Alone at last, Corby was ready to do some thinking.

He’d rather go to sleep, right then and there, but sleep wasn’t coming easy to him, unfortunately. He was wide awake now.

It was hard to think, having had no sleep at all; and yet thinking was all he was doing. He wasn’t in control of it. Various thoughts were bouncing around in his head. Replaying the events of last night mostly. And then the conversation with the priest. He didn’t know what to think of it. He didn’t know if any of it was true or not. He didn’t have a full picture. To make it make sense was difficult, and yet it was all he wanted to do. One thing was clear. He couldn’t shake the memory of him out of his head. The man-boy!

With a push of a button, his bed emerged from the wall. And when it swapped places with his kitchen unit, Corby sprawled on it in utter exhaustion. It was soft and sort of comfortable, even though the sheets were plastic and the pillow crunched under the weight of his head. He took a deep breath and exhaled, letting his body relax. Though his body wasn’t a problem. The problem was in his head! He was awake for many hours now and the coils of his brain had gotten tangled into a spasm. He couldn’t sleep even with his eyes tightly closed. The thoughts of everything that happened permeated his every brain cell. He wanted to scrutinize every little detail about last night, everything he could remember of him. Though he knew immediately remembering him wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t going to be enough. Now that he knew the boy existed, he wanted more. And he didn’t think he could ever stop himself from wanting.

Shush, you! he told himself. Enough is enough. Though his mind didn’t seem to listen. The thoughts of the boy were building into a tsunami in his head. And Corby knew tsunamis were dangerous. He was smarter than this. Come on! He willed himself to shut his eyes close, keep them that way, and just go to sleep. Back in the military, it used to work like a charm on him; less than five minutes and he was fast asleep, every time. Not now though. He was out of practice.

Where did he come from anyway, the man-boy? The priest didn’t mention it. It seemed like he fell down from heaven. But was he really an angel? Nah! Corby didn’t think so. He tossed and turned in his bed; he wanted to know. The priest said he was perfect. But if he was human, he couldn’t be. Nobody was ever perfect. People were flawed. And Corby was sure of it not just because he'd seen people from their worst side, but because he’d been looking for perfect all along and never found it.

His body was perfect though. Corby could give him that. Tall, lean, great smile, blue eyes…Corby couldn’t help but smile too thinking about him. Why in the world was he smiling? He wasn't big on smiles. Never. And yet, thinking about the boy, he couldn’t stop. A silly grin was plastered on his face right now and he couldn’t get rid of it. Those perfect blue eyes…in the short time he had a chance to witness them, they did something to him. And he didn’t realize the impact they had on him until now. Now though that he couldn’t look into those eyes, now that the boy wasn’t with him, he was beginning to understand–he was never going to be the same; now everything was different. He had butterflies in his stomach thinking about the boy. And in his groin. The priest was right. The boy was perfect.

On the verge of falling asleep at last, with his hand on a bulge of his pants, and a smile on his face, he was awakened suddenly by the buzzer. Someone was at his door again! With the smile fading from his face, he got up–grudgingly. He paraded towards the door in a series of clumsy steps and smacked his hand on the big flashing button.

The door slid open. There was a large group of people outside. He studied them with his bloodshot eyes under which dark circles were deepening. They were mostly young, twenty-ish. And they looked the part, Corby thought. Freaky clothes, hair dyed neon, and in multiple colors. Corby narrowed his eyes at them, and like a group of startled chimpanzees in the zoo, they stared back at him.

“Ye-e-e-s?” he said, angrily stretching vowels.

A girl stepped forward, one that looked even freakier than the rest. Her stripy black, white, and brown hair looked like she’d stripped it off a chipmunk. She stretched her hand to him by way of a greeting, the back of her hand painted dappled red. Staring at the red spots that looked like lesions to him, Corby realized that in her hand she was holding an audio recorder. He sighed. She didn’t mean to greet him by shaking his hand; which it was honestly fine. But she was a reporter! They were monkeys from the press, hungry to get an exclusive. He shook his head in frustration; he should have known. By now his name must have been dragged all over the newsfeeds.

“Mr. Dallas, I’m such a fan!” the chipmunk girl chirped.

“You are?” Corby asked, dubiously.

“Yes!” she yelped, stifling a shriek of excitement. “I’m your biggest fan ever. Take my word for it.” She let her hands shake in front of her as if she couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I’m so excited to meet you. Finally!”

Corby moved back cautiously. “Can I help you?” He was getting annoyed now. He was not a celebrity. He was fine not having a fan base.

“Mr. Dallas, you are the luckiest man alive, do you know that?” she said. She looked like she was going to pee herself, she was so excited.

“I am?” he asked, frowning at her as he looked her up and down. “Did I win a lottery or something?”

The girl guffawed as if it was the funniest joke ever. “Better, Mr. Dallas. Better!”

Her eyes were bulging out of their sockets now. “Ruby personally requested your presence. He sent me down here to tell you in person that you were in!” She winked conspiratorially at him, so many times he wondered if it was Morse code. “A little birdy told me a certain someone might be the main guest tonight, in today’s Hearsay of the Day segment!”

