Reticulated

I Need Some Sleep

I need some sleep,
It can't go on like this.
I tried counting sheep
But there's one I always miss.
Everyone says I'm getting down too low,
Everyone says you just gotta let it go.
You just gotta let it go,
You just gotta let it go.

I need some sleep,
Time to put the old horse down.
I'm in too deep,
And the wheels keep spinning 'round.
Everyone says I'm getting' down too low,
Everyone says you just gotta let it go.
You just gotta let it go,
You just gotta let it go.

- I Need Some Sleep, Eels

An hour later they are settled into a hotel room near the north of the city as close to the highway as they can find. Bile rises in his throat as he walks into the room with two beds and places his bag onto the one nearest the door. It's an automatic action, an old habit he thought had died along with his previous companion, and it tastes like a bitter pill.

He considers offering to help Allison bring in her things, but she brushes off his half-hearted offer with a small "I can manage it" and a wave of a hand. She insists on getting their dinner delivered rather than his suggestion of rummaging through any of the local gas station offerings; says something about bad food jinxing their luck. They eat their probably gourmet po' boy sandwiches in near silence as Allie flips through the news channels with the closed captioning on, searching for news of the diner and Lafayette. They see nothing, and when Tim pulls Jay's laptop from his bag and begins searching, he finds nothing there as well. The absence of gossip especially from a town that small is notable.

"They're probably trying to keep it quiet," she theorizes, frowning. "Thinking that if they don't release information they might find the killer that way." Her head finds the crook of her arm. "His poor mother. She'll never know what happened."

Tim doesn't know what to say.

Don't think of the collateral damage, don't think of Jay's parents, of Alex's parents, of Brian's sister, of Seth, of Sarah, of Amy, of the countless people who lost loved ones who'll never know never get an answer who'll always be wondering what happened what went wrong where did they go why did they leave did we not love them enough did we not support them enough who took them who hurt them who's fault

Itsyourfaultitsyourfaultyoukilledthemyoukilledthemallsomanylivesruinedbecauseof you

Every labored breath is a heavy achievement. He hates it. Grappling for some semblance of control he drops his arms to his knees and leans forward, waiting for the attention of the woman across the room from him, fighting her own battle with grief.

"Look, I know you're probably pretty tired," he starts once she finally makes eye contact, his voice hoarse with his own exhaustion, "but I need to know what you know. We need to be on the same page here. We need to have a plan, because we really didn't think this through too much did we? We just kind of... took off in a hurry."

The expression she gives him is strangely without fire. "You mean I didn't really think this through too much, don't you?"

"I know that it seems that I'm blaming you for all of this but I really –"

"No, it's okay, I get it – "

"No, really, Allison, I'm not – "

She closes her eyes, scrunches up her nose, and holds her hands out for him to stop. "Timothy, please."

He shuts his mouth.

"I get it, and I don't – I get it, okay? Let me just... I needed to protect them. I had to leave, before someone else got hurt." She draws a heavy breath, taking a moment to gather herself. "I've got some things to show you." She stands, crossing to the crate she'd retrieved from Luna's shop and returns to place it on the bed alongside the military duffle bag she'd packed before they left. She rummages inside the latter, retrieving the smaller dust-covered box Tim had noticed before. As she brushes it off she sends him a pointed look. "So, you already met my great-great-great Grandmere Luna. I know she seems a bit young to have that many "greats" before her name, but consider the fact that she's like ninety, and that my family members in particular tend to have short life spans."