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   The infant rays of the sun wandered inside, passing through a broad, double-pained window and its attending pink curtain, along with the crochet decorations veiling a California King contemporary four-poster bed, before its diffused rays managed upon Meghan, coaxing her with their needs, a million small urges without description, pulling a million subtle ways without knowledge of where any single one led.   She lie flat on her back on that bed this morning, splayed to cover and fill each of its corners and everything in between to overflow, calves even dangling off of its edge.   This wasn't intentional, it seemed that nothing she had done past few days were.   She had been swept up like those needles from the sun, set on a course to ultimately ricochet at the whims of electromagnetics, bouncing this way and that, unexceptional and overlooked.

   Meghan's eyes pierced without perception the sheer veil over her bed.   She had wanted that window to face east to witness the promise of every new day, to awake awash in wonder and inspiration.   Today the rays tried to whisper something to her.   The promise she had made to herself seemed to be insubstantial.   Every day came met, but unchallenged.   Day after day greeted the same as the last, marked in their difference only by what project lie in pieces waiting for her to bring it to order.   Days robbing resolution.   Tomorrow slipping into next week, the following month, into New Year resolutions, until crow’s feet and sore knees remind you that your best years are past...

   Meghan had never need to use an alarm.   As a child, she had always been one to bounce on her parent’s bed at dawn. She had loved the rising sun and the energy it gave her, her fair skin was never burned.   Rarely had the sun failed to arouse her like this morning.   Her futility squirmed away, then threw a pillow over her head in the universal sign of surrender to the day.   The pillow was tossed to the floor.   A chorus of sighs and moans, popping sounds, soon followed by a backup of bed springs and finished with the beat of footfalls.

   Why did I buy this bed?

   It was been too flamboyant for her tastes, but it was almost large enough, and the selection at this size had of course been limited.   Besides, the posts were useful to help her out of it in the mornings.   It was the bed to blame for this, the sheets, the window and anything else the cause.   All of her choices, everything but.   But...

   It could come later...there was always another time.   There were bills to pay.    Always bills to pay...

   No more comfort for me I guess, now that I have a stray.   She let out one last sigh at the pair of 48" waist men’s jeans as she pulled them out of the drawer.   They dangled away loose on waist to be held on by fabric strained at the hips and thighs, hemming up what was already too short to begin with.   The blue flannel top was worse, something only Larry 'the Cable Guy' would be proud of.   Half the sides torn out to let too many shoulders through, disjointed in its attempt to cover all her extra and exaggerated angles, and all too baggy over her abdomen.   Really, she felt like a hillbilly pup tent on stilts.   Even my joggings looked better than this.

   Meghan was seriously considering changing back, rationalizing that she was a much, much more skilled now and would never be so careless as to set herself on fire again, when she smelled something out of place.   It seemed at first a phantom scent, unearthed memories of that mishap with a hot sliver of iron and comfortable, fluffy cotton.   It wasn't quite the match, it was real too.   Something was burning...

   "That god damn pain in the ass!"

   No amount of time could be too short.   Don't panic.   Show no weakness...What the hell has he done to my home?   A yard and more consumed in each step, then three steps skipped in a footfall.

   "Gary Freeman, what the fuck are you doing?!!"   The constant state of panic at everything this man does.   A window wasn't worth this.

   "Good morning, little lady."   His words were lost as she fell onto her bare heels at the scene that unfolded at the end of the hall.   Her kitchen, her escape, had been ransacked.   Food and spices and chaos spun seemingly everywhere a horizontal surface could maintain a hold even marginal, with no rhyme or reason employed.   Grey stood in the center at the stove, in a small, clear space centered in the alternating rings of havoc.   "Sorry, it has been a while since I've done this.   My first attempt was a little overdone...and broken...I'll eat that one myself."   All that escaped her lips was a gasping remnant of steam.   "This one turned out well, a cheese omelet with tarragon and minced chive, with a side of home style potatoes and diced garlic.   You seemed to enjoy omelets."   Grey slid his second attempt from the skillet onto a waiting plate, and then presented it for approval, none could come.   "Come and sit down, try it," he offered a second time, extending the plate to her.

