Being open and exposed about something deeply personal is less freeing when your words have finally sunk in for the other person. It turns their breath thick, and you're left to inhale their stuffy leftovers. You're left to taste their bitter doubt and lingering confusion. That's why Lacey's settled for the only thing more bitter than that sensation: black coffee, no cream, no sugar, no nothing. Gideon had told her she must not have any sense of self-preservation left in her when she'd ordered it; on the contrary, that's about all she has left.

Last night was a test of self-preservation, a game of survival, and she would've lost had it not been for him. She recalls what came after. He'd dropped her off and she'd tried to creep up the stairs without her dad noticing, but the first step had creaked beneath her weight and then it was all over. It only took one look at her and her various injuries for the panic to fill every crease in his face, to fill the marrow of his bones and the blood in his veins, to throw him to his feet and to her side. He was already halfway through punching in 9-1-1 on his cell when she was finally able to catch his ear and explain what happened.

"A stray dog attack," she'd said. The cuts on her hands were reopened from fending it off, and the rest was passed off easily enough without going into detail. Still, he dragged her through the house with great care, washing and bandaging her wounds with this troubled knit to his brows all the while. And while she'd managed to keep him from calling the police, he still made an urgent call to animal control based on a spur-of-the-moment description Lacey had to conjure up to keep her story straight.

Despite the various over-the-counter painkillers she'd taken (all of which boasted drowsiness as a side effect), she didn't sleep much. To add fuel to the flame, Gideon arrived early to check up on her before she'd even woken up. Jeremy had to shake her out of a half-slumber. Sore and tired, she'd put on suitable clothes, brushed her teeth, and hobbled downstairs to a scene of Gideon and her father in deep conversation, laughing like old pals. It was horrible.

Upon seeing her weary cringe, Gideon had hopped up and caught himself on the banister, bringing with him a reminder of Clint's words the night before. "I present to you...a stake-out! I wanna find this man. This lead could take us to Erie."

And, well, one thing led to another, and now she's seated in a booth across from Gideon, sniffing in the strong aroma of hot coffee, feeling the warmth of the mug through the bandages on her hand, and watching her partner-in-vigilante-justice slurp a large strawberry milkshake without any breaks for air. She's been watching him, mesmerized, for the past three minutes without him noticing - but then he finally disconnects with his straw, and with a tired lift of her brows, she tears her gaze away and sips at her own steaming cup.

"So," he begins, "the plan here is pretty simple. Fill our tummies and look out for that black SUV. See who gets out. Figure out all we can while he's here and don't draw attention to ourselves. I...hm. Maybe in hindsight I shouldn't have brought you along. You look like you picked a fight with a mountain lion and barely won. That's sure to draw some eyes. Then again, I don't think it's enough to disrupt our goal here, so we should be good."

She narrows her eyes. "Thanks."

He laughs to himself - he's come to realize that her clipped bitterness is just who she is - but then her fingers accidentally brush the scratches on her cheek and she winces from the sting, and the laugh dies. His arms stretch over the table as if to grab hold of her hands, but then he remembers who he's dealing with and he clasps them together, still stretching. "How are you doing?" he asks quietly instead. There's a softness to his features. "Last night was..."

"Yeah, it was," Lacey says. An awkward pause. She shifts against the red cushioning of the booth. "I'm better. Sleep helped." What sleep? "It still kind of hurts, but I'm fine."

A sincere smile rests on his lips. "That's good." The smile stretches, and a certain humor fills his blue eyes. She notices then just how puffy the skin beneath them is, just how dark. The things you notice when you start to pay attention. "Sleep was probably for the best. Y'know, you were blabbering on about ghosts and demons when I found you. I should've asked for a side of holy water and a crucifix with those fries," he jokes. He seems rather pleased with himself and takes another happy sip of his milkshake.

The corner of Lacey's eye twitches and she feels the pit of her stomach start to twist and tighten. Instead of saying anything, she merely takes a laboured sip of coffee. Bitter and tasteless. Like me.

"Oh...oh. You were...you were being serious."

