The darkness was in no hurry to let her go. It wavered a few times, but always returned. At some point the wavering resolved into dim shapes, like faces viewed from a few feet underwater, but she slipped away like a mermaid returning to the depths. Finally, she swam close enough to the surface to break through. Faith blinked twice and looked around. Cream-colored walls, white floor, sheer white curtains, clear plastic tubing running to the needles held to her arm with translucent paper tape. She tried to swallow and gagged slightly; her mouth was dry and gummy.

"Here." A large plastic mug swam into view, blue, with a log featuring a white cross and a bendy straw inserted in the lid. She wrapped her cracked lips around the straw and sipped. The water was cold, melted ice most likely, and burned as it slid down her parched throat. She swallowed and her head fell back to the pillow; she turned to see who her Good Samaritan was.

Lewis sat in the room's recliner, a chair ingeniously designed to be uncomfortable whether the occupant sat upright or leaned back. He looked slightly ridiculous in a waffle-weave robe over plaid flannel pajamas. Bony ankles descended into well-worn corduroy slippers and there was a tan line across his forehead where his cap usually sat. Faith smiled in spite of herself. "Hey," she said in a gravelly voice. "Where am I?"

He scuffed his slippers on the tile floor. "You're a terrible detective," he said. "You're obviously in the hospital."

"Yeah," she said. "How are you?"

He tugged aside the collar of his pajamas. Faith could see the edge of a thick, extensive bandage looped around his chest and shoulder, and realized that the left sleeve of his robe was empty. Her eyes widened, but Lewis made a calming motion with his free hand. "They didn't cut it off, it's strapped to my side. See?" He pulled back the lapel of the robe, and she saw the awkward lump the arm made in his pajamas. "They say I'll live, but I'm staying for at least another day. Apparently, they want to keep an eye on an old guy like me." He shifted in his chair.

"What?" She felt the darkness tugging at her sleeve.

"Uh, my goodness." Lewis looked around the room, as though seeing the proper object would give him the correct words. "You… you're causing a lot of head-scratching around this place."

She blinked, slowly. It took real effort to drag her eyelids back up. "Why?"

"That's three of the four 'wh' questions." Lewis leaned forward. "I saw what happened to you." His eyes darted back and forth. "Right now, you look like someone who took a bad fall off a bike. That sort of thing interests doctors." Faith looked up at the ceiling, which seemed very unsteady. Lewis nodded and patted the railing of her bed. "You go back to sleep. I won't tell anyone you woke up."

"What day is it?" she asked in a slurred, furry voice.

"Saturday afternoon," he replied, standing. "You've been unconscious for the better part of forty hours." He was silent for a moment, then spoke quickly. "I'll try to keep an eye on you."

"Thanks," she said, at least she thought she said it; she might have slipped back down into the darkness before she got it all out. She drifted away, she didn't know for how long, because that was the nature of the darkness, it did not care about time, but it was more subtle, less dramatic, when she broke the surface again. It was night and the room was dim, lit by the green glow of equipment readouts and the ambient light from the window. A figure stood beside the bed, backlit by the glow from the hallway that rendered it a pitch-black cutout. Faith jerked, remembering the featureless black blob of the shoggoth. The figure moved slightly, and enough light fell on it for the Slayer to recognize Beth Stillwell Hopper.

The woman leaned close and whispered, "Who are you?"

Faith blinked. She felt slow, sluggish, and disoriented. "What?"

Beth's eyes scanned the girl from head to foot, then returned to her face. "You came in with injuries that should take months to heal. Now, it all just looks like bad bruises. No scarring, no infection in spite of all that crap all over you and your wounds… and my brother is dead."

Faith lay very still. "I'm sorry-"

"I don't want to hear it," Beth hissed. "Ben worked so hard to get back on his feet, to make something of himself, to be a part of his community, and then you come to town, for a week… and he's dead." Her lips trembled. "So, who are you?"

Faith's eyes narrowed. "I said I'm sorry about your brother. I didn't want him to go. I didn't want either of them to go. They made their own choice." Her lips pursed. "I didn't kill your brother, a monster did."

Beth's glare did the impossible: it grew more intense. "I believe you," she said, and let her gaze linger just a little while, making sure that Faith knew just who the monster was, then turned and walked out of the room, the soles of her shoes squeaking on the vinyl tile.

When the sound faded, Faith slipped out of bed, the tile floor cold under her bare feet. She also felt cool air behind and grabbed the back of the gown. Her left arm felt stiff, like a new tool that needed breaking in. There was a narrow white floor-to-ceiling storage unit against the wall next to the bathroom. She grabbed the stand with her IVs and tiptoed across the room to the cabinet. She looked over her shoulder, opened the door, and stood there, dumbfounded. Her boots sat on the floor of the closet, then nothing. She shook her head and looked up. There was a shelf above her head, and she ran her hand over it, closing on something hard and metallic.

The room flooded with light. "Why are you out of bed?"

The Slayer jerked in surprise, almost toppling her IV stand. She willed herself not to go into a combat crouch; that probably got noticed in a hospital. The nurse who stood by the light switch was short and pear-shaped, dressed in royal blue scrubs with a stethoscope looped around her neck.

"I, uh, I need to go whiz," Faith said, jerking her head toward the bathroom. This brilliant improvisation was rendered all the more believable by the sudden realization that it was true. "I just looked in the closet. Uh, where are my clothes?"

The nurse shook her head. "Oh, we disposed of them. There wasn't anything worth saving. Everything was covered in blood and…" She shivered and the tip of her tongue stuck out between her teeth. She shook herself and waved a hand at Faith. "You really shouldn't get out of bed without calling us, but you're already up and you look steady enough so… go ahead." The Slayer felt empty and sad for a moment: the memory of shopping for those clothes with Joyce Summers stabbed at her.

