WARNING

Some of the books on this site contain material of a sexual nature or graphic violence and are only suitable for adults. By reading the excerpt below you release me as the author of any responsibility.

Prologue

It was always the same. A cliff edge. A man hanging by his fingertips. And a choice. Did he hang on, or did he let go? It wasn’t much of a choice. After a while his arms ached so much he just longed for it to be over, even though he knew it would be the end.

He always let go. It was only a brief moment, that split second of weightlessness before he fell, but such a sweet relief. Almost worth the nightmarish plunge into darkness that followed it.

He always woke up before he hit bottom. Alone, amongst crumpled sheets, the silence of the morning broken only by the sound of his own panic. Harsh gasps as he struggled for air and the unsteady pounding of his own heart at least told him he was still alive.

A few moments of bewilderment, taking in his surroundings, as if seeing them for the first time, and he’d know another day had started. Another, predictable, day.

The sun always rose, the hours ticked by and the sun always set. Sometimes it seemed as if he’d counted every second of the day and sometimes it was nightfall and he couldn’t remember one single thing he’d done.

Sleep was always a long time in coming, but then it started all over again. Hanging on by his fingertips, feeling them slip. Letting go. Waking up.

Until today. He lay still, trying to work out what was different.

The room still stank of beer, of stale cigarettes and yesterday’s meal. His clothes lay where he’d dropped them. The digital clock still rested on the haphazard stack of books beside his bed, its luminous numbers flashing at him in the semi-darkness. The curtains, half-closed because they were too small to cover the window, let in the weak morning light as they always did.

Familiar noises in the street told him that the world was getting ready for its day. Someone shouting. A car radio. A dog barking. The strange, breathless sound of a bicycle being ridden at speed.

He lay very still and listened and for the first time since this nightmare had started he couldn’t hear it. No panting breath, no hammering heart, no cries of terror as he struggled from dream to waking.

The thing that was different, was him.

As he lay there, trying to work out why, half-remembered fragments of his dream drifted back to him. For the first time, he hadn’t let go. Instead, he’d tightened his grip and pulled himself up, just far enough to see, and found the world just as he’d left it. As if it had been waiting for him.

Maybe it was time to go back? Pick up the pieces of his life, put them back together and see what he had. Find out how much was left of the person he’d been, once upon a time.

Every day was the first day of the rest of your life. Today that actually felt as if it was true.

He lay for a while listening to the birds singing their morning chorus before drifting away, letting sleep take him once more. When he next awoke it was eight a.m. and the room was flooded with light, the world outside was in full flow. For a moment it seemed that nothing had changed.

Except for a small spark of hope that still burned somewhere deep inside him. It was only a tiny flame, and if he thought about it too hard he could almost convince himself that he’d imagined waking up earlier so unaccustomedly calm.

He took a deep breath, rolled out of bed and stooped for his clothes. Sniffed at the armpits of his customary black tee-shirt and let it drop. Picked up his jeans and stepped into them. Moving over to the closet, he opened the door and scanned the meagre contents. His business suit was still there, still in the dry-cleaner’s plastic cover, untouched for the last two and a half years. Frozen in time, just like his dreams. Bought just as things were getting good, along with that stupid poster that told him anything was possible, as long as he believed.

Bloody hell, enough with the self-pity. All of a sudden it was too ugly even to think about. He swept the suit aside, along with the few shirts that hadn’t fallen off their hangers on to the floor, and rummaged on the shelf at the back until he found what he was looking for.

The longest journeys started with a single step - he’d had that poster too. Well, this could be it. The white tee-shirt smelled a little musty. Pulling it over his head, he smoothed it down. The day felt different already.

He finished dressing, and looked at the stranger who stared at him from the mirror on the inside of the closet door. The person who was too pale, too thin to be Daniel. The man who’d looked back at him and called him loser every day for the last two and a half years.

Daniel took one last look and waved the man goodbye. Closing the door, he went through to the kitchen, with something amounting to a spring in his step for the first time in two and a half years, picked up the phone and dialled a familiar number.

It was time to start living again.

Chapter 1

There’s no such thing as justice. It's blind for one thing. How the hell's it going to do its job if it can't bloody well see?

October just couldn't make up its mind. Cold and wet to start, catching the tail-end of the hurricane season with such ferocity that many of the shops on the beachfront rolled down their shutters and closed early for the year. Then it seemed to take pity and remember that cold was coming and folks needed a little something to see them through. The result was two weeks of glorious weather that brought the shopkeepers scurrying back for a last fling before they disappeared to Florida for the winter.

And the times, they were changing. Formerly known only for its antique shops, the usually sleepy little resort had woken up with a bang this year. Two new bars and an art gallery had brought in a new mix of young trendies intent on partying the summer away, and, more importantly for Callie Lester, a new wave of people with money to spend. People who were looking for something a little different to the ordinary junk that stuffed the windows of the run-of-the-mill antique shop. What had started as the brain-child of a late night drinking session was beginning to turn into quite a profitable business.

She dabbed in a few finishing touches to the painting and stood back to inspect her work. A little more contrast to the skirt, a few highlights to the hair and it was done.

"Oh, hi Mom." Callie turned to the sound of the door opening. Her mother appeared carrying two drinks and Callie’s eyes lit up. "Just what I needed," she said taking the frosty glass and rubbing it over her face and neck.

"Thought you'd appreciate it." Her mother smiled at the familiar gesture. "Finished already?"

Callie nodded. "Sure have. Starting another tomorrow. So, what do you think?"

"Amazing sweetheart, I don't know how you do it so fast." Anne perched herself on the edge of a table and took a long look at the painting. "You managed to talk someone into the bustle at last?"

"Yes, I thought it would have been more popular. Everyone wants to wear the regency costume. More romantic, I suppose." Callie put down her tea and moved over to the sink. "I'll just get cleaned up, then I'll come and sit outside with you. No more work for me today."

Anne looked at her watch. "I suppose I can spare half an hour, I did need to talk to you."

Callie stopped, only now noticing her mother’s business suit. "Uh- oh, you've got serious Mom-face on," she said, throwing down the towel. She retrieved her drink. "Something come up at work?"

"Sort of."

Anne was looking decidedly sheepish, avoiding eye contact, like someone does when they have news you're not going to like. Callie hurried out of the door with her mother and together they sat on the low wall that formed one of the beach-side boundaries to the house. Neither of them spoke for a few moments as they appreciated the light breeze that was picking up and listened to the soft swishing of the surf licking at the shoreline.

Callie took off her headband and shook out her hair. Running her fingers through it, she waited for her mother to tell her what was so important. It must be if she felt the need to interrupt her vacation for it. That part hadn't been hard to guess. Her mother's work was also her passion, but there was something else, and from the look on Anne’s face, it wasn't going to be good news.

"I had an interesting phone call today."

"Oh?" Callie tried to keep her voice casual, hoping desperately it wasn't dad-related, or even worse, boyfriend-related. Her mother who was as cool and hard nosed as it got when it came to convincing a jury of someone's innocence, was a walking disaster when it came to relationships. Another, even worse thought crossed Callie's mind and she groaned audibly.

"Oh, please no."

Anne put down her glass, looking a little indignant. "I haven't told you who it was yet."

"You don't have to. Let me guess." Callie stood up. "A one legged, out of work circus performer? Joey the chimp? Who is it this time?"

"Callie, calm down." Anne motioned her to sit and rested a hand on her arm. "You know how I feel about this, it's our duty to help those less fortunate than ourselves. You've never minded before."

"And you'd know that because you always consult me on these things?" Callie said looking pointedly at her mother. "Please, just for once, I would like to celebrate Christmas without having a weird bunch of strangers staring at me across the table. I’d like to have Thanksgiving with my family and not half the local homeless shelter." Anne opened her mouth to speak. Callie continued.

"Really, I thought it was just going to be the two of us. You know, quality mother-daughter time?"

"For heaven's sake, Callie." Anne looked at her watch, stood up and faced her. "You will go jumping to conclusions when I've said nothing about inviting anyone."

"You don't have to. Mom, Gran left the house to me, and I don't want it filled with down-and-outs and weirdoes."

"That's very mean-spirited of you, Callie. I'm sad to hear it when you've been so fortunate in life."

"That's not fair."

Anne inspected her nails; there didn't seem to be anything else to say. Too familiar an argument. Callie had learned long ago the futility of arguing with a mother who was also a lawyer. She stared out to sea instead, something she never tired of doing. It never failed to have a message for her. In all its incarnations it seemed to call to her just when she needed it. Offering solace and peace when she needed to be calm, absorbing her anger when it became too much to hold, and exhilarating and uplifting her when spirits were low.

"So, who was it, on the phone?" Directly in front of her was a thin line of dunes half covered with grass and beyond that a sandy cove curved away to an outcrop of rocks that formed the base of a steep cliff. She had planned to have a long bath then take a book and spend the afternoon lazing on the swing-chair. Suddenly Callie felt the urge to be up there at the top of the cliff, with the wind in her hair. She waited for her mother's answer.

"Daniel Denham, do you remember the case?" Her mother spoke quietly, almost apologetically, as if her part in the failure still hurt. Callie turned to her.

"Could hardly forget that one. Didn't see you for weeks if I remember. You lost, didn't you?"

Her mother looked so sad for a moment that Callie stood up to hug her, until she remembered why Daniel had been sent to prison.

"You have got to be joking. Please don't tell me you've invited him here."

"Callie, he was innocent. It was one of the worst cases of injustice I've ever seen. It took me two years to find a witness who would tell the truth for him. He needs work."

"Mom, it was rape."

"No it wasn’t. I can’t talk about specifics, but you’d be surprised how often this happens. Girl sleeps with a guy, regrets it, then cries rape."

Callie bit her lip. How could she forget her mother's near-obsession with that case. The tears she’d shed over it. How she’d moved hell and high water to secure Daniel’s release.

"I said I'd be here for him and he called today, out of the blue, and asked if I could put any work his way. He's into computers, website design, that sort of thing, so naturally I thought of you."

"No." Callie took two steps back and raised her hands. "No way, absolutely not. I'll get Clara to design me one, it can't be that hard."

"Honey, if you're going to do anything with all these plans of yours you'll have to go global, the website was your idea. You just need some professional help, what do you know about business plans, promotion and stuff? Daniel’s good, I've checked it all out. He had a promising career before all this happened."

"Okay, book a professional web designer, I know I need one. But, why him? How do we know we can trust him?"

"Don't insult me, Callie." Anne folded her arms. "Do you think I'd have invited him if I didn't think he was safe to be around?"

"Of course I don't. I just would like to have been asked. Tell him I've changed my mind and we'll get someone else. I would like the website up and running. Okay?"

"I can't, I've already told him to come. I'm picking him up while I'm in town and bringing him back for a few days. Just talk to him, Callie. See if you think you can work with him." Then she added in a hopeful tone. "I think you'll like him, he's a nice guy."

"What is this, a dating service? I'm twenty three and I'd like to make my own decisions about who I work with. You've got to stop trying to run my life."

"Okay, fine." Anne collected up the empty glasses and turned for the house. "I'll be back tomorrow. I've a couple of clients to check up on."

Callie followed her. "I'll be okay. Thinking I’ll invite Janine over for a girl's night in, if she's not doing anything. Wait up. I'm sorry about Daniel."

"No problem." Anne kept walking, muttering something about getting her car serviced when she was in town.

Inside the house Callie pulled off her old painting shirt and thought with longing about the bath she'd planned. And about the fact that her mother had given up so easily. It was so unlike Anne that Callie followed her into the kitchen instead of going upstairs. Her mother was stacking the dishwasher.

"Look Mom, I really appreciate you trying to help, really I do."

"I know, dear." Her mother closed the dishwasher door and reached over for the telephone. "Just call him and tell him you won't be requiring his services, his number's on the pad over there."

"You want me to do what?"

"Call him and tell him you don't want him to come because I'm sure as hell not doing it."

"You invited him, why should I do it?"

"Because, I want you to hear his reaction when you tell him."

It was a low blow. So like her mother. "That's emotional blackmail."

"I know," Anne answered. "Only marginally worse than you treating him with the same prejudice that most people will. Dismissing him out of hand without even having met him. Go ahead, make the call."

Callie dialled half the number before punching the off button and throwing the phone across the kitchen counter. Her mother was right, as she usually was. Callie wasn't really questioning that. She could believe how hard it was to rebuild a life shattered by something like this. It was her mother's method of delivery that irked her. Always assuming she knew best. Never asking before taking monumental decisions that affected all of them.

Anne liked to win, that was for sure, but Callie was learning fast. She stiffened her spine and replied. "You're right, telling him this way isn’t very kind." Her mother nodded, and patted her arm in understanding. Callie smiled and continued. "Bring him over. I'll tell him face to face, that's the best way to do it, isn't it?"

Anne's smile wavered slightly. She recovered remarkably well. She was, after all, the expert in this game of verbal one-upmanship.

"I'll do that, Callie." She picked up her keys and purse, checked the to-do list on the fridge, and leaned over to give Callie a peck on the cheek.

"I defy you not to want to help him once you meet him."

Callie folded her mother in a brief hug and stepped back.

"It'll be my decision."

"I know, honey, goodness, must be going or I'll miss my meeting. I'll be back tomorrow about eleven am. I know you'll do the right thing by Daniel. You know I'm right in this, don't you?"

We'll see about that. Callie waved her off and climbed the steps back into the house, rolling the stiffness of the long painting session from her shoulders. She shed her clothes as she climbed the stairs, loving the freedom of being in the house alone for the first time since she’d inherited it. On her way to the bathroom she stopped to adjust the portrait of her grandmother as a young woman.

“I’ll look after it all,” she told the smiling image. “Keep it just how you wanted it, you’ll see.”

In the silence, she could almost hear her grandmother laughing and telling her that the responsibility was hers now. Pass it on to your children in turn, she’d told her, just before she died. I can trust you to do that, can’t I Callie?

Callie closed her eyes and listened, wishing she could have her gran back. Knowing that life went on. The hypnotic ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hall drifted up the stairs, and the ever present music of the sea played in the background. Sounds so familiar, that when it was still and quiet like this she could almost imagine herself a child again, rushing eagerly through the front door to spend another summer in this beautiful old house, with people she loved.

Back then she couldn't ever imagine growing up, yet here she was, a woman at last. She couldn't imagine having to make decisions that might literally change someone's life, yet here she was about to crush Daniel’s hopes underfoot. He was trying to do something, get his life back together, but he was a man with problems.

Damn, she muttered. Just what I didn’t need right now. I’ll just have to be polite, but firm. He’ll understand, he’ll have to.

Instead of a bath, she took a quick shower and decided she needed a walk to work off the tension that dealing with her mother always left her with. Perhaps swing into town and visit Clara and Elsa, two friends who made the fabulous costumes the clients wore in her portraits. Then again, perhaps not. They both had an uncanny knack of reading people and Callie didn't want any searching questions thrown at her right now. Not when her mind was in such turmoil.

After locking up, she set off, intent on the cliff-path. Passing by her studio, she had a sudden urge to look at something she’d kept hidden for over two years. The folder was full of favourite sketches and she’d almost forgotten about this one. A simple pen drawing on a piece of scrap paper of someone she'd never met, but who she felt she knew intimately. All she really knew about him was that he had curly hair and wore reading glasses. And that he'd gone to prison for something he didn't do. She remembered Anne crying and talking about how awful it had been and Callie had grabbed the nearest paper and pen and distilled all that emotion into this drawing with no idea whether it looked anything like him or not. She'd been trying to capture feelings, the anguish and despair, and there it was, staring back at her.

