Paul sighed and scowled at the opposite wall from his position on the bed. His insomnia was terrible tonight - he had been tossing and turning for hours.
Finally, with a grunt of frustration, he scrambled out of bed. He headed automatically for the kitchen, but resisted the urge to make some tea.
"That's all I need," he muttered aloud. "More caffeine in my system."
He glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. It was nearly 4am, and he hadn't slept at all. He got up from the kitchen table and headed towards his studio.
Paul often came here when his insomnia was especially bad, or if he just wanted to relax. It was his only refuge from the outside world.
Paul smiled contentedly as he entered the room. Although the room was incredibly messy, he could clearly see the paintings hanging on the wall. They were of his most favourite things - cloudy days at the beach, tea, total isolation, there was one of a sunrise, and his most favourite of all, one of himself painting. This last one managed to feature all the other paintings within it.
Walking over, Paul inspected it closely, just like he always had every time he walked into the room.
It showed Paul in a cluttered room, much like this one, surrounded by canvases and paints. He was sitting on a small stool, his hand poised above an unmarked canvas. A steaming cup of tea sat at his feet next to several tins of paint.
There were two windows to the room - one looked out across a beach, the sky murky and forbidding, while the other showed a spectacular sunrise that took his breath away every time he saw it.
Paul smiled fondly. This was his favourite painting - it was also the best he had ever done. He was extremely proud of that painting, even though he was the only person in the world who had actually seen it. But such was so with many of Paul's paintings.
Paul finally managed to tear his eyes away from the painting. Sighing, he headed over to sit on the stool that was placed in the far corner of the room. Paul liked painting in the corner - he felt more�cozy? Something like that anyway.
Paul smiled happily as he stared at the blank canvas on the aisle in front of him. He closed his eyes and wondered what to draw.
It was only slowly that Paul realised his hand was moving, on it's own. Paul opened his eyes, and watched curiously as his hand skittered across the canvas.
This had happened to him before, so Paul wasn't afraid - it just hadn't happened in a very long time. Paul tried to remember the last time this had happened, even as his hand sketched as though it had a life of it's own.
It must've been when I first met Tim, Paul realised with shock. That'd have to be nearly fifteen years ago! He remembered it as though it was yesterday.
Rich had introduced Paul to Tim after a gig, before the three of them headed off to a pub for a few beers. Tim had flirted with Paul the whole evening and Paul had responded - uncertainly at first, but then with growing confidence.
When he had gotten home, Paul couldn't sleep, despite the many drinks he had had. He had retreated to his studio (a different one back then of course), to take his mind off things.
His hand had begun sketching before he had even sat down. When it had finished, Paul had been amazed. It wasn't just the precision and attention to detail that astounded him, it was the actual picture as well.
It was of himself and Tim. They were at an airport. Tim had a suitcase in his hand and a single tear on his cheek. He was staring stonily ahead, as he was getting on the plane. Paul was on his knees, tears streaming down his face, reaching out to Tim. The people in the background walked straight past, seemingly oblivious. No, that wasn't true, Paul noticed. One person watched. Leaning closer, Paul had realised with a start that it was Rich. He was watching the episode unfold, his face contorted with sympathy and sadness.
Paul had thought the picture was just his sub-conscience mind trying to warn him to be careful, but now he wasn't so sure.
The lack of movement from his hand brought Paul back to the real world, away from the painful memories. His hand had finished.
Paul leaned over to inspect the final product, amazed at the exquisite detail.
The picture was of the beach. The sky was murky and clouded over, just the way he liked it�but this time it wasn't a reflection of his own mood - rather it was a reflection of someone else's. A single figure stood in the picture - a woman. She stood facing the ocean, but her head was turned to face him. Her hair was very long, and she wore a long, tight, flowing dress, but it was her eyes that captured his attention. He had never seen such sad eyes. They seemed to reach out to him - to reach out but never quite touch, alone in their suffering.
Paul had no idea how long he stared at the black and white sketch, but a banging on his front door finally jerked him back into reality.
A quick glance at his watch told him he was late for the GNW rehearsal. Shit! That'd probably be Mikey trying to bash the door down, wondering where he was.
With once last long glance at the sketch, Paul turned and hurried out of his studio. He managed to get to the door just in time to prevent Mikey from bashing it down.

