Ben staggered into the bedroom and flopped onto the mattress. He groaned when the room abruptly tilted on its end and then, just as quickly righted itself. His stomach threatened to reject the last two beers he'd consumed, but he mashed his face against a pillow and managed to stay the proceedings. For now.

"I'm surprised you can walk," said Amber.

He turned his head and gazed up at her from behind one half-lidded eye. It was probably bloodshot too, but he was well past caring. "Actually, I can't," he said with an inebriated grin. "I sprinkled fairy dust on myself and floated in here."

Amber didn't smile. And she didn't move. She just stood in the doorway looking fierce and beautiful with those long, lean legs and that curtain of hair that was as thick and dark as a starless, summer night. That was a line from the song he'd written about her when they first met. That was two years ago. A lifetime.

"You're pretty lucid," she said, "considering I could probably light your breath and use you for a blow torch."

"I've built up a high tolerance," he grumbled, annoyed that she hadn't appreciated his humor.

"Yes. I know." Abruptly she turned around and disappeared into the hallway.

Alarmed, he sat up in bed and instantly regretted it. "Amber?" he yelled.

"What?" Her voice echoed through the cavernous house.

"I thought we were gonna... You know."

"I don't... you know...with drunks."

He dragged himself off the bed and made it to the doorway before his knees gave out. He grabbed the knob and used it to haul himself upright. "I'm not a drunk," he yelled. "It was just a little party!"

"The trouble is," she yelled from the bottom of the stairs. "You have a little party almost every night, and I'm sick of it."

He opened his mouth to respond, but the anger in her voice drowned him out.

"I'm sick of cleaning up beer bottles and spilled popcorn. I'm sick of having to round up roadies and groupies and gold diggers and kick them out of the house for you. And I'm sick of never getting to spend any time alone with you."

Ben stumbled down the hall, and thanked the Gods that he'd had the banister repaired last month. He hung over the railing and looked down at the only woman he'd ever considered marrying.

"We had sex last night," he said. He'd meant it to come out civil, but her accusations were getting under his skin, and it came out as more of a growl. "And, unless there was someone hiding in the closet that you'd like to tell me about, I thought we were alone."

She just shook her head in disgust and wrenched open the front door. Four-inch thick hand-carved mahogany. The thing probably cost as much as his parents' first car. They'd scrimped and saved all their lives, hoping to one day be able to afford to retire to a little hobby farm in the country. And now he was in a position to buy them a goddamn country club and they wouldn't even let him buy them fucking dinner!

"Ben?"

He rubbed a hand across his forehead. "What?"

She sighed, and he wished she wasn't so far away. He wanted to touch her. Needed to touch her.

"Go sleep it off, Ben, and I'll see you in the morning."

She stepped outside and Ben was just considering the wisdom of chasing after her when the phone in his bedroom rang. That, together with the fact that he doubted he could make it down the stairs without breaking his neck, decided his course of action for him.

He stood there as the ringing of the phone echoed through the rooms with the cathedral ceilings and the crown moldings and the polished oak floors. And when the ringing ceased and the silence settled, he realized that, once again, despite his best efforts, he was alone.

"Hey!" he yelled, even though there was no one there to hear him. At least his voice helped to fill the emptiness. "Did you remember to turn on the security system?"

Of course there was no answer. But when he peered down the stairs and squinted just so, he could make out the blinking green light that meant his state-of-the-art security and alarm system had been engaged. He breathed a sigh of relief and launched himself back toward the bedroom.

He found the warm spot that he had left in the center of the mattress, and had barely begun to snore when the ring of the telephone jarred him awake.

"Dammit." He squinted at the clock. Who the hell called a guy at three a.m. anyway? And then he groaned, and thought he knew. His manager, Doug Blair knew exactly what kind of hours Ben kept, and had no compunctions about calling whenever he damn well pleased.

Ben reached for the phone, clicked it on, and his face still half buried in the pillow, he mumbled, "Yeah?"

The silence on the other end puzzled him.

"I said, yeah! Is that you Doug, or--"

"Hello?"

Ben rubbed one eye and tried to focus. The voice was so soft he'd barely made out that one, lonely word. "Yeah. Hello already. Doug, if--"

"Is this the suicide hot line?"

