Bill burns, unable to move forward, his face crackling in the flames, in a sunny clearing. He says her name, as he falls to his knees, and her eyes pop open. Their bond is stronger than death and made of blood. Just as Rene is flipping Sam over and lifting a heavy piece of wood to knock his brains out for good, Sookie slams a shovel against his head and he goes down. He's not out, grabbing at her ankle, screaming profanity, and she... totally chops off his head with the shovel. Well, it's not full separation, but close enough. He stops screaming, and Sookie whimpers, staring at nothing, once again too freaked out and damaged and concussed to think. Sam appears at her side, naked, and they see Bill, smoking and hissing in the field. He is burnt, blackened, unrecognizable, southern-fried. Cajun.
Sookie falls to her knees at his side, turning him over to the sound of paper skin, crackling and peeling. He groans with the effort of speech: "I am sorry," he says, and begins to fade. Sookie screams uselessly and Sam finally picks up the charred remains, still running around naked in the middle of the daytime, and carries him to the hole. Sookie sobs mindlessly, overwhelmed and more heartbroken than anyone should have to be, while Sam shovels dirt over her lover's burnt body. Another in a series of bad days.
Later, much later, Sookie lies doped up on the couch, bruised and nasty looking but clean. Tara leans down to stroke her face as she awakes. "Tara... You look so pretty. Like someone turned a light on under your skin!" Someone did. Two someones, a multitude of someones. Miss Jeanette, to show her the wonder of the moon and the night that made her. Nancy at the drug store, to show her what magic looks like by daylight. Lettie Mae, to hand her the blank page of an apocalypse. Maryann Forrester, to show her all the words that she will write on it. Little broken Tara Mae, who knows her chapter's yet to be written. The maiden, the mother and the crone; the united states of Tara Thornton herself, last and greatest of them all, who's finally heard the first whisper of the world: "Come and find out!"
There is a place in her for all of these, sliding up against leviathans in the dark. There is a place in the world for joy, just as there is a place in Drew Marshall for the good man named Rene, and in Jason for the man he must become; in Amy for all the love of the world. There is a place inside a drug-dealing prostitute transvestite that can introduce you to God, if you are listening, in a single drop of blood. There is a place yet undiscovered in Bill Compton that will know peace, and joy. There is a place in Sookie Stackhouse that is blessed with silence.