Just like that, it's all taken away again. He's dirtier than ever, standing in the place where vampires have stood, doing the things that vampires have done. Making love to dirty women. Like he hasn't got a lick of sense; in this new world, v-juice and violence, where sex is no longer about pleasure, he's just a child. He's in the way. Alone in the world with what he thought was sex, his idea of sex -- like any other kind of addict -- as the answer to every question. Like nobody understands you, or even sees you. It sucks, that's what it's like. We're all just trying to be seen. To matter. And these women, the ones you want to be clean, normal, the ones that can give you the peace you seek, they all hold these secrets. This dirtiness, same as him. Laughing behind his back, getting it better than even Jason Stackhouse could ever give it to them. The only thing he's good at, and they're pretending it's the best they've ever had, and laughing behind their eyes. Tears spring to his eyes, for the unknown, inside and out. They just keep taking it away.
Reverend Theodore Newlin, of the church of the Fellowship of the Sun, on Sookie's morning television: "We never should have given them the vote and legitimized their unholy existence." Nan Flanagan, of the American Vampire League, shrugs with her eyes. "The American people need to know these are creatures of Satan! Demons, literally! They have no soul." Sharon, the host, reminds him of the consistently growing support for vampire rights, and he refuses to acknowledge that: "Those polls are fixed. Do you know how much money these monsters have given to politicians of both parties? As well as the corporate media?" It's the things we don't acknowledge that come up behind us, every time. Every thing we can't look at is a vampire; every time we choose blindness it's the dark that chooses us back. Nan calls this concept nonsense, and I'm guessing lies her ass off. "Vampires don't seek to control human policy, it's of very little interest to us." There's a coldness, an intensity and a brittleness behind her eyes, that no coaching, no amount spent on PR, can warm. This man is an insect.
"You can't trace any of it! It's all been laundered..." Newlin's going to die; this is the moment it happens. Nan goes twice as cold as dead: "Are you accusing my organization of criminal activity, sir?" Suddenly he's calling for mommy: "I will not speak to her directly, Sharon." Sharon asks why that is, and the answer is the usual. "My commitment to Christ Jesus, praise His name, compels me not to recognize her kind." The things we don't acknowledge. "Well, that's gonna make it difficult to have a dialogue." He begins to repeat himself, again, from the beginning, and even Sharon has to roll her eyes.