   Meghan was mountain still, except for a twitch that appeared over her eyebrow.   A noise rumbled from somewhere deep, an escaping gasp building into an eruption.   "no...no, nO, NO!   What have you done!   It'll take hours to straighten this all out!"   She stood mouth lying agape, dragging a pair of hands across her forehead, pulling her curls back while gesturing towards the mess.

   "I'll put everything back, don't bother about it..."

   "No, everything has its place!   I need it where I can find it.   You don't know where they go!"    Her words began to take surly tone as his became more apologetic.   His eyes moved over the mess in concert with her own, in an attempt to sympathize with her rage.

   "I did not think it would be a problem, it was like this over dinner.   You were sleeping in and I wanted to do something for you for once."   His free hand waved as if he could wipe away his error.

   "But it’s my kitchen, in my home.   It has to be how I can find it...Just...just, out of my way..."   Megan tried to push her way past him for the kitchen, already reaching over him for the closest disturbances.

    "No..."   He refused to give way, her food still in hand.   "...I'll take care of it.   You're going to have to start trusting me if this is going to work.   Besides, your food will get cold."   Again he extended his offering.

   "Out of my way, twerp!"   She drew her three left hands together to sweep him away with one motion, if it was permanent, even better.

   "Ahh, you don't want you breakfast on the floor...big waste."   This checked her motion, and made the twitch reappear.   "Cold eggs are terrible, this can wait five minutes."

   "You really like to push it, don't you?"   The plate was snatched out of his hand with tow of Meghan's right hands.

   "You can't grow unless you're uncomfortable," Grey stated flatly, with only the smirk he thought he could get away with.

   "Do you really think I need to grow anymore?" she huffed as she tuned to the table.   He dared to say no more, instead grabbing his own food and quietly sliding into a chair.   Meghan hunched over her food as she ate, trying not to enjoy it.   Her top pair of forearms surrounded the plate as her second pair of hands worked its contents.   Her head drooped to level with his.

   "I knew better...but I wasn't expecting that much of a reaction.   You...really don't get a lot of company do you?"   He expected more rage at this.   Instead, there was silence as she ate, and Grey wondered if this would be his answer.   Perhaps it was better he never received an answer.

   "How old are you Grey?"

   "Twenty-five."

   "At twenty-five, this had been my home for three years...a long time ago.    In all those years I've could count the number of visits on my fingers, almost all of them my family, and none of them dared to stay the night.   So..no."

   "You have a lot of old emotion to still work through it seems."

   Meghan replied to this with something between a deep sigh and a disturbing chuckle.   "You have no idea."    A hand slipped from her fork on an empty plate to cradle her forehead.

   "Well, I'm a great listener."   He reached out to touch her chin before he realized it, instead interlacing his fingers on the table.   "And I've seen it all."

   "No thanks..."

   "It must really bother you then.   Not even an insult."

   "Fuck you."

   "That's better!"   It was the last snarl of a cornered beast before it slumped in to a corner of its cage.   She picked at the last bits of food with her fork which an entirely new hand that seemed to need for a distraction, muttering once or twice unintelligibly.   Grey waited patiently while she wandered in memory, long finished himself, at one point trying to provoke a response with an unsuccessful attempt at taking the plates himself.   A finger and thumb pinching the plate was all that was needed to hold him off, the rest of the body ignoring him.

   "Was it at least alright…the omelet?"   He tried a different tact.

   "...You don't look as bad without your beard,"   Megan stated without looking at him.

   "Well, I needed to change my look..."

   "Mmhm."

   "I'll just take care of my mess.   Then we'll get to work on the glass."   He finally managed to wrestle the plate away as he stood, and was rewarded by her upwards glance.

   "Grey, how are you so certain in yourself?   That you’re doing the right thing?   Nobody would want that kind of life for themselves."

   "I never said it was the right thing.   It completes in me something that was missing before when I lived the other side, the money, the drugs, the parties, people and their things as an end to themselves.   Every dollar became a source of misery.   Another one looped to become a link on the chains that enslaved them."