"What's the matter, Monkey-Boy?" Mikey grinned as Paul yanked open the door before he could break it down. "Slept in did we?"
Paul didn't even bother to answer. He just turned around and headed into the kitchen. Mikey followed, a frown on his face. Paul was usually enthusiastic for a fight in the morning- especially after he had just been woken up. Paul saw Mikey's confused look, but chose to ignore it.
"Sorry Mikey," he said instead. "I didn't realise what the time was." He placed the kettle on the stove and headed into his bedroom to change.
Mikey was really worried now. Paul had just apologized to him, and he wasn't drunk. He grabbed Paul by the arm and swung him around to face him.
"Alright - who are you and what have you done with the little fella?" he demanded. Paul stared at Mikey as though he didn't know who he was. His eyes were so sad, Mikey found himself looking away.
"What happened Paul?" he asked, trying not to look at Paul's eyes. There was no way he could meet that gaze again.
Paul hesitated. No one had ever been in his studio before except him, but he relented when he saw Mikey wasn't going to let it drop.
Paul sighed in acceptance, and beckoned Mikey to follow him into the studio. Mikey did so uncertainly, not quite sure what to expect.
Mikey whistled appreciatively when he saw the mess - it took a while for a mess like that to build up - but stopped when he saw the painting across the room. He turned to ask Paul why that would make him unhappy, but Paul just shook his head at the unasked question. He pointed silently at the corner, indicating the canvas that hung there.
Mikey carefully picked his way over to the corner, being careful not to tip over any paints. When he got there he breathed a sigh of relief, then bent over to get a better look at the black and white sketch. What he saw took his breath away.
Paul stood anxiously beside Mikey, desperately trying to read his expression. Mikey's opinion meant a lot to him, and he really wanted to know what he thought.
After what seemed like an eternity, Mikey spoke.
"Is she anyone I know?" he asked softly. She's so sad, he thought, staring at her. Mikey had never really been an art fanatic or anything, but this picture moved him.
Paul shook his head slowly.
"I doubt it. She's no one I know either," he said, mystified by Mikey's reaction. "Why?" he asked curiously. To his complete and utter surprise, Mikey turned around and engulfed him in a hug. Hesitantly he hugged him back.
"It's just a sketch Mikey," was all he could think of to say. Mikey let him go, and they both stood there awkwardly, neither knowing what to say.
"Yes, well," Mikey coughed in a manly sought of way. They quickly vacated the room, embarrassed by the display of emotions.
Paul wandered into his bedroom to get changed, while Mikey headed back into the kitchen. He pulled the boiled kettle off the stove, and made Paul his tea, knowing that Paul wouldn't get through the day without it.
Mikey sat down at the table, and thought about what he had just seen. He had seen a few of Paul's paintings before - DAAS backdrops and the like - but he had no idea just how talented Paul actually was. That little sketch had been mesmerizing. The actual picture itself also surprised him. Paul had been upset when Jo had left him nearly 6 months ago, but he had seemed to have recovered since then. Now Mikey wondered. The sketch wasn't of Jo, in fact it hadn't looked like her at all, but still Mikey wondered. He looked up as Paul came into the room.
Paul smiled shyly when he caught Mikey looking at him across the table.
"I know, Mikey," he sighed. "It was weird. You're wondering if it's to do with Jo, aren't you?" He laughed at the guilty expression on Mikey's face.
"Is it?" Mikey asked quietly.
Paul considered. "No," he said finally. Mikey gave him a dubious look, but he believed him. Paul rarely lied to him without a grin on his face.
"Then where'd the image come from?" he asked curiously. Paul sighed, and looked Mikey straight in the eye.
"I wish I knew Mikey," he said sadly. "I wish I knew."