Callie stuffed the picture back into the folder and slipped on her old shoes. Not my problem, not my problem. Perhaps if she repeated it often enough she’d believe it? The last thing she wanted was a certifiable basket case on her hands, not when things were going so well. Let him come. I’ll listen politely to anything he has to say, then just as politely tell him to go. Easy, right? They were only words, after all. He'd deal.

Chapter 2

I built myself this wonderful, fantasy world in my head. Castles in the sky, that sort of thing. Trouble is, I thought it would be waiting for me when I got out. I still find myself wondering where all the unicorns have gone.

It was amazing how something as simple as a haircut had transformed him. Daniel still didn't really know what or who he was seeing when he looked in the mirror, but at least the guy looked vaguely sane now. On the outside, anyway. Inside? Well, that was going to take a bit of work.

Hell, how did I managed to lose this much weight? Even belted up, the suit trousers looked ridiculous. He pulled them off and threw them back into the closet. The smart clothes made him look way too needy, anyway. It was only Anne after all; he'd never dressed up for her. He slipped back into his jeans, teamed them with a plain, blue shirt and stood back to study the effect.

It would do. Anne had called to say she was running late and she'd be here soon. He took one more look around, spotted his watch and picked it up. Wished he'd tidied up so he wouldn't have this mess to come back to. The couple next door were keeping an eye on the apartment, but the only thing worth stealing was his computer and that was going with him.

Hefting his bag onto his shoulder, he climbed the stone steps up to the road and spotted Anne, leaning on her car. A bright smile lit up her face when she saw him and she held out both her arms. She'd always been a hugger.

She felt sorry for him - he could tell that by the way the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Her mouth curved upwards. Her eyes, however, were taking him in and clouded with concern.

He tried for a smile too; difficult when he was so out of practice, and with his insides jerking about all over the place.

"Hello Anne."

"Daniel. Nice to see you again."

He moved quickly out of the hug, knowing she could feel how much he'd changed. How he'd gotten himself just thin enough to make a mother worry. And she'd almost been like a mother to him during the trial. She didn't say anything though, for which he was eternally grateful. He couldn’t do this if she made him worry about it - she seemed to know that.

"Sorry I'm late, Daniel, the meeting ran over."

"No problem Anne. Shall I?" He held up his bag and she nodded towards the trunk.

"Please, I told Callie we'd be back by eleven."

"So she's expecting us?"

"Oh yes. She was very excited when I told her about this. She can't wait to meet you."

"That's good." He reached into the back seat and deposited his laptop, then buckled himself into the passenger seat.

Polite conversation. Something he definitely needed more practice at. He hadn't been prepared for the rush of feelings just seeing Anne had caused. Dark memories he normally kept carefully hidden away.

"So, how've you been?"

"You know, so, so."

Talking to Anne had never been hard, but he couldn't open up just like that. Not after six months during which he'd swapped a prison cell for a dingy apartment, and at times hadn't been able to tell the difference.

She left it at that, giving him time to relax as the car made its way across town and out onto the coast road. He leaned back into the seat, and closed his eyes, letting himself get used to it gradually. He'd lived his life in a box for so long, it was hard to suddenly see the horizon. He concentrated on the smell of the leather seats instead, the sound of the music on the radio. And on the feeling of being taken over in a good way, rather than the evil, we're locking you away and there's not a thing you can do about it. Pride was a luxury he hadn't been able to afford for a long while and Anne was good at holding people's hands and leading them through dark places.

The feeling of well-being stole over him so gradually that when she next spoke he was about to drift off into sleep. He came back with a jolt.

She laughed softly. "Sorry about that, Daniel. I wouldn't have disturbed you if I'd have known you were asleep."

"No…no, I wasn't." He sat up, rubbing his face, and noticed the road now ran parallel to the coast which must mean they were nearing their destination. "Sorry about that, sort of zoned out for a bit there."

"No problem. Just wanted to let you know we're nearly home."

That sounded good. Part of him glowed inside at the way she'd naturally said home instead of my home, or the house, as if it was as much his as anybody's. So typically thoughtful of her. They were only small things, these random acts of kindness, but he latched on to them like a starving man.

The small coastal town had an old fashioned, cosy feel to it, the neat rows of houses just well kept enough to speak of a faded gentility.

"I'm guessing most of these are holiday homes now."

"And you'd be right," Anne said as they drove onto the main street opposite the boardwalk. "You can tell by the cars parked outside. Most ordinary folk can't afford the property prices around here. Very few of the old families are left."

The houses and shops, weather-boarded and painted in the muted pastels typical of this part of the coast reminded him of lazy summer days, lost youth and of times when the world held no worries or cares.

He wasn't fooled by it. In between the elegant eating establishments and antique shops stood an arcade with a typically bored-looking group of teenagers milling about outside, pushing and shoving at each other, their shrieks piercing the peace of the morning. A gas station stood at the far end, its garish neon sign an anachronism that seemed completely out of place. Daniel could well imagine a time when the curtains twitched whenever a stranger came into town. Each house would have a story to tell and its own secrets to keep.

Anne noticed him staring.

"That's the Anderson place. The old man fell out with the town council about something, and the result was that sign." She laughed at the memory and then again at the expression on his face. "If you'd known him, you'd have understood. His son Len runs it now, only his dad racked up so many debts with the drinking and the gambling there's no money left to change it."

Daniel nodded, still looking out of the window. On the other side of the shops the row-houses had given way to larger, grander structures each standing in their own grounds.

Typical Victorian seaside houses from what he could remember of his architecture, which wasn't much.

"He was very sweet on Callie at one time. Her first date as I remember."

Daniel frowned and turned back to Anne. "Who was?"

"Len. Oh, I'm sorry Daniel, you'd better get used to this if you're going to spend time with us. We're all terrible gossips around here. You can't sneeze without it being all around the town."

She must have seen the brief look of alarm that crossed his face because she added hastily. "Don't worry, no one knows about you."

He relaxed again. "Thanks Anne, appreciate that."

The house was the last on the row just at the point where the bay curved around in front of the road, making it impossible to drive any farther. The road narrowed down to a track which wound its way down to the beach. A spectacular setting, and probably worth a fortune. From what Anne had told him it all belonged to Callie.

Callie. Who he'd never met, but who he felt he knew as well as he knew her mother. Anne had liked to talk about mundane everyday things, before they went over their evidence. It had been her way of getting him to relax and he suspected, to present a more human face than just some lawyer who was in it only for the money. He knew they'd had a dog that had fallen off the cliff and died. Knew that she'd been raised here until she'd married, and they'd returned every summer until her mother had died and left the house to Callie.

Callie, who'd broken her arm falling out of her bedroom window when she was ten. Callie in her cute little skaters-skirt and boots, her hair done up in pigtails; Anne kept that picture in her purse. Callie who'd indulged her passion for dangerous sports until one of them had nearly killed her. And Callie whose first date had apparently been Len Anderson.

Anne swung the car onto the drive. "Go stretch your legs while I put the car away," she said, "I won't be a moment."

Daniel stepped out onto the gravelled drive and shaded his eyes against the sun, taking in the scenery while he waited. The grounds surrounding the house had a lush, sheltered feel to them. Just enough greenery to make him feel enclosed and safe from prying eyes, but not so much that it suffocated him. The house stood before him peaceful and serene, painted a cool grey that seemed to soften its edges and make it appear so much a part of the landscape surrounding it. Lending it a timeless quality, even though it wasn't that old in the larger scale of things.

He stood and breathed it in while Anne pulled the car into the old wooden garage that had probably been a coach house at some time. A small, red car was parked on the curve of the drive and a very ancient looking bicycle leaned against the porch railings. A sweet, earthy smell, overlaid with the sharp tang of salt filled his nostrils, and after she'd killed the engine, the quiet was broken only by the gentle swish of the surf and the intermittent wailing of the seabirds circling and dipping along the cliff.

There it was again. That sensation of well-being he'd felt earlier settling over him like a warm cloak. A feeling that life was about to resume its usual speed. The ugliness of the last two and a half years was melting away, and he almost felt normal, part of the human race again.

He accepted his bag and computer from Anne, who gave him a look of mild concern before patting him on the shoulder.

“I'm okay,” he whispered, nodding briefly before falling into step with her. They climbed the steps to the veranda. He stopped as she reached for the door-handle to let them in.

"Thank you, Anne."

She turned back to him. "You're very welcome, Daniel. It's the least I could do."

Her smile faded a little, as if she felt she had to make up to him some failure on her part.

"It wasn't your fault, Anne. You can't blame yourself. Just bad luck, that’s all."

"I know. I want to help you Daniel, you do know that?" She looked a little pensive and he found himself wondering if Callie was going to be anything like her, and whether she was going to welcome him quite as enthusiastically as her mother had implied.

"Of course I do. I really appreciate you letting me do this." He looked down briefly. "Wasn't easy making that call."

"I know. I'm glad you're here, Daniel." She swung the heavy door open and motioned him inside, calling for Callie. "You must think of yourself as a guest," she said, putting her briefcase down on the hall table. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go find Callie, she'll be dying to meet you."

She disappeared up the curving staircase, leaving him alone with only the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock that stood along the far wall for company. He put down his bag, deposited his laptop on a chair and glanced around at the open panelled doors leading off the large, square hall. One revealed a comfortable looking sitting room, another a charmingly old-fashioned kitchen.

The pictures adorning the walls looked old, or could just as well have been clever copies. He wondered if they were Callie’s work. If they were then she was good, very good.

He wandered about the hallway picking up an ornament here and there. Glanced at the local newspaper then dropped it back onto the windowsill. A large vase containing a solitary umbrella guarded one side of the front door, a bentwood coat-stand holding a denim jacket and a couple of battered straw hats stood on the other. He'd only been in the house for a few minutes and already it was talking to him. Telling him that people had loved this place and been happy here. A twinge of jealousy hit him as he imagined the quiet comfort it would provide to those lucky enough to live here. A cool, shady place in the summer, a warm, cosy embrace in the winter. Did they know how lucky they were?

As Anne's voice faded away he contemplated the owner of the hat and jacket which he'd decided must belong to Callie. Of course, he already had a picture of her in his mind which, strangely, the combination of straw and denim only reinforced. She'd wear them with a long flowery dress, her hair flowing across her shoulders. Like a shampoo advertisement he'd once seen on television. He laughed. People were never how you imagined them.

The tap on his shoulder took him completely by surprise and in the split second it took him to spin around the house faded away and he was back in Cell Block B, knife in hand, terrified; about to do something he'd never done before, and never wanted to do again. It was only a momentary flash and his jerk back to reality was just as swift. He found himself staring down at the hand coming towards him, his breath catching in his throat. Wondering why it wasn't holding a knife.

"I'm sorry, did I make you jump?"

It was a young woman's voice, bright and perky. The voice had a smile and the expected long blonde hair, although pulled back into a pony tail instead of flowing around her like an advertiser's dream. It filtered through by degrees as he shook off the shock of the memory and the hallway came back into focus. He knew it was Callie and that he should give her his hand. His brain was having a hard time catching up.

By the speed at which her smile was fading he knew he'd made just about the worst first impression possible. Her gaze dropped to his fist, which was still tightly balled and hovering in mid air, then flicked back to Anne who was behind her now.

"Callie, this is Daniel," Anne said, slipping her arms around her daughter. She gave Callie's shoulders a squeeze and he saw Callie stiffen and pull away slightly. "Daniel, meet Callie, she's very excited about all this, aren't you sweetheart?"

Callie's eyes widened and he got the distinct impression that if her mother hadn't been holding her she would have turned and run clean away from him. The hand was still there and he managed to get his to relax, at last, and take it. Arranged his features as pleasantly as he could, or at least so that he didn't look a complete jerk. Eventually, he even managed to speak.

"You did, make me jump that is. Sorry about that."

She nodded, briefly and had hardly gripped his hand before she was pulling it away.

Anne gave her a little push forward. "Why don't you show Daniel to the guest room? I'll make us some coffee."

She didn't want him here, he didn't have to be psychic to see that. She pressed her lips together and motioned him towards the stairs.

"Would you like to follow me?"

He had to stop himself from laughing out loud at the formality of her tone, answering instead with a quiet “yes, thank you," and reaching across for his bag and computer. As he followed her up the stairs he found himself answering her question again in his mind. Yes, he very much wanted to follow her and not only because he desperately needed this job. The money would be very welcome, since he was broke, although he didn't want to stay just for that. This place had called to him from the moment he'd stepped out of the car. Whispering seductively that he could be happy here, even if only for a short time. It promised order when his life had been chaos and it felt like a glimpse of heaven after he'd been forced to stare into hell. Anne wanted him to stay. Daniel already knew it would be Callie's decision.

"You can have this room," she said, opening a door at the far end of the landing. Perhaps he'd let the neediness show just a little too much, she looked back at him and her tone softened. "It's got a nice sea view."

"It's lovely," he said, dropping his bags and joining her at the window. "Thank you."

There was a slightly awkward beat before she answered him. A moment where she might have realised that he wasn't only saying thank you for the room.

Then she muttered "you're welcome," and left.

~

The only feature she'd got right were his eyes. It didn't matter, she'd still have recognised him. The blue had been a guess, although with his pale colouring, and gaunt face they fit him well. It didn't matter that the rest was wrong, the eyes were enough. She'd managed to capture the pain and the helplessness in the picture she'd drawn, but hadn’t expected it to still be there. Damn, now she had to add to it by telling him that she didn't need him after all.

The coffee maker was on; Anne was nowhere to be seen. Callie found her in the study booting up the computer.

"Oh, come here, sweetheart. I want you to see something."

"Mom, this isn’t a good idea. He's a nervous wreck and now I’m just going to make him feel worse by telling him I don't want to work with him."

Her mother didn't look up. "How can you possibly know that? You've only just met him?"

"Did you see him in the hall? I thought he was going to hit me."

"Don't exaggerate dear, he'd never do that, you startled him, that's all." Anne waved her nearer. "Now come here and look at this, I'll bookmark it for you so that you can read it properly later."

"What is it?" Callie went reluctantly and looked over her mother's shoulder.

She scanned the home page. Burden of Innocence. "What is this?"

"It's a website that deals with the psychology of wrongful imprisonment, the effects it has on the individual, that sort of thing. Just thought you ought to read it so you can understand what he's going through. His experience will have had a profound effect on him."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Callie said, slightly sharper and louder than she intended. She moved away from the computer, fully aware that her mother was slowly but surely backing her into a corner and there wasn't a thing she could do about it. But then she'd known that the minute she'd set eyes on Daniel. It didn't help that her mother had the moral high ground in this, or that she wasn't going to give up until she'd had her way.

"How upset's he going to be if I say no?"

"What do you think?"

"No, I asked you the question. Just answer me straight for once. You're not in court now."

"Anne pushed back the computer chair and stood up. "Okay, Callie. If you won't do it for him, and I do understand that you have no reason to want to, then do it for me. I want to do this and I need you to help me so I'm asking you straight. Let him do the job, be nice to him and let's help him get back on his feet. What do you say?"

Callie closed her eyes. All she could see was the way Daniel had looked when she'd startled him in the hall. He knew he'd blown it and what happened next rested firmly in her hands. I don’t want this, she thought, more with frustration than anger. Not now. When she opened her eyes Anne was still watching her.

"It's too complicated. I can't do this. What if I just mess him up more?"

Anne placed a quiet hand on her shoulder. "Yes you can, sweetheart, he's had all the professional counselling, just help him to connect with something real again. Be his link back to the world."