   "You use money like the rest of us fools.   You're no better."

   "No, money is a tool, and the greatest tool man ever created.   If that is your goal then God bless you, go and get it.   It was greed, their use of that money.   It was both fed and assuaged their fear.   It was more their cocaine, than their cocaine.   Things owned them.   I wanted my freedom, and bought it with a hard price."   Grey spoke as he placed plated plates into the sink, returning to the table as he finished.

   "What is that supposed to mean?"

   "See my hands?"   Grey placed them flat palm up on the table.   "Every bit as hard as yours."   Meghan took one in her own, seemingly a child's in hers, and so much darker, and turning it over once to make sure it was real.   "It doesn't end there.   I have four scars from a knife, one from a broken eighth of Jim Beam, and a set from a rather ill-tempered Doberman.   I might have even deserved the last one," he raised his pant leg to show off those marks.   "...But all that and more, all of that heals.   In that time I have been to thirty-six states and Mexico, and I'm not done yet.   And best of all, I'm free."

   "It's all very Buddhist."

   "Yes, but inside, does it ever heal?   You never choose who you give your heart to.   It's always at the mercy of another.   I never figured out how to let go of that part."

   "Your heart..."   She could feel hers beat a bit faster.   It wanted to be known, that it was still there, that it had waited for her all this time, patiently caring for her.   She was beginning to listen, and wanted to understand.   "You never can just give a straight answer."

   "Those are dull.   The truth has to cut, sometimes it cuts too deep to grasp.   Besides, you're not paying for a storyteller."

   "I'm paying for satisfaction, and you keep avoiding me."   Meghan let loose the slightest of grins, and glimpsed at something Grey couldn't see.

   "That's the spirit.   But I have two days to fix this, and I'm afraid that's just not enough time to indulge you.   I can't even start until I finish my mess."

   "Two days?   You'll be the death of me in two days Stray...And stay out of my kitchen."   The top pair of arms was braced against the table as Meghan made the motions to stand.

   "Then let it be a glorious death, worthy of song!"   He jumped to a stand, and pumped his fist in there air in a display of fax valor, holding aloft her wayward hand that still grasped his, and to her surprise she let him.   "Shall we?"   He braced to help her stand.   Only one of them knew where the physics of this would go.   He was pulled off balance, to land squarely over her lap, sprawling chest first onto her thighs.   Her middle arm maintained its grip on his wrist while its opposite held him there with braced fingers at the small of his back.

   "You're so cute," she dripped with sarcasm.   "Oh, look at you, but this is tempting."   A bottom arm gauged the distance to his bottom, delivering a couple of mock blows.   "You are such pain in the ass.   You should know what that feels like."

   "Wait, what the fuck!   Hey!   This doesn't get anything accomplished!"

   "Then get to work, satisfy me dammit!"   Grey was released and twirled onto to his feet by his wrist in one smooth motion.   As fast as he tried to back away, she erased the gap as she stood while he stumbled over his legs.   Devious eyes over a wicked grin dominated his view as they rose over high him, her many python arms seemed to threaten by their very presence surrounding him, a vice grip on his wrist and a finger hooked around the waist of his pants.   He was going to get burned in his ego, and he knew it.   He knew that fear again, the one he felt days before, a learned reaction from some specific stimuli that he could not recall.

   "What are you going to do to me?"   The question of a victim, one that never expects an answer, but has to be asked, and wants to be heard.   She asked herself as well.   There was a twitch in her fingers, a tinge in her cheek, and he was pulled by his waistband off to her side.

   "Irish temper...it's complicated.   Get out...go find what you need,   I'll call the store."   Already she was fleeing the scene, almost running upstairs before she finished, and he was left bewildered.   He had been wrong, she could scare him.   She could take away his pride at will, his honor or his pride, or life?