Both Mikey and Paul were quieter than usual at the rehearsal. Everyone noticed, but only Julie confronted them about it.
Dragging them off to the side, she demanded, "All right. What is with you two today?" She looked at them both suspiciously. "You look like you've just been told that there's no beer left in the country." Paul and Mikey just looked at each other.
"Well?" Julie tapped her foot. Paul sighed, then nodded to Mikey. Mikey studied the floor as he answered Julie.
"Paulie drew something�different this morning," he said, seemingly fascinated by his shoes. Julie raised an eyebrow, but waited for one of them to continue.
Paul also found his shoes fascinating. "I sketched a woman," he mumbled. Julie frowned. "So?" she asked, confused as to why this would put them in such a strange mood. She was also surprised that Paul had shown Mikey his work. He was usually very private about his sketches and paintings.
Paul blushed, and looked to Mikey for help. Seeing as Mikey was still watching the floor, Paul sighed and tried to explain.
"It was pretty life-like," he admitted. "Life-like?" Mikey interrupted. "She looked as though she was going to climb right out of the canvas�" he stopped when he saw Paul looking at him. He returned his attention to the floor.
This was definitely un-Mikey like behavior.
"I still don't see what the problem is," Julie said, still confused. "She wasn't naked or anything was she?" Paul looked shocked for some reason, and shook his head vigorously. Julie was clearly getting impatient. "So what's�" Paul interrupted her.
"It was her expression," he said quietly. Julie frowned again - she wasn't sure she had heard him right. "Let me get this straight," she said, shaking her head. "You two look like your mother just died because Paul sketched a woman with a strange expression?"
Paul and Mikey looked at each other. Well, when you put it that way� Mikey shook his head stubbornly. "No, it's not like that," he tried to explain. He stopped. Yes it was. "You just have to see the picture," he said finally.
Julie looked from one of them to the other. "I'll never understand you two," she concluded. "Never ever." And with that she turned and headed towards her dressing room, muttering things about the weird ways of men.

The taping went a lot more smoothly than the rehearsal - once they'd been told, Mikey and Paul tried to hide their discomfort. The audience couldn't tell the difference, but the cast and crew could. Rumors spread fast among them. It wasn't unheard of for one or the other to be moody after having a bad day, but for both of them to be acting strange at the same time? Tongues began to wag. When Ted asked Julie about it, all she said was something about a painting, which just confused Ted more, but he decided to let it drop.
After the taping was over, all Paul could think about was getting home. He had tried to ignore the weird looks he was getting from the crew, but it was starting to get to him.
He said good bye to everyone and left. He was about to call a cab, when something inside him decided to walk. Shrugging - he didn't live that far away anyway - he turned and headed for the beach, the quickest way home.
The sky was dark and dreary as Paul wandered across the sand, lost in his own thoughts. After a while he realised that he wasn't paying attention to where he was going, and looked up to assess how far away his house was.
He froze. At first he thought he was losing his mind - it was impossible! But there she stood, exactly like the picture.

Reanna watched the angry sea express its fury from the safety of the shore. She felt so empty, so alone. She had lived when so many others had died.
Glancing up, she saw a lone figure walking along the beach, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. She sighed. She'd have to wait until after he'd gone before attempting to do what she'd came to do�

Reanna groaned inwardly when the man who had been coming towards her stopped, instead of passing straight by as she'd hoped. She turned her head to face him, wondering why he had such a strange look on his face.

Paul's heart skipped a beat. Holy shit! Was he going insane? The girl turned her head to look at him, and Paul nearly fainted. He could've taken a photo of that image this morning.
Paul stared, drinking in every detail. She was shorter than average - shorter even than himself - but she was bent over slightly, her body language beaten and defeated. Her hair was incredibly long, flowing down her back, blowing around slightly in the oncoming breeze. It was the colour of the night, so dark it seemed to draw all light within it. Her skin was silky and smooth, a slightly tanned complexion, but seemed pale around the face, as though she had been crying. Her eyes were an icy blue, vacant and staring, all her suffering betrayed in an instant. She was wearing the same dress as in the picture, which Paul could now see was a pale blue. It showed off a healthy body, but flowed and billowed in the breeze.
Paul suddenly realised he was staring, and embarrassed, lowered his eyes and quickly walked on.

Reanna regarded the stranger. He was staring at her very strangely - it was unnerving. Suddenly he seemed to realise just how rude he was being. He blushed and quickly hurried on. Reanna breathed an inwardly sigh of relief. She didn't want any witnesses or people to stop her from what she had come to do.

