Molly decided to give up searching for Jack. She allowed Carey to think it was out of a growing disenchantment with the game, but in truth, it was simply because it seemed as if no one in this house could stay out of anyone else's way for very long. The people she needed to find would find her in time. And she had promised Irene that she would get Carey out of the game. She was just having a little trouble finding a way to do that, exactly.

She sank to the floor and frowned. He crouched beside her, looking concerned. "What is it?"

"I just can't believe I did that," she finally said. "I can't believe I went after Jack like that. It's like I just can't control myself anymore, you know?"

"I know," he said sympathetically, placing his hand on hers. "I feel it too. But you can control it, as long as you remember that it isn't really you. I think there's just something really weird about this place. I guess we shouldn't be surprised."

She laughed and wiped away a few tears. "No, I guess we shouldn't."

"So that idea you had about getting out of here you still want to do that?"

"No. We can't leave your parents here, or Jack. We've got to find a way to get everyone out."

There was a silence as both of them, presumably, attempted to think of ways to achieve this. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and stood up. Carey, of course, followed suit. Molly glanced at him with only a hint of irritation. "What is it?" he asked.

"I can feel it starting up again," she lied. "You better get out of here."

"No," he said firmly, grasping her shoulders. "Just remember that it isn't you. Try to remember who you really are."

"I don't think I can do that."

"I think you can." He smiled. She attempted to display an internal struggle, shaking her head and wincing. When she opened her eyes, he was staring back at her worriedly.

"Are you are you okay?"

"I'm not sure. I'm afraid." Without warning, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. She was too surprised to put up a fight, and after a while it occurred to her that this was like drowning. After the initial instruct to struggle and restore the status quo, to return to the surface and breathe again, there was a sort of peculiar bliss tinged with dread that settled in once it became evident that this was something over which she was not expected to have control, a fate she could simply not deny. Of course, the dread came from knowing that letting herself sink would lead to suffocation, blackness, forced sleep, death.

At least that's how she'd always imagined drowning would be. And that was how this felt.

She was surprised by his voraciousness. At first she had assumed maybe it was a side effect of this uncontrollable instinct to play and win that had taken them over, or just a spontaneous sort of thing, but now it seemed more like it was a release of something that had been repressed for a long, long time. And maybe it was like that for her too, or maybe it wasn't--she couldn't really be sure. The desire to win the game had blurred her memory and her mind so that the only thing that was truly in focus was the ability to strategize, to plot her inevitable victory. But even that was sort of fading at the moment, until there was virtually nothing left but sensation and relief.

The normal version of her mind fought hard to be heard, reminding her: many years younger, son's best friend, best friend's son. Bad idea. But there was an almost pleasing symmetry to it, wasn't there? She decided to let herself fall. Maybe the suffocation would be worthwhile, if only for the moment of bliss that preceded it...

Jack led Irene by the hand into the room where he had left Annie. His triumphant grin faded as he noticed that she was not in the closet, nor was she hiding anywhere else in the room, and the window was broken and a little bloody. "Damn."

Irene pulled her hand away and looked inside the closet for herself. She growled, looking out the window. No sign of Annie anywhere. Irene felt the anger surge inside her and took her rage out on the wall, slamming her fist into it as hard as she could. This, perhaps, was not the best idea. She withdrew her hand and noticed blood spring up in jagged lines across her knuckles. She tried to wipe it away with her other hand, but the wounds were fresh and tender, so she nearly yowled in pain. Without really thinking, Jack took hold of the bleeding hand and examined the scratches closely. She didn't bother to fight. "It's not serious," he said, still holding her fingers.

"It feels serious."

"It isn't." Their eyes locked, and it almost became like a scene out of a romance novel where the mutual gaze becomes a sort of tractor beam, drawing the lips closer together until there is no distance left between them. Their lips did meet, but it was brief. Ned's voice boomed through the house, interrupting everyone: "I found Annie! I can see her through the window--she's getting on the bus, out front!"

Irene pulled back and regarded Jack with equal amounts of guilt and suspicion. He nodded, and she gave him a small smile before heading off at top speed to get Annie. He followed behind her at a slower pace. Why do more work than was required of him? He was close enough to see what happened when Irene opened the front door and stepped over the threshold onto the front porch: she collapsed as if the life had been removed from her body in one smooth movement. His brow furrowed; was she actually dead?

He decided that it didn't really matter, looking quite pleased. Either way, she was out of the game.

One down. Three more to go.