"Fine. Go ahead. Call the cops. You won't get anywhere. They won't listen to you."

He sounded so sure of himself. So certain. And his voice had suddenly lost its edge. It had turned calm. Icy.

"Why won't you tell us?" she pleaded. "We want to help you."

"Nobody can help me. You've all got your own problems," he said bitterly. "And they just got real big." He raked his eyes over the group. "Now what do I have to do to get rid of you? I have things I need to do."

"We're not going to overlook this," said Troy. "For your mother's sake, and for yours we can't."

"Please." Suddenly his voice turned pleading, and that disturbed Bree still more. "You don't understand. You can't possibly understand."

"We want to understand," continued Troy. "And we want to help you, but we can't if you won't tell us the truth. If you won't acknowledge responsibility for-"

"It wasn't my fault!" he shouted, tears suddenly springing to his eyes. "She-" He clamped his mouth shut.

"She what?" coaxed Troy as he took another step toward Sloan. "Did she antagonize you somehow? Tell you something that made you angry? Did you argue? I know you two were both very passionate about a lot of things. I'd understand if things just...got out of hand. Maybe-"

"She slit her own goddamn wrists!"

The words slammed into Bree, knocking the breath out of her, and sending the blood rushing from her head.

The entire group fell silent. They stared at Sloan, standing there, looking belligerent and tortured. His fists clenched, relaxed and clenched again, his shoulders remained set in a rigid line and his eyes...his eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

"Did you hear me?" he rasped, but no one answered. "I came home early from a buying trip to Chicago. My flight had gotten in around eleven, and by the time I got home it was two a.m. I walked in and found her bleeding in the front foyer. Blood had trailed her down the stairs, for chrissake. She'd done it upstairs in the bathroom, and then thought she'd take a little fucking stroll!" A single tear leaked out of one eye. "I came in and there she was, standing there, soaked in blood, looking as pale as a ghost. The knife was on the floor by the door-like she'd brought it down with her and dropped it."

"Sloan," whispered Bree as she stepped toward him. But he shook his head and stepped back, as if he couldn't stand the thought of being touched.

"She'd done it wrong, you know."

"What?" asked Troy.

"She'd cut them the wrong way. If you're serious about it you slit them lengthwise, along the artery. But she had done it crosswise. That way it severs the tendons and the wrists contract. You still bleed but the contraction slows it. Draws it out. The doctors gave me the whole spiel. That was how she managed to survive long enough to come downstairs."

"So...she had a chance?"

But he didn't seem to hear her. "I just stood there, looking at her. I couldn't believe it. How could she do that to me? First Dad and then her? It was crazy! She was crazy." He let out a strangled chuckle.

"Hell, maybe we all are."

"She must have been sick with grief over your father," whispered Bree. "She needed help."

"She wasn't sick," he snarled. "Don't give me that crap. That's a cop-out. She had a choice. And she chose not to think about me at all."

"She wasn't rational. You couldn't expect her to think logically. Anyone who considers suicide isn't really responsible for their actions."

But rather than comforting him as she'd intended, her words seemed to agitate him further. "Are you saying she didn't really have a choice? Like it was inevitable or something?"

Bree shook her head. "No. You don't understand. I'm just saying-"

"How long did you stand there?" interrupted Franki. "Did you help her? What did you do?"

"Nothing. You're right. I stood there way too long!" he shouted, and Franki flinched in the face of his fury. "God, don't you think I know that? Don't you think I have nightmares about it? If I had acted more quickly, it might have been enough..." His voice dropped to a strangled whisper. "It might have made the difference."

Silence settled over them like a thick woolen shroud.

"I live with that every day," continued Sloan. "The guilt of it. I never told them about the time lapse, but I always worried. It probably wasn't criminal negligence, because it was only a matter of minutes. At least I think it was. It might have been longer. Time sort of..." He closed his eyes for a moment, and Bree shuddered to think what he might be seeing.

Then he opened his eyes and continued, "But I never asked, and they had no way of knowing. At least I didn't see how they could." He cast a despairing glance at Troy. "I don't know how but that's what Vance knew. That's what he threatened me with. I couldn't take that chance."

"Damn," whispered Troy. "Jesus. I can't believe it." He closed his eyes and muttered in apparent agony, "Damn him."

"I'm sure the delay wasn't significant," said Bree. "You can't take responsibility for her death."

"Maybe. But I'll never really know, will I? I'll never know if I could have saved her."

"Oh, Sloan..." whispered Bree, but it was so soft, only she heard it.

"Did she leave a note?" Franki's voice had lost is accusing edge. "Did she say anything?"

His strained chuckle startled Bree. He was on the edge of something, and she felt powerless to keep him from slipping over the precipice. "I asked her why, and she said she was sorry. And that she loved me.

What a crock. If she cared about me, if she was really sorry, she wouldn't have done it." He glanced back down the hall toward the foyer, as if he could see her standing there, bleeding and dying before his eyes.