He'd still been half asleep, floating on ethanol fumes and dreams of velvety skin , but those words zinged through him, crashing him back to earth.

"Uh... hot line? Did you say suicide--"

"Oh. I... I guess I must have the wrong number. Sorry if I woke--"

"Hey, that's okay. No problem. I wasn't asleep anyway," he lied. The tone of the guy's voice, the uncertainty and the thinly veiled desperation, stirred something inside Ben.

"Really? I thought I was the only--" The caller made a muffled sound that might have been a cough. Or maybe a sob. "I should let you go."

"You think you're the only guy in this town that gets insomnia once in a while?" He tried to utter a soft chuckle, but wasn't sure how well he pulled it off.

The silence on the other end went on long enough that Ben worried the guy had hung up.

"I have it all the time," was the muttered reply.

"You ever try warm milk?" Ben mentally kicked himself.

But perhaps that lame response was exactly what the guy needed to hear. He actually chuckled. "No, but maybe I should. The whiskey I been drinkin' sure isn't doing the trick."

"Warm milk's what my mom always used to make me when I couldn't sleep."

"Your mom?"

"Yeah." For a few moments all Ben could hear was the soft ticking of his Rolex.

"Do you live with her?"

Ben suppressed a nervous laugh. For all this guy knew Ben was a spazzed out sixteen-year-old holed up in his room with a flashlight and a dirty magazine. Maybe this guy was young too. Almost certainly he was.

"No," he said quietly, as he pushed thoughts of his parents into the back of his mind. "I'm alone."

Another lengthy silence. "Me too."

Ben was searching for something to say when the guy asked, "You ever... you know. Think about it?"

Ben took a moment to consider his answer, but in the end figured honesty was best. "Yeah. I think everybody does sometimes. But not seriously. I mean, I got depressed when girls dumped me, or when I was afraid I wouldn't graduate high school, but I never looped a rope around the rafters or anything." He cringed. No doubt that was the wrong thing to say.

"I bought a gun."

Ben closed his eyes and wondered at himself. Why was he hanging onto this guy? This was way over his head. But instead of recommending the guy call this hot line and talk to a professional he said, "You wanna talk about it?"

"The gun?"

Ben's lips twitched into a tense smile. "No. I mean... you wanna talk about why you bought the gun?"

"Not really. I mean... I don't know."

"Well, whatever you want. I just--"

"It makes me feel... bigger."

Ben puzzled over that for a moment. "Bigger?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I feel so small. You know.... like I don't matter? Like nobody cares what I think? Like I'm invisible."

"And the gun changes that."

"Yeah, man. It sure does. People pay attention to a guy with a gun."

Ben felt a faint surge of alarm. "You're not thinking of going out and hurting someone with it, are you?"

"No. I just like to hold it, you know? It's not like I'm mad at anybody, or anything. Leastways nobody but me."

"You're angry at yourself? Angry enough to harm yourself?" Ben was starting to get into the rhythm of this. He was starting to feel like maybe he could make a difference with this kid. "Why? What could possibly be that bad?"

There was another silence. Perhaps it was Ben's imagination, but this one seemed to have a knife-edge sharpness to it.

Abruptly the caller said, "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Ben tried to play it casual. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

"I dunno. Nothing, I guess." He stopped and Ben could hear his breathing. It seemed more relaxed now. More in control. "It's just nice to talk. You know... to hear somebody's voice and have somebody listen."

"Yeah. I know."

"Okay, then. I... guess I'll go."

"You don't have to, you know. I don't mind if--"

"It's okay. I mean, I'm okay." Ben could hear the guy swallow. "For now."

"Can you sleep?"

"Probably not. But there's a good movie coming on."

"Okay, then." Ben felt a little lost. "But if you ever want to talk again, I don't mind. I'm sure no pro but... " His watch ticked five times.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really."

"Thanks."

"No prob."

"Okay. Bye."

The phone clicked and dial tone hummed in his ear before he had a chance to respond.

