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CHAPTER ONE


After the kind of day he wouldn't have wished on his worst enemy, trekking through the house seemed like some kind of never-ending journey, his feet dragging across the floor. Alan was getting the beginnings of a headache, one of those ones that hung just behind his right sinus and eye until he wanted to cry. Not that it was all that painful; it was just that it was a never ending kind of pain. A constant nagging ache that made him grind his teeth until his jaw ached.

He had some sympathy for van Gogh, though he was never letting things get so out of control that he thought mutilation was a viable option. Not until he saw a doctor anyway.

"What's with that look?" William demanded as soon as Alan came into the living room.

"Huh?" Alan asked intelligently. His eye was caught by the image William presented sitting with his legs folded under him on the couch. There was a decorative pillow left where he had been resting on it and the front of his shirt was rumpled.

Alan felt off balance, sort of hanging between the open door and the room. He came the rest of the way in, closing the door behind him with a click. He started to take off his jacket, keeping one eye on William the entire time.

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