Paul walked about a dozen or so meters before he asked himself what he was doing. Surely this was more than coincidence?
Paul turned around and opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he realised the girl was gone. Paul looked around, mystified.
He spotted her, halfway down to the water's edge. He frowned slightly. Why was she going down to the water? It was getting very stormy, and the wind was picking up. Maybe she just wants to walk along in the surf, he told himself. Still he couldn't help but feel a little nervous as she got closer to the angry sea. The frown returned to his face and he began to follow her.
Paul's nervousness turned to anxiety, when he saw the girl didn't stop at the water's edge, but waded out into the breakers. He quickened his pace to a jog. Anxiety quickly turned into worry - he could see she wasn't even attempting to fight the waves that beat against her.
Paul began to jog faster. His worry turned into panic as the girl was pulled under by an exceptionally big wave.
Paul raced down the remainder of the beach, not even bothering to pull of his shoes or jacket before diving into the icy water. Struggling out past the breakers, he sucked in a huge breath and pulled himself below the surface.
The salt stung his eyes, and the waves beat against him, but all Paul could think of was finding the girl. He broke the surface, drew in a few ragged breaths, then quickly dived again, all the while praying that he wasn't too late.
Finally he saw her. Never in his whole life had Paul ever had to fight so hard to reach something. The angry waves pulled and pushed him, determined to keep the life that was within their grasp. The little one was theirs.
Struggling terribly the last few meters, Paul was rewarded with the weight if the girl in his arms. His lungs screaming for air, he headed for the surface.
Gasping for breath, Paul discovered that it had started to rain heavily while he had been under. It made breathing all the more difficult. Paul struggled to keep the girl's head above the water as he began to swim slowly back to shore.
Paul was exhausted by the time he managed to drag the limp girl's body out of the breakers and onto the sand.
His own breathing ragged and harsh, he leant over to check hers. Oh God, he slowly realised she wasn't breathing. Fighting down the urge to panic, Paul forced himself to remember every Baywatch episode he had ever watched.
Gingerly he lay her flat on her back and tilted her head back, so the air-passage was clear. He then took a deep breath and pressed his lips to hers, while pinching her nose shut. Her chest rose and fell with every breath of his.
He repeated this several times before the girl finally took a shuddering breath and began to cough weakly. Silently thanking every God he had ever heard of, Paul helped her move onto her side, where she violently rejected all the salty water that she had consumed.
His breathing now coming easier, Paul looked around. It was still raining very heavily, and there was no one in sight. He noticed that he was pretty close to his home, but he looked at the girl dubiously. There was no way she was going to be able to walk that distance.
Paul sighed and summoned up the little strength he had left. Climbing to his feet, he walked over to the girl and picked her up gently. She had passed out already. Paul was grateful, as now she couldn't struggle against him.
It took nearly 5 minutes to reach Paul's house. By the time they did, Paul was so tired he barely had the strength to stand.
Somehow he managed to wrap the girl in several thick blankets and lay her down in his bed, before collapsing in a heap upon the couch.

Paul awoke slowly to discover himself lying on the couch, in soaking wet clothes. Shivering, he quickly headed towards his bedroom to get changed, wondering how he had become so wet. It wasn't until he reached the doorway and saw the crumpled heap asleep on his bed that he remembered.
As quietly as possible, Paul crept around the room, gathering a change of dry, warm clothes and other things essential for a shower.
It was while Paul was under the hot soothing water that he realised he knew nothing about the girl who slept in his bed - not even her name. Who was she? And why had she tried to kill herself?
The paranoid part of his brain set in and he began to worry that she'd wake up and leave before he got out of the shower. Drying himself off and dressing quickly, he dashed back into his bedroom, half-expecting to see an empty bed. But no, she lay there still, the same huddled heap of blankets he had left before going into the shower.
Reassured of her safety, Paul headed into the kitchen to make some tea.

Reanna awoke with a start and shivered. She could still feel the waves clawing at her, dragging her down. It was only slowly that she became aware of her surroundings.
She sat up quickly. When she realised she wasn't dead, Reanna began to weep. The pain was still there, unrelenting. The guilt was still there, gnawing. She was still alive, existing.

Paul heard the girl sobbing and abandoned his tea, rushing back into the bedroom. He paused in the doorway, then crossed the room to where the girl sat on the edge of the bed, her face buried in her hands. Kneeling on the floor in front of her, Paul hesitantly wrapped his arms around the distraught girl, making soothing noises to help calm her.
Unconsciously the girl moved into his embrace, burying her face in his shoulder and weeping her misery.
Finally her sobs began to die down, but neither moved. Tilting his head to see her face, Paul realised she had fallen asleep again.
Gently, he laid her back down on the bed, and pulled the blankets around her once more. He watched her sleeping for a moment, before returning to the kitchen.
Paul checked his tea. It was as cold as he expected, but for once he didn't care. His mind was elsewhere. What was he going to do?
The girl's reaction to finding herself alive was less than reassuring. Paul sat down and rubbed his face. He didn't know anything about this girl. He didn't know her name, where she lived, or why she was so sad. Paul leaned back in the chair.
What was he going to do?

