"What happened?" Mark wondered aloud, hands in pockets, staring at Collins, who lay on the bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed made the matress under him sag, and he was close to sliding off onto the floor.

This had been Mark's sitting place for the past three days. This had also been his thinking place for the past three days. So much had happened, too much for him to handle. Angel had gotten ill. Angel had died. Collins had fell into depression. Roger had moved to Santa Fe. Collins pulled himself out of depression. Roger had moved back. Mimi had gotten ill. Mimi had almost died. Mimi came back to life with the story of a white light and Angel. Collins sank back into depression.

What happened? Collins had arrived at their door with money, and even a smile-which had been a preciously rare thing ever since Angel's death. It had been like the old Collins was back, ready and steeled to take on the world again. Then the problem with Mimi came up, and as Roger held fast to his newly healed lover, Collins fell back again.

Mark couldn't say he blamed him. Benny was leaving. Maureen and Joanne talked about agents and hitting it big in the performance feild. Roger and Mimi couldn't be torn apart for the life of them. Only Collins and Mark were left. But even he couldn't be there for the teacher, he had immersed himself in the film work.

It took Mark at least a week to realize the change in his friend's behavior. All of a sudden, it was back to square one-locked doors and all. Guilt had become an average thing for Mark, as he realized how far Tom had slipped back without them noticing.

After a while, it was apparant that Collins wasn't going to fight back again. All life had slipped out of his eyes. No emotion could be read on his face, a countenance devoid of happiness, of feeling, and of the will to live. Days were spent holed up in his room, staring at the ceiling with only the steady rise and fall of his chest and occasional blink to indicate life in the ex-teacher. Letters sent to him all lay in a pile by his bed-unopened. The books on his shelves collected dust. Almost everything in the room had, except for the blanket he lay on top of. Collins was simply a shell of himself now, and nothing more.

"Collins," Mark said slowly. There was no change in expression. Brown eyes continued to stare, void of all feeling, up at the ceiling. "Collins, we're all going out tonight to dinner. Maybe you should come."

He waited for an answer. None came.

"You know, Maureen's got this friend-and ex who she's driven to homosexuality-who she thinks you'd really like."

Immediately after it left his mouth, Mark regretted his words. Although it did bring a reaction from the man, it was not a preferrably desired one. Collins head tilted up slightly, and he looked at Mark for a moment. No tears, no words, simply looked at him. All the same, the filmmaker could see the depth of anguish that coursed through Collins' body. He bit his lip soundly. Collins lay his head back down on the pillow, and stared up at the ceiling again. He did not cry. Tom's crying had been done. There was nothing left to cry.

There was nothing left of Collins.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?"

No answer. Silence seemed to hang over the air like a thick fog, making Mark slightly dizzy. Slowly, M. Cohen got to his feet, and looked at Collins a moment. For a moment, he seemed torn with indecision. Finally, he reached forward, and lay a pale hand on Collins' own large dark one. His silent companion didn't move.

"It's all gonna be okay Collins." Mark turned around and began to walk out. Suddenly, he heard behind him a soft voice murmur.

"No it's not."

Mark averted his eyes from Collin's form, and walked out the door, shutting the door with a slight clap behind him.