   "...and one EZ score glass cutter comes to $132.52, charged to Ms. Moors account.   The hardware store was more packed on the inside than it appeared from its large bay window.   Tools and parts and pieces were even hung from the low roof of the small downtown store.   Grey was half-disappointed to find an electronic register ruining the ambiance.   "You know, this is the first time in the ten years someone new has personally come to pick up her purchase, not a service anyways.   Is she OK, sir?" a squat elderly woman asked.   The power of a shave, clean clothes and clean hair, and certainly cash, he had learned the power of image early, yet was still fascinated and despised its effects.   How could this woman know any better?   Grey imagined her to be the wife, co-owners of a family store that had been in the family for generations.

   "No problems, just doing some maintenance for her."

   "Oh, good.   She seems so nice on the phone, never had any trouble with her checks."

   "She's something..."

   "You've met her?   What is she like Mr...?"

   "Sorry, I'm just doing some fix-it work."

   "Gums flap around her place.   Every once in a while you hear something new."

   "Mam, I'm just passing through..."

   "Back eight years ago, a friend of my grandson's was playing near her place.   He was doing nothing wrong mind you, just kid things; his house was nearby.   Anyway, he came home crying one day saying he got shot at.   No one really bought his story, being one of those high-strung kids.   I did though.   People did start paying attention to those 'no trespassing' signs though."

   "I CAN'T help you," Grey stressed, startling the woman enough to drop her point.

   "You be careful.   Everyone else avoids that place if they can."

   Have the cutter now, and the bit to fit the router she had.   The wood and glass was ordered from a third party, it will be there in the morning...I can't weather it to look like the other windows, not in two days at least...I might be dead if I stay any longer...What was that this morning?...

   What if there is something to what that lady said?

   Grey shuffled down a sparsely populated sidewalk on the sunny side of the street, worn jacket covering new clothes and nobody giving a damn about either.   His immediate desire was only for the sun's comforting rays, an instinct he knew too well, only now noting the holiday gaiety around him on the lampposts, banners and behind store glass.   The courteous drug store even reminded him that he had eighteen more shopping days.   What does that make this, the seventh?   Something about the date bothered him, and he tried to recall any clues as to why, drawing from the days before the robbery and warehouse.   It had been November then, after Thanksgiving for sure.   It was November, right?   But that would mean her was unconscious for at least a week, longer then she had told him.   I think it was November...

...Meghan had a violent temper, sure, and perhaps abusive, but to try to murder a child?   It would have been easier to have killed me.   No one would know if I disappeared.   It must not be that simple...

   Everything was scenic that morning, the son off the bay, mingling in the history and holiday.   No box stores to be found here, but he had seen so little of even this small town.   What could he even know from his limited perspective?   The town rose up the hillside in every direction, there was so much more to see.

   I've only know her for a couple of days, as in invader...She's a yo-yo with a frayed string.   She wanted me gone, not now.   What is it she wants now, surely not a window, a pet, or worse?   All those years isolated cannot be healthy to a person's psyche.   What would be out of the realm of possibility with her?

   Grey's pace slackened on the excuse of inheriting the boulder of Sisyphus.   He crossed a tiny town square, a round really where the road forked; a small dark statue showcased at its center.   He had passed it three times in two days, enough of a reason to stop this time.   It was of some revolutionary general standing proud in his heroic best, and in his resolution he became important.   A green patina of age accentuated his regalia, only to be blunted by the dull square cement pedestal he stood upon.   The town had tried its best to honor this man, with trimmed greenery underneath and flags of import surrounding; and if it was important to them, it must be important enough, at least in the moment.   'Marquis de Lafayette, Founder: Havre de Grace,' lie in bronze fixed onto the cement.   At least he now knew why.   Underneath Grey noticed a second, smaller and new plaque.   'Restored by Meghan Moors: 2009.'

   For someone hiding, she's all over this town...

   This was absurd. All of it was overwhelming, she was overwhelming.   She could have been even 5' 4" mousy haired and 'normal,' and still be a presence.   Her size hadn't made her, it had exaggerated her, and her shadow's domain held the whole of the town.   And now he as well, to witness his own conflagration like the moth, his wings would burn.

