Star-Crossed

1

S T A R - C R O S S E D

by R. Vincent Riccio

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 — R.Vincent Riccio

ISBN 9781605855493

Science Fiction - Fantasy Series

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Prologue

It was around the late part of the twentieth century, when a peculiar occurrence transpired in the heavens, during the dark hours of early morning. Two hyperactive shooting-stars streaked rapidly across the night skies as the blue-green planet turned below them. One comet came from the East, lightly caught in the planet's gravitational pull, streaking across the Asian Continent and Europe, headed for the Atlantic. The other came from the West, tearing a path over the North American Continent. An unusual occurrence, to be sure, and mostly unobserved, it was even stranger that their paths intersected and the two bodies collided, exploding in a fiery burst of energy which rained bits and pieces of incandescent, slightly radioactive particles and energy down on the planet Earth beneath them.

The matter and energy explosion from the raging comets being rather small, it had little effect on the bulk of the populace beneath it as tiny cosmic particles cascaded down upon the water planet below, settling variously on the northern continents. No one knows how, or even if, these strange occurrences affect humankind, but it has been noted by human tribes throughout the millennia, that when a star kisses a star in the midnight sky, look to your family and friends, for strange phenomena will surely follow.

The chronicle which ensues is the story of two people who were so touched by this mythical cosmic dust, how it affected them, and changed their lives forever

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CHAPTER ONE

The dark, rainy sky closed around Daniel James Paolillo's plane as it carved its way westward through the thick, murky clouds on its assent from Boston's Logon International Airport. The day hadn't been a bad one for him, although he'd had many better ones before this. The seven-hour flight would take him to a hospital outside of San Carlos, California, to a moderate-sized research clinic, one of the very few existing experimental facilities which provided any hope of treating his type of terminal cancer.

At present, he felt reasonably well for his forty years, had been told regularly that he didn't look his age, not a trace of grey mixed in with his thick, chestnut-brown hair. That plus his grey-blue eyes and lightly-tanned olive skin had always given him a handsome, youthful appearance; despite that, he was still dying.

He had bad days, and more of those were accumulating as time passed. His last checkup at Boston General discovered that his illness, although currently not heavily symptomatic, offered only six more months of life, that diagnosis confirmed by several other subsequent physicians.

His disease was rare, due to the location of small tumors in his pancreas, kidneys, and liver; normal radiation treatments were of only moderate help. He'd already spent several months in routine chemotherapy and radiation, which had temporarily slowed the spread of the degenerative illness, but currently they were no longer effective. What remained were a very few specialized experimental facilities throughout the country, among them the Watson Clinic in San Carlos, CA, which he'd reluctantly retrieved from his laborious searches. The California Clinic managed a radical experimental biochemical regimen for which he was painstakingly chosen, after much wrangling with both his insurance company and the Clinic. He was not completely sure why he selected that particular facility, but the more he'd scrutinized their program, distant as it was, the more he felt comfortable with the notion that it was the right place. His wife, Ellen, naturally disagreed.

If the new procedures worked, they would cost him all his savings, money intended for his daughter's future education. He considered that if the worst came to the worst, the sale of his three-quarter million dollar paid-up house could enable his wife and daughter to buy something smaller, using the balance of the proceeds to live on. That, plus three hundred thousand dollars of life insurance, should take care of things well enough. After all, his wife still worked, which, for the last ten years, had been a large part of their problem.

The virtual estrangement of the Paolillos had begun four years earlier, Ellen's work hours as corporate Controller growing to sixty, seventy, and more; that had caused several disagreements between them. Using Nannies and day care had not been Daniel's first choice, but with both of them working, there had been little else to do. Fortunately, as their daughter Lisa grew up, Daniel Paolillo, a graphic artist, was able to do most of his work home in a studio-office, enabling him to be closer to his daughter, shuttling her around as necessary, while his wife continued to work long hours away. It was not an ideal life, and the last few years they were literally separated, living apart at opposite sides of the house, never sharing a bed; at least it was some kind of life. Then he found out about the cancer, and things became worse.

Initially, Ellen felt constrained to agree with her husband's radical treatments, but when they hadn't effected a complete cure, and Daniel decided to continue his expensive fight three thousand miles away at the Experimental Clinic, she was unenthusiastic, arguing that if his death were an eventuality, as every Doctor had told him, spending hundreds of thousands of dollars more to accomplish nothing other than enriching doctor's pocketbooks was a waste; he should be realistic. She'd consider it if his insurance paid for everything, but it didn't.

