For Nikki

The sun finally broke through the misty night that clung to the hills, spilling across the sloping lawn. It crashed against the wall of glass that offered a stunning view of the sprawling garden, making my tired eyes sting.

“Is it morning already?” I groaned, rubbing my eyes. They felt dry and scratchy. The urge to close them again and never open them was overwhelming.

“Yeah, it’s morning already,” Dave told me, his gaze clouded with something that looked an awful lot like pity. “Any luck?” He asked.

“No,” I mumbled, running my pale hand through my greasy, tangled black hair. “You’d think being as famous as he is…I’d be able to find him somehow.”

Dave frowned, squeezing my shoulder as he leaned over me to look at the various pieces of paper I had scattered over our oversized kitchen table.

It was mostly a large collection of blurred images captured by CCTV cameras, faxes and printouts of emails - the latest signposts that dotted along a seemingly endless and twisted road. Most of the information came from my very expensive private investigator. He had been working almost as hard as me, trying to track down the one and only Kian Martoni.

I sighed, taking a long look at the distorted images. They were taken from some footage filmed outside a club in New York, a fuzzy clip of a gorgeous dark haired boy who matched Kian’s description.

But it wasn’t him. I was so used to the crushing disappointment that I didn’t even notice it. I’d spent months looking for him, my investigator and his team had scoured the globe for him but it was as if he’d simply slipped off the face of the earth. It was as if I’d dreamed him - the impossibly beautiful, incredibly passionate teenage boy I had willingly wrecked my life for.

I couldn’t explain why I had to find him. He had run off after we indulged in a brief but intense affair, the day I began divorce proceedings to end my marriage to my high school sweetheart, Angel Andrews. I hadn’t been given the chance to say goodbye, or beg him to stay. He was gone before I could blink.

“Matt,” Dave began, his tone compassionate but careful. “Maybe you should just…”

“No,” I replied firmly, not even letting him finish his sentence. I knew what he was implying - that I should give up the search, let Kian fade away as if he was nothing more than a memory. I couldn’t do that, couldn’t even contemplate it. A life without him wasn’t one I was willing to live. Even though the half investigated leads and blurred pictures I sat up with night after night couldn’t begin to fill the void that threatened to swallow me whole, they were better than nothing at all. Hell, I could use them to decorate the walls of the gaping black chasm I had carved for myself.

“Kian’s a stubborn kid. He’ll be found when he wants to be.”

“You don’t expect me to buy that, do you?” I snapped, not wanting to meet his gaze.

“He’s been gone for five and a half months,” Dave pointed out. “I’m not saying you should give up, I just…don’t let to see you in so much pain.”

I sighed again, letting the guilt wash over me. I hadn’t meant to snap at Dave, I knew he had my best interests at heart. Things had been difficult for all of us. I had ripped our family apart.

Things used to be so easy. Well, maybe not easy…easy is the wrong word. I met Angel Andrews during my senior year of high school, after moving to her leafy suburb with my mother as soon as she finalised her divorce from my junky father. I loved Angel the very first second I saw her. She was so sweet and so caring. I was lucky to have her, and I knew it.

We moved to Olympia after graduation. It was a difficult time in our relationship. I became addicted to heroin but managed to kick the habit shortly before I joined a local band consisting of a singer named Fay, his partner and bassist Dave and a drummer named Joe (or Jeff, depending on what mood he’s in).

That seems like a life time ago. Kian was nothing but a child then. The path I’ve stumbled down since then has been filled with potholes but I’ve never really injured myself while walking it - a few sprained ankles, a grazed knee every now and then.