She continues sipping at the puddle of black death and flicks her gaze to the thick, wooden blinds covering the large window beside them. They're cracked open so that she can peer through the slits and into the parking lot. Nothing's changed since the last time she looked. No black SUV, nothing. Just grey, wet asphalt and Gideon's dented car door.

Her eyes roll around until they land on a clock above the front door. It's got this bright neon ring around it that makes the image of the girl and her spinning purple eyes flash through her mind for longer than she'd like, but she tries her best to ignore the nauseous feeling rising in her gut because of it. 8:26. This guy should be here by now, or at least soon. He'd better. I'm ready for a nap after this.

"I mean," Gideon continues, "I'm not judging you for it. But...you said you've never told anyone about that, yeah? Not even like a...doctor?"

Lacey's attention is grabbed back by the horns and she glances at Gideon with a horror that expresses itself with rigidity. "You think I'm crazy," she states.

"No, no! I'm just saying, well, it might be worth looking into. I mean, look at you. You're all scratched up. You might have an infection. Or a concussion. I would say definitely ask about the concussion."

The tinkle of a bell punctuates his sentence as the door swings open. Gideon jumps in his seat and cranes his neck, arm slung over the back of the booth, to catch a glimpse of the newcomer. Whoever she is, she's on the warpath to the counter that stretches the length of the diner, and whoever she is, Gideon definitely recognizes her. He does that crinkle with the corners of his eyes when he sees her, something Lacey's come to know as "The Look" he gives whenever he's about to launch into a full-blown conversation.

He practically throws himself out of the booth as he stands and slides into the seat beside the uniformed woman at the counter with ease. "Good morning, Officer Babineaux."

Lacey can't see the woman's face, but the slowness at which her head of frizzy curls turns to Gideon, she can probably guess she's too tired for this. "Oh, Gideon. Hi." She runs a dark hand over her face. "G'morning. I've never seen you here this early. What's new?"

"Oh, y'know, just trying to have a positive start to the day is all. Early bird gets the worm. And an actual breakfast. That comes with actual vitamins and nutrients if you choose right, which is pretty cool. I need those." He pauses, lost for a moment, before latching back onto the conversation. "Looks like you're grabbing a bite before work?"

At that, the officer releases one quick beat of laughter. "Right, before. No, I've been up all night workin' this case. This is the first time I've left the station in twenty-four hours. A mercy doughnut every few hours wasn't cuttin' it."

Lacey watches as Gideon flicks his eyes around the diner even though there isn't hardly anyone who cares enough to listen in. "The Stella case?" When Babineaux nods, he nods back, eyes ablaze with curiosity. He rests on the counter more easily than he was before, but this air of solemnity has fallen over him with the snap of a finger. Lacey doesn't know how he does it. "That's gotta be rough. Make a dent at all?"

A sigh from the weary woman. "Hardly. There was barely any evidence to recover from the body 'cause of the water and the current that brought her to her final restin' place. I got other officers out scannin' for a possible dump site. The only evidence we really got is the body itself."

"I can't imagine how hard a case this is. I mean, I can, since we still don't know where Erie is, but you know what I mean, y'know? Have you guys got any leads from the body yet?"

Babineaux hesitates - Lacey can see it in the way the black fabric of her uniform stretches over her tense shoulders. The restless gurgle in her own chest surprises her. She wants to know about Stella, about what happened to her. She needs to know, to put the pieces together and make sense of it.

When someone comes up to take the officer's order, she thinks maybe the woman won't say anything at all, but then the waitress leaves to fulfill a dish, and Babineaux shuffles her elbows closer to Gideon's on the counter, leaning in. Lacey has to strain to hear.

"We're tryin' to keep the report low-profile, but I know you get around, so maybe you'll get some ideas, which is why I'm willin' to share this with you."

"Like an informant, or a PI," Gideon adds excitedly.

