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Alex's radio alarm clock went off at six in the morning. It was an appropriate Beatles song playing on the radio that awakened him.

Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head. Found my way downstairs and had a cup...

Alex smashed the snooze button to shut the clock off. It was clear that the alarm had no effect on Nicky, who hadn't even moved and was lightly snoring. Alex was drained and didn't feel the least bit rested. He stared at Nicky for a moment.

Alex got dressed while watching Nicky. After dressing, he went over and gently nudged Nicky awake.

"Mph?"

"It's time to get up."

"Mph!"

"Come on, we've got to do this right," said Alex

"Mph!"

"Make sure you get up!" insisted Alex before heading to the toilets for his morning relief. Alex left without waiting for a reply, and consequently didn't notice the lack of one.

After relieving himself, Alex washed up and brushed his teeth. Then, he looked in the mirror and straightened himself up, combing his hair, and preening a bit. He wondered why since he didn't usually even care. He realized he was nervous. His mind drifted to Nicky. This is the most intense friendship I've ever had and I've not even known him very long. I wonder why I like him so much? I wonder what it is that makes us connect? He thought about Nicky's eyes. I want eyes I can get lost in. Soft eyes. Gentle eyes. Knowing eyes. Smart eyes. Seeing eyes. I think those are his eyes. What's the cliché? Eyes are a window to the soul. Yeah, that's it. There's something about him that I want to be a part of. He's destined for something big and I want to be along for the ride.

When Alex came out of the washroom, he was irritated to see that Nicky had still not awakened, and he didn't want to wait on him. He decided to wing it instead. He was counting on his skill in lying, his acting ability, and, in part, he thought, the stupidity of his parents. He left Nicky where he was, sleeping, and headed downstairs.

As he came downstairs, he could see that his parents were at the table. His father was hidden behind a newspaper, nursing a large cup of coffee while reading the sports page. His mother was preparing what looked to be an enormous breakfast. She really did thrive on having company and this gave her a chance to do all the things she liked.

Alex walked in. "'Morning."

"Hi, honey," replied Amanda.

"Hello, son," replied Eric.

"Mom, Dad, we have to talk."

The usual morning kitchen noises found in most households around the world filled the room. But at Alex's statement, they ground to an immediate and sudden stop. It was a palpable silence. Alex thought you really could hear a pin drop. Alex sat down.

"Listen, I don't know how to start this, but you have to let me finish once I start."

His parents nodded assent. He knew they'd stick to their agreement -- they were like that. He still felt a little ashamed for lying to them. He never used to lie to them, but he wanted to clear up the kidnap story before they asked any uncomfortable questions and then deal with the situation his new lie would create. He knew he'd never be able to keep track of so many lies made with so many people. Better he make up one big lie that he could keep track of. One that played right into his parents' perceptions.

"Well, you know you sent me on that trip to England, right?"

They nodded in agreement.

"The shrink said I lived too much in a fantasy world, right?"

They nodded in agreement, wondering where Alex was going with his questioning. Alex was just asking them to verify facts they already knew.

"You and the shrink thought I needed to be more grounded in reality, right?"

They nodded in agreement, looking like they wanted him to get the point. He noticed this and decided to speed up a bit so he could hold their attention.

"Here it is then. First, I have to start with a lie I told, but not to you. You're going to be pissed, but wait until you hear my reason. Maybe you won't hate me so much for it." Alex knew this contrivance would eat at his mother.

"You with me?" asked Alex, noticing his mom starting to enter into a contemplative state instead of listening.

Amanda indicated her agreement by tilting her head slightly. Alex's father just looked on, wondering why this was taking so damned long.

"Well, I wasn't kidnapped. I think one of the officers figured it out, too. But I had to stick to my story."

Alex's parents silently motioned for Alex to continue, looking somewhat relieved. They were happy to hear this revelation. Alex didn't know it, but one of the Scotland Yard detectives had called them after Alex was en-route to relate their suspicions that Alex wasn't really kidnapped because the facts simply didn't add up.

