For once in his life, Swan was troubled. He sat on the white leather couch with his cigarette, watching the little tendrils of smoke wind into the air. The rain was pouring down outside. He knew he would have to go to the Paradise soon and watch his tape or the contract would be broken. For now, he was busy watching the rain drip down the windows like tears. Many things were heavy on his mind. He'd fully intended to break his word with Melody or find a way around it. In fact, he still had copies of Winslow and Phoenix's contracts. He had only burned the originals. His cowardice was due to fear—he'd had a rather unwelcome visitor last night who had warned him that he could not escape. Swan was at a loss.

Then, there had been the fight between Melody and that demon. She'd protected him. She'd remained loyal to him. She'd seen the worst of what was inside of him and still loved him. The question was what kind of love?

You want what you can't have, it had said, like Swan there.

What had he meant? It had burned in the back of his mind for days. He, Winslow, and Phoenix had taken turns staying with Melody. Winslow was there right now, probably dozing in the chair next to the bed. Since that terrible night, their words to each other had been few and poor. The walls of defense had all gone back up as each feared for his or her own life and feelings. It would be his shift next and the receptionist would deal with any intruders.

The phone rang and Swan nearly jumped out of his skin. Before he could drop the cigarette, he quickly smashed it down into the ash tray and seized the receiver.

"This is Nurse Welkin at River Ridge Hospital," she said, "I wanted to inform you that Melody is awake."

"Thank you."

He seized his jacket and was out the door before his hired help could ask where he was going.

Melody slowly forced herself out of the fog. She hated this stuff, whatever it was. They told her that it would make her better, but all it did was make her very tired. Even her vision was blurry when she opened her eyes. The first thing that came into view was Winslow's silver mask. His pale blue eyes were staring down into hers, filled with concern.

"Get me out of here, Winslow," she said thickly, "I feel awful."

"I know," he said sympathetically, "and I'll take you home as soon as they say it's okay."

"Now," she begged.

She tried to sit up to show him she was all right, but her body felt as if it were made of lead. She couldn't get it to move no matter how hard she tried. With an exhausted sigh, she sank back on the pillows.

"Darn it," she sighed, her eyes welling up with frustration.

The nurse came in and took some notes on her chart.

"Do you think you can eat anything?" she asked Melody.

"I'm not hungry."

"I'll bring some food up and it'll be here if you change your mind, how about that?"

Melody sighed.

"All right."

She glanced over at Winslow.

"That's a first, isn't it? That I'm not hungry."

Winslow couldn't help but smile.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?" he asked.

"Hug me. And pray for me."

He did both at the same time, praying silently in his head. He could swear he'd said more prayers in these last few days than he had in his entire life. What would life have been like if he'd met her when he was normal? What would life have been like if he hadn't met her at all?

The nurse returned with two trays on a cart. She set one of them on Melody's bed-table and one on the nearby table for Winslow.

"Are you feeling up to visitors?" she asked Melody.

"Sure," Melody mumbled.

She looked down at the plate. There were scrambled eggs, bacon, two slices of toast, a small bowl of cream-of-wheat, and juice and coffee. She recognized the coffee immediately and dumped some of the sugar into it. Winslow had a much better appetite than she did, as he'd skipped dinner completely the night before. He'd inhaled half of his plate by the time the others came in. Melody merely rearranged the food so that it looked like she'd eaten something. She took tiny sips of coffee, grateful for the inviting warmth in her stomach. It was good not to feel sick. The coffee also helped with the oppressive sleepiness.

Phoenix came in first, then Swan. Melody noticed the interaction between her and Winslow. Something had happened since that night. Both seemed carefully guarded, but there was no mistaking the hope in Winslow's eyes or body language. Her treatment of Swan had chilled considerably. Melody wondered exactly what had happened.

Swan glanced down at her tray of mostly uneaten food.

"This stuff will kill you," he muttered.

"It will?" Melody asked, puzzled.