His physicians had told him to put his affairs in order, and enjoy the last several months of his life as best he could. Ellen thought that was his best course, anything else being academic and purely selfish. It would be one thing if he were promised a cure, she'd said, but all the Watson Clinic physicians could promise was to try, guaranteeing nothing.

The artist had sat depressed for a week, pondering a course of action. He'd concluded that he couldn't give up fighting, that doing so was perhaps even morally wrong. His daughter, at twelve, had gotten a grasp on the situation, and tearfully told her Dad that she wanted him to use all the money he had to cure himself, not to worry about her, that trying to stay alive as long as he could was the most important thing. He attempted to reconcile in his head the two positions of his wife and daughter, but could only resolve that his daughter loved him a great deal; and that was probably as good a reason as any to desire life.

He'd kissed Lisa at the house this morning, before school, postponing his flight until later in the day so he could see her one last time, then he headed for the airport. He left her a note recapitulating their earlier discussions, stating he'd call as often as he could, and to be good for her mother now that he'd be gone for awhile; he knew that the while might very well be forever, but it was all he had left.

Thoughts of his illness, from its inception through his recent battery of treatments, danced through his mind as the plane wafted above the somber clouds and into cold, blue sky. A variety of ominous notions mingled with encouraging wonders of new test arrays and experimental procedures awaiting him a continent away, in a section of the country he'd never been.

His thoughts also ran to his relationship with his wife, and what he might have done, as far back as he could remember, to have improved it. He could dredge up no answers. If people were going to fall out of love, it could be there was nothing you could do about it; it was probable that they'd never had true love in the first place, merely attraction.

Prior to the onset of his illness, he'd concluded that their most reasonable course of action was divorce: appropriate for two people who no longer had anything in common, including affection or mutual respect. Daniel would have left his wife, taking his adoring daughter along - since Ellen managed virtually no time for her the last several years - and relocated to North Carolina, taking up business with his longtime friend, Jason Raleigh, five years his junior, but already a brilliant and successful engineer. His friend had been a widower with a daughter about Lisa's age, who recently remarried a talented artist and designer, Kerry Lynn McKenna, both very much in love, he'd said, and had started a Design and Architectural Division which she managed. The Italian had been sick, unable to go to the wedding, but he'd sent a gift and his fondest regards. Jason had continued to urge his friend Daniel to relocate south and become part of his new Design firm, adding his own flare to the efforts of Kerry Lynn, further enhancing and broadening the business. He was sure Daniel's easy temperament and brilliant artistic abilities would benefit them all. It would have happened, had he not gotten ill.

Dan Paolillo met Jason and his brother Chris in Connecticut where they all were raised for a time, both meeting eventually to race cars at East Haddam, and boats on the Sound. Later, their lives separated, but they always stayed in touch, each having mutual admiration for the other. Daniel went to Lynda Raleigh's funeral - alone - and had an abysmal time, like everyone else. He thought with some humor that now Jason and his new family would soon be going to his. He'd told his good friend about the disease, and the engineer was disheartened by it. He'd recently lost his lead engineer to a heart attack, and said he couldn't afford to lose any more close people in his life, please do whatever you can to hang together, and definitely stay in touch. If he needed money, or help of any kind, please ask, he'd help however he could.

Presently, all his prior plans were moot, and pointless. If by some miracle he received a new lease on life, he'd rethink everything. Otherwise, his plans would stay as they were: all he owned would go to his wife and daughter, and that would be a fitting enough end to his life.

The plane ride was smooth; his treatment-wracked body fell asleep easily, not waking until a Flight Attendant came by to tell him to put his seat belt on for their descent.

My, you must have been tired, the attractive young redhead said. I didn't want to wake you up before, for the meal. It's so nice when people can relax and enjoy the flight.

Thanks, he replied. I wasn't hungry. I'll get something later. I appreciate the consideration.

She smiled and went on down the aisle checking the other passengers.