The band I write lyrics and play guitar for, Anavrin, has gone on to sell millions of records. Not that you’d know it if you spent time with us. We hang one plaque for each album in our basement studio and the rest are kept in Fay’s enormous closet - he still spends most afternoons off trying to find Narnia in there. I found myself living with Angel and my band mates in a surprisingly cosy mansion in the Hollywood Hills. Angel and I had a child together, our wonderful daughter Celeste, and we even got married. Life was good but never “normal”, not with my half brother (and oddly enough, Fay’s half brother) Michael and his insanely handsome rock star boyfriend Adam Eden around. Everything was actually kind of perfect in a chaotic way.

I had more than I had ever dared to hope for - a loving wife, a beautiful family, success, wealth, good friends - and then he came along.

Kian Martoni, the child prodigy. The flames in his eyes fuelled a musical talent so pure and so natural it made my feel both jealous and humble. He was only sixteen when I first met him, angry and broken. He had been pulled from a life that had mercilessly held him prisoner into the bright lights of Lost Angeles by his long lost brother Sonny - another successful and talented musician I was good friends with (his band Trainwrecks and Firewater are signed to Adam’s label, Eden Records). Suddenly, Kian Martoni had everything he thought he wanted - freedom, a family, a loving boyfriend (an impossibly graceful dancer named Rayden) and the chance to really launch a career as a musician.

We both had seemingly perfect lives, and I’d been all to willing to let the fire in his eyes burn my life to the ground.

So we burned together for a little while and then he vanished, leaving me alone in the dark without so much as a match to offer some illumination.

“Do you know what day it is? What month?” Dave asked quietly. He didn’t sound angry and I was grateful for that. He didn’t like the way I was behaving, but I knew that he understood. That thought offered some comfort.

“I…no,” I confessed, blinking slowly. “Tuesday?”

“Saturday,” he corrected. “It’s Saturday, Matt. Angel is bringing Celeste over today,” he reminded me.

Celeste. The mere mention of her name made my heart hurt. My precious daughter meant the world to me, and after Kian left, she was one of the few people I could stand to be around. I had tried so hard to pull myself together for her - I would take her to school, read to her and we’d often go to the park. But she wasn’t strong enough to keep me from drowning and I didn’t want her to see me in such a mess.

So she was living with Angel, out in a small suburban neighbourhood. Celeste had asked to stay with me before Angel and I began divorce proceedings. We didn’t want to draw up an official custody agreement (the whole divorce had been incredibly easy) so the plan was: Celeste would stay with me Monday to Friday, then with Angel at the weekends. But Angel had very kindly agreed to swap our arrangement for a while until I could put myself back in working order.

“Yeah, Celeste,” I mumbled, feeling the tears burning my already irritated eyes. “I…”

“Look, why don’t you go to bed? Fay and I will take Celeste out this afternoon,” he offered. “She shouldn’t have to see you this way.”

“I know,” I managed to choke the words out. “I don’t want her to, I want to be a good dad.”

“You are a good dad,” Dave assured me. “Just…try and get some rest, ok?”

“I can’t,” I whispered. “I can’t sleep.”

Dave eyed me for a moment. Then he reached up to the very top shelf of one of the cabinets - he was the only person in the house that could reach it - and pulled down a little white bottle.

“Here,” he said as he handed me a small bottle of pills.

“What are these?” I asked, squinting as I tried to read the label. They had been prescribed to Frankie A Adams - Fay.

“Fay’s sleeping pills. You know how bad his nightmares can be,” Dave said quietly. I shuddered - I knew exactly what Fay dreamed about. He’d faced unmentionable horrors in his life, and he’d overcome them.

“Yeah.”

“Those pills knock him out cold. No dreams, no nightmares. Just sleep,” he told me. “Do yourself a favour Matt, and take a couple, ok?”

(A/N: Ok, so, Matt's back! You didn't think I could just leave things the way they ended in The Emo Boy and His Encore, did you? A few things to note: five and a half months have passed since the end of Encore. Matt and Angel are now divorced - gasp! And this is the first ever story in the Matt Harris series not to feature the phrase "Emo Boy" in the title. I'll let you all draw your own conclusions on that...reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.)