The jazz club takes no notice as Clark walks in. He looks down at himself. He's wearing an old pinstripe suit that looks freshly pressed. The bar around him is hopping with life. Clark finds no peculularity in the fact that he is now mysteriously, one hunder ealier, in the twenty's standing in a flapper filled speakeasy. He reaches up and snatches the black fadora resting on his head. he throws it aimlessly and does not care to watch as it lands, flawlessly, on a nearby coat hook.

He walks closer to the stage watching the thin girl singing the slow song the causes dozens to sway rythmically throughout the club. The song fills Clark up, it makes him warm and excited. It energizes him deep down. He looks across the dance floor, through socres of dancing couples. His eyes befall a man standing infront of the stage, the man is staring straight into Clark's eyes.

The man begins to walk across the dance floor. Slow moving couples seems to unintentionally part for the man as he walks. He reaches Clark all the while starring into his eyes. Clark's heart pulsates furiously. The man holds a beauty few in the world have ever seen. He takes Clarks hand and begins to walk, dragging the entralled Clark behind him.

The two enter a room, whisky barrels and wine bottles flank the right wall. The man takes Clark to the center of the room. He leans in and begins to gently kiss Clark's neck. Clark resists weakly. His attraction to the man seems to drain him of every ounce of energy. But a slight wisp of fear hangs in the pit of Clark's soul. (If the bar men catch us it'll be all over.)

Clark completely sucumbs to the kissing. The man moves to his lips. Tehy kiss tenderly and passionatly. A sudden crash shocks Clark from the kiss. He turns to the door which has been kicked in. Three men rush inm, he turns to the mysterious mann for help, but the man is gone. His stomach drops as one of the men crashes into Clark with a ferocious tackle. He hits the floor hard, then suddenly awakes.

Clark stands in the middle of the Golden Gate Bridge. THE frequently traveled road he stands upon is entirely vacant. He looks up and down the strip very bewildered. He opens his mouth to call out, but something catches in his throat. He siezes up as he here footsteps behind him. He turns slowly, his eyes widen as the befall the man he encountered in the jazz club hours earlier.

The man walks to him, and stops a few feet from him. Clark's pulse grows rapid as the man's mouth moves as though ready to speak.

"You have lost your way."

The man's voice is hollow, producing a slight echo effect. His body seems to fade in and out in a static-y television sort of way. One arm is raised and a finger stretches out, pointing at Clark. Or maybe beyond him. It isn't entirely clear.

"Do something. Be somebody."

The next flicker that flows through man transforms him into Clark's father, Robert McGowan. He lowers his hand to his side, letting it hang loosely. The older McGowan stares at Clark, unblinking, and gazes into his son's soul.

Clark's brow raises in panic. How had he lost his way? He hadn't really realized he had had a way. His heart throbbes with fear and intrigue. This man seems so familiar, but it is now clear that Clark had never met this man in his life. But it is as if this man is part of Clark, like Clark had once seen him within himself.

"Do Something. Be somebody."

Clark's mouth drops at his. What is he do who, who should he become. How is this vague guidance supposed to do anything. He moves to speak, stopping this time as his father forms. Excitement fills him.

"Where? What should I do?"

His eyes tear as he asked his father for guidance, something he hadn't done in some time.

"Do what you know is right, son." Clark's father states this as though it should have already been obvious to his son. Sadness is still etched within the lines of his face, giving him the appearance of being old and haggard. It is obvious that something is weighing down heavily upon his soul. He shakes his head, saddened. "What would your mother think?"

As if summoned by her husband's words, Abigail McGowan appears by his side. Her appearance is that of the day she was killed, gunshot wound and all. She, too, looks upon their son with disappointment in her eyes. "I thought that my death would give you purpose and that it would not be for naught. Why, son, have you given up the fight? And for what? To roam aimlessly around a city, nearly getting yourself killed?"

Clark's breathing grows rapid. His mother appears before him and Clark is able to do nothing. Tears fill his eyes, an ever expanding lump begins to grow in his throat. He has not seen his mother since the day he saw her murdered, and seeing her now is a concept hsi brain is failing to grasp.

"I thought that my death would give you purpose and that it would not be for naught. Why, son, have you given up the fight? And for what? To roam aimlessly around a city, nearly getting yourself killed?"

The tears overflow from his eyes. His breathing now becomes loud and random. His body shakes slightly, it is all Clark can do to keep himself from completely breaking down.

"Help me, help me this one last time. Point me in the right direction and I promise to run with it. Give me the chance to make both of you proud....Please."

"We can not." Abigail's voice rings out in response to her son's pleas. She shakes her head solemnly as though to accentuate this point further. The spectral form of Clark's mother begins to fade and by the time she finishes speaking, she is completely gone. "In this, we can not help you..."

"You must find your own way son." Robert McGowan is next to address Clark. His voice is harder than Abigail's, though not quite mean or angry. He too begins to fade away, leaving Clark alone in this dream version of San Francisco. "Only you can give your life purpose..."

Clark watches as his parents fade away. He cannot stop them, he cannot touch them, all he can do is fall. He falls to his knees and leans over, crying deeply into his hands. The prospect of disappointing hsi mother and fatehr this much is truly unbareable. (How did this happen?)



As Clark kneels there in the middle of the bridge, sobbing pathetically, a thought comes to him abruptly. He stops crying and sits up. he looks hard at nothing. (She said she thought her death woudl have given me purpose. I'm the reason her killer was caught, I used my power to stop a killer.) THe pace of his heart grows rapid, it seems as though an answer is suddenly peering out form the horizon. His thought's now come out is speech, as he talks to himself.

"I can do it again. I can stop them again. If I can get close enough to the cases, I can solve them. I can save people."


Clark stands, his thoughts rolling in this sudden epiphany.

Clark will soon find it rather difficult to remain standing as the ground beneath his feet begins to rumble. It begins slowly at first but quickly gains in fervor and intensity. The imaginary dream version of San Francisco becomes the center of a strong earthquake. Buildings and other man-made constructs begin to collapse under the pressure and crumble to the ground and the bridge sways and shakes violently, as if it is going to break at any moment.

Clark stumbles to the right as the bridge beneath him begins to shake. He looks around quickly. He sees the entire structure shaking and creaking forbodingly. He turns and starts to run down the street. (An earth quake! Holy shit!)

Clark sprints across the pavement. His breathing is filled with strained panic. He looks to the sky, presumably at his parents. "Is this your way of sending me a sign!?" He screams it blasting with sarcasm.

The world continues to fall apart around him. The earthquake is so powerful that it is swallowing the whole of the city. As Clark runs, the ground beneath his feet gives out and crumbles into a dark abyss. The young witch finds himself falling down with it just as he wakes up...