Very gently Ben set the phone back down on the night stand. He stared at it for a moment before crawling off the bed and stripping off his clothes. He snuggled back under the covers and closed his eyes. But it was a very long time before he fell asleep.

* * *

Amber stepped out of the limo into brilliant afternoon sunshine. She stood there for a moment and let her gaze roam over the turrets and stone chimneys, the slate roof and the stained glass windows that graced the hundred-year-old mansion. The house needed so much work, was so huge and so opulent. It just didn't go with Ben's jeans and his ten thousand watt stereo and his penchant for pepperoni pizza with extra cheese. No matter how many times she visited, or how closely she studied it she couldn't understand what had possessed him to buy the monstrosity. And missed few opportunities to tell him so.

But, looking at it now, in the full light of day with the flowers in bloom and the windows gleaming in the sun, she had to admit that, thanks to Ben's hard work and attention to detail, the place was starting to take on a sort of... sheen.

If only she could say the same about its owner.

"You want me to come in with you?" asked Vince, Ben's hired thug slash bodyguard slash gorilla. He was sweet and surprisingly quick, however his intellect--or lack thereof--did nothing to dispel the stereotypes of men in his profession.

"No thanks, Vince. If I have to kill him I'd rather not have witnesses."

Vince frowned and she reached out to pat his massive forearm. "That's okay, honey. I was just kidding."

She turned and strode up the path, her stilettos clicking efficiently on the flagstone. Just because she worked with rockers who opted for torn denim and tight leather, didn't mean she couldn't dress with some class. She was an executive assistant and insisted on looking the part.

Sighing, she decided to play the long shot and ring the doorbell. Nine times out of ten, even at two in the afternoon, it was left up to her to drag his tight little butt out of bed and push him into the shower. Every once in a while, however, she got lucky.

The door swung open to reveal a fully dressed and dazzlingly rakish Ben Goddard. Coffee cup in hand, he leaned against the door jam and smiled.

She'd known him for two years and been sleeping with him for one. She'd seen him drunk and stoned, watched him throw up in bushes and heard him snore like a chainsaw, and still the sight of him with his tousled red and gold hair, long denim-sheathed legs and mile-wide smile could turn her knees to jelly.

"Hi, babe. You want some coffee?"

And God, that voice. Like ground glass coated with honey, one producer had said. Even without the mikes and the amps she could feel the vibrations of it in the pit of her stomach. Damn him for risking his voice and his career with his drinking and his antics. And damn him for making her care.

"No thanks," she said in her usual Ms. Business tone. "We should get going or we'll be late."

"Okay," he said, motioning for her to come in. "Just let me finish this cup and grab my stuff."

She followed him through the house to the kitchen at the back that looked out over the pool and gardens. The kitchen had been one of the first targets for renovation, and to her surprise, had turned out beautifully. Although part of her wanted to scorn the flashy copper pots and stainless steel appliances, she knew she had no right to. Not only did Ben like his beer and pizza parties, he also liked to entertain, and on occasion, put all those beaters and bowls through their paces. At least he knew how to cook. His mother had seen to that.

"Did you get a phone call this morning?" she asked.

Ben had been reaching for a newspaper laid out on the counter, but his hand froze in mid-air. "Uh... phone call?"

"Mm hmm."

He stared at her and licked his lips. "Uh... no. Why?"

"Oh." She bit her lip, wishing now that she'd kept her mouth shut. "Nothing. Forget it."

He narrowed his eyes. "You can't lie worth shit, Amber. Tell me who was supposed to call."

She picked up a dirty spoon that she found on the counter and examined it. "It's just that somebody called and asked me about you, and I told them to ask you directly."

Ben sighed and with an air of heaviness, sat down on one of the stools beside the counter. "It was Mom, wasn't it?"

"She just wanted to know how you were."

He shook his head and when he looked at her, the misery on his face tugged at her heart. "Jeez. How do I fix this, Amber? What do I do?"

She stepped over to him and cupped a scruffy cheek in her palm. "I think you've done enough. There's nothing more you can do."

"Sure there is. I could break my contract and develop an interest in colorectal surgery."

"Hmm." She nodded slowly. "Maybe. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch, considering you already work with a bunch of assholes."

