*I know that I have successfully managed to extract you from your house. I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself.'

*Don't get too cocky. The only reason I don't leave my place is that there ain't no good reason to.'

*Are you kidding me? Hank, we live in Los Angeles. This is the best city in the world. There's always something going on, and it's like something amazing happened on every single street corner. Everything has a story behind it.'

*I've heard a lot of stories in my time,' Hank said. *And not all good ones.'

*Like what?'

Before he could answer, a projector started and the wall of the Cathedral Mausoleum became a screen. Everyone clapped and cheered and even Hank let out a laugh. *We're ready for our close-up Mr De Mille,' someone yelled, and the crowd laughed and clapped again.

*Benji would've loved this,' I said quietly, not sure if I was speaking to Hank or myself. This was exactly the sort of thing Benji and I would've done together. I had to admit to myself that Benji and I were growing apart. Whenever I thought of him, all I could see was Sid the white goldfish, swimming listlessly in his bowl, jammed up the back of the cupboard and waiting for death. I wondered what could possibly come next.

The score burst to life, and the night was filled with the sound of a wailing police siren. I crossed my legs and watched as the images flashed across the wall: a police car speeding down 1940s Sunset Boulevard, a gothic mansion hidden behind enormous gates, a man floating dead in a pool. The images played on my eyes and warmed me. There was nothing better than the movies.

Sitting in a cemetery in the dark should have been scary, but it wasn't. Surrounded by couples and families, bathed in the glow of light from the screen, it was almost comforting. Watching movies in a cemetery is a liberating experience. You almost feel like you are keeping the dead company. I imagined the ghosts of Douglas Fairbanks Senior and Peter Lorre were pleased that we were there. It seemed a fitting tribute. In a way, all these people sitting on the lawn were just like me. They all found comfort amongst the dead.

I'd seen the movie a few times already. An ageing movie star refuses to believe her time as a famous actress has passed, and asks a struggling screenwriter to write her comeback project, a proposal that ends in betrayal and murder. Her house is a decaying mansion that looks like Dracula's castle. The movie star herself is as terrifying as her surroundings, old and sinewy like a black widow spider. In the end she loses her mind. Unable to come to terms with her lost career, she descends into madness, becomes convinced that life is actually a movie. At the end of the film the actress slinks towards the camera and the audience, beckoning us to join her. All those wonderful people in the dark, she says.

Yes. All us wonderful people in the dark. When the film ended and the screen was turned off, the lawn was plunged into darkness. I looked over at Hank and even in the shadows I could see he was crying.

We hailed a cab back to his apartment. It was still strange to see him out in the night air, standing in his front yard, the wind blowing through his greyish blond hair. It was a beautiful sight. I handed him back his bed pillows.

*You sure you don't want me to help you with those?' I asked.

*I'm fine, I just gotta get in,' he said, racing for the front door of his apartment.

I yelled out the window of the cab. *Hank!'

He turned around. *Yeah, what?'

*How 'bout next time you tell me where you wanna go?'

*Next time. Yeah, sure,' he yelled back, and before I could say anything else he was gone, flying up the stairs as fast as someone his age can.

EIGHTEEN.

The next day I found myself standing on Benji's doorstep even though I knew he wasn't home. Benji and his parents were long gone up to Yosemite. Mrs Connor had given me a spare key years ago, just in case Benji ever forgot his, as if we were joined at the hip. To be fair, that wasn't so far from the truth, but it was the enthusiasm with which she gave it to me that made the whole exchange a little creepy. I felt like she was trying to push us closer together and turn us into a couple, and was secretly hoping that we would *play house'.

I took the key from my pocket, opened the door and went over to the wall to punch in the alarm code. The house was deathly quiet. I crept through the kitchen with its spotless surfaces. I walked down the hallway, past all the happy portraits of Benji through the years, his parents flanked either side. Freddy Prinze snuggled into my legs, happy to have the house all to himself, content with the automatic cat feeder that sat in the corner, exposing a fresh batch of food each day.

I pushed open Benji's door. For some reason I hesitated before stepping forward, as if expecting the room to be booby-trapped, or for bats to fly out as if abandoning a cave for the night sky. But it was just a bedroom. Mrs Connor had made his bed before he left; the sheets were freshly laundered. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. The posters on the walls that you would find in any teenager's bedroom; the collection of objects in the cabinet were, to the unknowing eye, pieces of bric-a-brac collected from yards sales. But the reality was something much more disturbing. I opened the cabinet door, touched the piece of floor where RFK had supposedly fallen. I placed my hand flat on the piece of linoleum, waited for something, anything, perhaps an electrical charge, a bolt of light, a dose of meaning. Nothing came. It was just linoleum.

I turned to the cupboard, the reason I was there. I hoped I wasn't too late. Slowly I opened the door, pushed aside all the perfectly pressed T-shirts on hangers, felt my way through the darkness of the mess below. Finally I felt it; underneath a carelessly tossed robe was the unmistakeable smoothness of glass. I picked up the robe, not wanting to look but knowing I would have to. All of a sudden the cat came back to me: poor little Oscar, thrown in a dumpster and left to bake in the summer heat.

I held my breath. There, in the glass bowl, was Benji's goldfish, but he wasn't lying motionless on his side, and he hadn't floated to the top. He was hiding in his little castle, not moving much, but enough to let me know he was alive. I put the robe back over the top and pulled the bowl out carefully. I would have to expose him to the light a little at a time: too much at once might send him into shock.

*Come on Sid,' I said. *We're running away.'

I closed the cupboard door, left Benji's room, and set the alarm again before leaving.

