Sookie's face changes and falls, as the world gets bigger: People die. Sheriffs hate. ...You could be next... The world of grownups, infallible and luxuriously protective and smart and well-intentioned, that world is gone. That world never existed. Sometimes adults turn on you; she learned that a long time ago. We learn it every day. But once the authorities fall down on the job, what's left? Sit at a red light at three AM and contemplate the meaning and the significance of that red light: Bud Dearborn is a sign of faith and strength, but he is not those things, any more than the corpse means home. People die. Sheriffs hate. And his words, so soft and unctuous beneath the thoughts: "I'm truly sorry about your grandmother..." She's done with him; from the list of the trusted he is removed. The one thing you want adults to do, they fail; the sheriff of the town is a monster, gleeful in her tragedy. "You all done in there? Because I'd like to clean up, if that's all right." Bud and Andy leave; Bill promises Bellefleur he'll take care of her, as long as he is able.

Bill and Sam agree she shouldn't be alone; Sam offers her his trailer, saying he'll sleep at the bar, but she looks from one to the other. Home is gone. Safe is gone. "I'm as safe here as anywhere," she says. And she's right. What has happened is fangs in flesh, or planes in buildings: the place where you were safe, you are not safe. Adele was her home: she was indistinguishable from the place and from the idea both. She was safety, and she wasn't safe, even in her place of power. "Besides, I got both of you to protect me, haven't I?" Not both. Bill, embarrassed, reminds her he has to go: it's nearly dawn.

Bill's eyes linger on hers as he promises to return; Sam, of course, immediately steps forward: "I can take it from here." They face off, but it's a tale as old as time; she and Bill look into each other's eyes, both pleading. "Don't worry about me," she says. "Go." She watches him leave, and thinks for a moment. Broken, and lost, and numb. She has joined the orphans. Of all the people in the world there are two kinds: orphans and not-yet-orphans. Those without the net, however tenuous, and those who have a home they can go to, when the world becomes too large. She has gone from one world, one kind, one joy, and into another place. But the house stands, the people and the family stand, and if it will mean home someone will have to make that happen. "There's an extra mop round back. would you mind getting it for me?" He's terrified; he can smell it from here. She won't be dissuaded. "Gran took a lot of pride in her home. She wouldn't want anyone to see it like this." She goes around him, heading inside. He is horrified. But the way to a girl's heart is through her stomach. Tina drank deep. This is a way of replacing absence.