"Mama. Put down that coffee and look at me." Not happening. "It's the demon drinking, not me..." she says, and Tara reaches for it, but her hands go crazy and she screams: the hot coffee spills itself all over her, scalding hot, ruining her pure white shirt and robe. She's dirty. She has become dirty. She sucks at it, from her shirt, holding fire-slicked hands to her mouth, sucking at them like a hungry thing, every last drop. The very drops of it, the demon wants. Tara shakes, near weeping; near falling on her knees. "It's the demon! It's the demon!" Tara cannot hold this inside herself.
Sookie comes home in Bill's shirt, holding her bridal, her sacrificial, her virgin garment in her arms and her panties and his shirt on her back. A new girl. She hears a succession of fumbling noises in the house that is hers. The killer is back. The killer always wears a mask, and you will never guess. It's always Jason when it matters: he comes stumbling out, with a paper shopping bag in one hand and silver candlesticks in the other. "Fuck," he whispers to himself, caught hungry-handed. "What are you doing?" she asks, but in his search to deflect blame his gaze falls upon her body, the territory of war. He is dirty, and she cannot be dirty. "You went ahead and did it, huh? My own sister. Nothing but a damn fangbanger. Now, you saved it all these years for a fucking vampire?" He thinks dirty is possible; he thinks "dirty" is something our bodies are capable of being. His most of all, and then everybody that reflects him. He looked right at Bartlett and never figured it out, because he lives in the daylight world where our histories are our faults, and we must ignore our history to say clean. He still doesn't know, when a monkey would know. He just knows where to assign it; who the possum must be for his ugly desire.
"Bill is a gentleman," she protests, and he answers, "He bit you." The thing Jason will never admit he wants most. "He doesn't hit me, which is more than I can say for you." Jason whines that he tried to apologize and she wouldn't let him, but that's because his offense was not what he was apologizing for: he wanted to say he was sorry for the slap, but she wanted him to apologize for Bartlett, and he can not know that, and she cannot tell him, so she changes the subject: "What are you doing with Gran's candlesticks?" He swallows and says, post-funeral, that he's just taking what's his, half of the world. "They were her wedding present. From her mother." Jason doesn't care: he needs the money. "For what?" The question you only ask when you know the answer; he's dirty. "You have a job. And a house." I like Jason's house, I like that when he was old enough he left the nest, and Sookie stayed home because she needed Gran, and was growing. And now they both have houses, and they have to live there. Among the memories and the pain. He tells her to fuck off, and she's not having it. That Alice/Sookie bending place I love so much more than anything else: "Uh-uh. Gran might have spoiled you rotten, but I won't. This is my house now. You put those things down and get out." He goes redneck again, blowing past her, and she grabs at the shopping bag; it rips and everything falls to the floor. Silverware, pearls, jewelry, cameos, memories. Disgusting. "You were gonna sell her jewelry?" All these memories. He runs away.