"You've already set her free. The same as Eric freed me." Bill tells Jessica's story, but it is not Jessica's story, and Bill will never understand that other people have their own stories, because his pain is too large to look over: "Everyone she's ever known will recoil from her. Everything she's ever loved has been stolen from her." Pam refuses to call her by name, because she's dead, "a pathetic lump of temporary flesh," and Bill hates it, but Pam's right. Because in Pam's story, before Jessica was dead, she was even less alive than she is now. I'm on Pam's side, because the thing has happened. Jessica died. And we choose how we respond to that.
"[You've given her] the ultimate gift! You're a Maker! You're a hero." It rakes across Bill's skin, the joy she takes in this. In a new life, being born to power and untold beauty and strength; he's brought another of God's creatures into the world. He says it to wound: "I find myself doubting whether you were ever truly human." And Pam delights in it, thanking him, kicking the corpse into its hole. He hops in with it, whining, and Pam shovels dirt over them; he curls around the body like a mother, like the tender seed inside the loam, waiting for some earthly magic to kick in and bring it to life. "I'll tuck you in. Tomorrow night, your little girl will rise. Vampire."
Sam puts a shotgun shell on Sookie's mantle downstairs, leaving yet another message for Tara (Her awesome outgoing: "This is Tara. Leave a message. Easy stuff.") and wondering if she's in a ditch somewhere, then apologizing for the thought. Sookie brings down linens, so that he can sleep in the house and protect her, like Bill asked. And, as it turns out, was necessary. "I just had to put those clothes in the wash. Felt like the killer was... all over me. Watching me, hating me, itching for a... knife, or a rope or... my neck." She shudders and Sam asks if she picked up anything else; his thoughts were "all red and black and... snarly," she says, the questioning lilt in her voice as she tries not for the first time to put her gift into words. The thing before words, that's what she hears, and putting it into words is as hard for her as it is for us.
There was something familiar about the Killer, that's for sure, but still not recognizable. Sam suggests again that they go to the police, and Sookie laughs. "Sheriff Dearborn, Andy Bellefleur, I saw a woman die. I just happened to be in somebody else's brain at the time." She was young, and pretty; she wore an apron -- "Like a mom?" he asks, still lonely and still young -- like a waitress. "Was there a name tag?" she asks herself, and shakes her head sadly: "I don't know. I was looking at her eyes. She was so surprised..." The people that trust you, the people you invite in, those are the people that can hurt you the most. That's what trust means: It's natural to hate the people you love most because you're giving them the most of yourself, and the fact that we don't, or that it's rare as it is, is one of the things that should make you proud to be human.