* * * * * * *

After landing in San Francisco, Daniel immediately went to the rental car he had waiting, a sporty, Burgundy Pontiac Grand Prix with a large engine, a relatively fast car to indulge himself in one of his childhood pleasures, and which matched his own in Boston. It helped recall his old friends, Jason and Chris, and the fun they'd had racing together; that brought him some solace. He set out for the condo he'd rented in San Carlos, a few miles away from the Clinic, stopping at a Wendy's on the way, for a chicken sandwich, fries, and a tall lemonade, which he consumed in the parking lot listening to a classical music station on the car radio. Soon he was on his way again.

The weather this day was relatively dry, if a little cool, about seventy, but the sun was shining, and the drive felt good as he wended his way southward along Highway 280 to San Carlos. The rest on the plane had done him good, thus he felt okay to drive the entire way. He checked a map he bought at the airport, and saw he could zig over to Route 101, then cross over to Route 82 by way of the 92 connector then head south to San Carlos Avenue. Alameda was right off that, the street the Clinic was on. The condo he'd rented stood on one of the side streets off Alameda, so he wouldn't be too far away. It looked fairly easy to navigate.

It was near nightfall as he pulled into the driveway off Aimsbury Place, where his four-unit townhouse condo was located. It was a deep grey color, somewhat weathered on the cedar shakes, but otherwise was reasonably modern. Two units stood in the front, and two in the back, all one floor; a circular driveway went around the entire collection. Each had its own garage, and a bunch of large windows, both solid steel and screen doors, plus a little courtyard in front. The condos were canted with respect to each other, so that they connected at the corners, with space in the middle for central air units that could not be seen unless you went through the little gates at the back corners. To the right of the condo units as you drove in, and across the circular road, was a large pool and tennis court, and what looked like a small health club. It was quiet, and no one seemed to be engaged in outside activities; the artist relieved the car of a couple of his suitcases and dragged them up the two steps to the small porch, unlocked the door and went inside.

He came into a foyer, mostly in green - dark rug, light pastel on the walls - then walked into a spacious livingroom. That was done in browns and off-whites. He put his baggage down, and looked around. There were two bedrooms and a bath to the left, diningroom to the right, and further ahead was a step-up kitchen which was nicely furnished. Upstairs, in what was essentially a sky-lit loft, there were two more, smaller rooms and adjoining bath; certainly there was plenty of space. He considered that if he had the time and energy, he'd turn the two upstairs rooms into a den and library; but, maybe that was too ambitious a thought.

As he looked over the kitchen, he scrutinized it for what he might need to indulge his cooking passion. Lord only knew how many meals he'd have left, or what he could eat once treatments started; they always affected your taste and appetite. Not a bad place, but it did feel lonely. He had an appointment at the Clinic with the Administrator, Doctor Andrew Rising, to whom he'd spoken several times; he'd be seeing him around eleven the next morning.

He gave a call home to speak to Lisa as soon as he put his luggage down. She was alone; her mother hadn't yet returned from work.

Maybe you should stay with your girlfriend Joanne for a while, he'd said. He hoped that at least his wife would return home in time enough to make, or at least buy, dinner. If not, he was going to have to find someone to stay with his daughter until his wife decided to come home.

Okay, Daddy. I'll give her a call. You feeling okay? she asked, unaware what was going to happen, or how to react under these trying circumstances.

Fine. Was a good plane flight, Sweetheart. Nice and calm. I slept through most of it.

Oh. That's good, I guess.

Mm-m. It seems the closer I get to this place, the better I feel! Maybe that's a sign of things to come.

I think so, Daddy. Everything will work out, I know it will.

They talked a little more about school, and what she might be doing evenings. He told her to get more books from the library and do more reading after she did her homework, substantial in the eighth grade, then she could watch her TV shows, listen to her CD's, play on the computer; make sure she got to bed early enough, before ten.

That done, he rummaged around in the kitchen and found a few tea bags in the refrigerator, and a jar of powdered creamer in the cupboard; he heated up water to make a cup of tea, and settled in to watch television. There were doubtless plenty of things to see on the West coast, but currently he was not in an adventurous frame of mind, feeling more like a man sitting on death row, which he more or less was, as he saw it. Still, he needed a little hope, and he could only pray that someone at the Clinic would be able to give him that tomorrow.