"Thanks." The Slayer wheeled the IV stand into the bathroom and closed the door. It was pretty awkward doing her business while tethered to a mobile steel hatrack, but she had killed vampires and demons, so she managed. She went to wash her hands and glimpsed herself in the mirror. The base of her throat and the hollow between her collarbones was an abstract work in shades of yellow, green, and purple. A matching smear crept out of the hairline over her right eye. Her left arm was a patchwork of small scabs and new skin, shiny and pink like a baby's ass. Small abrasions covered her right forearm and she remembered the shoggoth trying to grab her when she gored it with the chainsaw. She looked even paler than usual; her hair was lank and still sticky with the residue of various fluids. She dried her hands and clumsily made her way out of the bathroom. The nurse was still standing by the door. "Back into bed," she said. "The doctor will want to see you in the morning."

Faith climbed into bed and the nurse snapped off the light. The Slayer lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, wondering why 'The doctor will want to see you in the morning' sounded like a threat. For a hot minute, she considered yanking out the IVs, jamming her feet into her boots, and just making a break for it, but a moment's reflection caused her to realize that running out of the hospital sockless and bare-assed was no way to remain incognito.

"Faith, you need to focus."

"I am focused, Lindsay."

"No, you're not. Your mind's going a million miles an hour in a million different directions."

"Did I or did I not take out the baddies? Huh?"

"Faith, these are training-wheel vampires. You're going to be facing much stronger, much more dangerous enemies. You've got to be able to bring all your attention to bear."

"I'll be fine."

"Listen to me. That attitude will get you killed. You have to be able to accurately assess a threat, and you can't do that if your mind is wandering. You have to assess, form a plan, then act, sometimes very, very quickly. You have to be able to determine the most pressing threat, your available options, and which of those options help you deal with the threat."

"Jesus, Lindsay, you make me feel like I'm a failure at being a badass."

"No, you're not. You're just… You have no idea how amazing you can be, but if you want to get there, you have to do more than just walk in and start swinging."

No doctor was coming in in the middle of the night. It would not occur to anyone that she was planning to get out. Doctors being doctors, she probably wouldn't see anyone before the middle of the morning. The greatest threat at the moment was being foggy and slow from lack of sleep, so Faith closed her eyes and concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths while imagining a black space in front of her. It was something Lindsay had taught her, to help her relax and sleep after she was keyed up from fighting. It took a few minutes, but soon the deep breaths came of their own accord, and she slept.

Her eyes snapped open as the first rays of the sun filtered through the window sheers. She took a second to orient herself, then began flexing and relaxing her muscles: legs first, then abs, finally arms. Needed to get the blood flowing and be loose and ready. A shadow fell across the doorway; she turned her head and blinked in surprise. "Lewis?"

He was dressed in his khaki shirt with his left arm in a sling. He held a tray with a covered steel dish. "I told 'em I'd bring you your breakfast." He shrugged with his good shoulder. "I know most of them, so they were happy to let me." He used his foot to nudge the rollaway table over to her and placed the dish on it as Faith worked herself into a sitting position. It was more difficult than it might have been: given the way Lewis had reacted to her in a sweaty shirt, she sure didn't want to flash him with her entire ass. He might pass out. She lifted the plastic lid: scrambled eggs and toast. She choked up for a minute, but Lewis didn't notice. She took a bite of the toast; it was more stale than crisp and entirely without flavor.

She looked at him. "How'd you get to keep your shirt?"

He looked down. "This? Oh, no, they burned the shirt I came in in. I've got… a few just alike. Bernice brought some clothes over." He sat down in the recliner and shifted, trying to get his arm in a comfortable position. "They're sending me home today."

"It's Sunday, right?"

"Yup, all the good people are at church."

Faith looked over his shoulder toward the door. Seeing no one, she leaned forward and lowered her voice. "I need to get out of here."

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Really, Lewis? You're gonna bust me?" She straightened up. "You said that the doctors were interested in me. I don't like that." She bit her lip. "At least four people are dead, one of them with a hammer in his head, three-" Her voice faltered, but she swallowed and shook her head, then continued, "Three of them mauled by something, and the two shoggoths out there."

"You don't really believe they were something from Lovecraft, do you?" Lewis squinted one eye.

Faith shook her head. "That's what Tori called them. It's as good as anything. Anyway, the cops are going to want to talk to me."

"Yup, about that." Lewis pressed the knuckles of his right hand to his mouth. "The county mounties have already been over the scene and, uh, one of the reasons I'm being discharged is so I can go out there with the state investigators."

"Why are you doing that?"

"Well, I did survive it and I'm a state employee to boot, so I guess they think I'll be a good witness."

"Shit." Faith tamped down her rising anxiety, but her pits were suddenly wet and her stomach fluttered. "You gotta help me, Lewis. I can't…" She bowed her head. "I don't want doctors poking at me, and I can't talk to any cops."

"Why not?"

She shook her head. "Do you hear yourself? I already said it, there are dead bodies, and I'm connected to two of them. I'm not hanging around for anybody to lock me up, whether it's because I'm an easy mark for four homicides or because they wanna use me as a guinea pig. I'm getting out of here either way, so, are you gonna keep asking me questions, or are you gonna help me?" She hated herself for the tremor she heard in her voice, the thin tinge of desperation at the edge of her bravado.

Lewis looked over his shoulder, then turned back. "Let me go with the staties and take the temperature of water, so to speak, then I'll, I'll come back tomorrow and fill you in, all right?"

Faith gritted her teeth. "By then, they may have me shipped off to the loonie bin to study me."