"But I'm just a kitchen-counter psychologist, I don't know anything about this."

"Then read the stuff I've shown you. Not too much, just go on instinct. He needs acceptance and reassurance, to find his place again."

"Why me?" Callie's voice was very small now, like her protests it faded away under the onslaught of her mother's logic. The hand slipped around her shoulder and she was folded in a hug.

"Thanks Sweetie, I knew you'd come round. You'll see, he doesn't bite."

"He'd better not," Callie replied, sitting down at the computer, bowing to the inevitable." The smell of percolating coffee caught her mother's attention. She turned for the kitchen, then stopped again at the door.

"By the way, I think it would be wise not to tell anyone what happened to Daniel, prejudice is going to be one of the worst things he's going to face in all this."

"Oh." Callie bit her lip and remembered the conversation she'd had with Janine only that morning. Her mother spotted it immediately.

"You've told someone?"

"Yes."

"Callie…" The hint of irritation in her mother's voice roused her.

"Yes Mom, I told someone, Janine as it happens. I'm not the expert here, although you always expect me to be. I said I might get things wrong and I obviously have. So, I'll just call her and ask her not to tell anyone."

Her mother raised her eyebrows. “Janine?”

"Okay, I'll tell her how important it is. She'll be cool."

Anne very wisely left it at that and went to see to the coffee. Callie turned her attention to the screen and read.

A Perpetual Battle of the Mind, Number One - Shock, Disavowal and Initial Betrayal

Gee, she thought, my favourite subject.

Half an hour later she was still reading.

~

Daniel was desperate for a smoke. Not in this house, he thought. He knew better than that. He needed to talk to Callie too. Much as he wanted to stay here, if she didn't like it, he'd go.

The room was as comfortably furnished as the rest of the house looked to be. A queen sized brass bed covered with a patchwork quilt, no surprise there. A bowl full of fresh roses on the pine chest of drawers. That did surprise him. They looked fresh enough that Callie might have put them there. Then again, maybe all the rooms had roses. Their thick, spicy fragrance went straight to his head and made his senses swim. Combined with a lack of breakfast it only increased his sense of being in another world. He sat on the bed and lay back.

It was very quiet, apart from the muffled pounding of the surf which at this distance made a gentle hushing sound that conjured up images of his grandmother soothing him to sleep, a finger on her lips. Telling him there was nothing to worry about, no monsters under the bed. Not any more.

He'd left the knife behind. Without it, he felt naked.

The old Daniel, and the new one. Sometimes they felt like two different people and sometimes the images would merge and the focus would sharpen and there'd be an entirely new person looking back at him. He laughed softly; no wonder he was messed up.

Hitching his feet up onto the bed, he drifted into the soft, downy quilt and allowed himself the luxury of just being. It felt safe enough here to do that. Nobody seemed to want him, for now.

If he closed his eyes he could almost hear fragments of times gone by, music, laughter, ripples of conversation floating up from the ground floor. Maids in long dresses with starched, white aprons and frilly little hats. Comical bathing suits. Ballgowns. The rustle of satin and lace. Secret assignations. Fluttering fans cooling blushing cheeks.

She'd soon be here, and he'd be waiting for her. Perhaps today she'd let him kiss her?

Did you kiss someone you'd known less than an hour? Would it be improper? He just didn't know any more.

A voice jolted him out of the dream. Not the beautiful young woman he'd been fantasising about, with blonde hair piled up on her head, laughing as she called him to join them downstairs for the dancing. It was Anne telling him that lunch was almost ready. For a moment he lay, disorientated, trying to remember where he was. The scent of roses brought him gradually back to the present.

Swinging his legs from the bed Daniel swept off the particles of dried mud his boots had deposited on the quilt, relieved that they hadn't left a stain, and found his cigarettes and lighter. The welcoming smell of fresh coffee wafted up the stairs as he made his way down. Anne was in the kitchen, making sandwiches. She turned to him.

"Help yourself to coffee and take a seat, I'll make us all lunch then maybe Callie will show you around the house and grounds. My great-grandfather bought the land in the mid nineteenth century. Built ten large houses on it."

Daniel poured himself a drink and slid along the bench seat to the large oak table in the centre of the kitchen. He nursed it for a few moments, waiting for it to cool and listened to Anne talk. It was her thing, taking the lead in conversation, making people feel relaxed. She'd know how hard this was for him, and how awkward he felt.

"Then he sold them off one by one and made himself a fortune. Is your room okay?"

"It's very nice, Anne. The location is fabulous."

"Isn't it? I've really missed it since I moved into town."

"I could see that. So this all belongs to Callie?"

"It does, but she already practically lived here with her grandmother before she inherited. I visit as often as I can."

"Big place for one person."

”My mother left her a fund to maintain the place, or she really wouldn't have been able to afford to keep it. Although, she's doing quite well now that she's taking her art work seriously. That's where you come in, Daniel. Have a cookie, or two."

"Thanks, Anne, they look delicious, home-made?"

Anne laughed, poured herself a coffee and sat opposite him. "Who me? And Callie didn't make them either, before you ask. Neither of us are big with the domesticity. These are Clara and Elsa specials, couple of friends of Callie's who make all her costumes for the business. They have a crystal, new-age type shop just off the boardwalk."

He smiled at that. The picture he'd made in his head of Callie wasn't turning out to be anything like the real thing. "Like mother, like daughter, eh?" Then he turned serious. "How much is she going to mind me being here?"

"She's okay with it, I told you, don’t worry. How does lunch on the veranda sound?"

"It sounds great. Come on, be straight with me Anne. Callie doesn't really want me here, does she? Thinks I'm some crazy lunatic and after what happened out there, I don't blame her."

Anne inspected a cookie and put it back on the plate. "That's the second time someone's asked me to be straight with them today. Must be something to do with being a lawyer."

He kept his gaze steady. "I can't stay if she doesn't want me, you must know that."

"I do. Okay, I'll be honest, she wasn't thrilled with the idea, and I mean this in the kindest way, she is worried about your mental state, we both are."

"For different reasons, I'm guessing."

"Daniel," Anne began, hesitating as if she was picking her words very carefully. "Callie is the most precious thing in the world to me. If I didn't feel I could trust you with her life, believe me, you wouldn't be here."

He hesitated too. Her faith in him was touching, but also scary in its expectations.

"And Callie?"

"I'll admit she was apprehensive. Don’t worry, Daniel, she's no shrinking wallflower. She may look small and sweet, but she's done and seen more than most women her age. Got black belts in three different martial arts. I told you she nearly killed herself cave-diving a few years back. She doesn't do helpless female."

He'd already worked that one out. "Are you telling me that part of her doesn't see me and automatically hear the word rape, even though in her mind she knows I'm innocent? Hell, some days even I could believe I was guilty. Prison does that to you. People go to prison because they're bad and after a while you just start believing that's you. Because, why are you there if you're not bad? Gets all kind of clouded up in your brain. You know?"

"I do. You've got to believe it won't always be like that. Callie knows you're innocent."

Anne finished up her coffee. She seemed to sense that he hadn't said everything and sat quietly across from him while he drank. He wondered if Callie was going to be as good a listener as her mother or whether he'd be able to talk to her at all. Although he felt guilty for burdening them with his problems, he knew that this opportunity was a gift, generously offered, and one he shouldn't let slip through his fingers.

"Bloody complicated, isn't it? I feel pathetic for needing this so much," he said it in a light-hearted, throwaway tone.

His flippancy didn’t fool Anne. "We all need someone, Daniel." She said it softly then stood up and fetched the plate of cling-film covered sandwiches she'd made earlier. "Here, you take these and I'll bring the drinks, would you like a beer?"

"Sounds good."

"Okay, it's in the basement fridge, I won't be a moment. Go ahead, it's a shame to waste such a sunny day so late in the year."

"It is that," he agreed.

She disappeared into the hall leaving him to find his own way outside. The veranda wrapped around the house and he found a table and chairs as well as a swing seat on the back section. He deposited the sandwiches and sat down.

Why on earth had he made that comment about feeling pathetic? It was enough looking the part, without overstating it. The sandwiches looked damned good too - the cookies hadn't done any more than take the edge off his hunger. He looked around for Anne, or Callie, wondering if they'd think him terribly impolite if he started without them.

That thought made him laugh out loud. After all he'd been through in prison here he was worrying about table manners. A small fragment of the old Daniel again. Sometimes he recognised pieces of him and stored them away thinking that one day he might be able to put him back together. He shook his head. However much he tried, nothing seemed to fit anymore.

Daniel leaned his elbows on the table, rested his chin in his hands and thought about Anne’s words. They all needed someone, and she'd sounded as if that applied to her as much as anyone. It gave him pause, and reminded him once again that appearances were often deceptive. He knew that. He'd just forgotten that it applied to other people too, and not just him.

~

She wasn't sure who watched Daniel from the study window. Callie the psychologist? That was a new one. Her head was bursting with questions she was almost too scared to ask. If he'd been through half of what she’d just read on the website it was a miracle he'd survived at all. The mental stuff she'd been prepared for - resentment, regret, fear of it happening again, but the rest had been a shock.

People convicted on the flimsiest of excuses. The culture of violence and intimidation. Knives and homosexuality. They'd come up time and time again in the testimonials. Things she thought were played up for television and films were more than real and could have happened to the man who sat just a few feet away.

Callie the artist already had a pencil and paper in her hand, sketching his back view as he hunched over the table. Paying particular attention to the slender curve of his neck where hair curled over his collar.

And finally there was Callie the friend, the one, she suspected, he needed more than anyone right now. He'd sneaked a sandwich from the plate and was stuffing it into his mouth, so she gave him a few moments, not wanting to embarrass him by letting him know she'd seen him. When he'd smoothed the cling-film back in place to his satisfaction, and was sitting back nonchalantly in his chair, she slid up the sash window and climbed over the ledge onto the veranda.

He had to be the jumpiest person she'd ever met. This time his chair nearly toppled over when she appeared behind him uttering a cheery “hi there”, which in retrospect wasn't the brightest of things to do given his earlier reaction to her sudden appearance.

"I'm sorry," was all she could think of to say, as he grabbed hold of the edge of the table and righted himself. "Didn't mean to make you jump. Again," she added, noticing how red his cheeks had gone.

Boy, did this man need rescuing. She pulled up a chair, trying not to stare at him too hard. Lovely bone structure, just thin enough to have interesting hollows and shadows. And it was one thing knowing the theory. Quite another applying it. Where on earth did she start?

"Seems you're good at that," he said, recovering his composure. His gaze flicked to the plate of sandwiches. Callie couldn't resist it.

"She makes a mean tuna-mayo, don't you think?"

"They look great."

She had to hand it to him - he had a very good innocent look.

"You've got mayo on your cheek, right there." She leaned forward and pointed it out to him, unable to stop a smile spreading across her face. "No worries, I won't tell."

Daniel wiped his cheek clean, giving her a bit of a smile in return. Rusty was how she'd describe it. As if he hadn't smiled very much in the last few years.

"Rumbled me then? Forgot to have breakfast. Sorry about that."

"Do you do that often?"

"What, steal sandwiches?"

"No, forget to have breakfast."

"Mostly."

She took pity on him. "Come on, let's get started, Mom won't be out for a while."

He sat forward eagerly." Shouldn't we wait for her?"

"No," Callie said, pushing the plate towards him, "She'll be right behind that door, listening, but she won't appear until she thinks you and I have had a good talk." She said the last part much louder for her mother’s benefit.

Daniel had only taken two sandwiches. Callie took another two and dropped them onto his plate. "Eat, and don't stop until they're all gone."

Daniel raised his eyebrows in momentary surprise before muttering "yes mum," and digging in. Callie sat back in her chair nibbling on her own sandwich, watching with some amusement while he tried not to eat too fast. He finished all four before she got through hers and was already eyeing the remainder hopefully. When she offered him seconds he refused. Just as she did when her mother implied she should eat more because she was too thin. Okay, it was a start, and her mother could come out any time now because Callie couldn't think of anything else to say. Daniel opened up the next round of the conversation.

"That's better," he said, and fished into his pocket for cigarettes and a lighter. He offered her one, which she waved away since she didn't smoke and he didn't seem to have noticed that she was still eating.

"Mind if I smoke?"

Callie popped the remainder of the sandwich in her mouth. "Go ahead, but not in the house."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He flicked the lighter a couple of times and took a deep drag, turning his head so the smoke wouldn't blow her way. She pushed her empty plate towards him when he looked around for somewhere to flick the ash and it was only then that she noticed the thin scar running down the curve of his chin.

"How did you do get that?" she said tapping her own chin to indicate what she meant.

He looked mystified for a moment and leaned forward. "Oh, you mean this? he said, touching the scar. Few years back, last time I was in London. Got myself mugged."

"England?" That was a nice safe topic of conversation. "Thought your accent sounded strange, so, you're English?"

"No, I'm as American as you. Was raised mainly by my gran in England, though. Hence the accent."

"Oh." The conversation petered out once more as she racked her brain for something to add. Something that wouldn't be too personal, it was too soon for that.

He smoked his cigarette down and stubbed it out onto the side-plate.

"My parents did a lot of travelling, high powered careers, didn't have time really. Too busy wining and dining very important clients. You know how it is?"

That was something they had in common. "I do, Mom gets so involved in her cases, that I sometimes feel like I don't have a mother."

Completely the wrong thing to say. The shutters came down and he reached for another cigarette.

"She talked a lot about you," he said.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything. She does it with all her clients. A hundred and ten percent, that's my Mom."

Another silence while he lit his cigarette. Callie frowned at it, hoping he wasn't going to chain smoke the whole time he was here and the silence turned rather awkward as neither of them seemed willing to pick up the thread of the conversation. Finally Callie decided she couldn't do this by the book. What had her mother said? Go on instinct? She took a deep breath, causing him to look up at her.

"Daniel," she said, stopping to make sure that he was giving her all his attention. He was. She also saw something else. A look of apprehension clouding his eyes as he waited, cigarette half-way to his mouth. For her to reject him, she realised. He thought she was going to tell him to go. And to be fair, she hadn't really given him any reason to think otherwise.

"No Daniel, it's not that," she added quickly. He didn't move, didn't reply. She could see the battle he was fighting. Jaw clenched, eyes wide, he steeled himself for what he must have thought was inevitable. As if he couldn't decide whether to beg her for it or run away. And for the first time, Callie truly appreciated the value of the gift she was giving him. She leaned forward and put her hand on his arm, not wanting him to go before she'd spoken. Unable to get the words out quick enough. "I want you to stay and design me a website,” she said. “Mom says you're good, and she's never wrong, believe me. What do you say?"

His eyes scanned her face, looking for proof of what she'd just said. She gave him another encouraging smile and a nod.

"Stay as long as you need to. Yes?"

For a moment he didn't say anything and she thought that maybe she'd blown it, and he was going to go anyway. A stab of panic ran through her at the thought, causing her to curl her fingers around his wrist and hold on. Not too tightly. She held him carefully because he felt fragile, and not just on the outside. What she'd seen in his eyes was a pale reflection of what he must be feeling inside.

But it felt as if he'd been strong, once upon a time, and that was a good sign. "Stay. I'd like you to." She let him go and waited for his answer.

"I thought…" he began.

"Yes, so did. Daniel, I really would like you to stay."

"Your mum beat you up, did she?"

"The decision was always going to be mine."

"So, now you're feeling sorry for me?"

"Obviously not as much as you are." She sat back, challenging him. "You are up to this, aren't you?"

"Bloody right, I'm up to this."

