Chapter 1

April 4, 1994

"Shit, fuck, damn, shit, shit, SHIT!" Brooke had sprung from her bed, only to be entangled by the clothing strewn across the floor. She fell down, breaking her fall with her forearm. As quickly as she had fallen, she sprung to her feet. A distressed bark was nearly drowned out by the repetitive ringing of an alarm clock in the next room. She threw the door open and ran to the alarm clock.

How had she slept through it for fifteen minutes? She smacked the on/off switch, and the sound of the alarm was replaced by a commercial playing on Brooke's favorite radio station. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she was able to see the time.

6:30AM. Fifteen minutes behind, but she was able to breathe easy. I have to remember I moved,she thought to herself with a slight shake of her head. I'm only 10 minutes away from the school.

She turned the radio up and moved quickly toward the bathroom. Proximity change or not, she had a few extra things to add to her routine this morning before she would feel "ready" for the , out of all of the professors in the University, did she have to be picked to give the introductory speech for the latest guest? He was some sort of Mathematician and she was a Zoologist. Two completely different fields. Not to mention, Brooke hated any sort of math with a fiery passion. As intelligent as she was, numbers just didn't compute. Her speech, however, didn't have anything to do with Math. She was instructed to discuss the pros and cons of keeping large wild animals in human care—specifically large predators—and the recreation of certain ecosystems in confined areas. She had prompted the head of her department for more information—about the lecture, about the guest, and what her part in the whole thing was—to no avail. She had been left in the dark.

Despite her reservations, she couldn't help but be excited to be speaking in front of such a large crowd. She would be standing at a podium on stage in the middle of the University's stadium. They had sold tickets for $5 to students, and $8 for locals citizens, and the lecture was sold out. She would be standing in front of nearly 2,000 people, as well as being broadcasted on the local public station to an estimated 1,000 others. Her heart raced with excitement. Though she didn't really understand why she was speaking, she was extremely eager to share her greatest passion with the masses. The more puzzling part of equation was that Brooke wasn't the only person in the dark. 2,000 people had paid money for a "surprise lecture" that was "sure to blow their minds". There were dinosaurs on the fliers.

x-x-x

"What if the speaker is anti-Darwin?" one of her favorite students, Natalie, had asked when the 'surprise lecture' had first been announced. When Brooke questioned her logic, the sophomore continued to explain: "Well, you've heard about the controversy with cloning, and everyone and their brother wants to bring back the dinosaurs. Creationists seem to think that somehow, humans and dinosaurs walked the Earth together. According to some, since the world is 'only 6,000 years old', it won't be such a difficult task—even though it would be playing God, which is bad. What if it's some anti-evolutionist, or someone who thinks Global Warming doesn't exist?"

"What does that have to do with talking about large predators in captivity?" Brooke challenged. She moved from standing in front of the class to sitting on the front of her desk. Because she was quite young for a professor, she preferred to be rather informal with her students.

Natalie shrugged. "It was just a thought. The school seems to be all about controversy. And they promised the lecture would "blow our minds". Maybe they're just trying to stir up some drama."

"Sounds like you better have your shit together, Miss. D.," another one of her students, Jerome, added.

"I've got it all together," Brooke chuckled. "And if it is some brain-wash-attempting Creationist, I will squash him like a bug."

"Don't you believe in God?"

Brooke had been shocked by the voice, as it was one she rarely heard. She turned her attention to the back of the classroom. A small, mousy-looking redhead furrowed her brow.

"Of course I believe in God, Lydia," she told her student. "But I don't believe we're puppets on strings. I think the Big Guy started it all 4 billion years ago, but then kind of just sat back and let everything take it's course."

"And Jesus?" A tall Jewish boy from the front row asked.

"I was raised to believe Jesus is the Son of God and our Savior," she replied truthfully. "A little push to remind us all to be good and strong and kind people." She paused, bit her lip, and then shook her head. "We've derailed, and I'm not opening that can of worms."

