CHAPTER ONE
In the semi-darkness of his book-littered office，
the bluish glow of the monitor cast an eerie reflection
across the weary face of the man bent over his
computer; his full attention upon the content of the
white lines of words marching in orderly fashion and
precision across the glowing screen. The hour is late，
but to Benjamin Rush， time is completely relative，
and aside from planes to catch and deadlines to meet，
it has little meaning. He completes the page， scrolls
it back and reviews what he has written.
Satisfied at last， Ben prints out a draft copy of
the chapter， and with it in hand， makes his way to
the kitchen and brews himself a pot of tea to sip on
while he goes over it.
Frowning， he blue pencils several lines， deletes
some words and sentences， adck~ others. Then， intent
upon the sheaf of pages， cup in one hand， he heads
for the bedroom at the other wing of the house， to get
his wife s opinion. Suddenly， he pauses in mid stride，
a look of indescribable pain upon his thee . . .
She s gone. Anne s not here anymore.
Afterwards， remembering this moment，
everything seemed to happen in slow motion. He
turns on his heei， strides back to the kitchen to
dispose of the tea， which he no longer wants. With a
groan wrung from deep within， he heedlessly drops
the papers on the table m and as though drawn by
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