Hoyt's not impressed. Sookie arrives and Jason approaches her gingerly. Hoyt apologizes for last night's panic, and she thanks him, and then gives Jason the check from Bartlett. "He left us an inheritance. Well, he left me the inheritance, but I don't want it." He doesn't take it right away; it feels like a hundred pounds in her hands, but he can't process it yet. Why would he leave her the money, when Jason loved him more? She can't talk, won't explain, just shoves it at him, finally yelling. "Jason! I do not want it." She shakes it in his face, and he finally takes it, and she's so much lighter. And when she's gone, he looks at the amount, and up to the sun: His holy light, shining down. "Thank you," Jason says to the sun, through the trees, and smiles. His answer.

The woman rode him, in her bed, still in that black nightie. He was seventeen, the same age Jessica is now. Practically hers already. "Is this what you imagined it would feel like?" Sam was naked; it was not. "All right, you stay with me," she said, "And we will do things... That you cannot possibly imagine." She arched her back over him; her arms curved up, over her head, like a goddess. The lines began to blur; he couldn't see her face anymore. "Don't stop," she hummed over him. "Don't stop." He got scared and flipped her off of him, begging to understand: what is she? She could be any of us. "Baby boy," she grinned lasciviously, full of power, "You're not the only one who's special in this world."

Sam's reverie in his office is interrupted; Arlene drags him back to the present with a frenzied knocking. "I don't know when you're planning on hiring another waitress, but me and Sookie are fixing to drop dead from exhaustion." She shows him her fingernails: "Nine out of ten, broken!" He apologizes, but she's ahead of him again, dragging in a lovely young lady named Daphne who has arrived looking for work. "I used to work at the Cracker Barrel in Alexandria," Daphne lies, and Arlene asks, on her way out, if she can start parking by his trailer, instead of near the latest murder scene. "I love you!" she says in her beautiful, bright way, and scoots. "Nine out of ten," she whispers, and he shakes his head, greeting Daphne like a gentleman. "Daphne, right? I like the name." She says it's French -- her mom's half-Cajun -- but it's a lot older than that.