Sookie stares down at Adele's giant pool of blood on the kitchen floor, while Tina the cat is content to lick at it, like animals do. She falls down on her knees, shrinking back and gasping as it touches her. She stares, almost sick, and Bill arrives, hurling her to her feet. She stares at him, terrified, and uncomprehending; he calls her back to herself. "Sookie. It's me. Sookie. Sookie, it's me." She finally recognizes him, in the field of her twenty-yard stare, and falls into his arms.
Someone else comes onto the porch and Bill stares, listening, while Sookie cries in his arms. When the door squeaks, out come the fangs, and before you know it he's got Sam against the doorframe by the throat. Sam shouts at him and Bill demands to know what he's doing there. "I was making sure that Sookie got home safe. The door was open..." He asks what Bill's doing there, and Sookie tells Bill to drop him. Bill's fangs disappear and Sam sees her clearly for the first time, in a child's dress, covered in blood. He's shaking, with spit on his lips. "What happened?"
Later, Sam puts a blanket around her shoulders while Detective Bellefleur and Sherriff Dearborn investigate the scene; Mike and Neil the Kreepy Koroners are in there too. Sam tells her to get some rest, but she can't; she can hear it all. The partial prints on the sink that lead nowhere; Bud's nausea at the blood on his boots, his worries about his family; Andy sternly telling himself to pull it the fuck together if he's ever going to get any respect. Mike marvels at the wounds: ...Cut her up real good must be thirty stabs throat's wide open holy hell we got ourselves a serial killer here. Andy mourns for Adele (...Poor woman stuck raising these bad-shit crazy Stackhouse kids didn't deserve this I...) Sam calls her back to herself. "Sookie?" She stares at him, in the sudden and temporary silence. "Maybe I could use a little air," she says matter-of-factly; he stares at her helplessly as she stands.
On the porch, she pulls the blanket tight around her. It belonged to her Gran. This house, the dress she mended, the food she made, the cat she fed, the love she gave them. It all belonged to Gran. Sookie most of all. The cracks in the china and the place where she made Jason fix the front stoop when it was sagging last summer. Lavender and basil and thyme in the garden. This house smells like her. The cracks in the foundation, the sound it makes in the night, the fourth step on your way up groaning in the night; Gran's eyes on you everywhere, knowing when you were bad and when you were good. She's dead, but the house still smells like her and the dishes are where she likes them, and even on the porch she's everywhere, her arms are still around you.