NINETEEN.

That night when I arrived at Hank's I was surprised to find the door wide open and the chair in front of the television empty. In the middle of the room stood a man wearing a baseball cap, looking like a mirage. He was young, tanned, had black curly hair and bright red sneakers, and looked out of place in Hank's dingy apartment. He reminded me of Jim Morrison scrubbed up, his unruly hair tucked inside the cap. He turned towards me, empty beer bottles under his arms, and I saw that his cap had the name of a movie studio printed across the front. We looked at each other.

*Who are you?' I asked.

*Who am I?'

*Yeah. Who are you? Where's Hank?'

*He's not here.'

*Hank!' I yelled, racing towards the closed door of the bedroom and swinging it open. Empty.

*I said he's not here,' the man repeated, throwing the bottles into a black recycling container that he must have brought with him. I walked towards the bathroom and opened the door. No Hank. There was water everywhere, as if someone had just stepped out of the shower and not bothered to put down the bath mat. That's when I saw a spot of blood on the edge of the bath. I'd seen enough photos of blood to know it was fresh. And it was wet.

*Where is he?' I demanded, storming back to the living room. *I saw blood in there. Tell me what's going on!'

*Whoa, take it easy,' the man said, holding up his hands as if shielding himself from attack. *Hank's in hospital.'

My lip started to tremble. *What happened?'

*He fell in the shower. Hit his head. He's out of emergency so it's all cool. I'm just tidying up, then I'm grabbing some things for him.'

*What hospital is he in?'

*Calm down. He's fine.'

*Just tell me where he is!'

He picked up the recycling container and placed it under the kitchen sink. I was surprised at his familiarity with the place. Was this Hank's secret helper?

*I'm going over there now,' he said, running his hands under the tap and wiping them dry with a towel. He waited. *Are you coming or not?'

We drove to the hospital in a rusty old convertible with torn leather seats, top down, CD player blasting some crappy dance music. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was at its hottest, leaving long, glistening waves of heat along the surface of the road like in a dream.

*I'm Jake,' he yelled over the music. *Jake Gilmore.'

He looked around college age, with his red Converse sneakers and crumpled black T-shirt. He tapped a cigarette from a packet and put it in his mouth. *I've seen you before at Hank's place.'

*Can you turn the music down please?' I asked. My mind was racing and the last thing I needed was some inane dance track blaring in my ears.

*Sorry,' he said, and turned the volume down. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and put it behind his ear. *What's your name?'

*Hilda.'

*Hilda? Like the Saint?'

*I don't know. Is there a Saint Hilda?'

*Sure is. She was meant to be very wise, very knowledgeable.'

*If I'm so knowledgeable then how come I've never heard of you?'

He flashed me a grin, and his teeth were even whiter than Benji's. *Hank hasn't mentioned me?'

*No. He hasn't.'

After all of Hank's paranoia it was odd to walk into his apartment and find a young guy. I guess I'd always assumed Hank's helper was a middle-aged Mexican. Jake pulled a pair of aviator sunglasses from his pocket and put them on.

*Strange,' he said. *It's interesting he hasn't said anything, I mean, considering the amount of time you spend with him.'

*How would you know that?'

*I'm his neighbour. I live downstairs.'

*You mean in the apartment under his?'

*Yeah, that's right. Man, who did you think I was?'

*I don't know. You could have been, like, a debt collector or something.'

*Or the Feds?' he asked with a grin. *A long-lost son perhaps? Heir to the Anderson fortune?'

*I don't know. It's just strange that he's never mentioned you. I didn't know Hank had any other friends.'

*Well, we aren't exactly friends. I just help him out with stuff occasionally, odd jobs and things like that.'

*Why?'

*Why what?'

*Why do you help him?'

Jake stared at me. *Why? Because I'm his neighbour. That's what neighbours do.'

*I don't know many guys your age who like hanging around with old guys like Hank.'

*I don't know many teenage girls who do either. I guess we're both kind of strange, huh?'

We? I hadn't been aware that I was part of a team, a veritable contingent tending to Hank's needs. I thought it was strictly a solo venture. Even Benji had been banished from the operation when three became a crowd.

We pulled up at the hospital and I followed Jake up to the ward where they had Hank under observation. He was in a room at the end of the corridor, sitting up in bed, a bandage around his head. I started to walk faster and could feel Jake racing to catch up with me.

*Hank!' I yelled. The nurse jumped. *What the hell did you do?'

When he saw me his eyes grew wide. *Hey Hilda!' he cried, and gave me a big toothy grin. *How ya doin'?'

*What the hell happened to you?'

*Bernie! He pushed me over in the shower!'

Jake pushed forward. *What is he talking about?'

*No one pushed you, Hank. You probably fell.'

*No I didn't! Bernie pushed me!'

*Who's Bernie?' Jake asked.

*He's a guy who lived in Hank's apartment,' I began. *He was an actor.'

*What's this actor got against Hank? Why would he come in and push him over?'

*He wouldn't. He's dead.'

*He died in my bathroom!' Hank yelled as he tried to sit up. The nurse pushed him back down. *He killed himself in my bathroom!'

*An actor died in Hank's apartment?' Jake asked. *When?'

*It was decades ago,' I explained.

*I'm very confused,' Jake said.

*Nurse!' Hank yelled.

*No need to yell, Mr Anderson. I'm right here.'

*Gimme your ass,' he said, reaching out. She slapped his hand away.

Jake laughed, then clasped a hand over his mouth when I glared at him. *What?' he said. *Come on. You've gotta admit that was kinda funny.'