He shook his head. "I can't do anything about that, but I'll bring you up to speed tomorrow, I promise."

She nodded. "Okay, I guess." He stood up and turned to go. "Hey, Lewis," she said, "I'm sorry if I sound like Insane-O-Girl, but I… I'm getting out of here whether you help or not."

When he spoke his voice was low, pitched for her ears alone. "Listen, if anything comes up this afternoon, I promise you that I'll vouch for you. They'll have to work overtime to make you the bad guy."

She looked up at his gangly form and hatchet-blade face. "Thanks, Lewis, I appreciate it."

He nodded. "Eat your breakfast, even if it ain't much. You haven't had anything in a while, so you need to get your strength back."

"Okay. And, hey, here." She extended her good hand. Lewis looked toward the hallway and then reached out an open palm. She dropped the key into his hand. "That's the key to the apartment over the diner. It'll let you get my stuff. The only thing I've got here is my boots. My…" She hesitated, then plunged ahead. "My money's under the mattress." Lewis nodded soberly, then crossed to the closet and took out her boots. "What are you doing?" she hissed as he headed toward the door.

He stopped and held up the boots. "Have you looked at them?" he said. "They're in sad shape." He dropped his hand to his side. "I'll clean them up for you, and-" He sighed. "If anyone doesn't have your best interests at heart, they'll sure notice that I took your shoes and that… should make them relax." He shook his head. "I sound like a character in a bad Ludlum novel." He walked out the door. Faith stared after him, then picked up the fork and began to mechanically eat the eggs. Lewis was right: no matter how tasteless, a body needed fuel, especially one that burned it at the rate she did.

The first hurdle came in the afternoon. She'd gone back and forth to the bathroom several times to get loosened up and ready to move when needed. She also had to pee a couple of times, so it wasn't all subterfuge. She used her time in the bathroom to study the IVs; last thing she wanted to do was gouge a chunk out of her arm trying to yank out the needles. She notified the nurses whenever she went to the restroom, and even asked if she could sit in the chair and received permission; as far as any nurse could say, Jane Doe was a perfectly reasonable, compliant patient. That was the plan, make them complacent and slow, and then, if she had to, out with the IVs and down the hall before any of them could react.

But midway through the afternoon, not long after a lunch of meat loaf and green beans (which tasted interchangeable), a small man with a widow's peak so sharp that she suspected he might actually be a vamp knocked on the door.

"Hello," he said. "I'm Dr. Lombard. Mind if I take a few minutes of your time?"

Faith clasped her hands in her lap. Be calm, be cool, smile, keep it together. "Sure," she said, and offered a wide smile. She was sure it looked like a death's head grimace, but either it appeared more normal than she thought or he was oblivious. Whatever the reason, he looked down at a chart, then around the room. Faith started to get up, but he held out a hand.

"No, it's okay," he said. "Give me a minute." He went out into the hall, then returned, dragging a no-frills wire and plastic chair behind him. He placed it at the foot of the bed, adjusted it, adjusted it again, then sat down. "Okay," he said, "I have to say, we are really, really happy about the progress you're making." He looked down at the chart and shook his head. "Concussion, contusions, abrasions, a massive hematoma-" He looked up. "Is it okay if I examine your neck and upper chest?"

Faith stiffened for a heartbeat. Be calm, be cool, keep it together. "Sure," she said, "if it'll get me out of here quicker, I'm down."

Dr. Lombard raised a finger. "Just a second." He stepped to the door. "Paula, can you help me out for a minute?" A nurse came into the room: a medium-sized woman with a strong face and no-nonsense blue eyes. "Paula, this is-" he glanced down at the chart "-Jane Doe? I see, you were admitted as Jane Doe, okay. Uh, do you have a name you'd like us to use?" Faith blanked out. This possibility had never crossed her mind. Her mind raced like a one-armed bandit until the dials all clicked-

"Anne," she said with a small, cool smile.

Dr. Lombard nodded. "Okay, Anne, like I said, we're going to examine that bruising on your upper body. Now, Paula's in here for both of us, and what we're going to do, you're going to sit on the bed and she's going to untie your gown and pull down the top part so I can take a look. I won't be touching you at any point. I'm going to look at this hematoma on your chest, then I'm going to step around to the back and take a look at the bruising and abrasions on your back. Is that all right with you?" Faith nodded. Her mouth felt dry. Dr. Lombard looked at Paula. "Okay, let's get started."

Paula's gloved hands undid the knot at the nape of Faith's neck and folded down the fabric. The Slayer had never felt so exposed and jumpy. She concentrated on keeping her breathing even as Dr. Lombard examined the area around the base of her throat. He passed out of her vision; she could hear his footsteps behind her. Paula caught her eye and nodded. Dr. Lombard came into her peripheral vision on the other side and nodded to Paula, who pulled up the top of the gown and re-tied it. Faith realized that her heart was racing and her hairline felt damp.

Dr. Lombard sat down "Okay, that is healing very nicely, really more nicely than it should." His forehead creased. "Most of your injuries look they occurred, I don't know, two or three weeks ago instead of seventy-two hours."

Faith presented a calm face. "I've always had a good immune system."

"Okayyyyy," Dr. Lombard said. "Tell you what, I think we're going to continue the IVs, just as a precaution, since one's an antibiotic, but I don't think you need to stay in bed all day."

"Well, I can't really go anywhere," Faith replied. "All my clothes got destroyed."

"Oh." Dr. Lombard looked at Paula. "Can we get Anne a robe?" He glanced down at her feet. "And maybe some slippers?"

Paula nodded. "I'm sure we can."

"Good, good. Well, Anne, you just take it easy this evening."