That had been a gamble. Callie relaxed inside. What Daniel needed was respect, not pity. Someone to make him realise that he was an okay person, rather than a sad one. He wasn't a blind man walking in the dark, and she didn't intend to treat him like one.

"Good. You'll have to run fast to keep up with me."

"No problem. I'll be there."

"I'm glad," she said, smiling for herself now. Already he looked different, and she'd done that. It was a good feeling.

Anne joined them then, passing beers round and cheerfully telling Daniel he shouldn't smoke so much. He just as cheerfully stubbed the cigarette out and told her he wouldn't.

As they fell into a conversation about the merits of soccer versus American Football Callie studied him and thought that perhaps she'd invite Clara and Elsa over. Perhaps they'd be able to give her a better insight into what she was dealing with.

The way he'd risen to her challenge heartened her. Some fighting spirit was left inside the rather pathetic exterior he presented to the world. He wasn’t unattractive - she could believe that before this he'd been quite the charmer, and he had a most unusual face. Sharp angles, soft lips, light brown hair that looked just this side of untamed. No sign of the glasses, yet.

He was way too thin, but she knew how irritating it was to have that thrown at you all the time.

"Ice cream," she announced when Anne started to clear away the dishes. "I feel like something fattening, who's coming for an ice-cream?"

"No thanks sweetie," Anne said. "It's just me, the swing chair and a good book this afternoon."

"Okay, Daniel?" Callie held out her hand. "You up for a Hogey's special?"

"What the hell's a Hogey's special?" he said pushing back his chair.

Callie laughed and turned for the house. "It's a challenge. I'll get my purse, then I'm going to show you the biggest ice-cream that ever walked the earth. You'll never finish it."

"Wanna bet?"

"It's a sure one."

"That was a stroke of genius, Callie,” Anne said when they were alone in the kitchen. “Take the money out of the jar, my treat."

"Mom, we're not a pair of teenagers. I think I can run to a couple of Hogey specials. Oh my, I'm going to get enormously fat doing this. You could have warned that this would involve me turning into a blimp."

"He's not going to eat it alone though, is he?"

"I suppose not." Callie pulled out a ten dollar note from the jar on the kitchen counter. "Can't even remember how much they cost. Okay, see you later. Make way for blimp-Callie."

"Come on Daniel," she called walking back onto the veranda. "Let's go gain weight."

Chapter 3

You never get to relax. When you're in prison, you're constantly looking over your shoulder and worrying about what's going to happen next.

Something about bonding over a giant ice-cream broke down the barriers faster than weeks of getting to know someone ever could. He watched Callie tuck into the giant confection, uncaring that she was getting it all over her face, and matched her mouthful for mouthful because he wasn't going to be made to look a wimp by someone half his size. Both of them went way past the stage at which they'd started to feel sick.

Daniel wondered if she knew that he'd never give up, even if it killed him. That he'd got through two years of prison through sheer determination alone. He'd surprised himself by not giving up on life - he wasn't going to give up on an ice-cream.

"I'm impressed," she said, giving him a sideways look as they strolled back along the boardwalk.

"Why? Didn't think I’d do it?" He walked beside her, hands in pockets, keeping close. The sunny weekend had brought out the crowds and the seafront was bustling with people, some milling about, others shopping, sunbathing, children shrieking and screaming. An organ-grinder played while a real-live monkey held out a cup, begging for coins. Callie dropped in the change from the ice cream.

"No, it's not that." She thought for a moment. "If I'd ordered you another, you'd have eaten it, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," he replied, stepping aside for a couple of teenagers on skates who shouldered between them.

Another short silence, then she turned to him again. "Is that what it was like in prison?" Her directness stopped him in his tracks. She stopped too, elbow on the boardwalk railing, waiting for an answer.

"Yeah," he said, unable, or possibly unwilling, to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Prison was like that. You do whatever it takes to get through, no matter how sick it makes you feel."

She watched him patiently. "I'm still impressed.”

"Yeah, me too." He wasn't sure whether he was referring to himself or her when he said that. If it was him, it was the first time he'd thought of himself in those terms. He'd certainly never patted himself on the back and congratulated himself for surviving all this. All he could remember was the sigh of relief

"You should be," she said, turning to look at the sea. "Let's walk back along the beach." Before he could answer she was running down the steps leading from the boardwalk to the sand, slipping off her shoes. He left his boots on and followed her. She wasn't having that.

"No, Daniel, take them off, the sand's lovely and warm, let yourself feel it."

He hesitated and shook his head. "I'm fine, let's just get back." It felt as if everyone was looking at him, whispering behind their hands, the children pointing. "Didn't you say you had work to do?"

"It can wait. Take them off, go on. You're not walking along this beach in those boots."

She dipped towards him as if she was going to do it for him. He sidestepped sharply at her sudden movement. Get a grip, he told himself. Just a girl, just Callie. Callie gave him a brief look of concern and stood up. Slowly this time so as not to startle him again.

"What, you've got hobbit feet or something? Don't want me to see?" It made him laugh and broke the tension. Sitting on the steps, he took them off, stuffed his socks inside and tied the laces together like he used to do as a child.

"You see," she said, "no hobbit feet. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

She didn't look as if she wanted an answer, so he didn't give her one as they negotiated the crowds clustered around the steps. Happy people enjoying normal things. He walked among them, felt the same gritty sand between his toes, the same sun warming his back – then why didn’t he feel a part of them any more? He wondered if he'd ever lose this feeling of being an alien in a world that now felt all wrong. A world that had left him behind. Would he ever be able to walk by himself again without needing someone to follow?

"The ice cream," she said when the crowd thinned out. "It was just a joke, you didn't have to eat it all."

"Now you tell me."

"No, I mean it. Look, sit with me for a while. I need to talk to you."

The words caused a small thread of panic to ripple through him, as it had done just before she'd announced that she wanted him to stay, back at the house, and suddenly he couldn't remember whether she'd actually said it or not.

"Sure, you want to talk about the website?" he said, tentatively.

"No, there's plenty of time for that. I want to talk about you, if you don't mind."

It was bound to happen. Of course she'd want reassurance that he was okay, like everyone did. That story he knew off by heart. Hadn't he been telling it for the last six months?

"No, I don't mind," he said, "but I warn you. I'm a very boring person."

"Everything's okay?"

"Couldn't be better."

"That's good."

The house was about half a mile from the town centre and they'd almost reached it. Apart from a group of teenagers who were vainly trying to get a kite to fly, the beach was deserted. Callie led him over the dunes near the wall of the property, where she sat down and pulled off her sunglasses. Arranging her skirt over her drawn-up knees, she patted the space beside her.

"Come on, and don't look so worried, Daniel," she said, hands shading her eyes. "I just want to get to know you. Wouldn't you like to do the same with me?"

In another world, maybe. Another time, when he'd have been down on his knees in front to this beautiful woman quoting poetry by now. Somewhere, there was probably the perfect line for the way the sunlight caught her golden hair when it lifted in the breeze. The way her eyes softened as she looked up at him. He didn't know what colour they were because he hadn't gotten that close yet, but they no longer held any fear. Her initial reaction he'd been expecting. This quiet acceptance disarmed him completely. She didn't see a monster like most people did and she was the first woman since he'd come out of prison who'd heard his story and was still willing to sit in a secluded place and be alone with him.

God yes, this was a moment worthy of poetry. But he couldn't think of a single line. And even if there had been any poetry left in his life, the Daniel who'd quoted it so eloquently just wasn't there any more.

~

The hell he was okay. Callie knew bullshit when she heard it.

"Earlier," she said squinting up at him. "I didn't mean to be so hard on you."

"Oh, when was that?" he said picking at the knot he'd made out of his laces.

"When I said you felt sorry for yourself. Sounds a little harsh now, you have every right to."

"No. It’s just what I needed, a good kick up the backside. Bloody knot."

Callie watched him struggle with it, cursing under his breath, fingers jerking and twisting. "Give them here," she said reaching up. "You're just making it worse, let me do it."

He gave another token pull before dropping down beside her and handing them over. "Got no patience with that sort of thing."

"I can see that," she said, eyeing the mess he'd made. It wasn't going to be an easy conversation and she was glad of the distraction while she thought of the right thing to say. He positioned himself carefully, not touching her, but she got the impression he needed to be close. As if he wasn't comfortable being out in the open. That figured, she thought finally freeing the laces. Being locked in a tiny room for so long had to do things to you.

"There, all done," she said and handed them back to him. "I meant what I said before, Daniel, Dan? What do people normally call you?"

"You want the polite answer to that?"

"I'll call you Daniel then?"

"Sure," he replied tying off the boot-laces and wrapping his arms around his knees. "I'll answer to anything."

The nonchalance didn't fool her either, it was far too studied, like a well-practiced drill. And his name. She should use his real name. Did you ever hear your real name in prison?

"You don't have to, not any more."

"No, I don't. Kind of got used to it though."

"I can imagine."

"No, you can't," he said quietly.

Callie picked up a handful of sand and watched it run through her fingers, and scatter in the wind. She couldn't imagine what it was like to have your freedom taken away. To have your life spoon-fed to you with no control over it. "I know what you were accused of Daniel,” she said. "And I know you were innocent." She turned to him. "I'm not scared of you. Is that what you're worried about?"

"I was." He laughed to himself. "Until I met you. Your mum said you were one tough lady, and after watching you demolish that ice cream, I'm thinking she was right."

"So you'll talk to me? I can't work with you if this is going to be hanging between us. I'd like to know I'm not going to offend you by asking you things."

"Yeah, it's cool," he said picking up a shell and inspecting it closely. "Look at that. It's beautiful."

"I know," she said taking it from him. "I paint pictures of them, on boxes, that kind of thing is very popular right now."

"Yeah? Where do you sell them?"

"Couple of friends of mine have a Crystal shop on the boardwalk."

"That'd be Clara and Elsa?"

"Mom's told you all the gossip? Bet she didn't stop talking the whole journey down."

"Had some of their cookies earlier. I like your Mom, she's a nice lady."

"She's going back to work, so it'll just be you and me in the house."

"And you're okay with that?" A slight tightening again, as if he was on a journey of one step forward, two steps back.

"Just told you, didn't I?"

He breathed again, shoulders dropping as the tension released. It made Callie realise just how unfair on him this conversation was when he was still so obviously unsure of where he stood in all this. The inward-facing body language. The clenched hands. The way he watched her constantly, analysing every movement of hers, every facial expression, told her what an effort all this was. She'd summoned him to sit with her like a school principal about to read the riot act to a wayward student and he still didn't seem to have got the message that she wanted him to stay. Perhaps she wasn't saying it right? Or perhaps he just wasn't hearing it?

A thick, almost tangible silence stretched between them. Callie stared at the kite that had somehow managed to get airborne and felt the energy coming off him. He radiated a strange kind of melancholy, like someone who's searching for something and is at the point of despairing that they'll ever find it.

Lost, that's how he felt and all she had to do was reach out, take his hand and show him where the road was. He wasn't touching her, yet his unspoken plea for help hovered between them, whispered to her and made her skin tingle. The lightest of things, but the weight of responsibility it placed on her shoulders was the heaviest she'd ever felt.

"You okay, Callie? Gone kind of quiet."

He was watching her thoughtfully, and at least looked more relaxed now. Leaning his head back against the wall, he'd unwrapped himself a little and looked less tightly coiled. One hand played idly in the sand, the other hung loosely between his knees. His face, tilted back, caught the glancing light causing fascinating highlights and shadows, and Callie wished she had a sketchbook to record it.

Be his link back to the world. Her mother's voice rang in her ears.

"Yes, I’m okay." She stood up, shook the sand out of her skirt and slipped into her shoes. "And you're going to be too, Daniel. Come on, I'll show you round the rest of the place."

~

Her eyes were green and from nowhere the perfect line had popped into his head.

Oh, though art fairer than the evening air, Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.

Cheesy as hell, but that was Daniel for you. Always ready with the sweet talk. And look where it had gotten him.

The gate was locked, so they climbed over the wall into the garden. He gave her his hand and helped her down, earning a curious look. Playing the gentleman because, even though he suspected she was made of steel she covered it with an endearing femininity that called to a part of him he thought was long lost.

She was small and sweet, and that made him He-Man, Master of the Universe. Or it would have, once upon a time, if he still went to that place. When she walked on ahead to a small wooden structure half-hidden behind a copse of trees, the sun shone through her skirt and made it almost see-through. The thin, flowery cotton swung to a fro and Daniel stuffed his hands into his pockets and tore his gaze away. Just because he’d been burned by one didn’t mean he’d stopped being attracted to women. His heterosexuality was the one thing he’d been determined to hang on to while he was inside. A pretty useless prize, though. Whenever his thoughts strayed to anything sexual, all he saw was Mandy, the woman who’d accused him.

"See," she said, pulling back the door. "Hot tub. Gran installed it for us, but the town council wouldn't let us have it in the garden so she got Craig to build this."

The cover was off and a steamy mist hung over the water, which glittered invitingly as it caught the sun's rays through the open doors.

"Isn't it fabulous?" Callie said. "We've had some great parties here. There's swimwear in the house, if you haven't brought any with you that is. I hope you'll use it while you're here."

"Who's Craig?" he asked, neatly sidestepping her question.

She didn't press him on the swimwear, or lack of it. Or hot tub parties. Instead she led him back outside again and answered him cheerfully.

"A very, very dear friend of mine. Runs a small building firm, more of a one man band really, but he sometimes takes on a local boy to help when he gets busy. Does all the maintenance on the house, which means he's here a lot. Come on, I'll show you my studio."

He almost did have to run to keep up with her. Bright, perky and enthusiastic, three more words to add to his Callie vocabulary. And who was Craig? Just exactly how dear was he to her? Questions he didn't have a right to ask. He kept quiet and let her lead him to the place where she worked; where he'd find more clues about who she was.

The studio was in an outbuilding attached to one side of the house. It might have been a barn or a stable at some time - the ceiling was high with exposed beams and a half-floor formed a loft area where hay would have been stored. Light and sunny and lined with shelves holding all the usual artists' paraphernalia, it had a disordered charm about it. Several finished canvases stood against the walls and an easel with a new canvas taped to it took centre stage.

"That's the latest," Callie said standing back to look at one of the paintings with a critical eye. "Oils take ages to dry, not my favourite medium but the sitter really wanted it. Gonna put it in a big gilt frame, all stately home-like. What do you think?"

"Bloody hell." The appreciation was completely spontaneous. It was good, but then again, having met Callie he shouldn't have expected any less. "I think we ought to get that website up and running as fast as we can. How much do you charge?"

"One hundred and fifty dollars, maybe two hundred for a large one. Too much? And I really was only thinking of putting the boxes on the website."

He shook his head. "You can get way more than that. People aren't just buying a painting here, they're buying a family heirloom." He moved in closer and squinted at the other painting. It was a watercolour, a lot more delicate, showing that she had a good mastery of a variety of styles. He didn't need his spectacles to see that. "You said it yourself, stately homes, big gilt frames. Appeal to people's vanity, their delusions of grandeur and you're on to a winner."

"I already thought I was," she said opening a small fridge and producing two cans of Coke. "Here, catch. So, you’re going make me a millionaire then? Come on, I can see those brain cells working from here, what are you thinking?"

"Well," he said turning around slowly, taking it all in. "You've got photos of all your paintings?"

"All the past stuff, yeah, I always take loads of photos. In fact, don't tell anyone, but I work mainly from photos." She giggled. "All I need is an initial session with the model to get the pose and the face, and a few colour references. I take a whole bunch of photos and I do a series of sketches which they approve, then that's it, really."