She was saying this in a way that was supposed to make a lot of sense but it made zero sense to Corby. She awaited his reaction, beaming at him while he scratched his head. The other monkeys behind her were beaming too. No reaction followed though. Corby just didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Didn’t you hear what I said, Mr. Dallas? Mr. Roid’s inviting you to be the main–”

“Who?” he asked, interrupting her, and they all gasped. Then a couple of seconds later the girl laughed, realizing that it must have been a joke; and the others followed suit laughing.

“Funny,” she said, waving him off and turning to the group. “Isn’t he just so funny? I’m loving this man.” She turned back to Corby. “You better keep those jokes for the interview though.” She nodded to herself and the others agreed. Corby was just confused.

“What interview?” he asked.

“The Hearsay of the day segment, of course. Only the most high-ranking show on TV. As I was saying, Mr. Roid wants you–”

“What, he’s some kind of celebrity or something?” Corby asked, interrupting her again. And this time she didn’t think it was funny. She managed a strained smile though.

“The biggest celebrity on the planet, duh!” the girl gushed, humoring him. As if he didn’t already know. The monkeys behind her laughed nervously.

“We're here to ask you a couple of preliminary questions, Mr. Dallas. For the promos, you know. It will only take a few minutes. And then, we'll be on our way,” she explained. She was being very serious this time; she was done joking. “Mr. Roid will be sending a car to pick you up around seven o’clock. And you shall be getting a call from his PA in about two hours.”

“I don’t do interviews,” he said, and the monkeys giggled again. The girl in front of them stayed serious.

“Funny,” she said, forcing a laugh. Clearly, she didn’t think it was funny. “Mr. Dallas, being interviewed by Mr. Roid is an absolute honor, not to mention that a spot on the Hearsay of the day is extremely coveted. I’m sure you–”

“Why me?” he asked, interrupting her once again. She was beginning to get pissed off now.

“You're the talk of the town, Mr. Dallas. Haven’t you heard? Your name is all over the newsfeeds!”

Yeah! Figures.

“People would like to know you, Mr. Dallas,” the girl said in a punctuated tone as if she was talking to a child; she was beginning to think he was a little slow. “Who Corby Dallas is? What makes him tick? What color eyes has he? What size is he wearing? What did he eat for dinner last night? That’s why I’m here, Mr. Dallas. To ask you all these questions.”

“That’s a lot of questions–” Corby tried, but she stopped him putting her index finger up.

“That’s a lot of questions, so you better start talking now,” she said. She put her recorder in his face, and continued, “What’s your favorite color, Mr. Dallas? Do you own a car? Are you a cat or a dog person?”

“I don’t own a car,” he said, shaking his head. “I drive a rental.”

“Do you have friends, Mr. Dallas? Do you date women or men? What are your preferences in bed?”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of personal?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. But the girl wasn’t done yet asking questions.

“Do you own this place? How much did you make last year? What are the names of your parents?”

Corby scowled. Did she actually think he was going to answer all of it?

“Mr. Dallas, I must know everything about you,” she said as if having read his mind. Her eyes got super-focused, looking a little deranged now, determined to get everything she wanted from him. The monkeys behind her were all piercing him with their eyes.

“Okay, I’d like you to step away from the door now,” he said politely. The girl didn’t budge.

“We’re not done yet,” she declared.

“I say we’re done. I’m not doing your stupid interview. Tell Mr. Roid or whatever, thanks but no thanks. Not interested.”

“Mr. Dallas, you can’t say no to Mr. Roid,” she said, convinced. “He gets what he wants!”

“Okay, I’m closing the door now.” He tried but the girl slipped her foot in and the automatic harm-prevention system stopped it. Her eyes were getting glazed now.

“I know fame does things to people, Mr. Dallas,” she said. “But you’re the story for one night. He’s forever!”

Corby sighed. He didn’t sign up for this. “Step away from the door now, please.”

She didn’t listen. “I can’t return to the studio without the preliminary interview, Mr. Dallas. Mr. Roid’s going to kill me.”

She looked into his eyes, his beautiful hazel eyes. Corby had kind eyes, and it often deceived people into thinking he wasn’t dangerous. He retrieved a gun from his belt holster before she knew it and aimed it at her head. The Ruger 9mm emitted a high-pitched tone, letting him know it was loaded now.

“If you’re not off of my doorstep in the next five seconds, I’m going to kill you,” he said. And the girl knew he wasn’t joking this time. She backed away from the door slowly.

“Easy, Mr. Dallas…Easy…” she mouthed. “No need to resort to violence.”

But he was done being polite now. He had enough visitors for one day; he just wanted to be alone now. He wanted to be left alone.

“Goodbye now,” he said, and the door finally closed. He exhaled slowly, regretting opening it in the first place. He closed his eyes, letting them rest for a little while. It was a very, very long night. He’d very much like to rest now.