Jill was pale and still as she took in the pictures. [i]"Shit got weird,"[/i] she'd told the man with the knife. Apparently, weird was not so weird here. The photos would have made for incredibly detailed fantasy art, if she didn't already know how plausible they were.

The old man's yelling made her wince, further jangling her already-jangled nerves. She met the eyes of the incredibly self-possessed man next to her and swallowed, gripping the armrests of her chair for support. She nodded her agreement, then remembered the water cooler she'd spotted on her way in the door. Holding up one hand, she spoke to both the man and the sheriff: "Would you excuse me just a moment?"

Wishing it weren't so conspicuous, she reached into the appropriate pocket and palmed the prescription bottle tucked inside. She ducked out of the room and tried her best to be invisible as she grabbed a cup, filled it with water, and downed it with half a pill—not a strong enough dose to make her listless, but enough to calm the tremors that kept threatening to turn to full-on shakes.

"Sorry," she murmured as she returned, even though a voice in her head—Bobby's, it was definitely Bobby's voice—said, [I]"You have nothing to apologize for."[/I]

She moved to join the man—whose name she still didn't know; wasn't it strange the sheriff hadn't asked for their ID?—and then froze. [I]Her ID.[/I] One hand went automatically to her back pocket, where her phone should have been.

But it wasn't. It was still on the floor of the bathroom, where she'd dropped it. Or was it? She glanced toward the sheriff, trying not to look too alarmed. "My phone," she said. "I dropped it in the bathroom. It's got my ID in the case, and my credit cards—" She stopped, took a breath. There was a baggie with emergency cash in her duffel, but that was a temporary patch to a much bigger problem. "Are there any officers still at the scene? Can someone get it for me, or take me back for it?"