One end of the studio was set up for the model with a wing back armchair, a dining chair and a one-armed sofa covered in plush red velvet. A few impressive looking ferns and what looked like an aspidistra stood against the wall in large pots. Heavy red velvet drapes adorned the backdrop which was painted with mock panelling and a trompe l'oeill window.

"I use the house too, depends on what the client wants." Callie wandered across the room. "Come and sit down, you've got ideas, I can tell. Get 'em out while they're hot."

All that talent gone to waste. One of his tutors had said that to him soon after he was arrested. The old Daniel had been an ideas man, a real thinker, a problem solver and all the energy that should have gone into a sparkling career had been stomped on so hard he'd thought there was nothing of it left. But the moment he'd walked in here it had all switched on again. Not gone, he thought with relief, just buried somewhere so deep he hadn't been able to find it, until now.

"Lie down," he told her. "Like this." He bent his elbow and placed his hand flat against his head. "Lean on one arm."

She stared at him for a second before catching on to what he wanted. "The classic pose," she said, hitching up her legs and bending one knee to complete it. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we need to get you into some of those dresses and take some pictures for the website. Do you do any advertising?"

"Not really," she replied arranging her skirt. "Goes mostly by word of mouth."

"Not anymore," he said, warming to his subject. "Got any good looking friends?"

"A few, you mean we get them all to dress up and pose?"

"Yeah." He tilted his head from side to side, visualising his thoughts. "We pose everyone in the costumes, soft filters, nice lighting. You paint them, then we put the photos and pictures on the website. Sort of your face here. Show them a beautiful woman and they're already halfway to thinking it's them."

Callie sat up. "Or a handsome man. I love it, Daniel. The whole costume and dressing up thing, all about selling an illusion, isn't it?"

"You've got the perfect set up here, the house, the beach. Do you do location shots?"

"I haven't yet, but I can see it." Callie lifted her arm dramatically. "Enigmatic woman with parasol sitting on the dunes."

"Victorian Picnic," he said, walking across the room and sitting down in the armchair.

"French Lieutenant's Woman standing forlornly on the pier waiting for her lover to return," she added with infectious enthusiasm. "And talking of lovers, how about we do a naughty nineties spread? Late nineteenth century fin-de-siecle decadence. I've got the most amazing collection of period underwear. The bedrooms would be the most perfect location."

It stopped him dead in his tracks. He wasn't allowed to talk about things like that. Wasn't supposed to be visualising her spread across the brass bed wearing satin and lace with little pink ribbons threaded through. Too dangerous. Always that question in the back of his mind, what if it happens again? The impossible had already nearly destroyed him once, what was to stop lightning from striking twice?

"Daniel?"

"Callie?" Her face came into view. He couldn't remember her getting up, or moving towards him.

"They're all wonderful ideas. I love it."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. What happened just now? You were in full flow and you just froze."

He focused on her face, heck, he'd thought this was going to be hard, but hadn't counted on making such a fool of himself. Thought he'd at least have been able to look normal on the outside.

"You sure you want to work with me?" he said in a shaky voice.

"After watching you just now? You wanna bet? I'm seriously impressed, Daniel. The way you just picked up the ball and ran with it, the way we sparked off each other. We are going to make such a good team."

"If I can stay this side of crazy." He tried to get up. She stopped him.

"Is that how you feel?"

"What, crazy?" He leaned back into the chair and looked down at the hand she'd placed on his arm. It was shaking, but it wasn't her, it was him.

"Pretty much sums it up."

"You're not though." She kept her gaze steady, keeping eye contact as if she feared he would bolt at any moment. "You might feel it. You're not, though."

"Okay, I'm not crazy. You still want to work with me?”

"I do, and I'll repeat it as many times as you need to hear it."

He nodded in thanks, not trusting himself to speak. Her generosity, like her mother's was overwhelming, a gift that took his breath away.

"Was it something I said?"

He nodded again. "I have to be careful Callie. When you mentioned the, umm, underwear, and the bed, well, I have to be careful about that sort of thing." Just talking about it made him uncomfortably hot, and not in the good way he'd enjoyed before his life took such an abrupt about turn.

"Why?"

"Pretty obvious, isn't it?"

"No." Callie stood and relocated herself to the arm of the chair probably sensing that this conversation would be easier for both of them if they weren't staring at each other. "It's not obvious at all."

"I just can't."

"I don't understand," she said quietly. "Can't what?"

He'd only known her a couple of hours; it didn't seem fair to start dumping his problems on her like this, even though she'd said he could. He'd seen this happen to people who'd become so needy, so desperate for someone to talk to that they'd tell their problems to anyone. Seen them boring the postman to death. Waited patiently in the supermarket while they told the checkout girl their life story. He’d gone the other way. Not daring to mention anything in case it breached the carefully constructed façade he carried in front of him. He'd always worried that this would happen if he showed any kind of weakness, and it was happening now because he just couldn't fool these two women who were so determined to be kind to him.

"Remember what I said, on the beach? You've got to talk to me Daniel. I'm new to all this, but I do want to help you."

"Okay." He took a deep breath and spoke quickly, before his courage deserted him. "I'm terrified it's all going to happen again. Haven't been near a woman since. I just don't trust them any more."

"You did nothing wrong, Daniel. You do trust me, don't you?"

"I should have known better."

“How? Mom told me a bit about it. She said Mandy was unstable, you managed to prove that.”

Daniel flinched at the mention of a name he wanted to forget. “God only knows what was going through her mind.”

"And the other thing?"

"Of course I trust you. No question about that." The speed at which he'd responded to that surprised him. He already knew it was the truth.

"So, what you gonna do, become a monk?"

She had a nice way of diffusing the tension. He laughed dutifully. And she didn't push, for which he was relieved. It was too soon to be telling her all this. "Yeah, might as well. I'm sorry, it just gets me suddenly, out of the blue. Panic attack, or something. Don’t have much control over it."

"You were great just now Daniel. I really did love all your ideas. So, pick it up again."

"What?"

"The ball. Panic's over, where were we?"

"Underwear?" The mad thumping of his heart gradually calmed itself and he remembered what they were talking about.

"Right, and I have a confession to make." Callie jumped up and opened a drawer in one of the cupboards. "See," she said handing him a photograph. "Already have a commission for a sexy underwear painting."

Yes, he definitely hadn't stopped fancying women. His reaction to the photo told him that. The ladies were attractive, and all the satin and lace he'd thought about earlier was there. The corset was the only thing he could name, and he thought the little strappy number the other woman wore might be called a camisole, but it was the pose that really struck him. They weren't two ladies in a picture, there was more to it than that.

"Are they…?"

"Dead right, what do you think?"

"I think," he began, taking in the hand draped casually over a breast, another lingering possessively on a thigh. The half closed eyes, the strap that had slipped down revealing a smooth shoulder. The red lipstick and tousled hair. He looked up and grinned. "I think you're going to need two websites."

~

"Okay Mom, you were right."

"I usually am, sweetie."

Callie gathered the dinner plates into a stack and carried them over to the dishwasher. "I know, but do you have to be so smug about it all the time?"

"Smug, me?" Anne opened the fridge and stared into it. "Do you want me to do a supermarket shop before I go? Fridge is looking kind of empty."

"No, I can do it." Callie picked off the pieces of meat that were left on the plates and deposited them in the cat's dish. "Where's Napoleon by the way? Haven't seen him all day."

"Poor thing. You know, I think he's pining for Mom," Anne said. "He's been behaving very strangely since she died."

"We all miss her, I guess." Callie continued with her dishwasher stacking, looking around for anything she might have missed. "Pass me that cup, will you?"

"I told you he was a nice guy. Here."

"I think I could have worked that out for myself."

"How were you going to do that when you weren't even willing to meet him?" Anne took a last look around the kitchen. "That's tidy enough, get the dishwasher going and we'll take our coffee outside. Mustn't neglect our guest."

Callie finished her task while her mother poured the coffee. It was a pretty pointless argument and one she didn't need to go through again. Her Mom always had some smart answer anyway. "Daniel's gone for a smoke and I need to ask you some things," she said. "Can we sit here for a while?"

"Of course we can. I never meant that you should do this alone, I'm only going to be a telephone call away."

"I know." Callie joined her mother at the kitchen table and they sat quietly while she worked out what she wanted to say. Her mother, who was pushy and overwhelming at times, was a good listener.

"That stuff I read about, on the website. How much of it happened to Daniel?"

"I'll answer as much as I can. You know I can't tell you anything confidential."

"I know, I'm not asking you to. It would just help to know."

"Have you asked him?"

"I've said he can tell me anything. I don't think he's going to open up just like that, we've only just met. And he had a panic attack in the studio earlier. Stopped dead in his tracks. Poor guy was so embarrassed."

"It's totally normal, Callie. He'll be suffering a type of post traumatic stress disorder, you have to expect things like flashbacks. What were you talking about when it happened?"

"Umm, nothing in particular, just the website really."

"He's probably worrying about whether he'll be up to the job. Stress on top of stress. Were you okay with it?"

"Yes, it's not a problem. Mom, part of me wants to treat him normally and tell him to get on with life and the other part wants to," she stopped for a moment, trying to think of the right words. "I don't know if protect is the right word. I want to hold his hand in all this without making him too dependant on me. Does that make sense?"

"Yes it does, Callie, it's going to be a balancing act. He needs to find his self worth and you need to give him enough encouragement to do that."

"But I felt so mean this afternoon when I made him eat that ice-cream. He would have just kept going until I told him to stop. And he tells me he's okay, when I know he's not. You have to help me sort it all out."

"I will." Anne reached across and took Callie's hand. "Don't panic, sweetheart. You've already got the biggest advantage you could have in all this."

"Which is?" Callie looked at her blankly.

"You're a woman, and we're good at these things. Feel your way gently, you won't get it wrong. I can talk in general terms about anything you need. For instance it's quite often the most articulate people who get the least help. They can get away with pretending they've made sense of, and come to terms with their experience because they can talk their way out of it. It's not that hard to fool the experts."

"You mean tell them what they want to hear so they'll think you're okay?"

"I'm afraid so, Callie. All a question of resources. They'll go to the ones who need it most."

"Okay," Callie raised her hands. She didn't finish her sentence because Daniel walked into the kitchen at that point. Both she and Anne looked up.

"I'm sorry," he said, half turning to leave again. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

"You weren't." Anne pushed back her chair. "Callie and I were just coming out to join you."

"Actually, would you mind if I went to bed? Must be all this sea air, or something. I'm totally knackered."

Anne smiled at the expression. "No problem, there are stacks of books in the sitting room. Grab yourself a couple to take with you."

"I'll show you." Callie jumped up and called him over. "Come on, what kind of books do you like?"

"Anything really. Got any poetry?"

"I'm pretty sure there are some, if not, I'll lend you a few of mine. They're in my bedroom."

"Yeah? What've you got?"

"Mostly love poem anthologies."

"Goodnight, Daniel," Anne called to him as they let the kitchen.

"Oh, goodnight Anne."

Callie led him into the sitting room and together they perused the bookshelf. "Just about everything here. This is a good one." Callie picked up a contemporary novel she'd put there herself. "Or this one, my favourite, Wuthering Heights. Do you like that sort of thing?"

"Ages since I read this." He took it from her, made a few more choices and said goodnight.

Callie glanced at the kitchen clock. Too early to go to bed. She joined her mother outside and for a few moments leaned on the veranda railing and breathed in the sharp, salty tang of the sea.

"Weather's turning," Anne said.

Callie sat beside her on the swing chair and looked at the sky. "It's still very warm, how can you tell?"

"Years of experience, I can just feel it."

"Halloween next week."

"Clara and Elsa will be busy then."

"I guess."

It wasn't a night for idle conversation and they soon lapsed into silence. Anne excused herself around ten o'clock, reminded Callie to lock up and left her alone. Staring out to sea, Callie pinpointed the strange little light bobbing up and down on the waves. As a child she'd imagined it was something magical; fairies in a nutshell boat come to take her away. Part of her had been terrified, making her hide under the blankets for fear that it was true. Another part of her had waited, and secretly wished they would come for her. She wanted to marry the fairy prince and rule over all fairyland.

He never did come. Expectations of love were dashed at a tender age only to be reborn again when Len asked her out. Sweet sixteen is no age to meet the love of your life - she was so certain that she had. So certain that the fairy prince had taken flesh in this man she adored, and who seemed to adore her. But, even though he'd called her his fairy princess, mostly at her insistence, to him it was just a holiday romance. She'd gone back to town at the end of the summer and that had been the end of it.

Nights like this always brought back those sad, sweet memories. They seemed to hover on the still air. Her first kiss, the thrill of his skilled touch that had both shocked her and made her want more. Promises made when you can't imagine there ever being anything better than what you have right there and then. First love that turns out not to be love at all. Instead, something to be looked back on with fondness and just a hint of embarrassment.

You never forgive the person who first breaks your heart. That first time is always a special kind of pain, a loss of innocence and trust. You never quite believe that it's not going to happen again someday. Wasn't that what Daniel had said?

You can ache for a fondly remembered past, and yearn for the future of your dreams. Or cringe at the things you did and be scared of what tomorrow might bring. Callie felt herself drifting as she thought about it. Daniel was so scared of history repeating itself that he was denying himself a future. In his mind it was already written. A bad one devoid of any comforts that love might bring.

How could anyone live without love, though? And even contemplate such an empty future, much less resign themselves to it?

She fell asleep on the swing chair and dreamed about the fairy prince who would one day sweep her off her feet. Granted he hadn't turned up yet. The difference was that she hadn't given up hoping that one day he might.

~

It wasn't the first time she'd done this. When she was younger her mom or her gran would have carried her indoors by now. Callie woke up and listened to the chiming of the distant church clock knowing those days were well and truly over. It caught her at odd moments. The gran she'd loved so dearly was gone leaving only memories and photographs, and this house.

Callie let herself into the kitchen, wondering if she was going to get back to sleep or whether she just ought to write off the night completely and go and start that painting of Clara and Elsa. She had planned to give it to them as a Halloween present. That was doubtful now since she’d done nothing more than a few preliminary sketches for it.

She yawned, locked the door and hung the key on its hook thinking she ought to go to bed. Pulling an all-nighter would mean that she'd be in no fit state to entertain Daniel tomorrow and they needed to expand on those plans for the website. Strike while the iron was hot, call around to a few friends and see if they would pose for them. It reminded her that she hadn't rung Janine, and she cursed inwardly. This morning it hadn't seemed important. Now it was desperately important that Daniel's secret be kept.

The shape standing at the kitchen counter took her completely by surprise.

"Gran?"

She'd spoken aloud before her sleep-muddled mind told her that Gran was dead and couldn’t be here unless this was a ghost. That thought started her heart beating so wildly, it was a few moments before she realised that it was only Daniel, standing very still and looking straight at her. Barefoot, and clad only in his jeans she could just about make out the pale gleam of his chest and arms as he watched her.

"God, you made me jump," she said pressing a hand over her heart and groping for the nearest light-switch. It was a small light that illuminated one of the glass fronted kitchen cupboards, enough to see him by. His eyes flicked distractedly to the source of light and back to her. He made no attempt to answer or move.

"Did you come down for a drink?" she said, relaxing as the ghosts in her mind fled to be replaced by flesh and bone.

Still no reaction, and it was then she realised that he was looking at her, without actually seeing her.

"Daniel?" She spoke softly. It looked as if he was sleepwalking. Was it safe to wake someone in this state? She certainly couldn't leave him standing here. Extending her hand, she called to him again. "Daniel? Are you awake?"