His head jerked up and when he met her gaze neither of them could hold back their laughter. When the giggles had subsided she sat down beside him and grasped his hand. "Did you enjoy medical school?"

His smile slipped away. "I didn't hate it."

"But did you love it?"

"No."

"Do you love writing your music, playing your guitar and singing for crowds of screaming fans?"

He only smiled and looked at his shoes. And his face turned just a little bit pink. The fact that he could blush over that question made her tummy do a little flip-flop. "That's what I thought."

"So what's your point?"

"My point is that you can't change who you are. It's up to your parents to accept that. And accept you."

"They spent eighteen years scrimping and saving to put me through med school. It was a big disappointment when I quit. I don't blame them for being upset. Maybe I am selfish, just like they said."

"They called you selfish?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "So have you."

Her mouth dropped open. "Th-the words I used were self-absorbed and insensitive."

"Oh. Sorry. That's different."

"Yes. It is." She looked at her watch. "For example, at this very moment you're eating up expensive studio time by making everyone wait while you finish your damn coffee."

He stared at her, and the silence stretched.

She rattled on. "Doug goes to a lot of trouble, you know. He tries to book enough time for you to have the three dozen takes you like to choose from. He worries about you enough. The least you could do is be on time once in a while. "

Normally Ben would have laughed and made light of that comment. Her complaining rarely, if ever, got a rise out of him, bouncing off a suit of invisible armor like a rubber-tipped arrow. But perhaps today her timing was off.

"He's not worrying about me, Amber." His voice was low and even. He was working hard to control it. "He's worrying about production costs and image. He's worrying about the bottom line."

Her spine stiffened. "That's not fair. Doug cares about you, and he's never done anything to warrant that."

"I don't know about that. Sometimes he acts like I'm an investment. Like I'm his property that he can shape and mold as he sees fit."

"Let's face it, Ben. Your name and your music are a commodity." Even as she said it she regretted it, but she'd worked for Doug for years before she'd ever heard the name Ben Goddard, and she felt as if her loyalty was being tested.

"So that makes me a commodity, too."

"I didn't say that."

"Like hell you didn't."

"Doug doesn't think he owns you, for God's sake. He's just trying to do what's best for you. He just thinks you need a little... guidance."

"I don't need a goddamn father!"

"I don't know about that. Sometimes you sure act like a spoiled brat."

He didn't say a word. Just glared at her for a moment, before stalking to the sink and dumping out the rest of his coffee. He left the room and was standing at the front door by the time she gathered her wits about her and thought to follow him.

She dashed for the front of the house to find him patiently holding the door, his expression sullen and distant.

She stopped on the threshold. "I'm sorry, Ben," she said sincerely. "That was uncalled for."

He said nothing, and she knew she'd gone one step too far. But how did she step back again?

"Uh... did you want to go out or anything tonight? Dinner maybe? Just the two of us. We haven't done that for a while. Maybe then we could sort this out."

"Sorry, I don't feel like doing any sorting tonight. Me and the guys have plans."

She nodded. "I see." She hesitated a moment, hoping to catch his gaze and make him see--make him understand... what, exactly? How could she expect him to understand her feelings when even she couldn't make sense of them?

"You go ahead," he said, his eyes focused somewhere over her left shoulder. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Ben..."

But he turned away from her, and at last she stepped out the door and walked down the pathway alone.

* * *

A high-pitched shriek sliced through the silence of the empty house. Ben bolted from bed, dashed down the stairs and ran for the console by the front door. He punched in the familiar series of numbers, and collapsed against the wall in relief when the alarm finally quieted. He'd forgotten to set it, and the thing was smart enough to remind him of the fact.

"Damn you, Doug," he muttered as he trudged back up the stairs.

After the recent kidnapping scares involving several British pop and rock stars, Doug had gotten a bee in his bonnet about Ben's security. Ben was a new star, and very prominent in the public eye. His sold out concerts, swollen bank account, and recent real estate purchases made him a very tempting target for those nefarious types who preferred to accumulate their wealth the old fashioned way. By stealing it.