* * * * * * *

CHAPTER TWO

It was a brief drive to the Watson Clinic, especially in the quick Grand Prix. Its newest patient paid little attention to the stores and buildings along the way. His attention was understandably consumed with his health condition and what treatments he might undergo. He'd purchased no food yet, thinking he'd do that on the way back from his appointment. There might be some special things they wanted him to eat, or not eat, and when you were undergoing the most experimental chemotherapy on the planet, you had to watch everything. He stopped at a Donut Shop, getting gas and grabbing a cup of Decaf coffee with a bagel and cream cheese, which seemed as if it would be a bland enough thing not to interfere with any treatment; although, he didn't suppose those would begin today in any case.

He turned into the Clinic driveway at ten-thirty, allowing himself time to get situated and logged in. The lot in back was half-full so he found a space immediately, then walked toward the seven-floor, beige, bricked-over building, through the large glass doors in front leading to the elevator lobby. He pressed the Up button. Another set of glass doors was located at the front of the building, opening to the street, and he regarded the people traversing in and out as he awaited the elevator. It had become a warmer, more humid day than yesterday, when he'd arrived, about Eighty, so it was interesting to see the people's change of dress to something lighter. These were things he noticed all the time, making mental notes for anything he might later draw or write.

The elevator ride up to the fourth floor was fast and smooth; he exited alone and began looking down the hallway for Doctor Rising's office. After finding it, he opened it and walked into a large waiting room, with two people in it. A group of Nurses and secretaries conversed behind a large glassed-in area where patients obviously checked in.

Hello! he called to what looked like the person in charge, a slightly overweight, middle-aged woman with bleached-blonde hair, looking to need another ‘do' soon to hide the darkened roots. She smiled pleasantly as she noticed him.

Daniel Paolillo. I'm here to see Doctor Andrew Rising. I have an appointment.

The lady looked over a sheet. Oh yes. Mr. - Paolillo. She handed him over a few sheets of paper on a clipboard. Please fill this out as completely as you can. Do you have your insurance I.D. card?

Sure. He took it out and handed it to the lady. There you go. He pushed it through the window opening.

Fine. We'll make a copy of this; meanwhile you can fill out your paperwork. The Doctor will see you momentarily.

Okay. He found a chair to complete the standard forms. As he looked them over, he found there was information he didn't understand, referring to conditions he wasn't sure he had, and medication he was uncertain he'd taken. He walked back to the window and tried to grab the attention of the secretary by waving the pages slightly in front of him. Uh-h, Mam? Some of this information I can't fill out; the questions are too technical, and I'm not sure how to answer them. Others I can answer two or three ways. Could I get someone to help me with this? Or will the Doctor go over it with me?

Doctor Rising likes to have all the information filled out completely first, she answered immediately, then it becomes part of our records, eventually goes into our computer bank. Due to the various medical grants we receive and constant Federal monitoring of our experimental programs, we're forced to maintain current and accurate records for our treatment regimens. The Nurse smiled sympathetically at him. Let's see if we can ring you up a Nurse, she offered, then went to her switchboard. We'll have someone be right up to help you out, she called back.

Thanks. I appreciate it. He'd felt a little nervous at first, but the very act of sitting around a waiting room filling out a set of boring papers made the experience a more mundane one; its very dullness was relaxing.

Two Nurses came into the room from another doorway, one a blonde, and the other a raven-haired young woman who was obviously part Asian. Both of them were attractive, he couldn't help noticing - sick or not - both appearing to be about thirty. He wondered if one of them was going to help him with the forms. He'd already completed as much as he could by himself.

The two Nurses talked with the secretary behind the desk for a couple of minutes, then the blonde Nurse walked out the door, smiling at him as she passed, while the Asian-looking Nurse walked toward him, her countenance remaining serious, perhaps even somber. He thought as she moved closer, he might characterize her as beautiful if she simply smiled.

Having problems completing the information? she asked in perfect, unaccented English, forcing a small, perfunctory smile for a second. She was no doubt American, he gathered, or at least had been most of her life. She had her arms crossed in front of her, and wore a dark blue sweater over her white uniform, apparently for warmth in the brisk air conditioning. She appeared to have an excellent figure as he quickly looked her over; slender, but shapely. Yet the sweater, draped over her like that, coupled to the relatively bulky uniform, tended to hide whatever alluring femininity she had beneath it all. The artistic patient, a student of the human form who had sketched and painted his share of women and nudes, couldn't help but think the guise was intentional, to hide the substantial curves his trained eye caught as she moved closer to him. Immediately he assessed she was protective of herself.