He'd dropped his gaze to her hand, and lifted his head when she spoke.

"I told you, it's Hunter now," he said in a calm even voice. "Daniel's dead."

"What did you say?" Callie kept very still, her hand still hovering in mid air, heart speeding up again. The situation was so bizarre she could almost believe she was talking to a dead man. "Who's Hunter?"

When Danielle frowned, Callie ventured a step closer. It brought her near enough to see him clearly in the weak cupboard-light and what she saw made her breath catch in her throat. A thick, white ridge of scar tissue stood out across the width of his chest, just underneath his ribcage. It almost looked as if someone had tried to cut him in two. More silvery scars snaked across his chest and arms, lighter and smaller. She swallowed down a slightly queasy feeling. His skin was a mess.

"What happened to you?" She said it more to herself; he still didn't seem to know she was there. Her heart went out to him.

“Who did this to you, Daniel?” She put out her hand, sympathy quickly turning to anger. At the woman who’d caused all this. How could she live with herself? And at a justice system that would condemn an innocent man.

Curling her fingers around his, she tugged gently.

"Come on Daniel. Let's get you back to bed,” she said. “And tomorrow, maybe you'll tell me who Hunter was."

Chapter 4

You can shout as loud as you like in prison, no one hears you.

Daniel had already decided where he wanted to spend eternity. Here in this quiet space between dream and waking.

In prison it had been a brief stop on an intolerable journey. Two, maybe three seconds of lying on his bunk not knowing where he was, or why, when he could just be Daniel waking to a new day. Then he'd remember and it would all come rushing back. The weight of it would almost be too much to bear.

The sound of a vacuum cleaner whirring away somewhere in the house reminded him he wasn't in that place any more and he took a little time to deal with the sense of relief that washed over him.

Glancing around at the faded floral wallpaper, the chintzy lamp beside his bed, the elegant chair over which he'd carelessly thrown his clothes, he realised that he hadn't dreamed being here in this house, or imagined meeting Callie. And he really had experienced that burst of enthusiasm for life again yesterday in her studio.

The vacuum cleaner stopped and gradually the sound of the pounding surf filtered through his consciousness. Further proof that this was real.

He was shocked to find it was nearly ten o'clock. Hauling himself reluctantly from the bed, he pulled on his jeans and searched his bag for a clean tee shirt, catching his reflection in the mirror on the chest as he passed. Every day it was a little different. The hope was starting to show on the outside now. He still had dark rings under his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile as he combed back his hair and contemplated going down to the cosily ordered kitchen that smelt of coffee and old wood.

Prison had been a mess of jangling noise, hard surfaces and sickening smells. Here, everything seemed to be designed to soothe and comfort. Clean sheets with their fancy fabric softener freshness, the knotted rag rug, so soft under his bare feet. The smell of the roses filling the air. The muted light filtering through the drapes blowing gently away from the open window.

His senses were already gratefully adjusting to it all, even though he was still having trouble convincing himself this wasn't all a dream and he wasn't going to suddenly wake up.

Shaving could wait, he thought making his way downstairs. The grandfather clock chimed the hour as he went into the kitchen. There was no one there. No sign of Callie or her mother, or of breakfast. Everything looked to have been tidied away. The percolator was still half full of luke-warm coffee. He helped himself and took it outside, wondering where everyone was.

The bite in the morning air made him shiver when he stepped out onto the veranda and contemplated the line of clouds strung out across the horizon. A change was coming, and not just in the weather. Here was the chance to get his life back on track. He couldn't afford to mess this up. Like his nightmares of falling off the cliff, it would be easier to tell himself he couldn't do this and to stay hidden away. Easier to believe what he'd learned in prison. That he was just throwaway trash, of no use to anyone anymore. Now more than at any other time in his life, he needed to keep the faith.

The garden reminded him of England with its paved patio that gave way to an irregularly shaped lawn framed with flower beds. The small stand of trees where Callie had shown him the hot tub were just passing the peak of their fall colours, and beyond them was the redbrick wall they'd climbed over yesterday.

Daniel set down his cup on the veranda railing and felt in his pocket for his usual breakfast. His grandmother had a garden much like this, and to complement the memory her old black and white cat was there, hobbling slowly across the lawn, complaining to itself and anyone who cared to listen. He'd almost called it by name before he remembered that Mr. Tibbs was long dead and this must be Napoleon returned from wherever he'd been for the last few days.

He lit the cigarette while the cat climbed the steps and scrutinised him. Evidently he was okay people; Napoleon allowed him a stroke and jumped up onto one of the garden chairs to settle down for a wash.

"You been out getting some?" he asked. The answering mew made him laugh and he leaned against a post to finish his cigarette. The sheer normality of it all was the real novelty. This was what he'd fantasised about during two years of prison. A world full of beauty and grace and all those things you take for granted until they're stolen away. He’d been so worried that it wouldn’t be there any more when they finally let him out. At long last his desperate prayers had been answered.

It was Sunday and for the first time in his life Daniel thought he might go find a church and say a thank you to a God who, it seemed, hadn't abandoned him after all.

~

He hadn't even realised she was there.

Callie pinned up the last of the photographs and stood back. A useful morning's work. Not terribly urgent, but at least it was out of the way and she could get started on the portrait now. The hour she'd spent in the darkroom had given her time to mull over the events of the previous night.

A chill tingled her spine at the memory of the calm way he'd announced that Daniel was dead. He hadn't been talking to her; she'd known that by his lack of reaction. He'd let her walk him back to his room, had sat on the bed for a few moments and then, at her request, he’d lain down and gone back to sleep.

All very bizarre, and a little scary. It wasn't that she didn't trust him - there just was something very odd about being with someone who seemed to be in another world to the one she was inhabiting. And who appeared to have turned into a different person.

She'd started to get to know Daniel, the slightly shy, hesitant young man who was trying to find a place for himself back in the world. It was obviously more complicated than that. Now she had Hunter to contend with. The name conjured up a hardness she was having trouble equating to the person who'd sat opposite her in Hogeys, stuffing himself full of ice cream only yesterday. The man with the softly curling hair who'd offered her his hand to help her down from the wall, then had looked embarrassed because she hadn't really needed his help.

Daniel had the mental scars. She suspected that Hunter had suffered the physical ones. She traced a line across her ribcage, her stomach flipping over at the thought of how much it must have hurt. And where was Hunter now? She'd already guessed he was some kind of alter ego Daniel had hidden behind in prison. Was he still there? Did she need to fear him?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and she pushed all of the questions aside. Perhaps she ought to tackle Daniel straight out about it, or maybe her Mom would shed light on it for her. Either way she needed to know.

"Hold on," she called out, checking that it was safe to open the door to the dark room. "Okay, no problem, come on in."

The door opened and a familiar face peeped around. Callie had expected it to be Daniel and it took a moment to register who was grinning cheerfully at her from the doorway.

The man with the eye-patch held out his arms. Callie ran into them, almost flooring him in her enthusiasm.

"Craig," she said pressing her cheek against his shirt. "When did you get back?"

"This morning, Cal. You are not going to believe how great it was, you should have come with us."

Callie disentangled herself and stood back. "How did Liz do?"

"For a first skydive, she was amazing." He shook his head, laughing. "That girl has serious balls."

"Damn. I wish I'd come." Callie squeezed his hand. "Count me in for next time. Is it too early for a beer?"

"Well, I've got the truck, but I guess one will be okay."

"So you're okay to drive again?" Craig nodded.

"Yeah, passed the test, no problem.

"I'm glad," Callie said. "Are you going to start on that weatherboarding?"

"Tomorrow, you'll want it done for Halloween?"

"Oh, please. And you are still coming to the open day, aren't you?" Callie asked as they climbed the steps. "I'm going to need everyone here if it's as busy as last year."

"Count me in." Craig thought about it. "Can I be Lady Chatterley's Lover?"

"No," Callie replied, batting him playfully on the arm, "completely the wrong era. We're Victorian, remember? Gotta keep it all authentic, money's going to the animal shelter this year. But you could be the gardener, or something, I'm sure Elsa could throw a costume together for you." She reached for the door handle, smiling back at him. "You could be Lady Callie's gardener, and we could be having a torrid affair, right under my husband, Lord Daniel's, nose."

"Lord Daniel?"

"Yeah, guy who's designing my website. He's staying here for a while and I figured I'd rope him in. Haven't asked him yet, but I'm sure he'll be up for it. What's wrong, you don't want to be my lover?"

They were still at the top of the basement steps, door closed. Craig was fiddling with his eye patch, a dead giveaway that something was wrong. The injury was still new enough to make him self-conscious, although never around her, before now.

She tilted her head, "What is it?"

"This Daniel guy," he said, face turning serious. "He's kind of why I'm here, Cal. Liz talked to Janine and she told her he's some sort of jailbird."

Callie didn't answer him immediately. She was momentarily entertaining a vivid picture of strangling Janine with her bare hands. Damn, why had she ever told her?

Craig continued, "Says he's done time for rape. Is it true, Cal?"

"Yes, he's been in prison."

"Then what the hell's he doing here? Are you out of your mind?"

"Let me finish, Craig." Callie took a deep breath, surprised at how angry his words had made her feel. "He was falsely accused and spent two years in prison for a crime he didn't commit. He's trying to get his life back together and we're going to help him."

"We?"

"Mom and me. Come and meet him, he's a decent guy."

"Not what you said to Janine."

"Okay, I admit, I wasn't overjoyed at the idea myself, at first, and I may have made it seem…well, I didn't know him then. Mom convinced me to meet him, and he's nice. It's just a really sad story, and he doesn't need this, Craig. Dammit, I told her not to tell anyone."

"Think the horse bolted long ago, Cal. She said you told her you wouldn't feel safe with him here."

"Well, I shouldn't have. That's just the kind of prejudice he's having to face. People judging him before they've even met him. Don't you do it too. Please?"

"Just looking out for you, Cal." Craig reached out and rested his hand on her arm. "Like I always do."

Callie covered it with hers. "I know, you've got to trust me on this one. You only have to look at him to see he hasn't got a wicked bone in his body."

"Could be just an act. How do you know he's not going to pull a Jekyll and Hyde on you?"

"He's just Daniel. That's all. Not hiding anyone else in there. Do you think Mom would have asked him here if he was some crazed psycho?"

Craig gave her arm a quick squeeze, dropped his hand and sighed. "The feeling is that there's no smoke without fire."

"Feeling? There's a feeling now?" Callie closed her eyes briefly. "Just how many people know?"

Their voices dropped to sharp whispers as the conversation became more heated, and Callie looked around distractedly, almost expecting to find the whole town behind her, listening. A picture of Daniel's trusting face flashed into her mind and she swallowed down the panic. He wouldn't want to stay here if he thought people were talking about him.

Craig had unwittingly touched a nerve with the mention of Jekyll and Hyde. Daniel and Hunter? She needed to find him and reassure herself that he was the gentle man she was defending so vehemently. Suddenly, she couldn't even remember what he looked like.

"Just me and Liz, I think." Craig looked a little sheepish now. "Calm down, Cal. If you believe him, then that's okay by me. You know I always trust your judgement."

"It's not a question of believing it, Craig. He's innocent, bottom line."

Craig nodded briefly, rubbing his hand over the eye patch.

Callie raised her eyebrows at him. "You're gonna milk that for all it's worth, aren't you?"

He grinned, back to his old self again. "Sure am. Okay, let's meet the guy and I'll be sure to tell Liz to keep quiet about the prison stuff. You know what this town's like for gossip."

"I do." Callie started through the door then stopped again. Craig was her friend, and she didn't abandon friends no matter how noble the cause. "Don't let's fight about this, Craig. I was joking about the eye and the sympathy thing, you know that, don't you? How is it really?"

"Awful, I hate it. But it's happened, and I'll live with it. Thanks for asking."

"Oh, Craig. Come here." Callie opened her arms and hugged him again. "You're my best friend, hell, you saved my life, I'll never forget that. You know I'll always be here for you, don't you? Anything you want, just ask."

"Same for you, pumpkin." Craig hugged her back. "Come on, enough with the mushiness. Get me that beer, then I'll come say hello to this Daniel guy."

~

Don't get too comfortable. He'd been telling himself that since he arrived. His body, however, had other ideas. Bit by bit he felt himself relaxing into the easy routine as he strolled along the sea front. The beach was virtually deserted under the stormy-looking sky, just the occasional dog-walker and an elderly jogger who looked as if he might expire from a heart attack at any moment. It reminded Daniel how unfit he'd let himself become and he thought that maybe it was time to start getting back into shape. Lose the scrawny look.

He lit up his last cigarette, took a drag and remembered his promise to Anne to cut back on the smoking. As he pitched the empty packet into a nearby bin he thought that maybe that could be part of the makeover too. He seemed to be spending more money on cigarettes than food these days.

It was the kind of place where people said hello for no other reason than they were passing by, and after a while, instead of leaning on the rail and looking determinedly out to sea every time someone came towards him, Daniel found himself responding. Once upon a time it had been the most normal thing in the world to make idle chit-chat with perfect strangers on a peaceful Sunday morning. It could be again, he decided.

When he sat on a bench overlooking the sea an old man sat by him and insisted he share his newspaper. Daniel politely declined because he wanted to get back to the house. The old man looked so disappointed that Daniel took the offered section and kept him company for a while because one thing he understood well was loneliness.

They sat, side by side, neither of them speaking and when he finally excused himself Daniel felt good for having done it. Happy to have had something to give back for a change. Callie and her mother had been extremely generous to him and he already had enough to share with someone else. Feeling useful gave life meaning.

Yes, he told himself. Definitely time to get up off his backside and start contributing again. On the walk back his mind overflowed with the possibilities opening up before him. No one knew him here, or where he'd been. If they looked at him it was because he was a stranger, and no other reason. The mocking voices and pointed stares were all in his own head, time to let them go.

People talked about getting their head together and he was beginning to see what they meant. His life had been scattered into a thousand-piece puzzle, which, with a little patience and a lot of encouragement, could be put back together again.

Even the priest at the church seemed intent on helping him. Maybe it was a sign, maybe not. He was about to lock up and instead diverted himself sorting hymn books for half an hour while Daniel sat there staring intently at the stained glass window over the altar. Scenes from the life of Christ from what he could make out ending with the agony of the cross and the brilliance of the resurrection. The symbolism made Daniel smile. Someone up there seemed determined that he listen and even though he'd never really believed in what he'd always dismissed as religious mumbo-jumbo, it was strangely comforting.

He finished up his morning's jaunt at the gas station, unable to resist the temptation to check out Len Anderson, only to be served by a very old man who seemed to have no idea where anything was and, after a lengthy discussion, still managed to sell him the wrong cigarettes. On impulse he also picked up a box of chocolates as a thank you present for Anne and a candy bar for himself, since he'd missed breakfast. By the time he got back to the house, he was more than looking forward to seeing Callie again.

Motivation. That was the key. Something to get up for in the morning. Somewhere to go, somewhere to come back to. And someone to return to as well, he realised walking round the back of the house to let himself in. A man would go anywhere, do anything, if there was someone special enough waiting for him.

He heard laughter coming from the kitchen when he reached to open the door, Callie's and a man's, and spotted the pickup truck tucked away at the side of the house. Of course, a girl like her would have a boyfriend, no surprise there. Squashing down a pang of disappointment that he had no right to feel he reminded himself that he was here to work and heal a little and that was enough. Any extra attention he got from the enchanting young woman who was Callie Lester was just a bonus. He'd take it and simply be grateful.