It was Doug's idea to hire the bodyguards, and have them trail Ben all over creation like a pack of love-sick hounds. And Doug had also insisted on the alarm system. Ben hated the whole scenario and had balked at it. But eventually he'd gotten used to it, and now he had to admit that some of Doug's paranoia had rubbed off on him. He hated being alone more than ever, caught himself jumping at every noise and every shifting shadow, and never felt completely safe unless the house was buzzing with people.

He reached his bedroom, flopped down on the mattress, and stared at the cracked plaster ceiling.

Or perhaps that wasn't quite accurate. He preferred a house full of people, but fear wasn't the reason. Or at least not a fear of being abducted.

All of that made his actions that day even more puzzling. He'd lied to Amber. He'd had no plans with the band or with anyone else for that matter. Although with one phone call he could have amassed a party that would have rivaled Mardi Gras, he had chosen not to. He'd spent the evening alone, cooking up an elaborate omelette, and then eating his culinary creation off a tray in front of his big screen TV. And stewing over what Amber had said.

His continuing irritation with her didn't make sense. She hadn't said anything new, and if he was honest with himself, he wasn't really that angry with her. At least she was honest with him about what she was thinking. And, even if he didn't always agree with her, at least he knew where he stood with her.

He knew that, with a little effort, they could work this out. But instead of taking her up on her offer of dinner, talking about it, and ending up back here for an evening of enthusiastic make-up sex, he'd come home--alone.

He'd had the odd notion that if he just forced himself to spend some time alone, maybe he could resolve this nagging sense of wrongness that had been plaguing him all day. It was as if the world had shifted slightly. As if everything was slightly out of kilter. Actually, he had to admit that he'd been feeling this way for weeks. Months perhaps. But today the sensation seemed magnified. Exaggerated. It was pressing in on him, making him feel claustrophobic and suffocated. How was it that at the apex of his career, and at a time when he should have been happiest and felt the most fulfilled, he was the most miserable?

Maybe this was the reason for the binge drinking and parties. When he was busy he didn't have to think about what was bothering him. He didn't have to think, period.

But despite his efforts, he was no closer to a solution. All he'd managed to do was make himself feel even more alone. Even more isolated.

He briefly considered calling Amber, and begging her to come over, but the phone seemed so far away, and the silence seemed so vast, and in the end he merely drifted off into a restless sleep.

The trill of the telephone zinged through him. He bolted upright, his eyes darting about the room as he tried to get his bearings. The phone rang twice more before he spotted it on his night stand and managed to grab it and lift it to his ear.

"Hello?"

The silence on the other end was familiar.

"It's okay," he said softly as he snuggled down into his pillows and drew up the duvet. "I'm alone."

"I don't know why I called."

"Sure you do."

In the silence that followed Ben finally admitted to himself that this was the real reason he'd wanted to be alone tonight. He'd wanted to be available in case the kid called again. He didn't know why it was important to him, but it was.

"You're thinking about it again, aren't you?"

"Yeah," was the strangled reply. "I... I can't help it. I don't know how to stop it, and then I think I don't know why I should."

"Because you're important."

It was a canned answer and the laughter that echoed down the phone line confirmed it. "Yeah, right. Important. Important to who? To you?"

"I don't know you."

"Exactly." His voice had turned bitter. "That's just the point isn't it?"

Ben raked his fingers through his hair as he tried to sort through possible responses. But all he could come up with was, "What do you mean?"

"They say they care, but how can they when they don't really understand me? They don't know me. Nobody does."

"Well... have you tried to explain it to them? Have you tried to tell them who you are?"

"Sure I have," he whispered, "but nobody wants to listen."

"Then you have to make them listen."

"Man, I'm just a kid. Nobody ever listens to kids."

"Stop acting like a kid, then, and maybe they'll stop treating you like one." Deep in the back of his mind those words echoed. Faintly at first, but gradually building in volume until his head throbbed with it.

"It doesn't matter what I do." The boy began to sob. "Nothing ever changes. I never get anywhere, and nothing ever gets better."

"Kid, I--"

"And when I think about it I get so sad. Sad, like so deep down it hurts, you know? And I just want it to stop. I just don't want to feel like that anymore. I... I just don't want to feel anymore."

