window.

Kristof was staring down at her. He shook his head, a grim expression on his face. "Don't do this, Georgia," he called. "We're going to find you."

She hurt too much to try for a snappy response. Instead, she limped over to where she'd parked Dolores and lowered herself painfully into the saddle.

She drove away without looking back.

† † †

Darius trudged up the sidewalk towards The Procyon, and tried to ignore the brass band playing a dirge inside his skull.

He'd spent the rest of the night after leaving St. Jude's alternately drinking and feeling sorry for himself. One measly night wasn't even close to enough time to process everything Father Gregory and Sister Paul had laid on him. It was now the following morning, and he still hadn't recovered.

He'dman dressed like a World War II soldier.

He was missing his face.

Darius shuddered, and forcibly put the image out of his mind. He reached the side entrance of The Procyon and shoved the door open a little too forcefully. It whipped inward, slowed with a soft _shushing_ noise just before banging the wall. His vision flared red. He took a deep breath and resisted the urge to turn back and slam it the rest of the way open.

His temper burned itself out as quickly as it had come on. Darius continued towards the elevator and pressed the "up" button. Then he settled in to wait.

Damn, he was tired. Aside from that one brief flash-in-the-pan, he wasn't even angry anymore. Just weighted down with an exhaustion so deep his