Reddington spared Dembe a pitiable look while the solemn man with head down prayed. Red continued sipping his luxe wine. He knew his man wasn't praying for him, that would have been a waste of time. Redemption, for him? Out of the question. That shipped had sailed, long ago, and had sunk. No, Dembe was asking forgiveness for himself. He hadn't done what his conscience was browbeating him for. He'd let him kill Kate; let it happen, had done nothing to stop the murder.

"Enough, Dembe, take a break."

Lifting up his head a fraction, the penitent man heeded his padrone's request. "Raymond, I will always ask for forgiveness. I can hope, at least, that it might be granted, one day." Dembe thought about the conversation he almost had with Elizabeth, who'd asked him what had happened to Kate. He'd told her nothing, knowing that Reddington would not like him divulging anything in that regard. Knowing Raymond, he'd see it as a betrayal, and Dembe knew full well what happened to anyone who broke faith with Raymond.

"Well, right now, I'm asking you to stop what you're doing."

From top to bottom, Dembe was all too familiar with that look Reddington was giving him. His padrone commanded his attention. "And do what?"

Sniffing, with a daring smirk, he said, "Take some time away from here. You've been cooped up in this church for too long. I won't be needing you for a while, old friend. I want you to get out, revive your lust for living, not groveling on your knees."

Not even flinching, aware that Raymond was eyeing him closely for any telltale signs of objection, Dembe replied, "Yes, Raymond. A change of scenery is acceptable."

"Take as long as you need," Reddington obliged, pouring himself another healthy measure of wine with a raised eyebrow. "When I'll need you, I'll call."

"Yes, Raymond." Dembe answered in familiar stoic fashion. He studied Reddington's enigmatic facial expression, judging that being away from him for a bit would satisfy both of them. Ambiguity shrouded his face, but resolve galvanized him into action. He had lots of ground to cover, but cover it he would. It wasn't right what Reddington had done to her, and though he'd stolen her life, he wouldn't rob her of a decent burial. The location where Red had led her to was unknown to him, but Dembe was astute. He'd figure it out, once he'd driven back to the spot where Red had told him to wait.

Less than one hour later, Dembe was parking the car, absolutely certain that this was the spot, which was burned into his brain. Why hadn't he followed behind Raymond and Kate? Was he that much of a lackey, incapable of thwarting Red after all these years? Would he have jumped in to save her? Would Red have put him down too? To that last question he'd posed to himself...the answer would be a 'highly likely.'

Raymond would have judged his interference to be betrayal. Assuredly so, and the master of subterfuge and retribution would have left two bodies behind. Dembe removed a body bag from the car trunk and began the trek through the echoing woods. Kate deserved a decent burial, her body not left behind like road kill. Dembe traveled along the same path he remembered Red had taken, his instincts attuned to the task at hand. His eyes scoured the grounds for clues that would lead him to the correct spot. Not too far from where he'd parked the car, he came upon an idyllic, mossy green meadow. An inkling sparked within him, judging that this would be the kind of place Red would pick. The peace, the calm, and serenity would appeal to the violence he'd soon commit. Hunting, he regretted that there was no body to find, but there was a wealth of dried blood, plainly visible, especially on rocks that fronted a pond nestled in the undergrowth.

"Kate..." Dembe looked up, mystified, an unsettled feeling grousing within him. A deep indentation indicated that there had once been a body, but there was no sign of such now. Kate's body, someone else's? He could guess until he was a hundred, and never know for sure. Searching for her remains like this was futile, like hunting for a needle in a haystack. He crouched low, close to the pond and whispered, "What's become of you?" Muttering words of supposition, rubbing his fingertips over the compilation of smooth, lichen-encrusted stone, Dembe pondered. His fingers aimlessly dabbed the pond's cool water; lost in thought, he sighed. Bowing his head, his lips moved, uttering no sound.

The barking of a dog from far, far off pulled Dembe out of his reverie. He discerned from the power, and heaviness of the bark that the animal was big. Continuing to listen carefully, Dembe waited to hear if the animal was coming closer, or moving farther off. Several seconds ticked by with Dembe not hearing any more barking. Dembe frowned, thinking that maybe he'd thought he'd heard a dog, and then suddenly-a man appeared, a grinning man came into the clearing with the big dog barking menacingly at Dembe and snarling.

"Hello, friend...," the unkempt stranger said, sounding amiable enough, smiling haltingly at the tall, powerfully-built, black man. The interloper was a wizened, hermit of a man, that might have been away from civilization for decades, Dembe fell to thinking. "Are ya lost?"

Shaking his head, Dembe responded, "No. Not lost." Mindful of never revealing too much, he went on, "Meditative. City life does not lend itself to quiet contemplation in peace."

"You're right about that, Mister. This is the perfect spot to just get away from all that bustle and noise."

"Do you live near here?"

The stranger arched an eyebrow, giving the impression that the question deserved to be thought over. He took his time before answering, noting that Dembe's impassive face gave nothing away. Was this man here to take her away? He'd be wasting his time. No one was going to find his perfect prize. She was his, belonged to him, owed her life to him. He'd saved her so she could save him from harsh loneliness all these many years. He would fight to keep her. Kill to keep her.

"Not far. Came here to escape overcrowding like you, and decided to stay...for as long as I have."

Dembe eyed the hound that had ceased the intimidatory posturing. He wasn't intimidated; he had a gun, and would use it if he had to. Instinct advised him that this guy was holding back. Like where Kate was?

"Could you take me to see it?"

"Why?" The stranger stared him down, his eyes, craggy around the edges, penetrating Dembe's blank expression.

"Because I'm asking nicely," Dembe tersely spouted, edging his hand for his weapon.

"Well, in that case, friend, follow me..."