Six weeks. Six weeks Bill had been missing. I was losing hair from pulling it all out. The first week he was gone was uneventful, save for my constant pacing, bouts of depression, and extreme touchiness. I confided in everyone, eventually, starting with Jade and Sam. They seemed very optimistic. Maybe that was for my benefit.

Second week I started to doubt my own fears, falling into my old habit of looking forward to him walking into the Corner, grinning like a mad bastard during lunch hour, or slipping into bed with me at four am, warm and freshly showered. Of course, this really came to a crashing halt in the middle of the third week.

I started to panic.

He'd never been gone so long before in one stretch. The only other time he'd been incommunicado had been a month and a half before, and Sam said he'd seen him at the cabin half-way through that period. Every day that went by, I believed it would be the day he'd walk in. Behind the denial my logical mind was shaking it's head.

The fourth and fifth weeks were spent in a long period of paranoia. Every sound, every whisper set me off. People started to discreetly keep their distance. The sixth week came and I started calling people, quietly (or not so quietly) putting out the word that I was looking for Bill. My first call was to Bully Hayes.

I could hear the crashing of waves, music, and people yelling and drunkenly singing. In port, Miami Beach. Loud, indeed.

I spoke louder, scaring the piss out of Brick, who had been lounging on the toaster (unplugged).

I nearly had to hold the receiver away from my ear. He was shouting.

Thanks, Bully.

Next was Mr. Pitt. He hadn't seen Bill in months, the last time being some sort of convoluted project involving many smuggled, black market, illegally altered, top secret whatever-the-fucks. His lengthy discussion came to a halt when he realized that the submarine he was on was submerging. I hung up confused as hell and certain that I'd heard more than I should have.

I also made the rounds in the house.

I was exhausted by the time I'd activated the troops, yet I still came home to an empty bed. I found myself crawling in between sheets that I'd neglected washing for a couple of long weeks and staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Not that I didn't want to, but I was so cranked up most of the time, it never came. Hard to believe all the shit that had hit the fan in the last few months. I'd gone from living virtually alone with Bill and Elmore in my ranch house in Lubbock, back home to running a zoo. One I'd never give up, mind you, but it could be a circus.

Sam. Dear God, Sam… lost his girl so quickly he barely had time to grieve. Hell, we'd all lost her. Riain and Cecily had nearly killed Jade, Cole had nearly taken me, then Bill, out. The children… beautiful kids, but a monumental surprise. and now I'm pregnant, and Bill is…

It sounded like a goddamn soap opera.

I slid out of bed and put on a pair of jeans and a Corner polo. No sue feeling sorry for myself all night. I'll work it off. If I get tired enough, maybe I'll just drop to sleep from exhaustion.

Yeah, that's why I'm suddenly manic…

At work, no one asked me why I was there, or why my shoes didn't match, although Jade and Elmore seemed to handle me with more care than usual. There weren't even half as many people in the bar than there normally was, but the decibel level felt like 17. Since I was extra help, I knew they wouldn't miss me, so I made my way towards the bar so that I could hide in the back room for a few minutes to find a little peace and quiet.

As usual, Ryan's voice struck a peaceful chord inside me, and I was drawn to it. I found he and Travis Lehman waxing rhetoric over imported beers. Travis was busy trying to confuse a somewhat shitfaced Ryan, who was leaning on the back of a chair and holding a Guinness.

Ryan contemplated his stout.

Ryan's eyebrows shot up. Lehman remained impassive.

Ryan finished his beer. Lehman patiently nibbled on pretzels.

Ryan seemed proud of himself. Lehman looked bored.

I shook my head.

He finally smiled.

Ryan started to open his mouth.

When I returned, Travis was munching absently on peanuts and reading paperwork. Ryan had wandered behind the bar and was contemplating the Bushmill's. I placed the beer in front of Lehman and he smiled when he looked up. One big hand rested on the back of the chair next to him, and he pulled it out.

No arguments from me. I dropped into the seat and took a pull off the beer that I'd brought for him. It tasted much better than it should have. Without preamble, a strange half-smile poised on his lips, he rapid fired,

The smile disappeared as the last four words hit the air. I could have sworn that the din subsided as I was left with his hard, penetrating stare.

I took another drink to break the maddening eye contact.

That was more than enough to signal my head to ache. I let my forehead bounce off the polished wooden surface of the table a couple of times before Lehman caught it in the palm of his hand. He said nothing, merely waited, while my head hung in the balance.

I rose my head and looked at him straight on.

He smirked humorlessly over a shot of brown liquid.

Apparently Elmore had granted him the use of his own bottle of whiskey, because he was pouring another shot shortly after downing the first.

He stopped and offered it to me. I took it and downed it.

The beer was getting warm. I didn't care. He didn't stop his search for the bottom of the bottle he was working on, either. But he didn’t shut me up, and he didn't hold my hand and tell me what a terrible life I was having. He simply listened as I dumped my guts all over the floor.

No more beer. I smiled sheepishly at Lehman. He shrugged.

I felt a bit embarrassed until I realized that I hadn't elaborated on how 'lost' I thought Bill was.

He held his shotglass up as in a toast and tossed it back.

I studied him as he studied the contents of his bottle. As always, I had the distinct feeling that there was much Travis Lehman wasn't saying. Often talking to him reminded me of talking to a blank wall. It seemed he took everything in and let nothing out. When I spoke next, it was on a pure hunch.

Lehman set the bottle down on the table.

He fished in the bowl of peanuts, extracted a few of the nuts and popped them into his mouth.

I sat back in the chair, suddenly very tired. I might have liked talking to Travis about what was driving me. I'd learned, over the years, that it was always easier talking to someone who had no stake in the outcome of the problem. It was why I hadn't even really been able to discuss things with Sam. He would have wanted to try fixing things, and there was no way to fix this. I might have liked talking to Lehman, but there was usually no talking to Lehman once he got past a certain point in his evening, and he was plainly well past it now

Now I was getting mad. He was right, but had he had to say it that way?

I gestured, with what I thought was a fair amount of derision, at the bottle on the table.

Lehman poured himself a generous shot. He picked up the glass and prepared to drink.

Lehman threw back his big head and laughed. Whatever else it did, the liquor didn't seem to have any adverse effects on his wit that I could see.

Lehman instantly shut down.

I rose to leave, and it seemed that I had no more than pushed the chair back under the table before Lehman had completely lost track of me. I walked quietly away. Hr had given me a lot to think about. But then he had probably meant to.