"What a fucking crock," he whispered. "After that I sort of snapped out of it. But by the time I got myself together, and managed to call an ambulance it was too late. The damage had been done."

"Why didn't you tell anybody?" asked Bree. "Why did you keep this to yourself and come up with such an elaborate deception to fool everyone? What did you think we would do? Disown you, or judge you just because..." Her voice trailed away because she was loath to say the words.

"Because both of my parents offed themselves? I had a great-grandfather who hung himself, too. Just after that big stock market crash in the thirties. Did you know that?" The misery seemed to be tattooed into his soul. "No. I couldn't face it. I couldn't stay in this house and see her face here every day. I couldn't face that, and I couldn't face the guilt of letting her down like that. I worried that the cops would figure out that I had waited, that I had been negligent. I couldn't face the possibility of prosecution and prison. And then the business felt like a prison. It had for years already. I couldn't stand it a moment longer and I couldn't face a whole town that knew what had gone on here. I couldn't face their pity. I had to come up with the lie to protect Mom's reputation, and I had to get away and start fresh."

"So the police knew."

"Yeah. They didn't care what I did, as long as they didn't have a case to worry about. There was almost no investigation, it was so clear-cut, and they agreed to keep the events confidential. They were great about the whole thing." He looked at her and a strange smile played over his lips. "But they're not going to be happy tomorrow."

"What?"

Abruptly Sloan's posture stiffened. "I told you my story, now get out, like I asked. If you're my friends you'll do that."

"No." The force of Troy's response startled her.

Sloan narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, no?"

"You're obviously upset. And it's about more than your mother. I don't think you should be alone tonight."

Franki sprang from the couch. "Craig's awake! I completely forgot to tell you. We should go see him. Right now. Don't you think that's a good idea?" She glanced hopefully at Bree, but Bree doubted that the idea would work.

Sloan raked his hands through his hair and muttered something that Bree couldn't understand. Then he dropped his hands and looked at Franki, measuring his words carefully, as if afraid that if he spoke too loud he might shatter. "That's...that's great. But I'll see him later. You should call his mom. He'll want to see her. You should do that right now."

"I did already. She was going to catch a flight immediately. She might even be there by now."

Sloan closed his eyes.

"You didn't answer me," continued Troy. "What upset you so much, and then led you here tonight? Did something happen over at the House?"

Sloan's eyes flew open. "You knew about that? You knew what I was up to?"

"Of course. We all did."

"But Vance and Perry are your family. How could you let me do that to them?"

Troy's jaw muscles worked. "They don't deserve my loyalty. They stopped being my family a long time ago."

"Did you find the information?" asked Bree, suddenly realizing she had completely forgotten about the one thing that had been so important to her just a few short hours ago. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Sloan stared at her, and something flickered in his eyes. "Yes and no."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I don't want to talk about this now. It means I want to be alone! Why is that so much to ask?

I've been alone for years. What's another few goddamn hours?"

"We're not leaving," said Troy.

Sloan studied him. "Do you know?"

Troy replied slowly, his expression strangely static. "Do I know what?"

Sloan stared at him long and hard, and then abruptly turned around and walked out.

Bree blinked in confusion, as she heard Sloan's feet on the stairs. "What's he doing?"

Franki rubbed her arms as she walked to the doorway and peered out after him. "What's wrong with

him? He's giving me the creeps."

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Bree asked Troy.

"Why the hell would I know?" The tightness in Troy's voice shocked her.

She felt her own anger begin to bubble. This situation was intolerable. They should simply grab Sloan and drag him out of there. Who knew what he was up to upstairs. Troy was right. There was something wrong with Sloan. He was upset about more than just finding them in his house. And why had he come here tonight, anyway? Something had happened. But what? And why did he want them to leave?

"I don't know," she shot back at Troy. "Sloan asked you. He seemed to think you knew something. It must have something to do with your family."

"They're not my family," he growled. "That was low."

"Well, I'm sorry. But I'm grasping at straws here."

"Well, I-I don't know, okay? I try to know as little about what my father and Perry do, as possible."

"And why would that be?" Sloan had appeared in the doorway once again. He looked calmer, but tired.

Exhausted.

Troy focused on him. "Because..." He hesitated briefly. "That's my business."

Sloan stared at him for a moment, his chest rising and falling just a little too rapidly. "Fine. Whatever."

He reached a hand behind his back and appeared to stuff it in the back pocket of his jeans. "But nowyou have to go." "Look, Sloan..." Suddenly Sloan's hand came back into view and Bree let out a tiny yelp of surprise and shock.

Troy took a step back, his face drained of color. "What the hell?"

In Sloan's right hand dangled a large, black pistol. It looked vaguely familiar to Bree, but she couldn't say where she had seen it before. "What are you doing?" she breathed.

"I'm trying to convince you that I'm serious about this."

"You're threatening us?"