-Haylor- Hope.

  Haylor- "Heath", now- hears the singing from a long way off as he paces the hallways of tonight's gig site.  As he comes closer, he recognizes the voice.  He pauses and sets his equipment down.  It's her.
   Even though he sees her all the time now, his heart still races whenever she is near.  He has to force himself to calm down, to even out his breaths.  Leaving his guitar and pedal behind, he cautiously approaches the beam of light emanating from a doorway down the hall.  The music grows louder, but he stays as quiet as a thief.  Finally he reaches the open door, but stays hidden in the shadows as he listens.

Lord, I don't know which way I am going
Which way the river's gonna flow
It just seems that upstream I keep rowing
Still got such a long way to go

Still got such a long way to go

  That last note holds for a while, then Kye slaps the strings of her guitar into silence.  The sound startles Heath- he stifles a cry.  He hears a crack and then a resounding echo from the instrument, as if Kye dropped it.
  "Oh, what's the point?" she shouts into the air.  Begging anyone to answer, but only when no one is around.

  That's your problem, isn't it, love?  Heath whispers the words to her in his head.  You never let anyone hear you.

  Her broken state is tearing him apart.  He can't stand it any longer.  This isn't how things should be.

  He has to tell her.

  "Kye?"  Heath steps into the light.

  Kye lifts her head out of her hands, sees him, and starts.  "Holy- what the heck, Heath!"  She looks mortified.

  Her reaction has him suddenly speechless.  All the words he's rehearsed have vaporized.  "I . . .  Sorry, I just heard someone in here, and came to check it out.  Sorry."

  No response from Kye. She looks down at her guitar, lying flat on the floor.  Heath doesn't know what to do, doesn't know whether to get it for her, or just leave. . . .  Then a thought occurs to him.

  "You're here early," he observes.

  She shoots him a look, then softens just a bit.  "Been here all day," she says.  "You're early too."

  "Not that early.  The others'll be around in half an hour or so.  Why . . .  Why have you been here so long?"

  She shrugs.

  Heath tries again.  "I interrupted you.  What were you playing just now?"

  "Aren't you Mr. Twenty Questions today?"  She kicks at the ground.  "Just some song."

  Heath hesitates, chooses to ignore the comment.  "You write it?"

  At this she laughs, a short, incredulous laugh.  "You kidding?  I can't write music."

  It's a flat-out lie, and Heath knows it.  Kye- the old Kye- is a musical genius.  But she has her wall up, and no one gets to come in.

  "I don't know," he finally says.  "Sometimes the most brilliant melodies come from the darkest places.  But I'll quit bugging you with questions.  See you at sound check."

  As he leaves, and Kye stares after him, Heath can see in her eyes that he's hit home.  It's just a flicker of something that crosses her face- astonishment, bewilderment, pain- but it's definitely there.  And he knows that, deep down in that scarred heart of hers, she knows that there's a point to it all.  She's always been a fighter.  And she's going to hang in there, even if he can't help her.