"Can I leave tomorrow?" Faith asked, a shade quickly.

Dr. Lombard shrugged. "I would think it's fine, but there's a specialist who wants to take a look at you, and he won't be here until tomorrow afternoon. Let's let him do his examination, and we'll shoot for Tuesday afternoon, that sound good?"

The Slayer offered a small nod. "Yeah, that's awesome."

"Okay," Dr. Lombard said. "I'm really glad you're healing so well. I don't know what you're eating or drinking, but… keep it up. I'll probably see you one more time before you leave on Tuesday." Faith nodded as he left the room. She was still seated on the bed when Paula returned with a thin robe and velour slippers.

"I'm afraid they're both going to be too big," the nurse said.

"That's fine," Faith said. "Anything to keep from flashin' my butt-crack in the hall." Paula smiled a very small smile and went outside. Faith wrapped herself in the robe; it was at least two sizes too big, but at least she felt covered. The slippers were only a size or so large, but she still had to shuffle to keep them from flying off her feet. She went to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. "This is what slaying'll look like in the old folks' home," she told her reflection.

She got Paula's permission and spent the late afternoon and early evening shuffling along the halls, wheeling Mr. IV Stand along with her. She was the perfect spy, sliding her feet along in the too-big slippers, smiling vacantly at nurses and visitors in the hall, fumbling to get the IV rack turned around when she reached the door at the end of the hall, a maneuver which allowed her plenty of time to study the doors: their thickness, locking mechanisms, the type of glass in the door and whether it was reinforced or thick plexiglass. She meandered from one end of the hall to the other, even took a little side trip down a corridor that led to a staff-only door, which was a useful bit of knowledge. She also learned that the U-shaped hospital had only one floor, a main entrance in the middle of the U's base with a gift shop and a small cafeteria, and crash exits at all four outside points of the U. She returned to her room for dinner (a hamburger with lettuce, tomato, onion, and cheese and no discernable difference in flavor between any of the layers. She shook her head; the first thing she was going to do was go get–

Her vision clouded and a hot stab of self-hatred and remorse lanced through her. No more sandwiches at the diner. She sniffed and stuffed everything back down; she'd deal with that later… but she was going to get a cheeseburger somewhere. She finished the burger and the limp fries that came with it, then chugged about a half-gallon of water and rinsed her mouth in the bathroom sink. She closed the door to the room, flipped on the TV bolted to the wall, then sat down and kicked back in the recliner. To anyone who looked in the door, 'Anne' would be just another patient passing a dull night watching TV, but Faith spent the time reviewing her escape plans, rehearsing how she would approach each door, imagining what lay on the other side, trying to account for all possible variations in the terrain outside the hospital. She finally ran through every scenario she could imagine and realized that she was tired. Dr. Lombard had said the specialist would be there in the afternoon, so a good night's sleep and an early start were imperative. The Slayer snapped off the TV and crawled into bed.

The security lights outside filtered through the sheers and painted the ceiling with shifting scrims of light. The security light in the bathroom gave off a weak glow, enough to make the doorway look like the portal to another world. Faith blinked and wondered if this was a dream, sleep inside sleep, then movement at the corner of her eye attracted her attention. She could see the brightly lit hallway, the light shifting as nurses and orderlies passed by, moving quickly, but with that jerky quality that often comes over people who are working in the late hours of the night when their circadian rhythm wants to be asleep. She wondered why she had awakened, then the door opened and a figure slipped in and stood beside the door. Faith sighed. "Beth, stop being a ghoul and turn on the fucking light."

Instead of flipping the switch for the room lights, Beth Stillwell Hopper took two steps toward the bed and pulled the nylon cord that turned on the overhead lamp high on the wall. Faith blinked, bathed in a cone of diffuse white light while Beth remained in shadow. "Jesus," the Slayer said, raising a hand, "what do you think this is, LA Confidential?"

"Why are you alive?" Beth was invisible, but her rage was palpable. "The whole hospital's talking about the girl, the girl who's getting better and no one knows why, the girl they thought was going to die, but instead she's almost ready to walk out of here… and my brother's dead."

Faith threw her head back against the pillow, then popped up. "Yeah, Ben's dead, Beth. I'm sorry, but I didn't kill him, and I sure as hell can't bring him back."

"My brother had done so much-"

Faith's eyes snapped. "Let me stop you right there, sister. Ben's not the only one who got his life snuffed out. By my math he was, what, forty, forty-five? The best person I've ever known was murdered before she was thirty, and she was murdered in front of me, I saw it, so you can just put a cork in your little pity party."

There was a sharp intake of breath from the dark, then Beth said, "What kind of monster-"

"Yeah, I'm a monster, that's right, me, I'm fucking Frankenstein." Faith felt feverish, her eyes burned. "You want me to go there, fine, I'll go there. Ben was a good man, and he got killed because he was a good man, because a bad man would've let me go out there alone, and a bad man would've run away at the first sight of what we saw, and a bad man wouldn't have stood his ground, so, yeah, Ben died, and it's my fault because he went with me, but I didn't ask him to. That was his call. He stepped up." Faith heard a soft sound in the gloom and realized that Beth was crying.

"He was all I had," she said, her words coming in jerks between the tears.

"I know," Faith said. "Lindsay was all I had. I understand, and I understand if you gotta hate me, because I kinda hate myself, but that's not gonna make it go away. You have to find something else."

There was a moment of silent weeping, then Beth turned on her squeaking shoes and hurried out of the room, leaving Faith sitting in the middle of the cone of light. Finally, she reached up and yanked on the cord, plunging the room into darkness.

"A real hero" she whispered into the night. "Just a motherfucking hero."

