But it is. That's what addicts get to have: A whole world, for them. Day and night, sun and moon and everything in between. And the only thing you give up -- like Hadley, like Eggs, like anybody who gives in -- is the option of linking today to tomorrow. That's the only price of immortality, whether mad-born or given as the gift of death: Jam yesterday and jam tomorrow, but never jam today. It's what drives Sophie-Anne crazy, and it's what killed Godric, but it's most clearly written on their faces: the story passed down from mother to daughter, and all the way back again.
Sam has told Jason and Andy about being a shapeshifter -- thanks, Daph -- and Jason is, unsurprisingly, totally into it. He's like a little kid. Andy's in a tank top behind the bar, sanding it back together while the others clean up Merlotte's. Andy's not interested in thinking or hearing about Sam's magical abilities, so he changes the subject back to Maryann, and like a good Southern boy Jason appeals to the authorities, asking about the cops. "I am involved," Andy thunders, because only at the end of the world would he be the face of authority, but then, it's all he's ever had.
Jason blamelessly explains he meant the real law: Sheriff Dearborne and Kenya and "that other guy, the squirrelly one," whom as we'll see is a dead ringer for Gomer Pyle USMC, and thus automatically adorable. (So if Bon Temps is Mayberry on E and meth, does that make Maxine the cracked-out Aunt Bee? Hoyt is already like a horny giant Opie.) "Then we have got to be the law," Jason says, and gears up for one of his magnificent speeches. Sam pre-drops his jaw in preparation. "Guys, I read a book about this. This is Armageddon. This is The Oral History Of The Zombie War." He starts thinking weapons, and Sam points out that A) guns can't hurt Maryann, and B) they can't shoot anybody else, so C) they have to remember this is still their town. The guides are gone; they have to be their own.
"Well, sometimes you need to destroy something to save it." Sam stares; I just wish somebody would tell the interventionists at Chez Lafayette so they'd let her deal with her life. "That's in the Bible. Or the Constitution..." It should be in both. They should nail that over the door so the next time we start pointing fingers we can remember what fertile, broken ground we're standing on, and stop being so afraid all the time.