Streetlight {Sean}

[Randel Anthony]

Randel was nearly unreachable during the daylight hours (due to an adversity to phones), but every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday evening precisely at five-fifteen was an ideal time for anyone to be looking for him, supposing they knew where to look in particular. He showed up to the bar like clockwork since he’d moved back. His order was the same, too. One bourbon on the rocks - maybe a sandwich if he was in the mood.

Most of the time he came alone but there were times he appeared with coworkers, where they would quietly converse. Generally, though, Randel was a creature of habit.

One might say he had always such. Randel seemed to possess an old soul, even while he was at the school, where he was known for his level head and his practicality; he never seemed to cause trouble, never dipped below a 3.0 average, and was sometimes quieter than the staff deemed necessary. He had known Sean Neville as a member of the faculty, but no part of him had ever warranted a trip to his office. Most of his mentoring came from Batista, even more than his own trainer at the time.

He still kept a rapport with Batista; he spoke of Sean from time to time.

Randel thought he recognized him, when he happened to spot him in the bar that afternoon. He raised his hand in casual greeting, a somewhat tentative gesture. He hoped he wasn’t wrong; it would be embarrassing.

“Mister Neville?” he said.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean and Josh enjoyed the Churchkey Bar for a variety of reasons. They counted Cecil among their friends, and so they liked to visit him, both for his company and to boost his business. The atmosphere was relaxed, comfortable, and gay-friendly, although nearly all of Pilot Ridge was gay-friendly. They were never hurried along, if they wanted to sit, talk, and nurse their drinks. Those drinks were never watered down, and the food was of high quality for a tavern.

Still, for the sake of Josh’s blood pressure, both men had agreed to cut back on their hard liquor consumption. The attorney had agreed to substitute wine for beer, and they had spent almost a year instituting substitutions and other lifestyle changes, combined with the hypertension medication that Josh took dutifully. His numbers were better under control, and Sean aimed to keep them that way. The telepath would happily sacrifice twice as much in solidarity, in exchange for more years with his partner in good health.

However, Josh had a late client meeting at the office, followed by a motion that required priority attention. As a result, Sean found himself on his own for the evening, and, free of restrictions, he decided to pay the Churchkey a visit for a drink.

The telepath had settled at a table with his scotch when he heard someone address him. As the person was neither a student nor a colleague in front of a student or for formal introductions, Sean offered no corrections as to his proper title. Instead, he looked over at a man he recognized as Randel Anthony, as telepathy was so useful in that regard; he offered the younger man a smile. “Please, call me ‘Sean.’”

[Randel Anthony]

He had not expected to find him here. Randel was thirty-eight but he still managed to be surprised whenever he found school officials out and about at their daily business. He supposed he ought to be over that. At least he hadn’t been wrong in identifying him.

Sean’s reciprocation encouraged him, and he smiled easier (his eyes had a habit of disappearing when he smiled in full), lifting his palm for him to shake. “I don’t suppose you remember me,” he said. “Randel Anthony. I graduated from the old place about - ”

Randel had to pause a second to think about this one. “It’d be almost twenty years now, I guess.”

Give or take. He was unaware, of course, that Sean had already picked up his name; he might have even remembered him from school earlier (or perhaps he knew that too, thanks to his telepathy) but Randel wouldn’t have been too terribly bothered if Sean had found that out for himself. He had precious few secrets – only ones connected to his job, where privacy was required, and he didn’t think Sean was the type to divulge those.

“Batista’s told me you still work there,” he mentioned.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Another smile crossed Sean’s lips. “I remember you.” Twenty years ago, the psychiatrist had already been with Hammel for four years. He had not yet become the fixture that he was now, but he had been there and had several years of experience. He also remembered names and faces well, and, despite the number of students that flitted through over the decades, it was not so many as to be overwhelming if he received occasional reminders.

“How do you like the detective work?” That was a field far outside the bounds of anything that Sean had considered for himself. Yet, even in a small town like Pilot Ridge, there was work to be had as a detective.