   He would be back too soon, his mind spun in circles, bouncing between random answers while finding a home in none.   It was some strange game, and what did he gamble?   He wanted to dunk his head in the bay, and hope his soaked brain would ooze out his ears.   There was the booze joint up ahead.   Anything would be better than this...

   Grey passed under another railroad line, past simple allotted homes and squared plots of land on the bay that once held boathouses.   He watched a young boy play with a dog in a cyclone fenced yard, wishing it was him.

   ...It will always come back to her...

   Her amazing arms, he was convinced that she in her self-hatred had rejected her them, and by this herself.   Her potential could be so much more if she would have accepted them in her childhood, or even now.   She could be so much more given a chance.   Juggling, piano, whatever she wanted was there in her reach.   And with her body, the strength she has...

   "Hey Buddy, are you living in that warehouse?"

   The shout came from that cheesy restaurant, or dive bar, likely both, the one he had noticed that first night.   Now someone else had to get involved, as if Grey did not have enough to confuse him.   Some big stud bent over with a lance gathering the discard and refuse off of the earth from the previous night's distractions.

   "Buddy, hey!   I saw you come from there.   Hold up!"

   Grey wanted no more.   He passed by quickly, not even wanting to acknowledge this latest entanglement.

   "Sorry, just fixing a window."

   "You've been inside that place?"

   "I've already heard the story, can't help you," Grey shouted to the man and whoever else would bother to listen to him in this backwards town.   His pace quickened, but not enough.   The man was determined to follow, convinced that he knew too much, breaking into a run to chase after Grey, even shouting from behind.

   "No goes there, except a delivery guy and he's only allowed in the bay.   Not even he sees anyone, claims that the elephant man lives there, or some sick pedo..."

   "Whatever you decide to believe isn't my business.   Handle you own waste.   I will see this though.   What else am I supposed to do?"   Grey brushed him off, still refusing to look at him.   But the man was convinced that this was his business, twisting the smaller Grey around to face him.

   "Look you little shit.   Last year a couple of teens went there to screw on the warehouse dock.   They were both put in the hospital.   The guy woke up the next day swearing he had been raped as well.   A guy said this, and he wasn't no scrawny ass like you.   The police barely did a thing, just tried to keep it quiet.   You have any sense? Turn right around now!"

   It wasn't even noon, yet the man stunk of beer and sweat.   He enjoyed his work too much, and giving unsolicited advice.   It made it all too easy to rationalize his ramblings, small town busybodies with too little to do, every one trying to one-up the other with the biggest whopper.   She didn't want to be hurt, but to hurt someone?   Now it was a violation of someone's being?   Until this morning, he would have said no.   She had struck him, had him for days unconscious, and threatened him at every moment.   How big was the fish?

   Grey shook the man off, gave him a ineffective shove as his rebuttal, and turned to walk away.   From his back came the man's final appeal.   "This small town looks pretty, but is full of abusers and low-lives with nowhere better to be.   It takes something really special to get people worked up here..."

   Meghan made all the arrangements for the window, authorized the payments and arranged the delivery of the wood and glass.   That was the easy part; she had done it a thousand times and more.   She had intended to leave Grey's mess for him to handle.   He would fix everything until she was satisfied, after all she had to two mouths to feed now, she had better things to do...Her latest project stood nearby.   She pulled off the drop cloth, paced around once or twice, pondered it, cut her nails, then again tried to focus on the work, and instead went for a walk.   The laundry needed doing.   The windows were cleaned so she could see her work better, as if she might discover some inspiring detail.   During this cleaning she discovered an old squat stool by one of these windows; perhaps it predated her residence there.   It was sat on in front of her latest job as she closed her eyes, and tried to let the image form.   It refused.   She tried to force it, and it broke and became an ugly, mocking thing.   She threw the drop cloth back over it, nothing could be done today.

   What came over me this morning?   That jackass, he's got me all thrown off my routine.