So she hopped off the desk and walked over to the chalkboard. While her students chattered behind her, she sketched a few barely recognizable Brontosaurs, Stegosaurs, and a huge T-Rex on one side of the board. She then drew a lake and some trees, adding some smaller dinos. Then, in the sky, she drew a huge round ball and engulfed it in chalk-line flames. She turned back to her students.

"Back on track," she said, getting her students to focus. "Let's talk about extinction through the ages."

Natalie raised her hand. "Do we have to watch your speech, or is it extra credit?"

"It's mandatory for all of my students to watch my speech," Brooke replied, "And write a four page minimum response using outside information as well as information directly from the lecture." There was a resounding, unified groan. "I'm sorry guys, it's Dr. Kaplan's ruling. I do the speech, my Zoology classes get the work. I work extra, you guys work extra."

"Then why the hell did you agree to do it?" Jerome asked.

"What can I say, I like to talk," Brooke replied with a shrug. "And don't worry, I'll make the extra work worthwhile."

"Extra trips to the nature reserve?"

"Maybe, maybe…" Brooke's tone was non-committal, but she couldn't prevent the smirk from turning up the corner of her mouth as she raised her hands and asked her class to focus. "Extinction," she repeated. "Why these animals are gone, and why they can never come back…"

x-x-x

Brooke smiled to herself as she brushed her straight, strawberry blonde hair into submission. She had a rotten case of bedhead, and had to work slowly with the brush to ensure she wasn't ripping her locks out of her scalp. She was the professor of two Zoology classes at Stony Brook University in New York. Despite the University's huge student population, since she was such a young professor (merely 25 years-old), she only had two small lectures. In all, she was in charge of 113 students, and she held strong relationships with about 90 of them. She loved her small sections, and relished in the intimate lectures. The students were more inclined to join in, speak their minds, and argue. As Brooke had said herself: she liked to talk, and her students liked to talk. She didn't think of being a professor as "work". She absolutely loved her job, and (except around midterms and finals), felt like she didn't work a day in her life.

When her hair and teeth were brushed, she stripped from her pajamas and changed into a pair of blue jean shorts and a bright yellow button up blouse. Around her neck, she tied a bright green kerchief to set off her eyes. The blouse was long sleeved, cuffed at the wrists, and made of light material, suited well for the mid-May warmth. Pressed against her skin, it was see-through, and her white bra was visible. But as long as there were no strong gusts of wind, it was completely appropriate.

"Dr. Kaplan is not going to like this," she murmured. But it was the nicest set of clothing she owned. Brooke didn't do dresses, and she certainly wasn't the "girly" type. She owned three dresses. A black, high-collared number that had sleeves and reached down to her knees was paired with a black cardigan and ballet flats, an outfit reserved especially for funerals. The other two were pale-colored sundresses she wore to Church.

As for makeup, she didn't really believe in it. She didn't own any. She preferred the au natural look. But, since she was going to be airing on television, there would be a team ready and waiting at the University to "make her up". She shuddered at the thought. Her only additions were deodorant and a few sprays of her favorite body mist.

To complete her "rugged zoologist" look, she slipped her feet into a pair of hiking boots and laced up. She grabbed her wallet and keys at the front door and let out a low whistle. There was a thump in the bedroom, and a few seconds later her Golden Retriever, Felicity, trotted out tail wagging. In her mouth she held the leash she picked up from the lowest handle of the wardrobe.

"Let's go, girly girl," Brooke said with a small smile. She clipped the leash to the collar, and the two walked out the front door.

Luckily, New York was good to its educators. So good, in fact, she was able to afford a small ranch-style house near the school and a very lightly used red 1990 Jeep Wrangler. The house was basically sat on the train tracks, but it was a beautiful house with a nice yard. The car was supposed to be used in off-road tours, but never made it. She had gotten great deals on both. The real reason Brooke had taken the opportunity to speak at this lecture was because the money was so good. She had spent so much on her house and car, she was down to scraps—just enough to feed and clothe her. The lecture would help her out a little until her next paycheck. If they were to broadcast the lecture anywhere besides the Public Access channel, or if they recorded it and used it in classes, she would receive royalties.

She hadn't told her students yet, but the trade-off for their papers was no final exam. Because the lecture was helping her out, she wanted to help her students out. She thought it would be a wonderful end-of-term surprise.

