends that it was part of an elaborate plan. She knew that in the back of her mind she planned it out. It wasn't on a whim or because she actually loved him but a plan to make a fool out of him. An hour after it happened, she called Stephie from the phone in her dorm room and she blabbed and blabbed it all to her.

"Randy? You got to be kidding me? Him?!" Stephie's voice shrieked up to a higher level over the telephone wires.

"Him? Yeh, sure, of course," she explained. "I planned it. I burned him good. You should have seen the look on his face when I did it." And she grabbed and blabbed some more, knowing full well that it was a complete and utter lie.

Her alarm clock had woken her up on a Friday morning, slowly, lazily. She tossed and turned in her bed, moaning and groaning and like when she was younger, yelling at her parents, who seemed to nag her like hell even in college, to shut up. I'LL GET UP WHEN I FUCKIN' WANT TO!!! DON'T ROUSE ME, DON'T!!

In about an hour, she would have to run in the science wing, at Wisconsin University, so she could be right on time for Chem Lab II. She usually fell back asleep for a half hour and take a quick shower, grab a snack at the cafeteria, and run to the Lab across the way. But not today. She had this weird compulsion to get up and take a walk over to the English wing. She thought of her professor, Mr. Gray. Maybe talk to him awhile, he's never too busy, and maybe find out what she got on her last paper.

As she rolled out of bed, still in her pink nightgown, she saw that her roommate was gone. She was probably eating breakfast already. She was one of those people who could wake up at the crack of dawn without the friendly use of an alarm clock and get dressed, after taking a cold shower, and go to her first period class without being the least bit tired or grumpy or bitchy in any way. She was one of those people who Charly thought were balls of shit. How could they do that? Why were they so happy? What were they smiling at?

Charly saw something on the counter on her roommate's side of the room. It was her term paper. The one that she had to do for English. Gloria had spent relentless, long hours in the library, day and night for three or four whole months, researching the comparisons between Frost and Sandburg. Charly had watched her rush to her classes early like a busy bee and she had slaved every night doing her homework and working on all the other papers that she had due this week, the week just before finals. The pressure was mounting on both of them and they felt like tearing out their hair and banging their heads against the walls and killing their english and history professors. Charly knew for a fact that Gloria had English first every Tuesday and Thursday and that paper was due today.

Could she have forgotten it? Was it possible that through all the incredible stress that she just plain forgot about it? Yeah, right.

Gloria was one of those people who could, not only wake up on a dime, but could also remember anything and everything that they set their mind on. The paper was definitely foremost. Maybe I should run over and give it to her, she thought as she perused through it. It looked very thorough to her and it would be a shame if she were to fail just because she forgot. But Gloria never forgot.

The paper slapped onto the desk top. It wasn't her concern, she knew, she wasn't going to get herself involved. It was Gloria's problem, not hers. She wasn't going to baby her, be like her mother.

The term paper soon faded from her when she took a cold shower across the hall, got dressed in her preppie clothes, and walked to her Chem class. She thought that it was a little boring today. They talked about molar volume and moles and Avadagro's number and the periodic table. She took furious notes, listened carefully, and counted the minutes till it was over. It seemed like brief milleniums, rather than an hour. She tried to daydream to pass the time but that didn't seem to help any. Dr. Rachel Berger lectured practically the whole time, allowing them to do some practice problems ( lucky them) at the end of the period.

Sabrina, the girl that sat beside her, copied all her answers when they had to calculate the mass of an element and how many moles were in it and that bored Charly beyond belief so much so that she didn't care if the world blew up then.

Just before class was over, the professor reminded them, one last time, about the final next Friday and Charly rushed out of class, then talking to her special circle of friends in the hall. They complained about the finals and their term papers and they made fun of the nerds in class and their teachers and soon afterwards, dissipated into smaller groups.

Charly walked back to her dorm by herself, glad to be alone for once. She usually liked to take these strolls down the campus ground. She hadn't indulged herself like this in a few months. She used these times to think. God knows she had plenty of things to think about. Sometimes she needed to rework her life. When her grades got a little low, how her parents would react if she was expelled, her many relationships. Today, though, it was freezing out. The temperature had to be roughly thirty degrees and she hugged herself, tightening her white mink coat around her. She walked slowly, trying to imagine that it was a blistering hot day at the beach, that she's sweating beyond belief, that she is nearly naked in her bikini and she is sunbathing, with that towel beneath her.

She entered the Music Building, smiling to the people that cheerfully passed her. When she walked into the lobby, she removed her coat and hung it up on the coat rack, already nearly full with jean jackets and other minks.