Leaning his elbows on the table, Paul rested his head in his hands. He had no idea how to handle this situation - but he knew someone who might. Jumping to his feet, Paul rushed over to the phone and quickly dialed a number he knew as well as, if not better than his own.
He played nervously with the cord as he listened to the phone ring. What would he do if she didn't pick up? Paul shuddered. He didn't want to go there. He couldn't do this without help.
"Hello?"
Paul breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank God you're home," he blurted.
"Paul?"
"Yeah, it's me," he answered, glancing towards the bedroom where the girl still lay. "Look Julie I need your help."
"Why?" Julia asked, then her voice filled with fear. "What's happened? Are you okay?"
"No, I'm fine," Paul waved aside her fears. "I just need you to come over. Quickly," he added, remembering that the girl could awaken at any moment.
"Sure thing. I'll be right there." Julie said, and hung up.
Paul paced in his kitchen, worry gnawing at him. What if the girl did wake up before Julia got here? What if she tried to kill herself again? Paul shook his head. I'll worry about that if it happens, he told himself.
After what seemed like an age, Paul heard a knock on the front door.
"What's the emergency?" Julie asked, bewildered when Paul yanked open the door and dragged her inside. Paul quickly shut the door behind her and turned to face her. He nervously ran his fingers through his messy hair.
"I have no idea how to put this, or even if you'll believe me," he began uncertainly. "But do you remember the picture I told you about?" Julie nodded, still puzzled.
"Well�I found the woman in it."
Julie blinked. "Excuse me?" She wasn't sure if she had heard right. "Wasn't the woman a figment from your imagination?"
"I thought she was too," Paul said excitedly. "But on the way back from the taping last night I saw her on the beach." He hesitated. "She tried to kill herself."
Julie's face stilled.
"Oh."
Paul waited for her to say something, but when she didn't he continued.
"I managed to save her, and I brought her back here," he said uncertainly. "But now I don't know what to do. I called you because�well, because you might know how to handle this situation." He hated to reopen old wounds, but he was desperate. Julie had been an alcoholic in her youth, and when she tried to give it up she lost the will to live, and nearly committed suicide several times. Paul figured that since she had once been on the receiving end, maybe she would know what to do.
Julie was silent for a while. Finally she said quietly, "Where is she?"
"She's in the bedroom. She's asleep." Paul answer was just as quiet. Although he could have no idea what Julie was going through at the moment, he knew it had to be hard and he had no way to make it more bearable for her.
Julie nodded slowly.
"Okay," she said. "Okay," she repeated to herself. She pushed past Paul and headed for the bedroom. Silently, she opened the door and peered inside. The girl was still asleep, huddled into a small ball in the middle of the bed. Julie hesitated, then shut the door again. Turning, she found herself face to face with Paul.
"Uh, she's still asleep," Julie informed him. Paul gave her a crooked smile.
"Good, but I was more worried about what's going to happen when she wakes up," he suggested. Julie sighed.
"It depends," she replied. "Some try again, but usually not right away. Especially if there's someone else involved." They wandered into the kitchen, and Paul put on the kettle. They sat in silence, neither knowing what to say.
"Maybe it'd help if you saw the sketch?" Paul asked tentatively. He didn't like showing off his artwork like a snob, but if it helped this girl then he'd do it willingly. Julie thought about it for a moment, then nodded.
"I am curious," she admitted.
Paul got up and led her towards his studio.