Daniel continued to stare at the Nurse, developing the notion that there was something familiar about her, but he couldn't put his finger on it; and he could well remember any Asian-looking people he'd ever met in his life, certainly one as attractive as this. More than that, there was a slightly exhilarating feeling which flushed though him as she approached, something he had not felt the like of in many years. He took in a deep breath and plied his excellent memory to try to find her anywhere within it, but he couldn't come up with anything. Still, there was something about her that affected him.

As his grey-blue eyes combed over her, he watched her own large, exotic, topaz eyes focus on his a moment, staring as if something about him puzzled her. When he didn't answer her right away, and they both continued their stares an embarrassingly long time, the Nurse became uncomfortable and pulled her head back. She appeared to shake off her initial fixated stare, and apparently became annoyed, but, duty calling, she walked next to him to look over his shoulder at the material he'd written down. She reached down where he sat and flipped through the several sheets, regarding them carefully. As she did so, some of her long black hair fell softly around her left shoulder, resting there. She had a light, royal blue tie on it in the back to keep it from flying about.

Well, she began formally, you have to check off this, she pointed to various boxes, and this one - you've had chemotherapy before, right? Most of our patients have before coming here. She sat down in the chair next to him and continued to look over the papers. She crossed legs that were long and shapely, the Italian recorded, as she sat forward to help him; he thought, she could easily have been a model.

Uhm, yes, he answered cryptically.

That's what this refers to. Do you know what you took, what the regimen was? she asked.

Not really. It involved stuff I couldn't pronounce even then. Frankly, I didn't want to learn. I just wanted to get through it. You know?

Uh-huh, that's easy to understand, but it is beneficial for you to know as much about what meds you're on as possible. She stared at him again momentarily before going on, then broke her concentration, seeming to become more uncomfortable, and looked away, refocusing on the papers. And - and, of course, what treatments you're taking. It's for your own benefit, for other drug interactions, for instance. And, of course, in case of emergencies. We like you to maintain a list of what we're giving you here and keep it on you. Along with any allergies and so forth. Keep that in mind. The Doctor will speak to you about that, too.

As she spoke, the new patient continued to watch her with more interest, becoming more certain that he'd met her before, and was also intrigued by her unusual beauty, exotic and uncommon, yet somehow familiar. There was something reminiscent in the way she spoke, the intonations and subtle changes of expression she made. Mr. Paolillo? Did I pronounce that correctly?

Yeah. Yes! Paolillo, right.

She was aware of the fact that he continued to stare at her, even though he was trying not to be terribly obvious. Having done some of that herself, it was apparent the whole process was becoming disturbing for her. The young woman stood up and backed away from him a step, displaying her annoyance, perhaps more than she'd intended.

Daniel immediately recognized it for what it was, and felt embarrassed at being the cause, however it happened. He stood up. I'm sorry. Honestly! I realize I'm staring at you, and I truly don't mean to. It's only that, well, you look very familiar, and I can't quite put a finger on it. I'm generally very good with faces. It feels like I should have met you before. Or something.

She stared back a moment, seeming not to know how to react, then shook it off uncomfortably again, changing her expression to irritated. Really, she returned acidly, becoming distinctly uneasy with his familiarity.

Well, yes! He squinted his eyes. It's a very strange thing. I could swear I've met you somewhere; but, I'm sure I'd have remembered someone as exotically pretty as you. He was simply trying to be pleasant, even professional, and not appear freakish, as he engaged his memory.

I see. She stared again at him a few moments, trying to make something of the man before her. Then, You find this line works often with women, or just with us Asian types? she responded, distinctly rebuffing him.

What? No-no! I'm serious. He tried to think over objectively how it might appear to her, believing himself that he'd been acting conversational, rather than indicating he was trying to pick her up. Besides, as far as she was concerned, from the form, he was married, older than her, and in sad shape. Why would she believe him trying to make a pass? Especially here. Maybe she was simply sensitive; some women were.

Honestly. I thought you reminded me of someone, or was someone I met before.

She raised an eyebrow, not buying any of it, for whatever reason.

He thought: in for a penny, in for a pound. Have you ever been to the East coast?

