Her arm stretched out from beneath the blanket, and she let it drape over the side of the bed as she fought against the fatigue that was luring her back to sleep. Her eyelids felt terribly heavy, and she could only picture how puffy they would be from crying the night before. Add that to the black eye, and-

"Frightful," she grumbled, tugging the blanket up over her head. She heard what sounded like paper rustling, and lifted the blanket just enough to peek out at her night stand. Her name was written on a piece of paper, folded in half to stand. She reached to grab it, pulling it back under the blanket with her.

"Della," written again inside, as if there might be someone idly passing by, mistaking it for their own note on her nightstand. "When the phone rang and you didn't so much as move, I knew you were exhausted. When I made coffee, and you didn't float into the kitchen on the mere aroma, I checked to see if you were breathing."

She rolled her eyes and said a quiet thank you.

"Paul doesn't have much yet to go on, but I'll call you if anything arises. Until then, get some rest. I've got it on good account that people use weekends for things that do not involve work. Write anything interesting down- we might try it together sometime."

A blush crept up her cheeks at the last line, knowing it meant a little more than just the face value.

She rolled from her side to her back, contemplating if she could handle just lying in bed all day. She glanced around the room, from the dresser to the closet to the window, weighing her options. There were so many things at the office that she could get ahead on, but for the first time in recent memory, she almost relished the idea of relaxing.

She sat up, grinning, as she lightly brushed her fingers over her eye. A blow to the head, indeed.

She swung her legs off the bed, letting her feet hit the floor with a small thud. Her whole body ached, it seemed, but she made herself move. She'd hate herself for weeks, for all the things she could have done today, if she didn't do anything.

Her whole head throbbed, when she stood up. For a moment, she thought she might just fall right back into bed again, even moreso when the phone rang. Everything seemed so loud- it was like a bad hangover without the fun that usually preceded.

She stumbled to the phone, hoping to get it and orient herself before the person on the other end hung up.

"Hello?" she mumbled into the receiver, cradled in one hand while she held her head up with the other. There was a long silence, until she finally asked, "Anybody there?"

"You sure got lucky last night."

"I'm sorry?" she stammered, hoping against hope that someone was just playing a trick on her, that this voice wasn't the same one she'd heard in her ear the night before.

"Don't be sorry, lady. You couldn't keep that gun from jamming."

"How did you get this number?"

"Your pal! She's always been real good at storing information. Writes everything down, you know?"

Panic set in, wondering if he had her address, if he was just waiting around the corner for her, for the perfect moment.

"I gave you what you wanted, now please-"

"You gave me some letters, sure. But what's that when you made a liar out of me? I said I'd kill-"

She couldn't stand any more, and slammed the phone down. Her head pounded along with each racing heartbeat, but she knew she couldn't let it slow her down. She ran to the closet for a long coat, and threw it over her pajamas as she hurriedly stepped into a pair of shoes.

She had no idea where to go, but she couldn't stay in her apartment alone. As she rushed around, looking for her keys, the only place she could think of was Perry's apartment. Only she and Paul had that number, aside from the answering service. There would have been no reason for Rita to have had it, to have written it down... she might have Della's own address, but not Perry's.

At least, that's what she was praying for.