"No. Like someone with a lot of connections and a lot of ideas. Don't get involved, Gideon." The woman takes a noisy sip of coffee and keeps the mug suspended as she speaks, as if she'll need to bury her mouth in it at any second. "Anyways, they found ligature marks on the wrists and ankles - obvious chafing. My guess is she was bound someplace awhile, probably since she went missing." Another sip, a long one. "We know she died before she ever hit the water. Asphyxiation. Bruising on the neck and pinpoint hemorrhages in the skin indicate strangulation, probably with bare hands since they also found fingernail indentations in the skin, but they could've also come from the victim fightin' back. Couldn't find any DNA under her own fingernails 'cause of the damn water."

The palm that runs over Gideon's face seems genuinely troubled. His brows are knitted together tightly, like he's thinking of something unpleasant. Lacey only realizes by watching him that she's doing the same thing. She died fighting. Slow. Erie could have this in his future. Or it might've already happened. A sick shudder runs through her.

"What's weirdest to me, though," Babineaux continues, "is that lividity was most intense on her back and buttocks, but they also found it in the entire left side of her body. She died on her back but was moved to her side not long after. Y'ask me, I'd say she was transported that way. Left on her side in a trunk or in the backseat of a car." She shrugs. "That's all guesswork, though. Nothing's solid for now except the facts. If we had fibers from the car, that'd be fuckin' excellent, but we don't. Whoever did this, they were thinkin' smart with all the rain."

Gideon's throat rumbles with a small groan as he runs his hands over his face. "I hate smart people who do bad things. I hate them."

"You and me both, kid. Happen to have any ideas on where they'd keep a girl tied up where no one could hear?"

As Gideon launches into a long-winded tangent on the many, many places one could do such a thing, Lacey sees movement in the corner of her eye. She snaps her head to the side so she can peer through the blinds and into the lot.

Black chrome catches the scarce sunlight and throws it into her eyes, making her squint. The vehicle rolls around at a leisurely pace before pulling in a couple spots away from Gideon's car. On top of that, whoever it is parks on a line, taking up two full spaces. So you're that kind of person, Lacey thinks. There's no mistaking it: this is the black SUV, with a little silver angel stuck to the very front of the hood, hardly noticeable unless you're looking for it. Why is her heart thumping so fast? She doesn't tear her gaze away from the window as she beckons Gideon over with a hand.

A man steps out, but she can't tell anything about him other than he seems to be wearing a suit. When Gideon fails to respond, she casts him a look of scorn. He's still caught up in conversation with Officer Babineaux. "Gideon," Lacey says. Then again, louder: "Gideon."

By the time he notices her, the bell up front is already tinkling. A thickness fills the air between them both: her shoulders tense up, and Gideon sits at the counter stiffly with his ribs and elbow resting against the counter, looking like he's still caught in uncomfortable conversation with Babineaux even though she's long since turned her attention to a steaming plate of eggs and bacon.

Lacey brings her coffee to her lips for no other reason than to look inconspicuous as she flips through the sparse menu left at their table. A squeak sounds as the man sits down in a booth and gets comfortable. She flicks her gaze up for just a moment; he's seated at the table right in front of theirs, facing Lacey. He notices her for a moment and musters a weak, uninterested smile before dismissing her as a whole and scooping up the menu. Good.

He definitely looks like a stuck-up asswipe. His face is clear aside from a speckling of blond stubble across his chin, a color that matches the lengthy waves swept back and away from his forehead in a voluminous swoop. The kind that's supposed to flop when he runs. Lacey can see how some girls might fawn over this man with his youthful looks and high cheekbones despite the clear age at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. Personally, even if she did have a thing for men, this guy wouldn't appeal to her in the slightest. But maybe she's biased. He doesn't have any boobs as far as she can see, and that's sure to sway her opinion. Nonetheless, he looks like he's got money and a stick up his ass to boot.

This is evidenced by the smirk he puts on (like he just stepped in shit) when he's finished skimming the menu and waves a waitress over with two fingers, both ringed. Lacey watches carefully as an aproned woman quickly detaches herself from another customer and heeds his gesture. She stops at his table with an enthused bounce. "Mornin', Isaac. What can I getcha?"