She woke up just before sunrise, the gray pre-dawn light turning everything a monochromatic silver. She went to the bathroom, washed her face, and reviewed her plan for the day. The specialist was coming in the afternoon, so she would give Lewis until 11:30, then she was going the full Alice. She forced down breakfast; her stomach was not happy, but who knew if she'd get lunch?

She continued yesterday's routine, shuffling up and down the hall in her too-big slippers and capacious robe. She might keep the robe: as big as it was, it might stream out behind her like a cape, which could be cool. Today, she stopped near the exit doors. There was a generic landscape painting hanging on the wall near each of them, and she apparently paused and studied the pictures, but she was actually surveying as much of the terrain outside the door as possible. One of them had probably twenty feet of grassy lawn bordering a parking lot. The other had the same twenty feet of sod, then a fast-food franchise. If she had to make a break for it, maybe she'd grab something out of the drive-thru. After all, stealing a burger wouldn't add much to breaking out of a hospital.

She was on her third trip through the hall, eyeballing the clock as it crept toward 9:30, when she saw someone turn in from one of the long legs of the U. Someone was Tori, sporting a backpack and walking toward the Slayer at a quick clip. Faith stopped, puzzled, and Tori stepped up to her.

"Excuse me," the younger girl said. "Where's the bathroom?" Faith gawped at her, so Tori repeated herself. "Where's the bathroom?"

"Uh, it's down the hall, just past the nurse's station," the Slayer said slowly.

"Thanks, I appreciate it." Tori walked away, backpack bouncing just above her hips. Faith watched her go; the Slayer's eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out just what the hell was going on. She took two sliding steps toward the middle of the hall, then saw Tori emerge from the restroom, only without a backpack. Faith froze, watching. Tori took a couple of steps toward her, then stopped and looked over her shoulder toward the door at the far end of the hall, went down the hall to stand in front of the painting, just as the Slayer had done the day before when scouting the hospital, looked at Faith again, then walked rapidly back the way she had come. As she drew even with the Slayer, Tori said "Thanks for the help" and continued on past. Faith did not turn around to watch the smaller girl leave; she was shuffling toward the bathroom.

Said bathroom was just far enough past the nurses' station to be out of the direct line of sight. Faith took a deep breath and used her hip to push open the door, leaving both hands free to steer the IV stand. It was a single-stall bathroom, so she locked the door behind her, then poked her head into the enclosure.

Tori's backpack was balanced on the back of the toilet. Faith looked around, then grabbed a handful of toilet paper. She peeled back the tape at her left elbow, then gritted her teeth and pulled out the IVs. As the needles clinked on the floor, she put the toilet paper over the punctures and pulled the tape back into place. It would hold long enough to get a real bandage if she needed it. She grabbed the backpack and pulled the zipper open. Folded neatly on top was a bra and panties; she'd never been so grateful for underwear. A Sleater-Kinney T-shirt followed and a pair of black pants, along with a light nylon track jacket; a nice touch to cover her makeshift dressing. At the bottom of the backpack were her boots and socks. She had to stop for a moment; Lewis had really done a job on boots. They looked soft and shiny and ready for anything. She sat on the toilet and laced them up, then noticed a bulge in the backpack's zippered pocket. She tugged at it and found a flat-topped cadet cap, a hair scrunchie, a pair of cheap sunglasses and a note in Tori's handwriting, or she assumed it was Tori's: if Lewis's handwriting was this flowery, neat, and flowing, she'd eat the backpack.

The cap might help. I'll be in the parking lot outside the door.

Faith flushed the note down the toilet, wrapped the scrunchie around her wrist, then tucked her hair up under the cap. She looked in the mirror. It wouldn't fool anyone who looked for five seconds, but the whole point was to get out before anyone had a chance to look. She looked into the eyes of her reflection and took a deep breath; this was the Rubicon. She shook her shoulders, put on the sunglasses, unlocked the door, and turned left, the empty backpack slung over her shoulder. She kept her head down as she went down the hall and hit the door's crash bar without pausing. She tensed, but no alarm sounded as she stepped out into the dazzling sunlight. She was stunned for a moment, but kept moving. She stepped into the grass, moving quickly but trying to keep everything smooth; nothing screamed for attention like herky-jerky not-running. A flash of headlights caught her eye; she saw Tori's Kia parked in the third row, facing her. Faith kept her eyes ahead; she figured she would know if anyone was after her. In the last few feet the Sephia actually seemed to grow farther away, but her hand fell on the door latch and she collapsed into the passenger seat. The patch of lawn between the hospital and the lot was pristine, green and undisturbed. Tori backed out and then pulled out of the lot, turning right, away from the hospital.

"What are you doing here?" Faith demanded, taking off the cap, then tying back her hair with the scrunchie.

"I made Lewis let me help." Tori kept her eyes on the road.

Faith pulled one leg up under her and turned toward the other girl. "How did you know Lewis was doing this?"

Tori grinned. "He asked me to go with him to get your stuff." She snickered. "I had to pick it out. I think he was afraid he'd touch your underwear."

Faith nodded. "That tracks." She frowned. "But it's Monday, they'll miss you at school."

"Nope." Tori shook her head. "My mom called last night and said I'd be in at 11:30."

"So, your mom knows?"

Tori shook her head again. "No, I just told her Lewis needed me, so she called."

"Just because Lewis asked?"

Tori finally glanced over at the Slayer. "Lewis is pretty much home-town hero now. I think everybody'd give him a kidney if he asked."

Faith leaned back in the seat, feeling the cracked vinyl under her thighs. "So, what's the plan now?"

"We're gonna circle back here in a minute, then we're gonna meet Lewis. You'll switch cars, and I'll go to school." They drove in silence for a while, then Tori said, "So, I'll see you tonight?"