   Instead she would catch up on the invoices, check in on a creditor, this was productive too...Unfortunately, her fingers found her keyboard on their own.   Soon it was her lolcats and auctions instead.   Her attentions were slippery, nothing could hold on to it for long.   She leaned back in her desk chair just a bit, any more she had learned would tumble her out of it.   Her body drooped everywhere, the knuckles of her lowest fingers dragged on the floor.

   Have I always been this messed up?

   Chaos, she was never any good with it.   She had been a machine, a stream driven locomotive on the right track, until he had crawled under her door, every day it had become worse, almost imposable when he was gone.   Her Stray...

   Why was he still here?   No one else had stayed.

   What has happened to him?

   Who is he...?   What does he want?

   Meghan's eyes unfocused as she stared at the dry grey wood that held the roof...

   ...My first kiss at fourteen...he was an ugly boy, and mean, but he would talk to me.   The bad boy, who had been held back a grade, and taller...and still not my height.   The whole thing had been a cliché...what I had wanted so desperately...even under the bleachers...

   "Lair!"   Meghan screamed, fighting her way out of the daydream.   She shook her head at herself, and searched for a reassurance found in a mutter.   "He is different.   He enjoys what I am, too much.   He just needs to know who I am.   What hurt him so much for him to drop out of life?    What can I do now with him?   He needs my help..."   This realization gave her a new focus, and she stood up from it, and caught her image in her mirror on the floor.   The same mirror she had as a child, white paint chipping on its round wood frame.   It was tilted back to its limit, and even at this angle and distance could only reflect a portion of her at a time.   It had been kept as a reminder and a guide, and she looked at her other self in it.   She took a small step back, then a larger one, and another, until she was backed up against the far wall.   She tried twisting, then slouching, turning to one side and by hitching and adjusting and squishing things in a vain attempt to bring everything into view just one more time.

   What if he doesn't come back?

   "Fuck this, I have things to do."   She had found her purpose, and it gave her new vigor.   She would go out there and get what she wanted.

   And what is that?   The words stopped her dead.   What is it that you want?   She had no reply.   Somehow she didn't know what it was, just that she wanted it.

   "What was I going to do to Gary this morning?"

   *Buzzzzzzz...*

   Grey had decided the intercom would be a better idea than just walking in.   She must be expecting him to return, but given the result of his last intrusion, and what he had heard today and felt this morning, it seemed prudent.   The prudent thing was to not be here.

   "Are you here for a delivery?"

   "It's Grey."

   "Well get in here!   What are you doing?"   Grey passed into the hallway, and felt the cage close once again.   "You have a mess to clean up!"   Her voice echoed down the hall.   He tried to follow the voice, and found he could not.   He was frozen in fear.

   This had never happened to him before.   Fear...he had released himself from it years ago when he told his father to hell and his life.   He had been hungry, lonely, hunted, without a future to rely on or a past for comfort.   Something had changed all of that in this warehouse.

   What is it?   Am I nothing more than a stray?   A few scraps of food and warmth and I'm willing to take any abuse for it?   Have I come full circle, to the point where I would do that all over again?   Someone has taken control of me all over again.

   He tried to understand the pieces of this, and none on their own seemed to matter, warm food, a roof, the certainty, it was not enough.   He needed to know the truth of this, and his feet released their grip at that thought.   The truth was to be grasped, the precious thing it was.

   "I got the tools I needed.   The rest will be here in the morning..." Grey called to the echoes.

   What had been thought of as a disaster this morning was nothing compared to now.   Every box, bag, spice and bottle had been pulled out of the cabinets and rested organized underneath on counters and even the floor in some peculiar method that could not be spied out.   The refrigerator had been emptied and stacked by shelf on the center island.   Meghan was chest deep in the fridge, rubber gloved and disinfecting the surfaces with antibacterial goo.   Strangely, her hands were working in a complexity that he had not seen from her, synchronized in task, yet independent in movements.

   "Good, put them away.   You're going to help me clean up this mess you made."

   "I don't recall anything like this when I left."   Grey called form the end of the warehouse, happy that opportunity had kept space between them.