Brooke turned on the radio, and it brought an instant smile to her lips. Aerosmith had been on the rise the past few years, ever since their compilation with Run DMC in '87, and since then had produced some pretty kickass tunes and their first really big album since earlier that year. "I was cryin' since I met you, now I'm dyin' to forget you…!" she sang loudly as she pulled away from her driveway.

At 6:45AM, she was pretty much alone on the back roads, so she made it to school in record time. Before the clock struck 6:55, she and Felicity walked through the door to Brooke's office. Brooke put up the baby gate to prevent her dog from wandering about the halls, and then sat down at her desk. She pulled her speech from the top drawer and began rehearsing in a whisper.

Within minutes, the halls were all hustle-and-bustle. Brooke's attention was constantly being pulled from her speech, and she glared at those who passed by. She was confident in her words, so she didn't fret too much. When she felt herself getting anxious, she looked down at Felicity. The dog curled up around her chair, a golden mound at Brooke's feet. Just as the small bout of nerves began to subside, a shrill voice broke the peace.

"There you are!"

Brooke whirled around her chair, startling her dog. She stood up as her boss stepped over the gate. Dr. Kaplan immediately grabbed Brooke's upper arm and pulled her out the door. "Stay!" Brooke called to her dog over her shoulder.

"What are you wearing?" Dr. Kaplan asked. "Is that how you want to represent our Department?"

"I figured that wearing a skirt and pumps would misrepresent our department," Brooke replied coolly.

"I would believe that, but I know for a fact you don't own either of those articles."

Brooke was brought to hair-and-makeup in the locker room at the stadium. Pretty much against her will, her hair was re-brushed and blown out, and parted to the side. Her bangs were fluffed, and that was all she allowed. The team applied light brown eyeliner and mascara, and just the tiniest bit of blush. They wanted to use red lipstick, but Brooke made them compromise to a dark pink gloss that wasn't nearly as garish.

"I wish we could do something about those freckles," one of the makeup artists commented.

"I like my freckles," Brooke defended, knitting her brow. The artist rolled her eyes and then announced that she "had done all she could". Brooke felt as if she had offended the woman by being so restrictive, but she wasn't apologetic. She wasn't a doll, and wouldn't allow herself to be painted up and presented as one.

"Are you excited?" Dr. Kaplan asked as Brooke moved away from the makeup station. "Are you prepared?"

"Yes and yes," Brooke replied, showing her boss her index cards. The older woman read through them, and nodded approvingly. "You're missing the end," was the only comment.

"Considering I don't actually know who I'm introducing…" Brooke replied. "I left that part out."

"That would be, uh, Doctor Ian Malcolm."

Brooke turned around to meet the owner of the voice behind her. Her eyes fell upon a tall, well-built figure dressed completely in black. He wore black dress pants and black shoes, a black button-up shirt, and a long, black coat. His stride was long, but there was an obvious limp. His complexion was a crisp tan, suiting his black curly hair and dark brown eyes. His lips were turned up in a cocky half-smirk. He must have been at least 6'3, maybe taller. His chest was broad his waist slightly smaller, giving his body an attractive 'V' shape. He easily dwarfed Brooke's 5'6, curvaceous frame.

Brooke extended her hand, but raised a suspicious eyebrow. He met her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. His hands were enormous. "Nice to meet you," she said quietly.

"Delighted, Miss. DiAngelo."

"How do you know my name?" she asked as she withdrew her hand.

Dr. Malcolm chuckled. It was low and light, and sort of a growl. Brooke took it as offensive and condescending. "I make it, well I make it my business to make sure I know whom I'm being introduced by. A bad introduction could—could lead to a bad first impression, and you know how important those are." He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and Brooke rolled her eyes. She turned away from Dr. Malcolm and took her cards back from her boss. She quickly scribbled his name into her conclusion.

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Malcolm," Brooke said flatly, "I'll see you on stage."

As she walked out of the locker room and toward the stadium, she heard behind her: "You can call me Ian."

Much, much worse than a Creationist,she thought to herself. A rockstar.