Alex went on, unaware his revelation was not a big shock. "Now before you get mad, let me tell you why. I was nearing the end of my vacation and I met this kid at the museum. We got to talking. That's as real as you can get, by the way. Anyway, I guess we became friends those last few days. I found out he was going to run away from home. Yeah, I know, big deal. I suppose kids run away all the time." He paused for breath and a bit of dramatic effect, so this would sink in.

Neither Alex nor his parents noticed that Nicky had approached the kitchen door. They couldn't see him from where they were sitting. When he realized that Alex had started without him, Nicky stayed where he was so he could hear what was being said. After all, he surmised, I have to make sure our stories match up.

"Nicky told me he was being abused. I don't know what kind of abuse, and I didn't ask. That really wasn't my business unless he decided to tell me. So I suggested he run here, with me. I figured I could help him out and stuff. And maybe having someone around will help me keep grounded in reality. He leaves a bad situation, and I improve my bad situation. It was pretty much a win-win situation. So, basically, that's it."

There was silence before Eric spoke. "Son, I'm sure you thought you were helping, but we can't have a runaway live here. If he's abused, we can turn him over to the consulate here. If he's not abused, and just tired of a typical teen's life, we can turn him over to his father, who, I might add, is probably worried sick. I'm disappointed in you. There's a very old cliché that's overused, but in this case it's very appropriate: the road to hell is paved with good intentions."

Nicky could see where the conversation was heading and decided to walk in at this point before it got ugly. "Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Maitland!" he said as brightly as he could.

"Good morning," said Amanda, doing her best to feign cheer. Alex mumbled a return greeting with far less enthusiasm.

"Nicky, you're such a nice, polite boy. Alex, you really should try and emulate him," she said pointedly, though clearly Nicky could tell she meant it well. It wasn't a mean comment in any way, though from Alex's look, Nicky suspected he took it poorly.

Suddenly the overwhelming smell of burnt eggs and toast begin to fill the kitchen. "Oh my God! The breakfast!" screamed Amanda, jumping up to put out the burning breakfast. They were all momentarily distracted by the quickly resolved crisis, but the food was ruined.

Alex wasn't particularly hungry after the morning discussion, but didn't say anything because he thought Nicky might be hungry.

They watched silently as his mother prepared breakfast again. There was not even an attempt at small talk. They ate in silence, punctuated only by the sound of silverware hitting the plates. At the conclusion of the meal, Amanda and Alex cleared the table, still in silence. All of them had the same private thought: this is very awkward and uncomfortable.

"Alex, I want you and Nicky to go upstairs to your room. Your mother and I have some things to discuss," ordered Eric abruptly in a tone that brooked no argument.

• • • • • • • •

"Amanda, we need to talk about this boy, Nicky," stated Eric as soon as the boys were upstairs.

"Before you start, I know there's something going on between those two boys that we're not seeing. There's just something wrong there."

"What do you mean by that?" demanded Eric, a sharp edge to his voice. Eric was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted, with no back-talk. When he was questioned or things weren't going his way, he tended to get irritable and even petulant.

"I sense something. I just don't know what,"

"I hope you aren't insinuating that my son's a fag. I'd hate that," spat Eric.

"Eric! Where the hell did that come from? I don't think he is, but who cares if he is or not, as long as he's happy?" She knew she'd never hate her son, no matter what. She hoped Alex understood that. Amanda often drifted off into thought like this, and she supposed that's where Alex got it from. Certainly, it was her fault somehow. Sometimes she also wondered about her husband and what was inside of him. Yes, she loved him but sometimes he was so distant, quiet, and unapproachable.

Eric grunted in irritation. He could sense a fight brewing and he didn't want one right now. He opted to change the subject back to Nicky. "Amanda, I don't like this. We should call the police and let them handle it."

"I know, but Nicky seems like such a nice boy. I just think there's more to this story than we're being told -- I don't think there's some terrible disaster brewing. Still, I agree, we can't allow this for any length of time. Even so, I don't want the boy in foster care while he's waiting for resolution. I'm willing to let him stay here if it's for a few days."

"But, Amanda do you really think that's wise?" asked Eric, irritation still evident in his voice.

"As long as it's only for a few days I see no real harm. I think the police would deal with this matter poorly, though. Maybe you should call the British consulate and let them handle it instead."

