To my fans:

Zero-0 = Thank you! I plan on updating as much as I can, but school work does come first. Even though my school hasn't started, I have been working on another story on Fiction Press. And taht is very time consuming. I do hope you understand, but you are to kind, and I love you. lol

may-i'm-crazy = Thank you so much! You made my day with just one word! I had given up on the story until I read your review. It is thanks to you that I continue my fanfictions.

Doped Out Bunny = Thank you! I've seen all of the episodes until it was cancelled. Which was a real shame. But yes, the character developement was difficult, and I did do much research on certain catch phrases that have been said throughout the series. I hope you love the rest of my story. Which I will try to write more and more of.

All the while the others were still in the living room discussing Sharon's outburst. "What do you think is wrong with the little spaz this time?" Ashley said heartlessly.

"Sometimes they just have to be stopped when they are in denial like that. Love strikes, and is torn away from them so quickly, it leaves them mystified. She should be taken care of." Irene said absently. She looked around, her eyes bouncing from person to person. No one seemed to take into account that this comment had been a bit bizarre. I mean, it is Irene, no one ever takes her seriously.

"It isn't that bad," Johnny said, he's eyes seemingly distant. He was looking at the door as though seeing through it. He didn't blink.

Pete took a drink of the beer Berg had left on the table. "Come on, I'm going to be late."

Pete, Johnny, and Ashely numbly filed out the door, ten minutes prior to Pete's meeting. The first few minutes wouldn't be much anyway, so Pete wasn't to frantic.

This let Irene alone, in the dimly lit living area. She looked around and took a small figurine out of her pocket, and searched the room for a small box.

Irene coudln't let Sharon ruin all her fun. Not now that she had Pete. She finally had her Petey-Wetey. She sat down and began to work over the coffee table.

"Sharon?" Berg fumbled around in the dark for the light switch. Ah Hah! He found it and flicked it on. The room was empty, with the exception of the furniture. Where had she gone? She couldn't have gone to the bathroom, there was only one door, and he was standing in it. From now on, even if it was at or after a party, he wasn't going to drink a beer at four or five in the morning.

"Come on Shar, this isn't funny," now he was getting worried. He checked under the bed, and behind his desk which sat until now had sat in the corner collecting dust. "Sharon?" his voice squeaked.

"Yes, darling?"

Berg whirled around. "Huh? Who said that?" No one was in the room.

"Don't be silly, Michael, I did."

"Sharon?"

"Who else?" It was Sharon's voice but something sounded wrong. Sounded fake.

"Where are you?" He kept turning in circles, his eyes swirling around in panic.

"Right here."

Berg moved to where he had heard the voice. It was beside the bed. Again he looked under the bed. But she wasn't there.

"I'm not down there, look up."

Berg looked up. He met eyes with something he didn't even know was in his room. Hanging on the wall, was a portrait of Sharon.

"Sharon?"

"Yes?" She was walking around in the frame. The picture held all of the apartment. If she would walk off the edge of the frame, it would move into the next room with her. Like a camera following her around.

"What are you. . .how are you. . .how'd you get in there?" He was confused, he still turned around looking for the real Sharon. "Stop being funny, Sharon. Come on out."

"I'm not being funny, darling." She cocked her head with her neatly done hair to the side. That was when Berg realized she was wearing a short yellow dress with red flowers. Very much unlike the outfit she had been wearing.

"Guys?" Berg called out to the remaining friends in the living room. "Can you come in here?" Berg wouldn't take his eyes off of the picture for fear of having it disappear.

Irene appeared in the door way. "You rang?"

"Look." He pointed to the picture hanging on the wall.

"Well, isn't that interesting." Her lips curled.

"You know something about this?" Berg turned to face her.

"Well of course not, Michael. Peter would never approve."

"You called me Michael. . .Sharon called me Michael," Berg noted.

"That is some coincidence," She looked over her shoulder into the living room. On the table, sat a box, a sqaure block of wood, and a small figurine. Berg followed her glance. The doll had on a yellow dress with red flowers.

"Irene?" Berg said uneasily.

"Yes Michael?"