Fear burned like hot coals in the pit of Ben's stomach. It wasn't the first time he'd played with fire, but if he screwed up this time he wasn't the one who would get burned.

"You must want a way out." He couldn't hide the desperation that laced his voice. "You must be looking for an excuse not to do it or you wouldn't have called me."

"M-maybe I just wanted some company, you know?" The sobbing had dwindled down to sniffling and ragged breathing but the sense of despair had grown. "Maybe I just wanted someone to hear the blast when I pull the trigger. Maybe I just wanted someone to be sad that I was gone."

"You want company?" blurted out Ben. "You don't like being alone? Well, I know what that's like, kid. Believe me. I know all about that, and I know how good it feels to not be alone anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Are you alone in your house now? Is there anybody there?"

"No." Ben could hardly hear him. "There's no one."

"Do you want some company? Do you want to talk in person?" Perhaps it was a conceited notion, but Ben thought that maybe--just maybe--if a rock superstar took an interest in this kid's life, maybe that might make him see things a little differently. Maybe it would be enough.

"M-meet?" It sounded as if his teeth were chattering. "I... I dunno. I... I really need to do this."

"Bullshit. You're trying to figure out a way not to do it. And I want to help you do that." He didn't give the kid a chance to say no. "Do you want to meet somewhere?"

The silence that followed was agonizing. "I dunno. That would mean people. And it's so late..."

"Okay. Do you want me to come there?"

"Here?"

"Yeah. You said you're alone and--"

"You'd do that? You don't even know how far away I am."

"You didn't dial long distance did you?"

"Uh. No."

"Then you can't be that far. I'll be there. You just have to tell me where."

Another pause that made Ben's gut churn.

"Why are you doing this?"

Ben sighed and forced himself to take a deep breath and relax. Why was he doing this? Because he was too focused on himself? Because he needed to prove he wasn't the selfish, self-absorbed son of a bitch so many people seemed to think he was? Or was there more to it than that?

When he spoke he hoped he sounded calm. "Because I think I understand. I think I understand more than you know, and I think I can help. And maybe if I help you I can help myself."

"I don't get it."

"I'm not sure I do either. But maybe together we can figure it out."

"B-but you'd want to bring along a cop, or a...a counselor, or somebody. Wouldn't you? They always do. And I don't want that. I'm so sick of all that."

"No." Ben kept his voice as low and soothing as he could manage. "I wouldn't even know who to call. And I don't think we need cops, do you? It'll just be me."

"Promise?"

"Promise." Ben didn't give the kid a chance to back out. "So what's your address?"

The hesitation was blessedly brief. "Twenty-two-fifteen Wexler Street. Do you know where that is?"

Ben reached for a pen. "The East end of the city? Near the industrial park?" In the slums?

"Yeah. That's right."

"Okay. I just have to get dressed, but my car is fast." God, that was an understatement. "I'll be there in a half an hour."

"O... okay."

"Can you hold out that long? Can you promise me you'll put the gun away?"

"I guess."

"Promise me."

"Okay, okay. I'll put it away. Whatever you say, Ben. I'll be waiting. And... thanks man." And abruptly he hung up.

"Shit." Ben's grip on the phone tightened and his breath caught in his throat.

He had to calm his thoughts and make a decision. Whatever he decided, he had to be sure. There was very little margin for error, and no margin for uncertainty.

In the end instinct won out over reason.

He jumped out of bed and reached for his jeans. It was risky, but dammit, it was his life. His, and no one else's. It was his decision and he was making it.

No matter what the consequences.

* * *

Ben pulled to the side of the road and cut the engine. The house was even more ramshackle and rundown than he'd imagined. What few shingles remained on the roof were curling and torn. Few of the windows remained completely intact, and the front door hung on one hinge. At least the facade was brick, so peeling paint was confined to the eaves and trim.

A lone light burned on the second floor.

He blew out a slow breath and tried to will his palms to stop sweating. He couldn't lose his resolve now. A man's life was riding on this, after all.

He picked up his cell phone and placed one more call.

It took six rings before the other end picked up. "Hello?"

"Hi, Amber."