Julie stared at the picture for a long time. The detail amazed her, but the sorrow in the eyes hit far too close to home for her liking. All she could see as she gazed at the sketch was herself, nearly twenty years ago.
"It does help Paul," she whispered finally, unable to take her eyes from the canvas.
"It does?" Paul asked hopefully.
A single tear slipped down Julie's cheek. She wiped it away before Paul could see it.
"Yes, it does."
Suddenly they both heard a noise from the kitchen. They shot a quick glance at each other and went off to investigate.
The girl was wandering around the kitchen, looking lost. Julie and Paul exchanged a look, then Julie slowly approached her.
"Are you looking for something dear?" she asked gently. The girl turned and gazed at her, her expression confused.
"Tara's not here," she said uncertainly. Paul frowned slightly. She looked about twenty-five, but she spoke like an eight year old!
"Who's Tara?" Julie prompted the girl.
"Tara's�Tara's�not here!" the girl began to panic. "She's not here! Where is she? Why isn't she here?!" Julie quickly rushed to the girl's side and put her arms around her, trying to calm her down, but that just caused the girl to get more scared.
"Tara! Tara!" she screamed, pulling away from Julie and running out of the room. Paul and Julie gave chase, afraid she might try to kill herself again. The girl was awfully quick for someone who had nearly drowned, and she led Paul and Julie on a great run before stopping suddenly in front of the phone in the hall. Paul, who was just behind her, nearly ran into her and Julie nearly ran into him.
"I'll call her," the girl said, suddenly calm. Paul shot an extremely confused glance at Julie, panting from the run. Julie just shrugged. She was panting heavily too.

Reanna dialed the number that Tara had painstakingly taught her and listened as the phone rang.
"Hello?" a worried voice on the other end answered.
"Tara," Reanna identified the voice happily.
"Reanna!" Tara gasped, relief heavy in her voice. "Where are you? I've been looking everywhere!"
"I'm here," Reanna reassured her.
"Where's here?" Tara asked gently. "Where have you been Reanna?"
"I'm�" Reanna hesitated and looked around. "I'm in a room. With two people," she clarified, glancing at Paul and Julie. She heard Tara sigh quietly.
"Do you think one of the people might want to talk to me?" Tara prompted.
"Dunno," Reanna said cheerfully, then she turned and handed the phone to Paul. "Tara doesn't know where I am," she informed him, seeing his confused expression. Her job done, Reanna skipped off happily to explore the house. Julie hesitated then took off after her, to make sure she didn't do anything stupid.
Paul brought the phone up to his ear. "Hello?"
"Yes, hello? Who's this?" a voice on the other end asked.
"Uh, my name's Paul," Paul answered, watching as Reanna skipped into his laundry and started going through his clothes. "Would you mind telling me who the girl going through my laundry is?"
"I'm so terribly sorry," Tara blurted. "I'll come and get her right away. Could you please tell me where you are?"
Paul hesitated, then gave her his address.
"Could you please keep an eye on her until I get there? Her name's Reanna. If she starts to get jumpy give her some bread, ok?"
Paul was just about to ask what the hell that meant, but Tara had already hung up. He put down the phone and went searching for Julie and Reanna, stepping over all his dirty clothes, which Reanna had strewn across the room.

Paul found the two women in his bathroom. Julie sent him an apologetic look as she tried to coax Reanna to give her the shaving cream she was squirting all over Paul's towel. The tile floor was coated in various forms of bathroom products, including soap, hair gel and some moisturizer that Paul had been given for his birthday. Paul sighed heavily. Oh well, he'd clean it up later.
"Renna," he tried using her name. Reanna stopped using the shaving cream instantly, turning and looking expectantly at him.
"I've got some bread in the kitchen," Paul wheedled, hoping she'd take the bait. She did.
"Bread?" she cried happily. Dropping the shaving cream, she ran towards the door. But she didn't see the soap on the floor. She slipped, lurching forward. Luckily Paul caught her before she hit the floor.
Reanna looked up and smiled.
"Thank you," she whispered, and Paul's breath caught in his throat. She was suddenly no longer the strange girl who had tried to commit suicide and trashed his bathroom. She was a young, beautiful woman in his arms. That was until she remembered about the bread. Struggling against Paul's strong arms, she hoisted herself to her feet and raced off to the kitchen, leaving Paul standing, totally bewildered, in the messy bathroom.
Julie came up behind him.
"Did that Tara woman say what was wrong with her?" she asked quietly as they followed Reanna into the kitchen. Paul shook his head.
"No. She just told me her name and to give her bread if she got out of control," he replied. "She said she'd be here as quickly as possible."
"You gave her your address?" Julie was surprised. Paul valued his privacy immensely, and rarely gave his address to anyone. He shrugged.
"I didn't really have a choice," he said. Julie nodded; that was true. They entered the kitchen and watched amazed as Reanna sat scoffing all of Paul's bread. She had two loaves in front of her on the table, that Paul had bought only yesterday, and was stuffing slice after slice into her mouth.
"Okay I think that's enough," Paul said as she finished off the first loaf and began to eat the second. He stepped forward and tried to take the bread away from her.
"NO!" Reanna yelled, yanking the bread out of his grasp. "It's mine!" She jumped up and grabbed the underside of the table and flipping it over. It landed on its side with a crash, nearly crushing Paul's foot. Reanna used it as a kind of shield, standing warily on one side and watching Paul and Julie on the other. When they didn't make a move to grab her, Reanna began munching her way through the second loaf again.
It stayed at that stand off until there was a knock at the door.
"That'll be Tara," Paul said, eyeing Reanna carefully. He was afraid she might pick up the chair by her feet and throw it at them. "You stay here, I'll go answer the door," he told Julie. He backed slowly out of the room, then walked quickly down the hall and opened the front door.
A short woman with Platinum blonde hair stood on his doorstep, an anxious expression on her face. She looked to be about 30, but she had crow's feet in the corners of her eyes and lines around her mouth. Probably from the stress Reanna causes her, Paul thought. She wore little makeup, and looked as though she hadn't gotten much sleep last night.
"Is Reanna here?" Tara blurted, her bright blue eyes filled with worry. Paul nodded and stood aside so she could come in. Tara rushed inside, and headed straight for where she could hear Reanna yelling. Paul, following close behind, peered into the kitchen where all the noise was coming from.

