Notes: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. You're the reason I keep writing.

This chapter is dedicated to anyone who hates household chores as much as I do.

She couldn't imagine him with any other name. She couldn't imagine his ever answering to anything else... So when Shilo found the ID card in his coat pocket, she assumed that it was fake. She certainly couldn't imagine him carrying it around if it really was his actual identification.

But there it was, hard and cold in her hand, a tiny little plastic rectangle with a washed-out photograph of his face and the name 'Colin Loch' printed in government type. The card listed his birth date. Shilo did the math in her head and marvelled at the idea that he could be twenty-eight. She liked it better not knowing his age; Found herself resenting the little photograph for looking like him, despising the card itself for giving her information that was undoubtedly false.

"That's not your name," Shilo said aloud, staring at the card as if trying to make it disintegrate with the sheer power of her mind, "it's not."

Disgusted with herself, Shilo threw the bit of plastic. It bounced off the wall, skittering across the tiled floor and out into the hallway. Shilo caught her breath, refusing to look at it now. Instead she made herself look at the means of her unpleasant discovery - the coat floating in mildly soapy water like a great, sodden dead animal, limp in the bath tub. The water was pinkish-grey, swirling with diluted blood and dirt. Shilo had brought it here to wash because she had yet to place any trust in the huge, metal, top-loading monolith in the laundry.

Shilo took a couple of long, deep breaths to compose herself. She hauled the dead animal from the bath-tub and pulled the plug. The weight of the sopping coat smothered her, reminding her of dismal nights in the graveyard and running home in a downpour, a cold, five-fingered vice locked around her wrist. The memories were happy, in the same odd way that washing clothes in the bath tub was happy. It was independence, proof of a life without sudden and frequent fainting spells. It was the heat of steaming water as she re-filled the tub. Small, simple pleasures.

Now soaked through herself, Shilo dumped the coat into the water again and began to strip off her short white dress and black leggings. Two wet splashes later and the coat had company in the tub.

Shilo knelt by the edge of the tub, worrying the last bits of soap from the fabric. This time she heard the foot-steps before he appeared in the doorway. She was getting better at noticing his approach. "It should be done by tonight," Shilo said, giving the coat one final molestation with running water. "Colin."

"What?"

He actually sounded baffled, and when Shilo turned to look at him he was giving her a look that clearly said he thought she was doing one of those weird things she sometimes did and it might be best to humour her.

Shilo stared at him for a moment, noticing how strange it was to see him stripped down to practically nothing, barefoot in her hallway. "Is that your name?" Shilo asked, turning away again to pull the coat from the water and hang it in the shower.

The Graverobber stared at her, bemused, a tiny smirk on his lips. He looked down when Shilo pointed at his feet, catching sight of the ID card that he was nearly standing on. "Alright," he drawled, shaking his head sadly, "you caught me. I'm a good old Irish lad from the suburbs, tragically brainwashed by the sex, drugs and money in the big city. I'm an orphan too, it's a very sorrowful tale."

Shilo blinked. She didn't know what to say. Then she caught the glint in his eye. "You're such a liar," she complained, pouting.

"Fake ID, Shilo," the Graverobber told her, picking up the little bit of plastic. "Sometimes they come in handy."

Shilo pouted a little more, then decided that it wasn't worth being annoyed. Instead she rinsed out her clothes and hung them up as well, expecting him to leave while she worked. When she turned around he was indeed gone, but not very far. Shilo climbed onto the bed with him and settled against his side. "You're never going to tell me your real name, are you?" she asked.

"Beelzebub."

"I'm not joking," Shilo warned, the tip of one sharp little nail threatening to prod his hip.

"I'm using my real name," the Graverobber replied, serious this time. "Whatever I was called before now doesn't matter."

"Graverobber," Shilo murmured the name, turning the idea over in her head. She couldn't imagine him as anything else.