White-hot rage spilled over into the ever-present guilt, becoming blind fury. Tristan felt as though there was a current running across the surface of his brain, a crackling of electricity arcing and burning. He grabbed the rage and held it close, a shield against the complete and crushing desolation he'd otherwise succumb to. His first victim was the vacantly grinning couple on the cover of a very worn magazine. The paper hit the back wall with a disappointingly dull thud before landing on the ground.

Tristan: "How did this happen?! Why didn't you get there faster?!"

His questions were met with silence. James looked away, his eyes falling to the crumpled magazine a few feet from where he stood. Deanna had found a very interesting inch of carpet to study, while Abigail and Markus merely sat together quietly. Mary continued to stand stoically before him, not once dropping her eye contact. His second victim was a plain white coffee mug, the dried remnants of its contents a sticky mess at the bottom. There was a resounding crack as it hit the back wall, not shattering as much as breaking into several large pieces.

Tristan: "She needed you and you let her down!"

Mary continued to hold his gaze, eerily emotionless in the face of his fury. His third victim was going to be one of the cheap chairs lining the wall; their off-white and pale-blue molded plastic mocking and cruel. Just as he was headed toward the one closest to him, James was suddenly in his way.

James: "If you need to hurt anyone in this room to feel better, it's going to be me. The magazine and coffee mug were one thing, but this chair could do serious damage."
Tristan: "Why didn't you turn her, James? Why did you just let her die? It's not like you've got a problem with turning people without asking."

James: "She'd already lost too much blood, it would have killed us both. Is that what you want?"
Tristan: "Fuck. Off."

Tristan went to step around James, ready to physically move him out of the way if needed.

Mary: "Are you quite done yet?"
Tristan: "What?"

Tristan stopped in mid-step, completely caught off guard by the calmness of Mary's voice.

Mary: "I respect your need to destroy things, but time is wasting. Markus, you know this place and you have access. There is a Dr. Waltham performing a surgery on someone's brain. You're going to find her and you're going to stay on her. As soon as she's finished, you're going to--I don't know--lock her in a broom closet or something. Hopefully it's a long surgery and you'll have time to come up with something a little less "I Love Lucy," but either way, she is not to sign those papers."

Mary: "Deanna, you are now Mrs. Smith's shadow. I think her paperwork is going to get lost. I bet she's got a tiny little cell phone that will turn up missing, as well. And if need be, I'm sure she'll fit in a broom closet, too."

Deanna looked from Mary to Tristan. They had both clearly lost it. She was mystified and a little bit annoyed, but decided now was not the time to try and figure out whether this was still Denial or if the group had moved on to Bargaining.

Deanna: "Sure thing, Captain Hearst."

She took Markus by the arm and led him out of the waiting room as he looked over his shoulder at his Grandmother.

Tristan felt like he had walked onto a stage and realized the play he'd been rehearsing wasn't the play that was being performed.

Tristan: "Could someone… is there… I mean…"
Mary: "Yes. I'd like an explanation, too."

Mary crossed her arms and stared pointedly at Abigail.

Mary: "Gonna help us along into another coma world, Abigail? Because, you know, it sure seems like you see this stuff coming from a mile away. Do they not have phones where you live?"

Mary's voice was rising, and she made a palpable effort to tone it down.

Mary: "Never mind that. You're here to help us, aren't you?"
Abigail: "Yes, but not in the way that you think."
Mary: "How, then?"

Abigail: "I'm here to stop you from playing with forces beyond your control. Make no mistake, your friend is gone. Emily is dead. This cannot be cured. You need to accept that and let her go. You need to move on."

Mary felt the air go out of the room. The lights overhead got dimmer and started buzzing. For a moment she was outside on a hot summer night, whispering with Emily over the droning of cicadas. Just as quickly, the moment passed and she steadied herself, slumping into a chair. How long had it been since she had looked at Abigail and realized why she was here? Why, if not to lead them into yet another world, to work some magic that would reverse the night, pull Emily back, save her? Twenty minutes of hope? Maybe half an hour? It had been the fastest that time had gone by all night. And now time had stopped again. There would be no moving on. There would be no moving at all.

Denial. It pained her to be so utterly textbook. What came next? The room was deathly silent.

Mary: "Fuck that."

Abigail looked at her sharply.

Mary: "You heard me. Fuck that. I'm not moving on. What do you think of that, huh? I refuse. You said there were forces. Forces beyond my control. And what happens if I do play with them? I die? I'm dead already."
Abigail: "And that's why I'm here. It's not just you. You know there are different worlds, you've seen them. They are created and held together in your mind. But Emily is not in one of these worlds; Emily is gone. She is in a place accessible only to the dead, to those no longer connected to their bodies and brains. To force yourself into that world and to leave an entry back--nearly impossible. But to bring someone back with you? No. The consequences to both worlds would be catastrophic. Apocalyptic."

Mary: "Don't you get it? Don't you understand? The consequences already are catastrophic. Look around. I don't care if this whole damn place and everyone in it gets sucked into hell, because as far as I'm concerned, they already have."

Abigail bowed her head.

Mary: "And you know it! That's why you're here! You saw this coming, you knew it would happen. You knew what was going to happen to Emily. You didn't try to stop it, because I can only imagine you knew you couldn't. You didn't have to come here. You know you can't reason with me. Probably not with him, either."

Mary jerked her head toward Tristan.

Mary: "And even if you've got a gun up one sleeve and a stake up the other, you can't stand in our way, either."
James: "Mary, the word 'apocalyptic' was used. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but this isn't Mitzi the Demon Slayer and those don't just come around once a year. And they certainly can't be averted by a pretty, antique trinket."

Mary looked at James, her eyes wild. Tristan had taken a step toward Abigail.

Tristan: "She's right. Things have been set in motion. You know the only chance you have at limiting the damage is to help us."

Abigail looked up. She'd not counted on this scene playing out so quickly. They had no idea what they were getting into. She had hoped against hope to find a way to make them understand, even though she knew in her heart that she couldn't. It would be efficient, then, to skip straight to the end.

Acceptance, then. In a few hours time, the world would be lost along with what used to be Emily Laine.