It was Shawn.

Before I could stand up from the bed, my husband had already opened the door and stepped inside the room. He'd been sleeping on the couch, and he was in the sweats and t-shirt he used as pajamas.

"What is going on?" He was furious. "You have to tell me what's going on!" He stepped directly in front of me as if trying to block me from running away. "Tell me now."

I put my hands on his chest as calmly as possible and gently pushed him a step back.

"Just..." I began, trying to figure out what to say and how to keep him in a reasonable state of mind.

This is when Shawn finally glanced at Morgan. Her right eye was now completely swollen shut. Her breathing was regular, but now her breaths were coming a little more quickly than normal.

"Oh God," he mumbled, turning away. "Ashley, what the hell is going on?" He was no less upset, but now at least he was whispering and speaking a little more pleadingly.

"She was raped," I whispered tentatively. "And beaten." I lowered my voice even further. "She won't wake up."

I hoped this information would give my husband a sense of perspective. I hoped it would make him feel a little compassion for Morgan. But it only had the opposite effect. Years ago Shawn never would have acted like this. But ever since his mill accident something had changed. I don't know what exactly, but he was more fearful. And after everything that had happened over the last twenty-four hours, his fearfulness was coming out in ways that were starting to frighten me.

"Didn't I tell you it wasn't a good idea to keep hanging out with Morgan?" he snapped. "What if this was you? On this bed?" Indignantly, he added, "And why did you bring her here?"

"Because Ian thinks it's safest here," I said, gathering myself. "There's a lot of stuff going on, Shawn, that nobody understands." I told him the story that Ian had given me about a burglar who had broken into Morgan's house and killed Mr. Hershel. "That's it," I said. "That's all I know. That's all anyone knows."

"Mr. Hershel?" Shawn looked at me like I was crazy. "Mr. Hershel's dead? Ashley, what are you talking about? Mr. Hershel, he isn't dead."

But as my husband spoke I could tell it was starting to sink in that I was telling the truth about Mr. Hershel. He was starting to see that things were going bizarrely wrong. His eyes were beginning to tear up. I could tell he was struggling not to cry.

"I don't care about Mr. Hershel!" he burst out. I didn't expect this. "All I care about is what's been going on with you! and where you've been! And who you've been with. You were gone all night. You've been gone for hours all day. I've been worrying my ass off! Tell me what the hell is going on!"

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