No! I've been a Californian all my life. You don't have to keep this up, you know. It's going nowhere. She seemed more perturbed the more he tried to convince her he was being sincere.

Well, okay, then. I've never been out of the East until now, so I guess there's no way we could've met. I could swear we have, though. Ever do pictures, or photos of any kind? Ads maybe? I've seen a lot of them, and you're certainly attractive enough. Maybe I'd have seen you there.

NO! she returned flatly.

Oh. Well, it must be someone else you look like that I met back East.

Yes, after all, all us Orientals look alike, anyway, right! she said with an uncomfortable sarcasm.

He shook his head, miffed that he'd upset the young woman. He was going to be coming here often, and didn't want to get off on the wrong foot. No. He gave a little laugh, trying to continue his politeness as best he could, at this point. I didn't mean that at all. I mean, you are striking looking, surely, and one would tend to remember a person like that, so maybe you remind me of someone else as striking looking, whom I met or saw back home. That's all.

The Nurse backed up another step from him. Look, Pop, she said disagreeably, apparently holding in a greater anger, I don't know what it is you're trying here, but it's getting you nowhere! You're too old, too married, and - Her finger firmly tapped the papers he still held in his hand, too sick to be anything I'd be interested in. You should be solely concentrating on your health. Not me!

Their little discussion caught the attention of one of the senior Nurses behind the window; she turned and walked toward them.

Normally calm and courteous, Daniel was disturbed that something as innocent as what he'd said was taken the wrong way. Besides, her last remark, especially for a Nurse, and under the circumstances, could be considered cruel.

Listen, he said finally in a calm but firm voice, I don't know what your problem is, young lady, but I was simply trying to be pleasant. Maybe your ears need tuning, because I could swear I said I thought you look like someone I'd met before, not please bend over I'd like to screw you. You hear the difference? He had raised his voice slightly in the end, a thing he was normally disinclined to do, but this young woman was on some ego trip that he really didn't need to deal with right now.

At least his last statement surprised her. She took another step back, unsure of what she should now do. At that point the older, senior Nurse came between the two of them.

What seems to be the problem? She forced a smile into the situation.

No problem, Daniel said, I just think it's time for your young Nurse here to go back on her medication. She's obviously skipped a few doses. All I wanted was a little help filling out these stupid forms, so I could get in and see the Doctor. You know, and have a shot at living! I thought that's what you were here for, not harassing the patients.

Kate? The younger Nurse looked over to her senior adviser. There are some medications I want you to attend to in back. You go do that, and I'll finish up with this gentleman, here.

The younger Nurse stared at Daniel for several moments, angrily gritting her teeth, unconsciously breathing harder, then managed a Yes, Mam. She turned to walk away.

Kate? Daniel said, looking after her.

The Nurse turned around and stared at him, intensely now. He shook his head, and put his hand up to his forehead, trying to remember something, he wasn't sure what.

That - can't be right, he said softly, straining his memory in an effort to retrieve something he could not find. The younger Nurse's face drained of expression, and her eyes widened. Then she turned quickly and walked into the back rooms.

Kate's been with us a few years, now, the older Nurse explained. Doing what we do here, sometimes it wears on the young ones. They have a bad day, and no one can explain it. Occasionally it happens. She's a very competent Nurse, if a little dour at times. She's had some rough bumps herself, so don't be too judgmental. You're going to be with us for a while, Mr., mm-m, Paolillo, is it?

Yes. That's right. You people have actually done a pretty decent job of not messing the name up. Back home where there are a bunch of us, I hear it about fifty different ways.

Well, see, now that's good, isn't it! Let me check you over here. She grabbed the forms and looked through them, writing a few more notes into them. The Doctor will see you shortly. Why don't you sit down and relax a few minutes. We have some coffee if you'd like, or perhaps some cold water.

Oh, great, the water sounds good.

The Nurse smiled and then left him. A few minutes later she returned with a cold bottle of spring water.

Thanks, the new patient had said, and began drinking immediately.

In the back room where medications some were being prepared, the young Oriental Nurse was putting together some small cups filled with various medications. The senior RN came up behind her as she worked quietly.

Kate, what in the name of everything holy was that about? What were you thinking? This will be another of our terminal patients, embarking on Doctor Rising's experimental procedure. It's his last hope, with likely only months to live. What is the matter with you?