Faith sighed. "No, you won't. I'm leaving."

Tori gave a tiny tilt of her chin, the suggestion of a nod. "I saw Lewis putting your bag in the bed of his truck. Why?"

"Why?" The Slayer looked over at the other girl. "Tori, there are four dead people out at the Beck place-"

"Six."

"What?"

"Six." Tori checked the road behind her, then turned left. "The guy who answered the door died. Dalton did, too."

Faith tilted her head back and looked at the faded headliner. "Yeah, okay. There are six dead people out there. I killed three of them. You can't just make that go away, plus…" She looked out the window. "Would you want people to look at you every day and know that Ben Stillwell died because of you?"

"I hadn't thought about that." Tori's voice was small. "I'm sorry. You came because of me."

"No, I came because Dalton Beck was an asshole. If he'd left you alone, hell, if he'd just stopped at being gross and disgusting, I'd have left him alone, well, maybe not alone, but just the odd beatdown to keep him in line. He was an asshole, and his dad was a bigger asshole. That's why we were all out there."

"Then why do you have to leave?"

"I don't know," Faith said, "but I do." She looked out the window as Tori drove out of the county seat, which the Slayer would have considered Hicksville two weeks ago, but which now seemed like Metropolis to the Smallville she had been inhabiting. They were soon on the county highway, and if the atmosphere had been less melancholy, it would have been a beautiful drive, the road twisting and dipping through timbered ridges. Tori drove for about fifteen minutes, then turned right on a chip-and-seal county road. She followed it for a couple of miles, where it widened out and a series of timber bollards created an ad-hoc parking area. A sign welcomed them to a county wilderness area. Lewis's personal truck was parked near the sign. He got out as Tori pulled the Sephia to a stop.

"Will I ever see you again?" Tori asked as the Slayer unbuckled her seatbelt.

"Probably not," Faith said.

"I don't know what to say," Tori murmured. "I mean, you've been here a week, everything in my life has changed, and now you're just going to leave."

Faith drummed her fingers on the sun-faded dashboard. "I haven't changed you at all. That's a lot harder to do that than you think. You're the same person you were before. I just removed a roadblock."

Tori bit her lip. "I don't feel like the same person."

Faith grabbed the door handle. "That's the PTSD talking. You'll probably want to get help with that." She got out and walked across the rutted grass toward Lewis. She saw that he was looking past her, and she turned in time for Tori to grab her.

"I wish you didn't have to go," the smaller girl whispered, "but if you do, I'll always remember you."

Faith felt choked. "I'll remember you, too, kiddo. I promise." Tori released the hug and stepped back, wiping her hands under her eyes.

"You should get to school, Tori." Lewis adjusted the bill of his cap. "You don't want our time lines to overlap any more than they already do." Tori nodded and went to her car, head down. The Kia's engine coughed and caught, then Tori pulled around and drove away. She did not look back.

Faith sighed. "Okay, let's go. You can drop me at the intersection."

"What? I don't think so. The staties want to talk to you." Lewis slid into the driver's seat as Faith clambered into the passenger's side. "I'll get you down into the valley, let you off someplace where you don't stand out like a sore thumb." He selected a cassette and popped it into the dash. A mid-tempo groove highlighted by staccato strings and a glockenspiel soared out of the speaker.

Faith looked out of the window, a sour expression on her face. "Cops'll still be looking for me."

Lewis turned the wheel one-handed. "I suppose that's possible, but I don't think they're too concerned about the passing of the Beck family. They talked more about Las Vegas and some town between here and LA called Sunnydale." He glanced over at her; Faith remained very still. "Anyway, if they can't find you first thing, I think they'll let it slide."

"Doesn't sound like the cops I know," she mumbled.

"Well, look at it from their perspective. As it stands, they've got a nice, neat story, local hero takes out two drug dealers, loses his own life in the attempt, tie that into Ben's service record, that's a pretty package."

Faith turned a skeptical eye toward him. "That sounds pretty cynical coming from you."

He focused on the road, steering with his one hand. "No, I went out to the Beck place with them. It's a mess. Six bodies, six violent deaths, plus the remains of the, ah, shoggoths." He tilted his head sideways in her direction.

"They were still there? What did the cops think of that?" The Slayer pulled her left leg up under her.

"They didn't know what to think of it, which is one reason that they wanted me along, not just as a witness, but to offer my opinion on what those things were." He shook his head. "I didn't remind 'em that my specialty is trees and plants." He nodded toward the glove box. "That reminds me. Look in there."

Faith frowned and turned the latch. It revealed a Cold Steel folding knife, bright and gleaming with oil, and a roll of bills wrapped in a rubber band. "Is that…?"

"Yup, it is." He shifted his weight and sighed, and Faith remembered that his wounds didn't heal at a supernatural rate. She turned the knife in her hands, slipped it into her pocket, and grabbed the cash. "Thanks. How'd you get the knife?"

"Well, the, uh, do you mind if I just say 'things'? Apparently the things didn't respond well to sunlight." He waited.

"There are lots of things that don't," she said, propping her foot on the dash.

"Do you have any idea what they really were?" Lewis asked, his voice deceptively casual.

Faith screwed up her mouth and shook her head. "Something that lives in the dark that Heath learned to control. When I saw him at the diner, I thought those were jailhouse tats on his fingers, and maybe that is where he got 'em, but if you take a look at them, they're probably not just crowns of thorns and rings of fire."

"Well, if the staties come back to me, I'll tell them there's an occult angle to the whole thing. They'll love that."

"Are you serious?"

"Makes the decapitations easier to explain." He shot her a quick look, then turned back to the road.