Isaac. Lacey looks at Gideon to find him making intense eye contact with her. He shares something by saying nothing: his look says, "I need to get over there." He makes the first small shift and nearly makes it off the seat when Babineaux abruptly turns back to him, still chewing on eggs as she speaks up. He presses his lips together and reluctantly positions himself as he was.

"So, yeah. I just wish we had more to go by. We know there was a struggle, but with her body bein' in the water as long as it was, any trace evidence from the attack's been completely washed away. Plus side is we've got a few clues now, places to start. It's not much, but somethin'."

When the waitress leaves Isaac's table with his order and menu, his eyes wander to the officer and Gideon, clearly tuned in. Lacey narrows her eyes at the man. Interested, are we?

"But no suspects?" Gideon asks.

"No suspects," Babineaux confirms. "We're banking on findin' the dump-"

She's interrupted by a call on a talkie strapped to her shoulder and she responds to the loud crackle. Gideon takes this opportunity to finally slip away. In two long strides, he's at their table again, but he's in such a hurry that when he throws himself into the seat beside Lacey, he gets ahead of himself and shoves her a bit to the side to make room. She doesn't expect it. He bumps her hard enough for the whole mug in her hands to flip over. In about half a second, there's cold coffee spilling out all across the table in a dark brown puddle. A good majority of it spills out over the edge and onto Lacey. The feeling of deep moisture soaking through her clothes immediately makes her blood pressure rise twice as high.

"Really?" she asks harshly, clenching her hands in the air as the puddle runs its course.

"I am so sorry," Gideon says. He grabs out napkins from the dispenser on their table and tries to sop up the puddle, little by little, but he seems distracted, and his hands move slow as he tries to get a good look at the man in the other booth. He accidentally lays his entire hand in the liquid at one point. She snaps her fingers by his face, but he's immovable.

That is, until a young waiter comes over, fussing up a storm of, "Oh, I'll get that, sorry, excuse me." He reaches out in front of Gideon and Lacey, obstructing their previously clear view of Isaac. He's so awkward in scrubbing up the coffee with his rag, and he's just as immovable as Gideon was when the latter starts to object, saying, "Oh, no, it's fine, really, we've got it-"

The waiter ignores him and continues trying to clean the mess, with no avail. Eventually, something clicks on Gideon's face as he finally gets fed up - his frown becomes a plastered on, charismatic smile, and he grabs hold of the boy's elbow as gently as he possibly can. His tone is firm and sincere as he forces the waiter to pay attention. "You're adorable, really. But please, let me help you. We need a lot more than a rag for this."

Gideon rushes out of the booth before the waiter can do more than part his lips to speak. He jogs to the back of the diner until he finds the opening to the counter and bumps his way through the half-door, letting it swing wildly behind him. A high-pitched voice says, "Uh, sir, you can't be back here!" A smooth defense ensues.

Lacey feels pressure on her shirt as the waiter starts to dab at it with a handful of napkins. Without saying anything, she smacks his hand away. His subsequent expression is one of deep apology. She doesn't have time for this.

She cranes her neck around in search of Gideon. He's now got a roll of paper towels tucked under his arm, but he also skirts by a steaming plate of food and squints at the slip of paper beside it, reading the order. With his eyes bulging the way they are, she knows exactly what he's about to do.

And he does it. He scoops the plate up with one hand and makes his way back to the swinging door, dodging the waitress who tries to snatch the plate away from him. He's too tall for her. His escape is graceful, and before she knows it, he's already at the man's table. "And here's your order, Mister...?"

The man eyeballs him with skepticism. "Boone."

"Boone! That's right. Here you are." He dispatches the plate and makes his way back to their table, tossing the waiter a winning smile. "Thought I'd make the job easier on you. It's okay, I can clean this. My mess, after all."

With Gideon's beaming smile gunning him down, the waiter has no choice. Though reluctant, he nods and scurries away. The both of them sigh in relief, and as Gideon takes his seat beside Lacey (much more calmly this time), she mutters, "Finally."

"Right?" Gideon says. He tears a wad of paper towels off the roll and leans close to Lacey's ear. "Google the name," he whispers before going to town on the table.

For the first time in a while, a small smile graces her lips. "Gladly."