The younger Nurse sighed deeply. I - I don't know, Fran. I just - he gave me the willies! He's a weird guy and I didn't react well to him. I felt very creepy. I don't know why.

He doesn't seem very weird to me! In fact, he's fairly mild mannered, and even pleasant-looking, especially for here! I know you have some kind of problem with men. And if you don't want to fraternize with the Doctors and are turning away their advances, that is well and truly your business. But when it comes to the patients you have no such luxury.

I know.

Do you. Then what happened? You're giving a hard time to a male patient who is terminally ill? What could possibly be going through your head to abandon the basic principles of your profession? Your only reason for being here is to care for patients, not make them miserable and drive them away.

I - I didn't mean to do that. It was - suddenly a very strange feeling! He made me feel - weird, and creepy - like I said. I had an extremely uncomfortable reaction just being next to him.

That is exactly my point. One gets a host of uncomfortable feelings around such people. It's irrelevant, and in fact, why they're here. If they were perfectly well, we wouldn't be seeing them in the first place. Naturally there will be things about them that make us uncomfortable. You're a Nurse! They're patients, for pity sake! I will not have to tell you this again, something you learned in your first semester of Nursing School. Get your act together, young lady, and work out your social problems on your own time. We have a small staff for what we do here, and we need everyone pulling their weight. You're going to be forced to deal with this man and people like him, so collect yourself. Am I clear!

Yes, Fran. It's clear.

And, my Lord, try smiling more. Be pleasant! You're supposed to be making patients feel hopeful and optimistic, not want to jump out the window.

The young Nurse forced a smile over that. I'll do my best.

Do better! If you need to talk to Allen Turner, then perhaps you should do that.

The Psychiatrist? She looked over to the older Nurse. I don't really think I'm that bad.

Bad enough! I can't imagine anything a terminal patient could do that would make you choose to jump down his throat!

He shook her head. I got this very weird feeling. And then, I felt he was trying to make a pass at me, and I - I guess it must have irked me that he was doing that in his condition.

Male patients flirt with the Nurses all the time, every day. And we flirt back, in case you hadn't noticed; that is, most of us do. It's part of what makes them feel alive, like they're still valuable, and desirable. Once a man feels he has no value, no allure for anyone, he starts to die inside, and in these extremely sick patients, it's even worse. That is a pathetic excuse for what you did. As I told you, your job is to make them feel viable, provide hope that they can heal, not want to commit suicide because one more person noticed they have something disagreeable wrong with them.

The younger Nurse sighed again, disturbed at herself. She knew her job, and was usually competent at it, if a little too serious. I'm sorry. Nothing like this will happen again. I promise.

You'd better. We can't tolerate this type of behavior here. Perhaps if you're feeling ill, you should go home and rest for the balance of the day.

No, I feel all right. Suddenly a little tired, though; but, I just overreacted. I'm sorry. I truly am. I won't let it happen again.

The senior Nurse stared at her some moments. Be sure that it doesn't. I can have someone else take over for you with him today. He has only to be led to Doctor Rising's office, and a little blood work for the labs afterward. But you're going to be forced to deal with him for the next few months. Bear in mind: he is well aware that he may not be recovering from this treatment! His condition can turn fatal at any time.

I know.

Well, for all that you know, it certainly didn't stop this abhorrent behavior before, did it!

Please, Fran, I know how to do my job. I can only apologize so many times. I made a mistake, I realize that. It was simply a strong emotional reaction I had for some reason. God, I don't usually do that. I'll take care of everything. I'll never let it happen again. I promise.

Very well. We need your help. I still think it would be a good idea to let someone else take over for you today, although you're going to have to learn the protocol with him eventually. I'll get Paula to help now. She's going off anyway, she can stay around another half-hour. I don't want to disturb this patient any further.

Whatever you say, she replied with some dejection.

The older Nurse nodded, then left her on her own, and walked deeper into the back office, into another room, to talk to Paula Riley, one of the other Nurses.

It was several minutes later as Kate Long was putting up medications that Doctor Edward Stewart came up behind her. Hi there, Beautiful! Looking a little glum today, aren't we? He spoke in his normally chipper tones.

Good morning, Edward. Yes. I guess I did something stupid, and sort of blew up at a patient, then got myself read the riot act by Fran.