An incredulous silence followed. "Jesus, Ben. I was asleep. The whole world doesn't operate on your cockeyed schedule, you know. For God's sake, I--"

"Amber will you just shut up and listen for a minute."

"Shut up?"

"Yeah. I need to tell you some stuff, but I don't have much time."

"What?" The grogginess was being displaced by confusion. "What does that mean?"

"Just listen."

She hesitated a moment. "Okay."

"I need you to call my lawyer in the morning and tell him to put that property that I own up North on the market."

"What?" She was at full attention now. "But that's the one you've been trying to give your parents."

"I know. But they don't want it, and I'm through pretending that they do. If they're only interested in having a doctor for a son, maybe they can adopt Dr. Spock."

"He's dead."

"Whatever."

She didn't respond immediately. "What's gotten into you? What's this all about?"

"And that's not all. I want Doug to fire those damn bodyguards. I'm sick of feeling like some sort of prize puppy on a leash. I'll keep the security system, just because it makes sense, but the bodyguards have to go. Got that?"

"Ben--"

"And as for you..."

He heard her suck in her breath, and when she spoke her voice was uncharacteristically tentative. "Me?"

"Yeah. To be honest I'm not sure how I feel. Sometimes I think I love you, and the next minute I want to scream at you. Sometimes I wonder if you love me for me, Amber, or if I'm just an image to you. A... a fantasy that I can't quite live up to. Maybe that's harsh, but that's the way I feel."

"Ben, I--"

"No. That's okay. You don't have to answer me. Not now. I think we can figure this out, but we need time to do it. And while we're working on it, you have to lay off the comments about the house and the parties. I bought the house because I wanted something that I could make mine, and I don't give a shit whether it fits in with my image. And in turn I'll cut back on the parties, and make more time for us."

"I don't understand. Why are you telling me all this now?"

"I just had to say it before I lost my nerve, that's all. With a little luck we can talk more tomorrow night."

"With a little luck?"

"Yeah. Now, I gotta go."

And before she could protest he hung up. He got out of the Ferrari and slammed the door. He didn't bother to lock. He couldn't see that it would make any difference, at least not in this neighbourhood.

He strode to the front door and knocked smartly on the decaying wood.

It took less than a minute before he heard the click of the deadbolt being pushed aside, and the door opened a crack. All he could see was one wide eye peering out at him from the dim environs beyond.

"Hi," he said softly. "Can I come in?"

"Are... are you him?"

Ben tried to make his smile casual. "Yeah. I'm him."

The eye scanned Ben, and then shifted to the street behind him. "You alone?"

"Uh huh. I promised, didn't I?"

The eye blinked twice. "Okay."

The door opened and Ben stepped inside. He saw a flash of movement to his right, and the next moment something was pressed over his nose and mouth. Fear gripped him and he fought for breath. His arms flailed wildly, but something pinned his hands to his sides. He heard a shout and the slam of a door.

He smelled something odd. Sharp and medicinal. He tried to relax, to hold his breath, to give himself more time. But a gray haze was settling over his eyes and panic overtook rationality. He struggled again.

And they laughed at him.

This wasn't what he'd expected. He thought he knew what he was doing. He thought he'd been prepared.

He thought...

He couldn't think anymore. Couldn't remember what he'd hoped to accomplish. It had seemed so important at the time. Critical. Imperative. But now...

His reflexes took over and he sucked in a great lungful of fumes. One of his attackers whispered something soft and menacing in his ear.

And the gray faded to black.

* * *

"Ben?"

He heard her voice, but he couldn't see her. Why couldn't he see her?

"Ben? Wake up, please. God, don't do this to me. You've got to wake up."

His eyes felt like they were weighted down with anvils, but he managed to crack them open a millimeter.

"Amber?" he said. His voice sounded thin and hollow.

"See?" said another voice. It was a man's voice and he didn't recognize it. "I told you he'd be fine. The chloroform just needed to work its way out of his system."

Ben's eyes opened far enough that he could make out stark white walls and harsh lighting. He smelled disinfectant. He was in a hospital.

"I'll leave you to watch him for a few minutes," said the strange voice. "I have other patients."