"Okay. I'll do that." Eric got up, went to the phone, and dialled 411. "May I have the number for the British consulate in San Francisco, please?"

• • • • • • • •

Nicky's father realized things weren't right soon after the meeting between he and Nicky ended, yet Nicky was his son, so he gave him the benefit of the doubt. However, when he saw the news of Alex's arrival in the United States, and the first thing he saw was a photo on the front page of Nicky protecting Alex from the camera, he knew the deed wasn't going to be done. That meant he had a job to do. A job he wasn't going to like. A job he wasn't sure he could do.

"Page!" he screamed.

Seconds later, a page came scurrying in. "Yes, your Highness?"

"We are going to the office. We have work to do. See to it my appointments for the day are cancelled."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" said the page, running off to find the King's secretary.

With that, the King arose, marched towards his door, which another page swung open and shut again after the King marched through. The King made a right turn, and as he did, the guards fell into formation behind him. It was clear the King had a purpose. Those in his way moved aside even more quickly than they usually did. The King's destination was a door with yet another page standing next to it . As he approached, the page swung the door open and the King marched through. The door swung shut behind him, and the guards took their positions on either side of the closed door.

King Vonamoor was alone in the office. This one room was the only place modern technology was in evidence down below. Only the royal family was allowed here -- nobody else had ever stepped in, not even to clean. Most people who lived down below never went up top and the equipment in here would have been utterly foreign to them. Even to the King some of it was difficult to use and understand. It seemed Nicky had a much better grasp on these things. He grimaced at the thought of Nicky.

The office looked like the typical office of any executive. There was a desk, though the King's desk was from the art-deco period, and wouldn't fit in well in a high-tech office, yet down here it was the utmost in modernity. On the desk was a telephone, a computer, and on an end-table were a fax machine and a television. He didn't even know how to work the fax. But he knew how to use the telephone, and that was why he was here. He lifted the receiver off the hook and pressed one of the speed dial numbers.

"Hello. Yes, this is your King. We need a ticket to America."

"Where in America, Sire?"

"Wherever my son booked his ticket to."

"Los Angeles, California. Odd, his flight was cancelled," said the travel agent, "and I see he never went on from San Francisco."

"Then get us a ticket to San Francisco."

"Yes, Your Majesty. It shall be done."

The King hung up, and pressed another speed dial number.

"Yes, this is Mr. Vonamoor. I am calling for some information." This number was to a very private and exclusive detective agency where the kingdom had an account. They didn't know about the world below, and assumed this was another business deal among the elite where publicity was always a Very Bad Thing. So the King did his best to act like another client.

"Certainly, sir," said the detective at the other end. Had he been able to see over the phone lines, he'd have noticed the King wince at the lack of the title he had become so accustomed to. "What can we do for you?"

"I need the full name, address, and telephone number of that boy on the cover of this morning's Sun. We also need his parents' names." The King hoped the detective hadn't noticed his use of the word 'we' instead of 'I' in the last instance.

"No problem. We'll have that faxed over to you shortly. Add this to the account?"

"Yes, please."

"Very good."

King Vonamoor hung up the phone and turned on the television. He knew it wouldn't take long for his information. True to form, it didn't. Within an hour and a half, he heard the fax click on. It was a good thing he didn't need to know how to do anything to receive a fax, or he'd have been lost. When the fax was done, he grabbed the sheet out of the tray and looked at it.

He picked up the phone and dialled another number.

• • • • • • • •

Ring. Ring. Ring. Eric Maitland swore as he went to the phone. He was waiting for the consulate to call back and it seemed every call was from a reporter. He had no idea how their unlisted phone number had gotten out, but obviously it had. He decided that he'd order caller-ID as soon as he hung up.

"Yeah. What?"

The King was shocked at the rudeness of the voice at the other end.

"May I speak to Amanda or Eric Maitland, please?"

"Is this the consulate?" asked Eric, his voice softening as he heard the English accent.

"No, my name is Mr. Vonamoor and I'm Nicky's father. I am to understand my son has run away and is now with you."

"Why yes, he's here. I must say he's made some amazing claims about his circumstances."