Really! I didn't think anything disturbed that cool exterior demeanor of yours. Maybe you're finally changing for the better. Ed Stewart was one of the newer Doctors recently assigned to the Clinic. Tall, and slimly built, he was youthfully handsome, dark eyed, with a mop of dirty-blond hair.

The Nurse merely looked at him momentarily, then quickly turned back to her work.

So how about that date? Might be time that you broke your Eleventh Commandment and dated one of the Doctors here. Namely, me. You'll have a great time.

You know I don't date the doctors, Ed, she said without looking up.

You don't date anybody! It's not normal, a vibrant and beautiful young woman like you drying up like a prune and no love in her life.

My love life's my own business, and I'd prefer no one else stuck their nose in it.

Mm-mm, I guess you are in a snit today.

I'm sorry. I'm not feeling exactly like myself. Especially since that - that - new patient came in. There's something very creepy about him.

You mean the new guy out in front, the one Paula's with now?

Yes. Him!

Hm! I met him on the way in. Seems like a pretty decent, normal type of guy to me. Maybe it's not him.

The Nurse looked sternly over to him. What else could it be? she said drily.

You! Going through one of your more somber days. You do have them, you know. There isn't anybody who doesn't see it.

What do you mean?

What do you mean, what do I mean? You drop the temperature in the room five degrees every time you walk by! Maybe today was a ten degree day. He smiled charmingly at her. You have them, apparently you don't realize it.

It can't possibly be that bad, she said, turning her attention back to her work.

It's actually worse, he replied seriously. If you don't begin to date and have a normal life soon, it's you who's going to be the one giving everyone the creeps.

Come on, Ed. You're being a little hard. It takes me time to get over things. I just, I need my solitude right now, this time in my life.

Yes. Solitude. How long's it been since your divorce? Two years?

Two and a half next week, but who's counting.

And you haven't dated anyone in that time? How the hell is that even possible?

Doesn't seem like that long.

Which is part of your problem. Your common sense is all twisted around. Even your time reference. You should be dating somebody. I'm available, so why not me? He smiled again at her.

If I'm so cold and creepy, what do you want to date me for?

Science. It's what we do here. Plus, I can get probably ten to one odds that it's even possible right now. I could probably make enough to take us to Jamaica!

She smiled despite herself, nodding her head. I'll think about it. But you know, once I give you one, then all the other guys are going to want one.

Nah! Once they know it can be done, nobody will be interested anymore.

I'll bet.

Sure. Me, I like difficult women. It means hardly anyone else has messed around with them. Then, when you actually get them, they're yours, because no one else is going to go through the trouble.

Now you're starting to creep me out! she said good-naturedly.

See? I told you it was you. So, how about Friday? We'll do something very bland and sappy, like go to dinner, or down to the ice cream shop, coffee, pizza. Anything non-momentous, where your delicate sensibilities won't overload. You'll have fun. And Kate, he added more seriously, you really need to get out of this rut. For your own good.

And dating you would do that for me, huh!

Almost anyone would do, but, I'm here, and I like you, so why not! Besides, it's the Doctor's recommendation.

The thing is, she sighed aloud, you're probably right. Fran told me if I didn't upscale my attitude, she wanted me to go see Allen Turner. All things considered, you're probably the lesser of the two evils.

Oh thanks.

I'll talk to you later in the week, Ed. Meanwhile, let me finish these meds.

There's a good girl. He gave her a firm pat on the behind before leaving.

Hey!

Very nice! Firm. I'm only checking; science, you know. He smiled, throwing his hands out in front, and then left.

Men, the young woman grumbled to herself.

* * * * * * *

Daniel Paolillo waited about fifteen minutes before Doctor Andrew Rising came out of his office to meet him. The Administrator was a medium-built man with a flock of reddish-blond hair with streaks of grey in it, looking to be in his early sixties. His skin was fair, and he had a bunch of freckles strewn about his face. An easy smile came to his lips, which seemed genuine.

Good morning Mr. Paolillo. Andy Rising. We spoke, of course.

Yes, how do you do. Nice to meet you. At least I hope so.

The Doctor chuckled, nodding. "I'm sure. We're going to do our best here for you. I've been looking over your history while you were out there, the various protocols and treatment you've had to date. Unfortunately conditions such as yours do