Rene says Jason will get his truck back soon enough, but he knows the truth. They both do: "They ain't never letting me go, Rene. There's something inside me that's just... It's wrong," Jason says, choking on it: he is a killer. Rene looks at Jason, speaking hypothetically and truthfully at the same time. He could be angry, but that's another man entirely; what Jason says is that Rene is the truth, and Drew is just a secret better left buried. There are times when Rene knows that. We would all be safer if he believed, in fact: the division in him falls far deeper than the simple act of hiding Drew away, because the killer only exists as the price of a further division: the fact that Drew is a fangbanger, and he knows it. And this is a tale as old as time: the subdivision of our desires, the walling off of kingdoms, produces only hate.
This could be a story of senseless violence and hateful horror, coming from a clear blue sky: trust and kindness masking a deeper anger and chaos. But the truth is, we know Drew's story, start to finish. We've watched it for twelve weeks now, and it began at the same moment of our story. Kelly and Brad were giddy, curious, removed, until they met Death face to face. Jason Stackhouse was disgusted, turned on, ashamed and alive, when he saw the fang marks on Maudette's creamy thigh. In that moment, before Bill Compton ever walked into Merlotte's, he had a choice: to close his kingdom to Maudette, or to ride the horse that she provided, deeper and deeper into the forest. That night he watched a video, while she blew him, of Liam on her like a beast, chained to her ceiling, praying for pain and for eventual death. And all his words kept saying she was disgusting, good riddance to white trash, but his body heard something else: her mouth on his cock, her voice in his ear. "Come and find out!"
Drew stole that videotape. Kept in a secret place, sternly told himself not to watch it. And if Jason could have done, he would have done the same. But Maudette pretended to be dead, and Jason thought to himself: "Now I am Death. No better and no worse than the creature on the tape. I have taken her like him, and I have visited pain and death upon her." And he ran, screaming, into Dawn's arms. Dawn, who was a little crazy -- in a hot way -- and the only person strong enough to withstand his infinite bullshit: the little boy who crawled sweetly into her arms, the little boy who crossed his arms on her bed and refused to leave. And once Dawn was a fangbanger too, the dreams started up again: he fantasized about fucking Liam, scaring himself. Inventing new forms of gay panic at the same rate the world was going crazy.