   "It was still wrong, and I needed to do some inventory anyways."   Her voice seemed to resonate from inside the fridge, sound reverberating off of its insides before being focused by its stainless double doors.   None of this helped Grey's determination, and he maintained his distance, preferring that his voice to cover it rather than parts of his body.

   "I saw you work outside with the statue.   It thought you a welder at the least, but this, is that what you do?"

   "That was nothing, a little repair work.   Some stupid kids pulled the statue off of its pedestal with a pick-up truck, dragged it around a bit and tore the head off.   I don't even think I charged anyone for it."

   "It looked good.   I didn't notice any damage on it.   You do good work then.   The town must have really appreciated it..."

   "I don't remember."

   "They really seem to think a lot about you."

   Megan's work paused for a moment before continuing.   "Small town idiots, I would think you would know better."

   "I do...But you're like the town ogre to these people.   Do you know that?"

   Meghan pulled herself out of the fridge, bottom arms braced against the doors.   She studied Grey's face for any signs before she spoke, finding little to go on.   "What did they say?"   A finger tapped at the steel, a one arm scratched another, fingers ran through her hair, nervous fidgeting motions on a usually still body.

   "Meghan, did you shoot at some kid?"

   "Oh God, is that it?"   The tension released from her many shoulders.   "It was a pellet gun and a firecracker.   I can't let these stupid kids run around my place.   Get off my lawn you kids..."   Meghan tried to laugh, a lifeless flat thing.   One fist shook in the air tried to rescue the quip.

   "Why not?   Would it have been better to have hurt one of them?"

   "Oh please...I can't exactly go outside and tell them.   It's easier for everyone."   Grey closed the gap, wandering, arcing one direction, then another but always behind the sofa and tables, hoping it might delay her just enough for him to rabbit out the hole.   Meghan's top arms crossed, one scratching the other, middle arms still on the doors.   He could not make contact with her eyes, to get drowned in them, he had to know...

   "Meghan..."   Grey paused.   He tried to resist the flow of thoughts and where they would lead.   He had hurt her before, bent steel.   Would he break it now?   The truth was like that, like time, irresistible.

   "Meghan, what did you do to that couple on your dock?"

   "What...What are you talking about?"   Her face cracked, small lines appeared and spread between the contours.

   "They say you raped a guy..."

   "HE WAS GOING TO RAPE HIS GIRL!   I HAD TO STOP HIM!!   Of course he said that to the police.   I was not going to let that happen in my home!   He was hurting her!"   Arms were in thrown into the air outstretched, two held near her face, a pair on her hips.   She looked through him, to the doors which behind the transgression took place.

   "What did you do to him?   He ended up in the hospital."   Grey remained calm, in a cool rhythmic tone almost mimicking a therapist from his past.

   "He got was he deserved!"

   "Did you rape him?"

   "He was a fucking asshole!"

   "Am I a 'fucking asshole'?"

   "Oh, GOD, yes!"

   "I was out for more than three days.   What did you do to me...the same thing you did to him?"

   "What are you saying..."   The shock of this, as she followed his logic, started in her lips as they fell agape, and spread over her face and into the body, shorting her systems as it passed through.   She turned towards him, and even in the distance he could see the green in her eyes.   "It's so easy to see the monster, even you...that's all you see."

   "You don't make it easy.   Help me."   He offered her a hand from far away, even if he didn't know why.

   "You were an intruder.   You were going to destroy my whole world...and you have..."   She too began to wander, far distant but in motions that mirrored his own.   A waltz at a distance, a dance they had been doing for days, which had begun in violence and may end in pain if one stumbles or loses the step.

   "I have sleeping pills, I did use them for a few days..and painkillers; knees just sometimes aren't able to handle this kind of body.   I kept you sleeping, and cleaned up after your mess.   So, yes...I saw you naked.   What could I do?   But I never touched you like that, I swear."   He couldn't look at her, shame was all he felt, and before he realized it, Meghan was next to him.   Slowly, weakly, she took his hand in one of hers."

   "And what am I supposed to think of that?   Meghan, what am I supposed to believe?"

   "You want to know me?   Then come upstairs with me, and I'll show you..."