The King paused briefly, and wondered what 'amazing claims' actually entailed. It could be any number of things. "If it's not too much trouble for you and your wife, I would like to come get him, but as I am in England it won't be until late tomorrow I can get there to do so. Would you make sure he doesn't run off again? And please don't tell him I'm coming. He'll just get it in his head to run again. He's a very headstrong child."

"Yes, I think that'll be fine. Though when the consulate calls, I'll have to think of something to tell them."

"Consulate?" asked the King darkly.

"Yes, I called the consulate. You didn't think I was going to keep your son, do you? One of them is enough trouble, let me assure you."

"Yes, I do know what you mean," agreed the King chuckling slightly. "I will call the consulate and let them know I'm coming. So if they don't call, don't worry. I want to keep this from being another media frenzy. Thank you, Mr. Maitland. There will be a reward for you."

"A reward isn't necessary," replied Eric, glad to be rid of this problem named Nicky.

"Thank you again. I'll see you tomorrow evening."

They hung up. Eric Maitland wondered about the abuse charge but didn't think Nicky looked the least bit abused and decided to leave it at that. He was so happy at Nicky's pending departure that he forgot to call and place the caller-ID order.

• • • • • • • •

The King called the British consulate.

A youngish-sounding female voice answered, "British consulate. How may I direct your call?"

The King spoke, "Is this the San Francisco office?"

"Yes, sir," replied the female voice.

"Good," stated the King before continuing, "You have received a call about a runaway boy who is in residence with the Maitland family."

"I'm not quite sure what you're talking about, sir."

"Yes you do. Get me someone in charge. I have information for the correct party."

"I'll put you through shortly," stated the voice sounding put out.

He knew by the delay that much information was being exchanged prior to his call being put through to whatever official would be dealing with him.

"Consul General Edmunds here, how might I help you?"

"I am to understand you have received a call about a runaway boy from the Maitland family."

"Perhaps. Do you have something you might wish to say about this purported incident?"

"He's my son. I'm Nicky Vonamoor's father. You needn't bother with the charade. Nicky's just phoned me, and I've already booked a ticket to get him tomorrow evening. I'm terribly sorry for the trouble. I was just trying to save you the effort."

"Thank you, sir. We'll keep the file open until you report in with both of your passports at the embassy there. Procedure, you understand."

"Fine. I will be there late tomorrow night if all goes to schedule."

They hung up.

"Odd. Most odd," commented the Consul General to his computer monitor. "That's strictly eyes only. I wonder how he knew." His caller-ID screen was blank as if the number the caller had just dialled from didn't exist.

• • • • • • • •

As soon as they were dismissed from breakfast, Alex and Nicky went upstairs. He wasn't sure what to do while his parents had their talk. He knew it was probably about him, and he didn't want to dwell on it because it would serve no purpose but to irritate him. Avoidance was the best course of action for the short-term, decided Alex.

"Nicky, want to play a video game or something?"

"I've never played one before."

"What?!" exclaimed Alex in total shock.

"Well, I just haven't. I've seen them in stores up above, obviously. It's just something we don't have. I've never had the opportunity. I'm game though!"

"Here, let's try something easy," Alex said, loading a racing game into the console. He spent a few moments showing Nicky the concept. He played a game while Nicky watched, and explained it carefully in the over-detailed way someone does when explaining something they're passionate about.

"Nicky, are you ready to try?"

"Orrite! As ready as I'm ever going to be!" he exclaimed a bit of excitement in his voice. Alex then turned the command pad over to him. Nicky took his turn playing, and didn't do too badly for a rank beginner.

After nearly an hour, there was a quick knock at Alex's door before it opened. It was Eric. "I need to speak to Nicky for a moment." Alex made no effort to leave. "In private, son."

Alex got up to leave but Nicky stopped him. "I prefer not, if it's all the same to you."

"Very well," said Eric, the irritation straining his voice, "I've spoken to the consulate today. They're sending someone to pick you up tomorrow evening," Eric said, figuring that small lie was sufficient.

"You're going to stay here until then. I expect you to stay put and make no effort to leave." Eric then got up, and left, shutting the door behind him. He didn't ever expect anyone to defy him.

Alex and Nicky stared at each other in total disbelief.

"Alex, what are we going to do?"

"I don't know," said Alex. "I really don't know."