February 9, 2000, 2 p.m., San Francisco

A tall, overcoated figure stood, ignoring the light February drizzle that suffused the air with 
chill moisture.
   The man stood patiently, taking no heed of the occasional gaggles of joggers making their 
way around the edge of Lafeyette Park.  He had eyes only for the row of homes across the 
street, and especially for the lone grocery-bag laden woman making her way up to one of the condos.


Doctor Grace Holloway shifted the bag of groceries cradled against her left arm as she rooted 
around in her pocket for her keys.  Leaning forward, she let herself into her condo.  Neatly 
avoiding the mail piled on the mat just inside the door, she placed the bag on a chair nearby as 
she reached down to scoop up the envelopes.  She swiftly scanned through them.  Junk, junk, bill, 
letter from a friend, junk.
   Tossing the junk in the small wastebasket next to the door, she bore the rest 
and her groceries up the set of steps into the kitchen/dining area, where she began to efficiently 
distribute her purchases to fridge and shelves.  Although there had been some good deals at the 
supermarket, she hadn't gone overboard.
   After all, she wouldn't be here for very much longer.
   She'd held back the letter of resignation she'd planned to give Swift immediately after the New Years 
holiday, and had taken a leave of absence instead, putting her networking skills to good use.
   She took a moment to recall the time she'd spent interviewing for the cardiology position at the Bergman 
and Whitman Hospital in Boston.  She'd felt so confident, so sure of herself.  She'd known she had the job 
from the start.  Destiny, she'd decided, had nothing to do with it.
   If it made her feel this great, she'd help an eccentric alien 'Time Lord' save the entire planet anytime.
   Grace shook her head.  As the weeks went by, some of what had happened on 
New Year's Eve was taking on a dream-like quality, even though she knew it 
had happened.  She had bid the Doctor farewell as he'd left in his time-traveling 
ship and had returned home with a renewed sense of purpose that had made her 
feel wonderful.
   She still had a lot to contribute.  But not in San Francisco, not any more.  It was time to move on.
   Grace glanced over at the answering machine.  One message.  She hoped it 
wasn't another nuisance call.  Someone had called several times at odd hours 
over the last few days, hanging up the moment she'd answered.
   She paused, musing.  She hoped it wasn't Brian.
   She smiled a bit ruefully.  If he'd seen the way the Doctor had joyfully grabbed and kissed her - and the way 
she'd kissed him back -- upon his recovering his memory, Brian would have moved out even faster.  She shook her head.  
Talk about your fast 'rebound relationships'...
   Grace laughed.  Well, it had been one hell of a first and last date.  Her alien friend was out there, somewhere,
traveling around - the guy with two hearts.  Idly wondering what the odds were that she'd ever encounter another alien, 
she continued to put away her groceries.


She was opening the letter from her friend Claire when the phone rang.
   "Hello?" she inquired, continuing to rip open the envelope.
   There was a brief silence.  Then:  "Hi, Grace...I called earlier, but you weren't 
home..."
   Brian.  She put down the letter.
   "Hi," she said in return, neutrally.
   "I wanted to call to explain why I did what I did on New Year's Eve," he said, 
hesitantly.
   "Oh, I'd say you got your message across.  It was a little hard to miss," she said 
sharply.
   There was a pause.  "Yeah, I know," he finally said.  He sounded contrite.  In 
her mind's eye, she imagined a little image of Brian, stolid executive suit and all, 
cap in hand.
   "I know what I did was pretty extreme, but I was just so angry, I didn't think 
about what I was doing.  I just wanted to make a statement," Brian told her.
   "You certainly did," she said, a little absently, beginning to tear little ragged strips 
off the edge of the envelope.
   Brian paused.   "I thought maybe we could get together to talk about it.  How 
about at your place, later today?"
   You mean tonight? Grace thought, incredulously.  Hoping for some of that 
really close, personal discussion?  Let bygones be bygones?  She shook her 
head.  "Look, Brian, I don't know what you hope to accomplish, doing that.  
In case you didn't know, I'm moving to Boston soon."
   There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
   "I...see," he said, finally.  "Well, *that* was quick."  The petulance she'd 
become very familiar with in recent months crept back into his voice.  "You have
found someone new.  I knew it was something like that."
   "Now wait just a minute -- this has nothing to do with anyone else!"
   "Oh, come on - nobody moves that quickly!  You've been planning this for 
some time, haven't you?  You must've been really happy when I moved out on 
my own.  Were you really working all those late shifts at the hospital?"
   Grace ground her teeth.  Here they went again with the sullen insecurity.
   "Look, Brian, if it makes you feel better, go ahead and pretend, but I haven't 
met anybody new.  We just weren't working out, and we both know it."
   "Then who was that guy you were seen with at the ITAR party?"
   Grace hung her head in despair.  Some alien guy whom I was helping to 
save the world.  Oh, this was crazy; this was insane.
   This was a waste of her time.
   "Just a friend.  You certainly weren't around."
   There was a silence.  Ha, a hit!  Then she winced.  This was ridiculous.
   "Look, I don't see that we have anything to discuss.  You made it quite clear 
where you stood.  What's done is done.  All right?"
   Silence.
   "Brian, are you there?"
   "I see.  Go ahead and do whatever you want," he said, thickly.  He hung up.
   She sat for a moment, then slowly eased the headset onto the cradle and let out 
a deep breath.


February 10, 2000, 1 p.m.