"You know I'm not kidding, don't you?" The sound of the highway rolling beneath the tires and the thumping drums of the cassette occupied the next few minutes. The singer began crooning about a one of a kind love affair.

"I do," Lewis said. "And while I may not believe it all myself, I do know that those were not bears."

"Is that what you said?" Faith turned her face toward him, disbelieving.

He shook his head. "No, I said that in the dark we thought they were bears."

"That was my mistake," Faith said. "That's what caused everything to go sideways. I thought Heath was the Big Bad, but he had them in his hip pocket and I never thought of it. It's my fault." She pressed a fist to her mouth and stared out the window at the trees rushing by.

Lewis cleared his throat. "Anyway, I pretended to examine those things while the staties looked at all my other tools scattered around, which caught their interest, thank you so much, and I saw the knife there. It's a pretty nice one, you seem to know how to use it, so I just kinda slipped it into my pocket." He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. "I cleaned it up while I was waiting for your boots to dry."

"Didn't the cops notice you tampering with evidence?"

"They did not. Those critter remains were pretty rank. Everybody just wanted to get out of there." A black Crown Victoria blew past in the other lane; Lewis checked the rearview mirror. "Unless I miss my guess, that might be the very guys who want to talk to you." The outskirts of town appeared, followed almost immediately by the center of town.

"Hey," Faith said, "can you stop for a sec?"

"We should keep moving."

The Slayer closed her eyes. "Just for a second."

Lewis shook his head. "All right." He turned right at the intersection and coasted to a stop across the street from the empty shell of the diner. The shattered window of the hardware store was covered by a blue tarp.

"Do you still have the key?" Faith asked. In reply, Lewis unbuttoned the left breast pocket of his shirt, dug out the key, and dropped it into her hand. She nodded, then popped out of the truck and sprinted across the street and up the stairs. The books were still on the occasional table. She grabbed them and thumped down the stairs. Lewis was checking all his mirrors as she skidded around the front of the pickup and jumped into the cab. "Here," she said, sliding the books across the seat. "Would you mind turning them in?" Lewis lifted his foot off the brake and the truck rolled forward a few feet before he goosed the accelerator. They reached the edge of town and dropped down the slope.

They had gone about a mile when Lewis said, "That's an odd thing to stop for."

Faith looked down at the books, then out the window. "I don't want to leave any loose ends. They're on Ben's card."

Lewis eased back in his seat, falling into the rhythm of the road. "So, all of these loose ends are tied up if you leave?"

"I'm feeling pretty tired." She turned toward the window, hoping he would get the hint. He did not.

"I'm not asking for me, but Tori's going to ask, and I want to be able to give her a real answer, not something I just made up out of thin air."

Faith huffed and turned sideways to face him. "Okay, you really want to know? I already told you, I saw the best person I knew killed, then I ended up here, and what happened? Ben died, killed by a monster, almost as bad as before." She thrust her balled-up fists into her lap. "You see a common thread here?"

He nodded. "Well, that's pretty self-centered."

The Slayer's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"Think about it. Heath Beck was a psychopath, his son was in training to be one, and, if you're telling the truth, and at this point, I'm inclined to think you are, he also had pet creatures of some sort… but you, you are the primary cause."

Faith's voice took on an edge. "Beth visited me a couple of times in the hospital. She's pretty sure I am." She turned toward the window, not just her face, but her whole body, her shoulder wedged into the seat, her back toward Lewis. The truck rolled on. The cassette ended; Lewis ejected it and fumbled another one into the player. A rich, grainy a capella vocal about the singer's arms began, soon backed by a pumping piano and a swirling hi-hat pattern. It was a sad, heartbroken song, and Faith couldn't help wondering if Lewis had chosen it on purpose.

"I'm going to tell you something." His voice was halting. "Two somethings, actually. Once Ben started to come to grips with what he was carrying inside him, he told me a lot. Well, I take that back… he wasn't telling me so much as he just needed to say it out loud." He sighed. "I told you that Ben killed people when his unit took out that village, but one in particular haunted him. He said that a young woman, probably a little older than him, ran at him swinging a machete. He killed her with his knife. He thought she was Viet Cong, or at least a VC sympathizer, but he found out she was just scared and trying to defend her home."

"Jesus, Lewis," Faith muttered and crossed her arms over her stomach.

He spoke slowly, a man choosing his words with care. "I'm sure somebody told you about Beth coming home to take care of Ben."

"Yeah." Faith looked steadfastly out the window. Let him tell his stories; she was not going to be shocked into looking at him.

"Anybody tell you about her husband?"

"Pat said he died in a car wreck."

"Yes and no." The singer began a slow ballad about a girl who got weary, a macabre counterpoint to Lewis's story. "Beth and Ian Hopper had just found out she was pregnant. They'd wanted a baby for a while, but it hadn't happened. They were really excited. Ian had gone to the store to pick up a few groceries, and on the way back, there was an accident in the other lane, one car rear-ended another. Trouble is, the car that got hit was a Jeep, one of those with the spare tire on the back. The collision shook it loose, and it bounced once and came down through the windshield of Ian's car. He was dead at the scene." He paused as if waiting for her to respond, but the Slayer kept her back turned. "Beth lost the baby, maybe because of the shock and grief, and after Ian was buried, she moved back."

"And started taking care of Ben." Faith reached out and picked at the vinyl of the door panel.

"I guess you could say that."

The Slayer hesitated. "What are you saying?"