Daniel fixed a smile on his face, opened the door and walked into the kitchen.

~

"Daniel."

Callie jumped up when she saw him, grabbed him by the arm and ushered him in. "We were wondering where you were. Come and meet Craig."

She kept hold of his arm while he said hello to Craig, and slid along the bench seat next to him when he sat down. Thankfully he still appeared to be the Daniel who’d arrived yesterday, despite the sleepwalking incident and the doubts Craig had sown in her mind. Callie tried not to let her relief show, offered him a beer and took his jacket when he looked around for somewhere to put it.

"Let me," she said. "I'll put it in the hall, Craig, get Daniel a beer, there should be more in the fridge."

Out in the hall Callie took a few calming breaths and hung up the jacket, surprised at how agitated Daniel’s absence had made her. He still had a lot of stuff to work out, and wasn't going to be able to do that by himself in some dark basement. The last thing she wanted now that she’d accepted this responsibility, was him running away because he was embarrassed about the sleepwalking, or worse because he thought everyone knew about him. Better phone Liz herself, she decided. Craig was a good friend, but he didn’t realise how important this was. Why should he?

Peeking round the door, she had a good view of Daniel and Craig who'd struck up a conversation which seemed to consist mostly of Craig waving his arms around and Daniel listening to him, a slightly incredulous look on his face. Callie thought she ought to get back in there before Craig started on his Long John Silver impersonation.

"Was just telling Daniel how I got the pirate look, Cal." Craig turned back to Daniel. "Very trendy, you know. Women go crazy for it. You really should try it."

"Craig." Callie walked across to the fridge, opened the door and peered inside. Her mom hadn't been joking about it being empty. "Remember that little conversation we had about good taste?" She closed the door and picked up the phone. "Looks like it's pizza for lunch. That okay with you two?"

Both men nodded enthusiastically. "Any requests?" she asked reading the number off the fridge magnet.

Daniel shook his head saying he'd eat anything and Craig was easy as long as it didn't involve olives. Pizza ordered she sat down again, next to Craig this time.

"So, did Craig tell you he was a hero?"

"No he didn't, Cal," Craig butted in. "Come on, don't spoil my street cred, here. I'm going to unload the wood while we're waiting for the pizza. And don't believe a word she tells you," he said pointing a finger at Daniel. "It was a crocodile, okay."

"What did he tell you?" Callie asked Daniel when Craig had gone.

"Said a crocodile escaped from the zoo."

"Oh. Haven't heard that one before."

"So, what really happened? Guess he doesn't like to talk about it?"

"He likes to talk about it, just not about it, if you know what I mean. He's a hero through and through is our Craig. A woman was being attacked and he was straight in there. The mugger grabbed him and, well, I won't go into details but that's how he ended up with the patch."

"Sounds bad." Daniel wasn't looking at her. Instead he was fiddling with the chocolate box and studying the contents list intently.

"It's okay to talk about things like this, Daniel," Callie said when she saw how uncomfortable he looked. "Women get attacked and Craig's a good man. He won't judge you unfairly."

Daniel's head flicked up. "You told him? About me?"

It wasn't so much the look of panic as the flicker of disappointment in his gaze that made her stand up and walk round the table to him. She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. "You're going to squash those," she said, nodding at the way he was squeezing the chocolate box.

"They're for your mom. Is she still here?"

"She's gone to visit her aunt. She'll be back soon." He pulled away from her hand ever so slightly. Callie sat on the bench seat with her back to the table so she could see him properly. "I know you'd rather no one knew, but I told a friend about you before you came, and she told Craig's girlfriend, Liz. I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have. I know how important this is for you, now, but I didn't realise it then. Can you forgive me?"

The only real reaction she got to her speech was to the mention of Craig having a girlfriend, which puzzled her. Daniel's hand stilled before he went back to his task of squashing the chocolates. Eventually she took them from him. "Daniel, talk to me. Come on. I feel bad about this."

"And you shouldn't have to. You shouldn't feel bad because of me." Daniel half-stood and Callie reached out instinctively. For a moment he gazed at the hand clutching his arm. "I should just go," he said in a blank voice. "This isn't fair to you. Should have known it."

She squeezed harder, no longer worrying about holding him carefully. All she worried about now was that he wanted to run because she'd messed things up.

"If you run away now, it'll be because of me. How do you think I'm going to feel about that?" His internal struggle was written plainly on his face. He pulled away again. She held on. "It would be easier, wouldn't it? To just run away. Go back to your basement and hide. Why bother ever coming out again? Is that really what you want to do?"

"You don't understand, Callie.”

"No, I don’t, so make me." He looked guardedly back at her and at that moment she knew they were both hovering on the brink of something so important she couldn't afford a single wrong word. Keep it simple, she told herself, quelling the panic inside. So there’s no room for misunderstanding. It needed to be an offer he couldn’t refuse. He couldn’t afford to say no.

"Here's my hand Daniel." She slid it across the table to where his was resting. "If you take it, I won't let go. You have to promise me you won't either. Will you do that?" The world stopped turning. She'd thrown out the lifeline. It was up to him to grab it and pull himself up. It seemed to take an eternity before his hand moved and covered hers.

"I won't let go," she whispered. “Promise me you'll stay." He nodded. "No," she said. "I want to hear you say the words, and I think you need to hear yourself say them too."

“Okay, thanks Callie. I’ll stay.” Simple words, but spoken with conviction and whatever demons he'd been battling to get to this point, it seemed as if he'd made some sort of decision at last.

Callie lifted her head. The space between their hands had been mere inches, a small gap that had felt like a chasm a million miles deep. One mis-step and neither of them would have come back. She'd jumped out of aeroplanes, hunted monsters in Scottish lochs, and nearly drowned in a dark cave, but never had she been as scared as the moment before he'd reached for her hand.

"Make me understand. I want to know everything that happened to you."

He blinked back at her and nodded his head, eyes suspiciously bright so she let go. She wanted to cry too, to release the intense tension that had built up in the space of a heartbeat.

Craig’s footsteps on the veranda decking and her mother's car pulling up on the drive told her that the world had started turning again and was rushing back at them with a vengeance. Callie jumped out of her seat and busied herself finding plates for the pizza. Daniel wiped his eyes and straightened his hair. The door opened. Craig and normality returned to the kitchen.

"So," Craig said, moving over to the sink to wash his hands. "Did she tell you how big the crocodile was? Hey, have you ever seen those old Tarzan films?" He turned around, scrubbing soap up his arms. "You know, the ones where he wrestles that giant crocodile, and you can tell it's a fake? Well, it was nothing like that."

Callie wasn't listening. Relationships are often made or broken in the time it takes to draw a single breath and everything was still focused on the man sitting at the table, and the connection she'd just made with him. He was going to get through this because he had her to help him.

And the most important thing of all was that now he knew that too.

Chapter 5

They let you out, you walk through the gates, but in your mind, you're still there.

Another day over, and one he would remember for a long time to come. The honesty of her words, the feel of her palm against his. Simple things that told him so much. Every time Daniel thought about it he found himself looking down at his hand. It felt as if she was still holding it.

He pulled himself up onto the wall at the end of the garden and sat watching the sun turning a blood red and spread itself across the sea. The wind ruffled his hair, waves crashed onto the shore and somewhere behind him a church bell rang. There was a house half way up the cliff and the lights were going on one by one as its occupants settled in for the night. The world going about its business as it had done before he'd gone to prison, and as it had continued to do while he was inside. Locked in a place where time stood still.

He hadn't been able to feel it, see it or hear if from where he was. Now he was part of the human race again. Instead of four walls, there was a limitless horizon. Texture and substance. And he sat, on the old brick wall, feeling at the centre of it all.

The sound of footsteps on the gravel path caught his attention. Callie carrying two mugs full of something hot, judging by the steam rising. Napoleon limped steadfastly along beside her and Daniel waved to let her know he’d seen her.

"Made you some tea," she said, holding a cup up to him. "You do like tea, don't you?"

"Love it, thanks. Did Anne get home okay?"

"Yeah, called a while back. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Please do," he said shuffling himself along to make space for her. "Do you need any help?"

Even though this was the highest part of the wall, well over six feet tall, Callie had no problem pulling herself up beside him. She twisted her legs round and let them dangle next to his.

"It's getting cold," she said, hugging herself

"Yeah. Never got used to the way the seasons change so suddenly over here. Autumn lasts for three months in England. Here, one minute you're sunbathing, the next day it's winter coats."

"You're in the wrong part of the States then," Callie said, pausing to sip her tea. "What made you come back?"

"To the States, you mean? Don't know really. Guess I just wanted to connect with my roots, or something. Stayed and got my degree. Couple of lucky breaks. Things were good."

"Before…?"

"Yeah, before."

He picked up his mug and warmed his hands on it. Despite the connection they'd made it was still hard to talk about these things. Still felt as if he was on the shrink's couch whenever it was mentioned.

"I think he wants to come up," he said peering down at Napoleon who was pacing at the base of the wall meowing pathetically. Callie looked down too.

"Oh he knows what to do," she said. "He can't jump up any more. See, he goes to the low part and walks along."

"How old is he?"

"Nearly as old as me. Can't remember a time when he wasn't here."

"He's ancient then."

"Huh?" Callie pulled a face at his comment, laughing good-naturedly. Daniel hastily backtracked.

"For a cat that is.” Napoleon appeared and wormed his way onto his lap. "Gran had one just like this," he said rubbing the cat's head. "Mr. Tibbs he was called."

"Does she still have him?"

"No, was run over long ago."

"That's sad." Callie reached over to join in with the stroking. Napoleon went into a frenzy of purring at all the attention and they both laughed. "He's always been here," Callie said. "Like my gran, and this house. I always knew that wherever I went and whatever happened, they'd always be the one constant in my life. Kind of a fixed point that I could always come back to. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do," Daniel said, eyes fixed on the shoreline. "You grow up thinking things are going to stay the same, but they don't."

"No, they generally don’t. I'm lucky to have the house. It's like an anchor, keeps me grounded. Somewhere I belong. Do you have anywhere like that?"

"I used to have…" he began, "but, when I try to remember, it doesn't feel like it's mine any more. Feels like it all happened to someone else."

"Could you go back? Reclaim your past, or something. Don't know how it works. Wouldn't that help?"

"Tried it," he said, shaking out the handful of fur that his vigorous stroking had pulled out of Napoleon's back.

"And?"

"I felt like an alien." He closed his eyes and thought about how everything had looked so familiar, yet felt so different. After two years of sensory deprivation he'd been expecting to make some adjustments, re-learn some things. He hadn't been prepared for the shock of seeing the places and people he loved so much, through completely different eyes.

"I have the memories, the photographs. Granddad's dead now. Gran's still there, only nothing felt the same."

"And you resent that?"

"Bloody right I do." It came out a lot harsher than he'd intended and he saw her flinch as he spat out the words. "Sorry about that. It's not your fault," he said quietly. "Shouldn't be shouting at you."

"No problem," she said, looking at him intently. "Do you still feel like that?"

"What, when I'm actually feeling anything at all?"

"It can't be that bad, Daniel. I refuse to believe that."

She shook her head and pulled at the strands of hair lifting about her in the wind. He could just about make her out in the darkness that was quickly enveloping them. Darkness that was becoming less about nightmares and things that go bump in the night, and more about the security of a world narrowed down to just the parts he could reach out and touch. It hid him from sight and stopped people staring at him. Even thought his rational mind had been telling him all day that no one was looking at him with anything other than curiosity, if at all, it was still a relief to be able to hide away, at last.

"Guess it can't."

“What’s it really like?”

“Prison, you mean?” Daniel blew out a breath. “Like being a ghost. You can’t touch anything in the world, or make anything happen. You feel so…forgotten.”

“Hell, I’m sorry Daniel. Close you eyes.”

"Why?"

"Because I say so, that's why."

"Good enough reason." Daniel closed them and immediately reopening them when he wobbled dangerously. "Whoa, I nearly fell off." Napoleon reacted to the sudden movement by gripping him painfully with sharp claws through his jeans, then gave him a disdainful look and extracted himself to walk away and perch further along the wall.

"Try it again."

He did, and the same thing happened. "That's a weird feeling," he said. "I don't understand what I'm supposed to be doing."

"It's a game we used to play," she said shuffling herself closer. "Like a leap of faith. You just have to trust you won't fall off."

“But I might.”

"Trust me, come on." Callie closed her eyes and held out her arms. "See, I can do it."

"Well," he said, slowly reaching out his arms while Napoleon watched them with interest. "I didn't spend my youth sitting on walls pretending to be an airplane.”

"You don't know what you missed."

Callie sat perfectly still, gracefully poised, like a diver about to do a front somersault off the high board. Daniel could see that because he was cheating and still had his eyes open. She made it look easy, so why couldn't he do it?

"Are you cheating?"

"No."

"Because if you are, I'll push you off myself."

His eyes snapped shut. "Okay, no cheating. Now what?"

"We sit here until one of us falls off."

"And that's it?"

"What more do you want? If you'd rather be somewhere else, Daniel, then feel free."

Would he? It wasn't the balancing act so much as the worry that someone might see them perched idiotically on the wall, like a couple of statues. And the fact that it left his back so exposed. Anyone might be in the garden sneaking up on them. He'd become used to being in a constant state of alert. It was hard to drop his guard and trust that there wasn't a madman with a knife behind him right now.

He swallowed the feeling down, telling himself that it was just him and Callie, sitting on a wall. If anyone saw them they'd probably look, maybe laugh, maybe even comment, nothing else. In the real world people didn't normally attack you just because they didn't like your face, or because they thought you were looking at them in a funny way. It happened, but not to the extent that you had to live your whole life in fear of it.

And what more did he want? Where else would he rather be? Rather than sitting next to this amazing young woman? Nowhere, he thought. Nowhere at all. He let out a deep breath and concentrated. She was right, it was easy once you believed it.

"You want me to start chanting or something?" he said entering into the spirit of it.

That made her giggle. She leaned back slightly and brushed against his arm which was stretched out behind her. He tightened it to stop her falling, but she wriggled away.

"No touching, it's against the rules."

"There are rules now?" he said moving his arm away only slightly because he really didn't like the thought of her falling six feet into a flower bed.

"Yeah, if you're going to fall, make sure it's forward into the sand. Hurts less that way. Believe me, I know."

He opened his mouth to reply just as Napoleon chose that moment to try and reclaim his place on Daniel’s lap, and, feeling insecure around these strangely behaving humans decided that he ought to anchor himself by using his claws again.

“Ow.” Daniel cried out. Instinctively he grabbed Callie’s arm as Napoleon’s claws dug in, taking her and one very surprised cat down with him into the cold sand below.

~

Callie had fallen off the wall hundreds of times and knew how to land. Daniel obviously didn't. His colourful swearing told her that.

"Think I've bloody squashed 'em," she heard him muttering.

She rolled over onto her back, gasping for breath and stared at the sky. "Please don't tell me you've squashed my cat."

"Not the cat, my cigarettes. Bloody mangled."

"Nothing important then."

"No," he said, leaning up on one elbow, holding up the dented packet. "Nothing important. Sorry about knocking you off, you okay?"

"I'll survive." She brought the back of her hand closer to her face and sucked at it. "Caught my hand on a stone, think it's bleeding."

"Oh heck." Daniel sat up and reached for it. "Let me see."

"It's nothing." Callie lay still, a faint smile on her lips while he inspected the graze. "I've had worse."

"I shouldn't be allowed near women," he said pressing a tissue he'd found in his pocket against the wound. "Press it hard, that'll stop it."