"Not literally. But I'm sure you aren't going to gain enough weight on it for them to let you out."

"How much do I have to gain?" Melody asked.

"They said at least ten pounds."

She groaned.

"Why?! I just want to go home. I don't like this place."

"Nobody does, Love."

Melody sighed. Then, her eyes locked on the yellow roses in Swan's hands. He placed them on the table for her.

"Finally…something with color to look at," she sighed, "thanks."

Her flesh looked alarmingly pale next to the bright yellow.

"There's more coming," he told her, "about half the Paradise was at the flower shop this morning."

Melody's face colored slightly, just enough to make her look half-alive again.

"They know?"

"Word travels fast in New York," he said, pulling up a chair beside her.

Winslow was watching him carefully. Something had changed. What it was, he couldn't say.

"I have to get going now," Swan said, almost reluctantly, "but I have appointments I have to keep. See you later, Melody, Winslow, Phoenix."

Her goodbye kiss on his cheek was very fleeting, as if she loathed to touch him. Melody yawned.

"I just woke up and I'm so tired…I'm sorry."

"Don't worry," Phoenix said, "just go to sleep."

Melody rolled over and closed her eyes.

"Poor thing," Phoenix remarked, "she still looks like she's a cancer patient."

"I wish I knew how to help her," Winslow said, "she talks in her sleep about how much she wants to go home. I think she means-" he pointed up.

"Maybe."

Phoenix sat down in the other chair. They were now facing each other.

"I'm sorry I ran from you that day on the roof," she told him, "I was…scared. Melody reminded me I didn't know you at all. I still don't. I never got a chance to."

"I didn't make it easy, did I?" Winslow lamented, "I let my fury at Swan get the best of me. I hurt innocent people. If it weren't for Melody, I'd still be doing it."

He rested his chin against his hand.

"Winslow?"

He glanced sideways at her.

"How did that happen?"

"How did what happen?" he asked, mechanical voice loaded with dread.

"The…um…the…" she gestured to the side of her face.

"That was my own stupid fault," he muttered, "I broke into the factory and was trashing the place when my sleeve caught on a record press. I couldn't escape fast enough."

Phoenix turned white, then gray. For a moment, he was afraid she'd faint.

"And your voice?" she asked cautiously.

He bowed his head.

"Gone."

He was startled when he saw her eyes sparkle with tears.

"You mean it's not just some crazy effect? Not part of the act?"

"Nope. If Swan hadn't given me this," he pointed to the black box, "I couldn't talk at all."

"I'm so sorry…"

Her hand rested on his. Winslow could have sworn his heart stopped beating for a moment.

"I didn't know," she said quietly, "I thought it was all an act…the face and the voice and the mask…"

His fingers squeezed hers.

"It's a miracle you survived that at all," she realized, "did Melody know you then?"

"She knew me long before I knew she existed," Winslow explained, "she was invisible. There were times I'd feel someone with me, but never very strongly. She knows all of my songs. She said she was there when I wrote them. But that night, someone else was with me, because she couldn't be. She was turned human that night. Someone really powerful was there…"

He trailed off. A cold chill overcame him.

"I swore at God and hated Him and said some really awful things that night," he said suddenly, "but He was there then, too. I should have died, but I didn't."

And there it was: the unfolding of hope like a blossoming rose. Winslow suddenly felt the burdens of fatigue, hatred, and fear lifted from his shoulders.

"All those things you did," Phoenix ventured, "you were trying to protect me, weren't you?"

"Yes, I was. I didn't go about it the right way at all," he admitted, "but I didn't want you to turn into the monster I'd become. I didn't want you going through it, being used and being hurt until there's nothing left but pain."

"There's more to you than that," she said, "I can see it. I can hear it. Melody sees it."

"Melody sees a lot of things the rest of us don't," Winslow said gently.

Melody had her back turned to them, so her expression was warm. She was smiling. It was the beginning of a friendship, the building of a bridge. If there was one good thing about having to stay in the hospital, it was this.