Tara burst into the kitchen to find Reanna wildly waving a stick of celery at a short plump woman, desperately trying to keep her at a distance.
"Reanna!" Tara scolded, her tone disapproving. It was hard not to run over and throw her arms around her, but Tara restrained herself. She had learnt from past experience that if she acted like everything was fine, then Reanna believed it was. By pretending that they were at home, Reanna would forget that she'd ever run away.
Reanna jumped at Tara's stern voice, and dropped the celery stick, her expression guilty.
"What have I told you about using food as weapons?" Tara scolded, walking over and picking up the celery, and waving it slightly. Reanna looked like a small child being told off by her mother.
"Sorry Tara," she mumbled.
Tara suddenly remembered that this wasn't her home. She turned around to find the woman and the man who had let her inside staring at her.
"Reanna, why don't you go watch some tv?" she asked gently. Reanna bounded off. The woman hesitated, then followed.
"I'm sorry about the mess," Tara mumbled, turning around and flipping over the table, trying to avoid look at the man. She had been through this far too many times before. At least this time the owner of the house hadn't called the police, like they often did.
"Don't worry about it," the guy said, walking over to her and helping her pick up the chairs. "I can clean it up later."
Tara sat down, still avoiding his gaze. She sighed inwardly. She was so tired. She hadn't slept at all last night; she had been too worried about Reanna. And it wasn't like this had never happened before. Her very bones ached with a weariness that she had eventually grown used to. She had accepted that it would probably always be there - there was no way she could take the holiday or vacation she needed to get rid of it. Caring for Reanna was a full time job. Sometimes she was even afraid to go to sleep, because that was when Reanna usually decided to go for walks. She would simply disappear, and Tara would go out of her mind looking for her.
Movement to her right jolted Tara back to reality. It was the man who owned the house; he had sat down next to her, and was watching her intently. Tara suddenly felt very nervous.
"I'm so sorry for intruding on your privacy�"she broke off. She realised that she didn't even know his name!
"Paul," the guy said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He stuck out his hand.
"Tara," she replied, accepting it. She gazed at his face, suddenly noticing how good-looking he was. He had short, dark spiky hair, and she realised as she studied him that he wasn't as young as she first thought. When she had first laid eyes on him she had dismissed him as mid twenties, but she looked closer she guessed he was maybe in his mind thirties. His eyes were hazel, and intense. With an intesity like that, he's probably an artist or something, she thought. His skin was pale, but looked soft to touch - his grin was nothing but devilish.
He grinned at her now. "It's nice to finally meet you," he said cheekily. "After such a long talk on the phone."
Tara blushed and chuckled.
"Sorry about that - I was worried." Paul waved her apology aside.
"Don't even think twice about it," he said. "I was just teasing." Tara opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a loud crash from the living room. She exchanged a glance with Paul, who winced and climbed to his feet to investigate, Tara not far behind.