She took her hand back together with the tissue, and duly did as she was told. "It really is only a scratch, I'm not going to bleed to death. Do you know anything about the stars, Daniel?" she said neatly changing the subject. "What's that one?" She pointed straight ahead and he lay down beside her and looked in the direction of her hand.

"Haven't a clue. Can find the plough and that's about it."

"The what?" Callie narrowed her eyes to try and pinpoint what he was talking about.

"Big dipper. It's called the plough in England."

"That's cute. Only one I know, too." The sand was soft and fine beneath her with just a few stray grasses growing through. She wriggled herself comfortable and let out a deep sigh. Daniel turned to look at her.

"Guess you won that one, then,"

"Guess I did. Want to come skydiving with me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I haven't completely lost my marbles."

"Meaning?"

"No way are you getting me jumping out of a plane."

"You should try it. Really you should. There's a moment…" she paused and remembered. "Where it feels like you're hovering in mid-air. Just before you go into freefall. Like a split second of weightlessness. It's like nothing else."

"I know."

She looked at him, confused.

"You've done it before."

"Sort of."

One arm was flung across his face. His free hand was lying very close to hers. Callie bit her lip and took a chance. When she'd held his hand earlier it had been a symbolic gesture, she hadn't literally meant that they were to walk about like a couple of courting teenagers. It seemed right to reach for it now. He reacted with a bit of a start. She gave it a squeeze and encouraged him to continue.

"I'm listening."

He kept his face covered. "I have a recurring nightmare. I'm falling off a cliff and it's weird because it's…terrifying, but a great relief at the same time."

"Yeah?"

"The fall is the price you pay for that one split second where everything's perfect, I guess."

"That's very poetic, but the price sounds way too high."

"Suppose so," he replied," I don't write the dreams, they just happen."

"Do you have any others, nightmares, I mean?"

"Not really. Bits and pieces from prison, that sort of thing. I didn't disturb you last night, did I?"

"No, not really." They were both quiet, each of them staring up at the sky. Finally Daniel spoke.

"You said not really."

"Did I?"

"Yes, was I talking in my sleep or something?"

His voice had a nervous edge and Callie wondered if it was too soon to ask him about Hunter, or whether it was any business of hers at all. Then she remembered how disturbing it had been.

"Do you remember anything about last night, Daniel?"

"After I went to bed? I read for a while, then went to sleep." Daniel dropped her hand, flipped himself up into a sitting position, and looked down at her. "What did I do?" Callie sat up too.

"You were sleepwalking. Met me in the kitchen. Don't you remember any of it?"

He shook his head. "Not a thing. Hell."

She could just about make out that his eyes had gone very wide.

"Was I decent?"

"Decent?" she said, puzzled. "Oh, yes, you had your jeans on. Why, do you normally sleep…"

"Yes, no, I mean I don't..." He shook his head, disbelieving.

"Perhaps you should wear something in bed while you're here then, just in case it happens again?"

"I will. God, this is so embarrassing, what did I do?"

"You had a conversation with me."

"I did?"

Callie was glad it was too dark to see each other's expressions. She hugged her knees and rested her chin on them. Just remembering it had started her heart racing again, and she had no idea how he was going to react to her knowing about Hunter. Only one way to find out.

"It wasn't you I was talking to. You asked me to call you something else. You said Daniel was dead and I had to call you Hunter." A tight silence stretched between them. Callie moved closer, shifting forward onto her knees, trying to make out his expression.

"Daniel?" she said to the silhouetted shape in front of her. "We don't have to talk about this now. If you're not ready, that's fine."

"He's not someone you want to know."

"Is he who you were in prison?"

"Yes, and you don't want to know this, trust me, you don't."

"Yes I do, tell me when you're ready. I don't shock easily."

Daniel uttered a humourless laugh and stood up so abruptly he nearly pushed her over. He walked a few paces then stood with his back to her. "Did you see it?"

"The scar, you mean?" Callie stayed where she was, still kneeling in the sand. "Yes. It looked painful." She cringed inwardly at the empty, hollow words he must have heard over and over. Words that sounded good, but didn't really mean anything. He didn't respond, so she tried again.

"It made me angry, when I saw it." He turned his head briefly. Callie stood too and made her way towards him. "I wanted to go kill him, whoever did that to you."

"So did I."

"Will you let me see it? Not now, I mean. Some time?" They were very close, Callie still slightly behind him, shivering now as the wind got up.

His face was hidden, but she could feel his anger and how tense talking about Hunter and the scar had made him. His shoulders were shaking with it.

"You're cold," he said finally turning to look at her again. “Here.” At first she thought he was going to show her the scar there and then and almost opened her mouth to tell him no. "No, don't take it off," she told him, realising that he was giving her his jacket. "I'll share it with you."

He stopped moving, the jacket halfway down his arms. "I don't mind. I'm warm enough."

"So why waste all that lovely body heat," she replied, trying to get some humour into her voice. "Come on, got the keys to the gate in my pocket. Let's go back the easy way."

Daniel collected the mugs from the wall and there were a few awkward seconds of him opening the coat and her deciding the best way to do this. Finally, she slipped an arm around his waist and he draped his over her shoulder. They made their way back, both of them trying not to trip the other up.

At least he knew now that she still trusted him, even after he'd implied that he might have a not so pleasant side to him, Callie thought. It felt surprisingly good being in a man's arms again. Although boyfriends had come and gone over the years she'd never had the sense of wanting to hold on to any of them. Pleasant interludes sometimes finished by her, sometimes by them, never with any great angst or regret over the break-up. Except for Len, the only man she would have walked to the other end of the earth with if he'd asked her. He never did.

Callie opened the gate and they both paused for another look at the moon. When she shivered again, Daniel slipped his other arm around her. Nothing more than a friendly hug, she told herself, comfort needed, comfort given. She rested her cheek against his chest and let him warm her. Caught the faint whiff of cigarettes and slipped her spare arm across his waist, just below the scar while they stood quietly and contemplated the splendour of the heavens.

"Quite a show, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Sometimes you just have to stop and look, don't you? It's like the universe wants your attention, so it puts on a display that's so jaw-droppingly awesome that you're just dazzled by it, and you can't do anything else but listen."

"It's magic all right. Couldn't see the sky from my cell window. All I could see was a brick wall."

He tightened his hold and she did the same. His pain wouldn’t be erased completely. Time would help in dimming the memory but, like the scars, it would always be a part of him.

Their voices dropped to whispers, appropriate to the quiet intimacy of the night.

"I'm truly sorry, Daniel."

"I know." His voice carried an edge of regret that was almost heartbreaking in its intensity. She also heard the gratitude and the relief. Signs that he was on the journey back. Even as she tightened her hold, he was relaxing against her and she almost felt like an intruder. A voyeur, watching in fascination as another human being went through the process of healing.

Callie kept very still, knowing that he simply needed her to be there and bear witness to what was happening, and let Daniel decide when to move. Eventually he did and they walked back to the house in silence. Stepping back into reality as the pool of light from the porch lamp illuminated them.

Every time this happened she would know him a little better, understand him more. An emotional journey of this intensity would tie them together in a way that could probably never be untangled. The full force of it hit her when she turned the key in the lock and let them both back into the kitchen. She'd imagined talking, maybe tears. She’d do a lot of listening, dispense sage advice, shake her head in disgust at the terrible things that had happened to him. She hadn't reckoned on feeling it this much. Or his ability to communicate the pain quite as successfully as he did.

"Hungry?" She opened the fridge and closed it again, remembering it was empty.

"I'm always hungry," he replied. "Can I help?"

"Yeah, catch." He fielded the packet of pasta expertly. "What are we having with it?"

"Tin of tomatoes, tuna, what do you need?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You've got to be a better cook than I am, right?"

"That's not very likely," he said joining her to stare into the cupboard. "Got any garlic?"

"There's some hanging in the back porch. You know, for vampires," she said, attempting a joke.

"You can't be too careful these days," he replied dryly. "You go fetch and I'll put the pasta on."

Out on the back porch she pulled a clove from the string of garlic hanging by the back door and thought about the special moment they'd just shared. It had passed so quickly she was already left wondering if it had really happened at all. He hadn't opened up about Hunter either, other than make it worse by telling her Hunter was someone she wouldn't want to know.

"There you go," she said, back inside handing him the garlic. "I'm glad one of us can cook, Mom said we had to remember to eat."

He pulled at the skin of the garlic with his fingers, smiling at her words. "Got a knife?"

"Yeah, here." She found him one and busied herself opening a bottle of wine. "So, Daniel. What have you learnt tonight?"

"That you have better balance me." The garlic dropped into the pan of sizzling olive oil.

"Anything else?" Callie stretched up to one of the glass fronted cupboards and took down two wine glasses.

"That you have a budding career in prospect as a new-age therapist?"

"You think?" she said pouring them each a generous glassful of wine. "Anything else?"

"That I'm not the only crazy one around here?"

"Comforting, isn't it? Here, take this and let's have a toast."

Daniel put down his wooden spoon and turned to face her. "To what?"

"To your journey back. May I say I'm honoured to be your travel companion." She hadn't expected it to come out like that, and neither had he expected to hear it, by the look on his face. Feeling a blush creep across her cheeks, she held his gaze nevertheless. "I mean it."

"I know," he replied, clinking his glass with hers. "Thank you."

~

“Well, Daniel. You can cook for me any time.”

“You liked it?”

“It was great. You go have your cigarette,” she said eyeing the packet already in his hand. “You cooked, so I’ll clean up.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yep. I’ll bring some coffee out when I’ve done.”

Outside on the porch-swing, he let himself drift as he filled his lungs with smoke and blew it into the crisp night air.

She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever set eyes on. But then, when you're drunk, every woman is the most beautiful you've ever seen. Puffing determinedly on the joint that was being passed around, bottle in hand, hanging on to his arm, pressing herself against him. The signals were pretty clear. She was there to have a good time, and so was he.

Plenty to celebrate. A good degree under his belt, starting Grad School. One of the professors had gotten him some contract work upgrading the lab computers. Pretty routine stuff, but something to put on his CV.

They stumbled down the corridor trying doors as they went. Some were locked, some were open but already taken with couples who were way ahead of them. Backing out giggling their apologies, her hand in his, they continued their search until they found an empty room.

It was over within minutes. Sprawled across the bed, they panted for breath. She'd told him she was on the pill so he didn't need to go find a condom, but she hadn't told him she was a virgin. And he felt bad because her first time shouldn't have been a drunken fumble in the dark with a stranger. To top it off he then, very unromantically, passed out. When he woke up, she was gone.

He threw up in the toilet then asked around for her. Someone told him she'd gone home hours ago. It was now two a.m. With no idea where she lived, or even her last name, he decided to leave finding her until tomorrow so he made his way back to his apartment, crawled into his own bed and fell asleep again.

At five in the morning he was woken up by the police knocking on his door. The accusation made him laugh. His smile soon faded when he saw how serious they were. A few people came out to watch them take him, some muttering, some pointing. Someone called out to him, but he couldn't hear them because they seemed very far away, and the world was suddenly made of treacle.

Every step was an effort. Every word sounded wrong. No-one believed his story. They just kept saying over and over that the person they were talking about, was him. He spoke. No-one seemed to be able to hear him and after a while he couldn't even hear himself. The world flipped on its axis and became a place of lies instead of truth, darkness instead of light and the louder he shouted, the quieter his voice became.

Until one day it was just him, alone, screaming silently in the dark.

Daniel stubbed out his cigarette on the wooden decking and turned to see Callie carrying a tray bearing two cups of coffee and a bar of chocolate.

“Figured we deserved this.” She settled beside him and snapped him off a chunk. “Here.”

Her kindness brought tears to his eyes.

~

Lying on her bed, Callie tried to read a magazine, distracted by thoughts that kept going back over the day.

How did you have an intense emotional relationship with a man who wasn't your boyfriend? Touch someone, get really close and still keep it platonic? She thought of Craig. After the attack she'd been there for him, but so had Liz and his family and a whole bunch of other friends. Daniel seemed to have no-one to get close to, right now. Except her.

The phone rang, intruding on her thoughts. She picked it up and chatted with her mother for a few moments. Anne had left her favourite earrings behind and wanted Callie to mail them to her. Callie promised she'd look in the drawer as instructed. Her mom was unusually insistent that she go find them now, so Callie rang off and went to look.

Making her way to Anne's room, she passed the bathroom and heard the sound of water running into the old cast iron bath. There were other bathrooms in the house but this was the only original one, installed when the house was built and her grandparents' pride and joy. The bath was free standing with gilt, claw feet and very deep.

The earrings were in a drawer, lying on a buff folder with a name neatly written across the front. Daniel Denham, Case-notes. The name registered just as she was sliding the drawer closed. She opened it again.

She pulled out the folder, glancing around guiltily. Her fingers were trembling by the time she was back in her own bedroom, opening it up. It was full of loose sheets, some handwritten, some typed. Reports, transcripts, statements.

Thank you Mom, she whispered and with a pounding heart started to read the things she'd been so desperate to know.

~

"You wanted to see?"

Daniel stood very still, watching the girl sit up in bed. She groped for the bedside light and he saw her push back her blonde hair and blink at him.

"Daniel?"

He lifted his hand and traced the line of the scar before looking up again.

"You said you wanted to see it."

"Daniel, it's the middle of the night," she said, slipping out of bed, pulling down the tee shirt that barely covered her thighs. "Are you awake?"

He frowned, puzzled by the question. "I thought you wanted to see it."

"I do, Daniel, you want to show me now?"

She moved slowly towards him and Daniel looked around wondering why his cell was so different. Too big, and where were the bunks? He lifted his hand and let it drop. "If you like."

"Come here then." He felt her hand grasp his and her voice was soft and kind so he let her take him and sit him down on the edge of the bed. "Daniel, it's Callie, can you hear me?" She stood in front of him, holding both of his hands, and looked like an angel. "What happened to you, Daniel?"

He shrugged and stared down at her hands. They felt familiar in his. He tried to remember why.

"Were you in a fight?"

He looked around again, wondering who she was talking to. Was this heaven? If she was an angel, it must be.

"Hunter?"

His head jerked up. The angel moved back. He tightened his grip and kept her in place.

"Who wants to know?"

She froze, looking at him warily. "It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Daniel's dead, I killed him."

"I know, but only for a short time. Daniel's back now."

He looked at her small hands, turned them over and ran his thumbs over the palms. She shivered. "Are you afraid of me?" he asked.

"No, no I'm not. Let me take you back to bed."

She tugged lightly on his arms, pulling him up, leading him away. He'd never believed in guardian angels, until now. Staring at her back, he wondered where her wings were, and why he'd never seen her before.

This room didn't look right, either. No sign of his cell-mates. That was good, he didn't want them to see her. She was his, and only his.

She pulled back the quilt, pointed to his jeans and said, "Do you want to take them off?"

He did as he was told, felt her hand rubbing his arm.

"Get in bed, you need to sleep."

Yes. When he was this tired nothing made any sense. He lay down and felt the soft quilt drifting around him. Then she was leaving and he panicked. I’ll never see her again, he thought frantically. He sat up and tried to get out of bed.

She was back, pushing him down into the pillows, soothing him with soft words. This time he caught her wrist and held on. "Don't go," he said, pulling her hand to his chest and holding it there. "Stay with me."

He heard a sigh. The bed dipped. Gentle fingers smoothed back his hair.

"Go to sleep," she whispered, so near that her breath warmed his face. With her there it felt safe enough. Daniel murmured a quiet word of thanks and drifted away into a deep, peaceful sleep.

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