The next day, Grace was out to lunch at Betelnut with a couple of friends.  Their 
entrees had just arrived, when she saw a familiar figure threading its way through 
the crowded lunch-time tables.
   She sighed, heavy-hearted.  "Hello, Brian," she said.
   "Oh, hi, Grace," he replied, with deliberate casualness, nodding at her dining 
companions, Ann and Theresa, both collegues at Walker.  He performed a quick 
scan of the dining room, as if expecting his romantic rival to suddenly appear.
   "I saw you, so I thought I'd say hello."
   She said nothing, a frozen polite smile on her face.  She could feel Ann's and 
Theresa's sympathetic looks.
   Normally, he would have automatically joined them, unless he was at a business 
lunch.  This time, there were several long moments of uncomfortable silence, while 
he waited expectantly for an invitation.
   Brian blinked and found himself the focus of three keen female stares.  His eyes 
narrowed.
   "Well, I see you're really busy, so I'll be on my way," he informed them, huffily.  
He turned and strode angrily away.
   There was another short silence, before Ann spoke up, too brightly.  "Well!" 
she said.  "How are the moving preparations going, Grace?"


The nuisance phone calls continued.  She considered reporting them to the phone 
company, but decided it wasn't worth the bother.  It wasn't as if they were obscene 
phone calls -- probably just some kid.  They were really nothing to worry about.


February 12, 2000,  9 p.m.


"Good-night!" Grace called, smiling broadly to a large and very happy (and 
somewhat tipsy) group of friends from Walker Memorial Hospital.  They were 
just leaving the ThirstyBear brewpub/restaurant, where they'd just thrown her a 
going-away party.  She was touched at the number of people who had shown 
up; she had the feeling that there had been a lot of schedule juggling, because 
several of the people there usually worked evenings.
   Digging for her keys while clutching the collection of cards and gifts she'd 
been given, she wasn't paying attention to what was going on around her, 
instead contemplating the prompt writing of thank-you notes...
   A shape loomed suddenly out of the shadows of the parking lot.  Startled, 
she jumped, then sagged with a combination of relief and annoyance.  It was 
Brian.
   "Brian, what are you doing here?  Are you following me?"  For a moment, 
she thought uneasily of stalkers.  But Brian wasn't like that; he was the type 
to sulk, not follow her around.  But then why was he here?  The restaurant 
meeting could have been just coincidence, but this...
   "What do you want, Brian?"  She raised her voice, and saw with satisfaction 
out of the corner of her eye that a number of the departing party attendees had 
heard and turned to watch.
   Good.  If he tried anything...
   Then she got a good look at the expression on his face as he came fully into 
the glow of a nearby street-light, and flinched back instinctively.
   His face was twisted with emotion.  He took a half-step forward, his hands 
coming up, clenched.
   "Grace, I need to talk to you!  We can't go on like this -- for chrissake, will 
you give me a chance to tell my side of it?"
   "Brian, you're making a scene!" she hissed.  "What the hell do you want 
from me?!  You're the one who moved out!"
   "Dammit, why do you have to be so superior all the time--"  He reached 
forward and grabbed one of her arms.  She jerked back, shocked, and her 
collection of cradled gifts cascaded to the asphalt.
   "Hey, hey, hey -- what's going on here?" a male voice suddenly inquired 
behind them.
   It was Pete.  Behind him cautiously trailed several of the others.
   Grace knew that news of the split between her and Brian had gone around 
through the hospital rumor mill.  What she found to be surprisingly endearing, 
in the midst of her acute embarrasment, was the way the others were throwing 
displeased looks at her ex in her defense.
   My friends, she thought.  I'm certainly going to miss you...
   Brian let go of her arm and stepped back, glowering.  "Nothing," he said 
curtly.  "We were just talking."
   Unmollified, they stood, giving Brian narrow looks, while Ann and Pete 
helped Grace pick up the things she had dropped.
   They waited while she got into her Ranger.
   She leaned out of the window.  "Thanks, guys.  For everything."
   Pete leaned forward.  "No problem."  His voice dropped down low.  "You 
sure you're all right?" he asked.
   She smiled tiredly.  "I'm sure.  He's not usually like this."
   He glanced back darkly at where Brian still stood, staring at the group where 
they were protectively clustered around her Ranger.
   "Yeah, well, be careful.  He looks...weird to me.  If you need any help, don't 
be afraid to call somebody."
   They stood waving, as she started up and swung out of the parking lot.


She shivered a little in the chill night air as she let herself into the condo, and 
couldn't help glancing warily around.
   Brian's behavior had been disturbing; she'd never seen him act that way 
before, try to manhandle her like that.
   Could the stress of their break-up be affecting him this badly?  Well, it was 
just as well that she was moving, making a new start on the East coast.  This 
whole business with Brian had left a bad taste in her mouth.  At least she wouldn't 
have to worry about running into him on the street...
   It had been a busy day.  She headed down the short hallway to her room, and 
to bed.


February 13, 2000, 2:53 a.m.

Grace Holloway awoke, blinking up at the ceiling.  Something was not right.  
Suddenly aware that something wooden was touching her right hand, she turned 
her head to see what it was.
   Sprawled next to her, half-wrapped in the sheets of her bed, was Brian, his 
bare chest and arms covered with a multitude of gaping red knife wounds.  His 
eyes gazed sightlessly upwards.
   The wooden something was the handle of one of her kitchen knives.  She was 
grasping it loosely, and it was covered with a slick of drying blood.
   That was when she screamed.