He blinked and brought Amber into focus. Her face was hovering above him. Mascara tracks lined her cheeks, and her eyes were red. "Were you crying?"

She shook her head. "Of course I was crying, damn it. No, that's wrong. Damn you. Why would you do something like that? Why would you pull such a stupid, idiotic, pathetic, stupid stunt?"

"You said stupid twice."

She closed her eyes and he saw another tear leak out of her eye. "They barely got there in time, you know? The police arrived just as the kidnappers were shoving you into the back of a van. Five more minutes and you would have been gone. They never would have found you."

He blinked in surprise. "I... I figured they'd keep me at the house. It looked like the perfect hideout."

"But you might have told someone where you were going. You might have written it down on a pad of paper beside the bed, for God's sake. These guys are crooks, but they're not idiots. Of course they wouldn't stay there."

"Oh. Christ. I didn't think of that."

"Obviously. But what I want to know is, What the hell were you thinking?"

He cringed at the anguish in her voice. He hadn't meant to worry her.

"You knew the calls were fakes, and yet you went into the house anyway?"

"I didn't know the whole time. I only figured it out when the guy accidentally called me by name."

"That doesn't answer the question. Why didn't you just let the police handle it? That's their job!"

"If the cops had gone what would they have found? A kid alone in a house with a gun. It would have proved nothing."

She threw up her hands in frustration. "But why put yourself in danger like that. I don't understand."

He pushed himself up on his elbows. "I needed to do it on my own, okay? I'm sick of people telling me I should do this or shouldn't do that. Telling me that I'm not who or what I'm supposed to be. I needed to prove I could make a decision on my own. And I needed to follow through on it."

She opened her mouth, and then promptly closed it again. "Well, I guess I can understand that, but it would be nice if it wasn't such a stupid decision."

"I called the cops, and I knew they'd just be a few minutes behind me. I wanted to give the guys a chance to make their move. I didn't want any loopholes. I wanted make sure these guys got put away." Already exhausted he lay back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. "I'd already made the decision to go when the kid made his mistake. This way just seemed… right."

Out in the hall a child cried for its mother.

"And what if you were wrong?" she said softly. "What if it was for real?"

He locked eyes with her. "Well… yeah. If this kid really was suicidal I didn't want him to face a SWAT team. I wanted a chance to… figure things out if I had to."

She reached for his hand, and her fingers felt cool and delicate on his hot skin. "They suckered you in, Ben. They played on your sympathy."

"Maybe. That's how it started. At first I kept talking because I felt sorry for him, and I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn't selfish. But after a while it changed. I started to learn things. Things about myself, and why I felt so… screwed up."

"But it was all a lie, Ben. They had a psychiatric specialist in on the deal and he was telling the kid what to say every step of the way. It was all a ploy to get you away from the bodyguards, and out where you were alone and vulnerable."

Ben shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

She tilted her head and squeezed his hand. "You don't feel silly? You don't feel like…"

He laughed. "Like a fool?"

She smiled shyly, and he thought she'd never looked more beautiful.

"No. They're in jail and I feel like I've finally got a handle on my life. Why would I feel foolish for that?"

She bent down and kissed his forehead. "Okay. I guess I can live with that. Just don't ever answer the phone in the middle of the night again."

"What if you call?"

She considered that for a moment. "Obviously you need caller ID." She tilted her head. "How about the body guards? In light of all this surely you're willing to keep them."

"Nope."

"What about the property? Doug says if you hang onto it for a year or so you'll make a killing on it."

"Tell Doug… Well, you know what you can tell Doug."

She bent low and whispered in his ear. "You're going to be hell to live with now, aren't you? What with fancying yourself a hero, and all."

"I'm no hero, Amber. I just finally figured out what I want. And I figured out that I'm the only one who can give it to me."

She studied him, and in her expression he saw something soften. And then he thought he saw something else grow stronger.

She smiled and brushed a wisp of hair off his forehead. "Would you like help re-plastering the ceiling in the bedroom?"

"You noticed it too, eh?"

"Well, you know... I've spent a lot more time looking at it than you!"

They laughed, and Ben thought that tonight he wouldn't mind going home alone. But, then again, maybe he wouldn't have to.