In the main auditorium, she heard a lecture conducted by a history professor, Dr. Gorman. He was discussing about the fall of the communist system , the destruction of the Berlin Wall and the new freedom in Germany, and the current trouble with Iraq. This was probably his Western Civilization class. They usually were a big group. A couple of hundreds at the most, able to fit a regular sized lecture hall. This class was one of the few that were large sized. Mostly the classes ranged from twenty to thirty students, no more than thirty five. William Gorman took his class to this lecture hall once or twice a month to talk about what they had discussed in their regular classes, which were divided into smaller groups of twenty that meet every Monday and Thursday. Charly tried taking one of his classes last semester but couldn't handle it. He was too tough of a teacher, there was too much work, and she just couldn't deal with it. So she dropped it and went for a lighter course in United States History, taught by an easier professor. She felt more comfortable and some of the pressure was taken off. Gorman had the quick-spreading reputation for being the most difficult professor in the department, guaranteed to whip your butt into shape, and promising to fail you on every test and especially, the term paper and final exam. She wasn't ready for that kind of risk.

"Hey, Charly, what's up?" She spun her head around to see Ted Bryne, with his steady, whom the whole class knew from day one, Laren Levine. He was wearing blue Bugle Boys and a white tee shirt that read, "Burn, baby, burn," across the center with a flag catching on fire in the background. He was the biggest liberal that she knew. He was willing to give anyone a chance, especially the ones that supported controversial issues. This week he was into flag burning. He heard a court case on the news and that hooked him. Next week he could be pro choice or pro Iraq. No one could keep his fads straight. He also seemed to be happy that he was wearing that shirt on this day particular, almost as if he were flaunting it, she did on a number on occasions.

Laren Levine had been seeing Ted seriously for the better part of a year and everyone had been wanting for her to receive the 'ring.' Many times, through the local gossip channels which were usually her best friends, Laren has admitted that she loved him a lot, almost to the point where she had seriously considered marriage. People say that she's too young, others say too old. She's confused and won't dare trust her parents with this monstrous decision, if it ever comes up.

She had been majoring in dance ever since she enrolled last year; she still cannot decide what area of dance she was interested in but she figures if she continued to coast along her intended major will come to in a dream or a revelation from God. She hoped, she prayed. In her various dance classes, girls and especially boys have talked behind her back, of course, how Ted could love her as deeply as they suspect. Her face was not overly pretty; it's cute, but nothing more. And she was definitely flat-chested. Something that haunted her in high school and college. This insecurity forced her to wear coats a lot and baggy shirts and sweat shirts. She had been ignored and bullied a lot by boys her age when she reached puberty because of this. She didn't go on too many dates and she still was a virgin and that bothered her. She was very curious about the whole thing.

But Ted didn't care what kind of body she had. He never admitted it to her but by the way he acted and talked, she can almost sense it. She thought he loved her. She's not sure. But maybe the only way to find out was to have sex with him. Maybe that would be the final test. She wondered if she would do it right and if she didn't, will he dump her?

"-- can't complain. My next class isn't for another few hours."

Laren's eyes snapped open and her face quivered.

"So, where are you two going today?"

Ted slung one arm around her and smiled, as if reading her thoughts. "I dunno. We're probably going to just hang out. Right?"

Her eyes nervously stared into his face, grinning madly. "Sure. Whatever you want."

"Well, we gotta go. We'll see ya, Karen. Have a good one, y'hear." Ted was about to walk away, hand in hand with Laren, but he stopped short. It seemed like he was trying hard to remember something. He pulled out a piece of paper from his back pocket. "Here. I almost forgot."

Charly took the note, folding it. She didn't seem to care what it said, who it was from. "Thanks. Aren't you cold in that?"

"No," he said, with a serious look on his face. "I can brave the cold. I've done it before."

"Okay," she droned, unconvinced.

"Don't worry. You sound like my mother."

Charly smiled.

Ted and Laren both walked away slowly. She grabbed her coat from the rack, another mink. "Bye. See ya, Charly."

“What do you want to talk to me about?” Dave Landers asked Andrew Chaser, the star reporter for the New York Times. He wasn’t too thrilled with being in the presence of Chaser because of the book he wrote of the Psi-force children.

“It’s simple, Landers. I want to know all about you and your friends at the Clinic for Paranormal Research. I wrote one book about the children at Sanctuary, now I’m moving on to bigger, better things.”

Landers clenched his fist, grabbed Chaser’s jacket, and slammed him against a wall. “So, you can what? Expose us for the freaks we are? No way.”

“No, it’ll be decent. I did the Psi-force children justice. You have to believe me.”

“Not a chance in hell. Go back to the Kickers, maybe they will have sympathy for your ilk. Me, all I want is to spend a quiet life with Stephanie. And my friends. Randy and Charly have gotten back together. Ken has a girlfriend in Jenny Swensen. Just leave us the hell alone.”

Dave let Chaser go.

Chaser stood up. He pointed an accusing finger at the man who was violent towards him. “You’re going to regret this, Landers. I don’t care what it takes but I will get my interview with you and your friends.”

Chaser stormed out of the SoHo tenement building. Dave was left all alone. But surprisingly this time, he felt good.