Mary looked at Tristan quietly for a few seconds as they walked, studying his face closely. It made him slightly uncomfortable, as if she were measuring him against a nearly impossible set of standards that were constantly fluctuating. When she finally looked away, she seemed satisfied.

The closer they got to the door, the less sure Tristan was that he wanted to walk through it. He knew that no matter how much he steeled himself against what he would see, no matter how bad he imagined it, the reality was certainly going to be much worse. He'd seen more than his fair share of death through the years, those he hardly knew as well as those he considered close friends. This was hitting him harder than anything he'd gone through before.

Tristan stopped just outside the door, looking to Mary for the next move. She was calling the shots, and he was more than willing to follow. She paused for only a moment, giving him a slight nod before proceeding through the door. Tristan allowed Abigail to enter in front of him before walking into the room.

The scene before him would be burned into his memory for eternity.

The room was mostly dark, the only light coming from a few of the countless number of machines hooked up to what he refused to believe was Emily's body. The only sounds in the room were coming from the regular rhythm of the ventilator and the quiet pulse of the heart monitor. Her arms were wrapped in gauze from the tips of her fingers to just over her elbows, blood oozing through slightly in random spots. Even from across the room he could see blood under her nails, and a chill ran down his spine.

He felt a rising mix of fear and panic, and fought to keep it at bay. Seeing her there, surrounded by hospital equipment, was mind-numbingly terrifying. He'd had such hope only a few minutes prior, but now it was slipping away. The room was heavy with the smell of blood, under which lay the sickly scent of sweat and urine that no amount of cleaning could ever get rid of.

He stepped forward against his own will, not really wanting to go any closer yet feeling unable to keep himself from moving. Within seconds he was standing next to her, able to see her face clearly for the first time.

Tristan: "This isn't her."
Mary: "What?"
Tristan: "It's not her, it's not Emily! I knew there had to have been a mistake!"

Mary was instantly at his side, looking around him at the figure in the bed.

Her skin was ashen, dark circles stood out starkly under her eyes. She was paler than a corpse, no potions and powders for the benefit of the living, the left-behind, to make it appear as though she were merely sleeping. While they'd obviously tried to clean her up as much as possible, there were still traces of blood on her shoulders and in her tousled hair. Her eyes were swollen shut and bruises showed around what little could be seen of her mouth. A second set of bruises was spreading up from her chest to her throat, garishly purple against the stark white of the hospital sheets that flowed seamlessly from her white skin.

Mary: "No, it's her."

Mary's voice was a harsh whisper, a momentary lapse of confidence in the face of the bitter reality of her friend's death. She turned away harshly from the body, leaving Tristan alone once again.

He reached out hesitantly, his hand hovering shakily above her forehead. He was almost afraid to touch her, afraid to make it all the more real, afraid of having what he most dreaded confirmed, that this was Emily and she was dead. Slowly, he lowered his hand and touched the delicate skin on her face.

The skin was warm, and he could feel a pulse just beneath the surface. Yet there was nothing else. There was no spark there, no brush of her soul against his.

He knew then that she was gone.

His earlier fears and panic were pushed away, overpowered by a new and fierce determination to put right what had gone wrong. He drew a deep breath and turned away from the body just in time to see James coming through the door.

Tristan: "We have to do this."
Mary: "I know."
Tristan: "We can't fail."
Mary: "I know."

James: "I got nearly everything on the list, the only thing left to do now is to find the 'undisturbed room with a bathtub'."
Mary: "You mean you don't have one of those in that lovely manpurse you're carrying? Where'd you get that, anyway?"
James: "Gift shop, $12.50 plus tax."

Mary: "So what, exactly, do we have to do?"
Abigail: "The way into the Underworld is not an easy one…"