Lewis switched cassettes. The new singer had a smooth, high voice that rode over a pulsing rhythm section. "I'm not sure, I'm just thinking about how lots of things happened in the past, before you ever showed up. I mean, you could say that Beth spent her life trying to watch over Ben, or you could say that she never tried to get her own life back on track. I suppose it depends on whether you think what she did was noble or a way of avoiding her own grief. You could say that Ben died because he made a bad choice, or, if you look at it another way, he finally came full circle, finally made good something that he'd owed for years."

Faith twisted around on the seat. "You son of a bitch," she snapped. "Don't you put that on me."

Lewis raised his eyebrows. "Well, I thought all of this was your fault." He sucked on an incisor. "People make all kinds of decisions, choices that lead them to different places in life. You're here now, but the other people involved in this all have a history that put them here, regardless of whether you showed up."

The Slayer considered this, her mouth in a moue. The truck came down out of the mountains and traversed the valley. The highway intersected with a larger state highway, and Lewis turned right. In another fifteen minutes they reached the city limits of a town that the sign said was inhabited by a little over thirteen thousand people, but after the last week it looked busier than Mumbai to Faith. Lewis negotiated the traffic one-handed and pulled to the curb in front of the bus station, a very fancy name for a small brick building with a large front window and a carve-out in the curb for a bus to pull over.

"Thanks for the ride," Faith said. "I, uh, I'll be fine from here."

"Sure." Lewis unbuckled his seat belt and got out. "I need to stretch my legs." He stretched his legs in the direction of the bus station, following her inside. Faith hitched the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder as she approached the ticket agent.

"What can I do for you?" The agent was a stocky Chicano woman, her dark hair threaded with silver.

"Um, I need to go north." Faith dropped the bag on the floor and thrust a hand into her pocket.

"How far will this get her?" Lewis stepped up to the window. The woman took the offered cash and counted it.

"What are you doing?" Faith hissed. "I don't need you to buy me a ticket."

"No," Lewis said amiably, "but I need to buy one. You'll need all of your money later." His hatchet face suddenly seemed sharper. "So it works for both of us."

"Sixty-four dollars." The agent tapped the money on the counter and pointed over her shoulder at a departures board. "Get you there. That okay?"

Faith fumed wordlessly at Lewis, then turned to the counter. "Great. Anywhere that isn't here." The agent rang up the transaction, put the money in the register drawer, and handed the Slayer a pale-green piece of paper.

"Bus gets here in about twenty minutes. Thanks and have a nice day." Faith grabbed her bag and stomped out of the front door. She dropped the duffel to the sidewalk and sat down on a bench that was weathered to gray, the bag between her feet. Lewis followed her out and sat down on the other end.

"You don't have to wait here," Faith snarled. "I'll be all right."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," Lewis said, "but I think I'll sit here on the bench until the bus comes. I honestly don't have much to do until the sawbones says I've recovered, so I think I'll just enjoy the day."

"Whatever," Faith said, trying to look pissed. "It's your life."

"It certainly is."

She sat at one end of the bench and he sat at the other, not speaking, until the bus arrived. The engine rumbled, the door hissed open, and two people got off, both young men. The driver came out and eyeballed Faith, then sighed and opened the luggage compartment. She tossed the duffel bag in and got on the bus, never looking back. She selected a seat about midway back on the driver's side of the vehicle, away from the sidewalk. She looked out at the traffic as the bus driver announced that they were departing, then the door closed and the silver behemoth pulled away from the curb. Lewis watched it pull away, touched two fingers to the bill of his cap, then stood up and walked to his pickup. He waited there, his hand on the door latch, watching the bus as it grew smaller and smaller, until it disappeared in the distance and the traffic, then he got into his truck, made a U-turn, and headed back the way he came.

EPILOGUE

The white car screamed 'RENTAL', and that was before you saw the sticker in the back window. It came from the north and turned west, then U-turned and stopped in front of an empty storefront. The driver got out, a medium-sized man in what appeared to be a plain waxed-cotton jacket until you took a close look at it. He cupped his hands around his eyes and looked in through the window. He saw tables and chairs, a counter with a row of stools, booths along one wall, ready and waiting for customers who would not arrive. He walked the length of the window, then stepped back and looked down the street. There was a hardware store at the end of the block; the lettering on its window was shiny and new. The man stood still for a moment, then started walking toward the store. As he drew near, another man came out of the store, a tall man with a face like a double-bladed ax. He appeared to favor his left arm slightly. He stopped and looked at the man from the rental car. "Can I help you?" he asked. His voice was soft and casual, but unwavering.

The man from the rental car pointed back toward the abandoned diner. "Has it been closed long?"

The tall man lifted his right hand, palm up. "Three weeks, four. Why? You looking to buy?"

The man from the rental car smiled, a small, tight smile that was purely a formal gesture. "No. I have no interest in the restaurant business. I am looking for a young woman, and I was told she might be here."

The tall man looked around the quiet, empty streets. "Why would you be looking here? Not many young people in this town." He smiled, a slightly more genuine effort. "I'm practically a spring chicken around these parts."

"Oh, I had received information that she might have been in hospital at the next town." The man from the rental car pointed north. "She was not there, but I thought she might have come from here."

"Why would you think that?"

The man from the rental car shrugged. "Does it matter? She isn't here."

"No, she isn't." The tall man took one long step toward the street, then turned. "Why are you looking for this young woman?"

"It is about her education."

The tall man considered that statement. "And you're a teacher?"

"Of sorts."

The tall man nodded. "Well, good luck…?"

"Robert."

"Robert. Well, I do have a job" The tall man touched the bill of his cap, crossed the street in four loping strides, and climbed into a pickup with some sort of official seal on the door. The truck wheeled around and drove through the intersection, headed east.

Robert Woo watched the truck disappear over a slight rise. He stood for a moment, hands in his pockets, then got into the white car and headed west, down toward the valley.