At the other remark regarding what Mike had said, he nodded in confirmation. “That I do. They’ll have to wheel me out on a gurney, I imagine.” The telepath raised his glass to that sentiment, although it was a bit of an exaggeration. Perhaps as a bachelor, he had been prepared to die at work, although he and Josh had also discussed having adjacent rooms at a retirement center. With Josh as his partner again, rather than only as his best friend, he wanted them both to retire at some point. Sean wanted for him and Josh to enjoy their golden years, perhaps traveling or otherwise engaging in activities befitting retirees.

However, that was at least two decades from this point. If they kept themselves healthy.

[Randel Anthony]

How did he like it? Randel complained constantly about it. He was like an old car on a cold morning; he creaked. And whenever he did, it was about his job.

Yet he hadn’t changed fields in all the years he’d got it. He made time for it where he made time for nothing else. Anyone might have thought he’d hated what he did by the way he carried on about it, but Randel was one of those people whose actions should be considered before his words. He smiled, and shrugged. “I didn’t think I’d end up here again.”

He’d been off in the mid-west, in Wisconsin, to be exact, before he was relocated to Pilot Ridge. He wouldn’t have thought he’d see the place again. He remained thinking that until he’d seen the distinctive red brick in second-long visions, and he knew then that the Institute (and the surrounding town) was in his future. He hadn’t had a vision in a while – at least, not a spontaneous one. It was nearing two months now since his last.

But they always returned.

“I would’ve thanked my old trainer for the help, but I hear she’s left the place. So it’s good seeing some old faces sticking around,” he said, hoping too late that Sean would not take offense to that. “How’s the new generation turning out? There still hope for the future?”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean sympathized with the sentiment and nodded to convey that. Fully one-third of all adults working in Pilot Ridge, nearly all of them Hammel graduates, had expressed a similar sentiment to him at one time or another. They had never expected to return to the small town of their adolescent education, which often prompted the existential question of what were they doing there?

Even Sean himself had never entertained the idea of working at Hammel, not when he had been a student. Instead, he had expected to get his medical degree, open a private psychiatric practice, and live in New York. He had achieved those goals, and he had lived that life for several years. Yet, he found himself back in Pilot Ridge, and by this stage in life he had lived in Vermont for slightly longer than he had lived in New York.

At the question, the telepath turned instead towards the bartender, flagging them down so he could place an order. This was intended to convey an opinion about some members of the current generation. Then, he returned his full attention to Randel. “Most of the next generation will make me quite proud.”

Those that did not would be out of his hair within the next few months or the next few years. Except for Harmony who still had at least five years of Hammel left.

[Randel Anthony]

Sean was more of an optimist than Randel, it seemed. His unfamiliarity with the younger generation and his tendency to expect the worst insured that he bought into the ‘Me Generation’ crisis, as it were. “Yeah,” he grunted, equally noncommittal in response.

He swirled his glass, a clear, tall drink of plain bourbon and ice. It was what he got every time, and he showed no signs of burning out soon.

In the interest of conversation, Randel went on, eyes glancing up and to the side in thought. “There are a few students at the station who are nice, good people. Interns, you know. That’s about as much I see of them,” he said. “I’m not a kid person. Never was.”

He couldn’t remember Sean’s status; he thought it couldn’t hurt to ask. “You have a kid?”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean certainly was an optimist, even if that optimism was undercut with a healthy dose of pragmatism. The telepath had never held a defeatist attitude, and he saw more than enough potential in mankind – individually and collectively – to maintain the ideals of his youth for the purposes of hope.

He took a sip of his drink, listening attentively as Randel described his minimal interactions with the youngest generation. “I’m glad to hear that they’re working out. I always liked internships.” Not the exploitive ones that certain professions used to get around labor laws, but the ones that were done for credit for the purposes of experience. “But children aren’t for everyone.” Even if he so dearly enjoyed them, he never projected that onto other people.

Sean frowned slightly at the question, before quickly shaking his head in the negative. Before 2013, he would have answered that question with a rueful admission that he had never had the opportunity. After taking Bailey into their home and losing her to another adoption, the question stung a bit more than it once would have. However, he smoothed out his expression. “No, I don’t. I wasn’t so fortunate.”

Fortunate, rather than blessed, because he was a doctor and an atheist. He knew that babies had no divine origin.