The yellow light above Nefyn's round kitchen table buzzes, and Lacey can't stop zoning out in its general direction. Things happen. People move and speak; she falls into her own inner world, shoved in the corner of this hermit's kitchen while everyone takes care of everything she doesn't want to.

Her skin has dried since Dolly was kind enough to offer her an extra set of her clothes to change into. Nefyn had offered the same to Gideon, and after they'd changed, they'd been plopped down right here. Dolly must be a mother at heart, because she came in unprompted and wrapped their shoulders in blankets, making sure they were draped snug. Now, she sits here, all her wet hair clumped together and slung over her shoulder, a few sparse flyaways tickling her cheek. It's easy to just feel the sensations. Easy to let go of all thought and action. Easy to just be.

She's also tired out of her fucking mind, though, so maybe that's why.

There's a scrape of plastic on tile, and Gideon clears his throat. "You really don't have to wash all those and everything, I can take it all with me and take care of it."

Dolly lifts the basket full of their wet and muddy clothes regardless. "Don't be silly, darlin'. It's no trouble for me. I need somethin' to keep me busy, anyhow. Feeling restless. You just help Nefyn get that tea all settled and we'll call it even." She nods her head towards the counter, and Gideon knows he won't win this one, so he simply nods and pushes himself to a stand. Satisfied a little too much, Dolly marches out of the kitchen, likely eager to keep her hands busy.

Lacey is content to not be busy at all. She leans back and continues to stare at the humming bulb. In the background, Gideon and Nefyn mutter to one another, and spoons clink on glass. The heat kicks on and flushes her feet with warmth and she sighs in relief. In this moment, she decides to let her eyes slip to a close. It might not be the best thing for her back in the morning, but all else be damned, she won't be awake a second longer.

A grating, high-pitched rumble emanates from her phone on the table and she jumps. The universe hates me, she thinks in agony, but then two more phones join the cacophony. It must be an alert. She wakes her phone and checks the screen:

Emergency Alert - 3:27 AM

Flood Warning in the Carrick, Iowa area til 6:15 AM CST. Avoid flood areas. Check local media. -NWS

"Shit," Lacey mumbles. Her stomach drops into her gut. "That's not good."

Gideon doesn't say anything. She glances at him, poor guy, face sunken and pale. "Will I be able to get back to my mom in the morning?" His fingers twitch across his phone case.

Nefyn offers a flippant wave, dismissing the alert. "You'll be fine. Water can't reach us up on this hill here, and that bridge out to the side is so high up it's guaranteed to stay clear. Y'know, these past few weeks, more than ever, I've been grateful for this plot of land here. Even more grateful I didn't ever let that Isaac devil rip it out from under me."

As he falls into reminiscing, Gideon's muscles relax, but Lacey's unease, however small by comparison, lingers. Those words the demon inside Gideon had whispered into her ear at the cliff's edge just an hour before stick and echo and burn, made hotter by this alert staring back at her: That boy you've been trying so hard to save, he'll be underwater too. I give him a day more, at most.

Her sigh is thick, heavy, and the phone clatters out of her hand more loudly than intended. Still, a hand pushes through her wet hair, and she takes to pulling apart the rats as a way to distract herself. It must be a lot to an outsider, this visible stress, because wheels creak over wood and then Nefyn is there, pushing a hot cup of tea into her hands. "Drink, girl. It'll calm your nerves."

She doesn't fight back. Her palms wrap around the china to leech warmth out and her lip dips into the brown pool as she takes a spiced sip. The liquid scalds her tongue, but no matter; it gives her just enough pause to take a deep breath and detense. She settles back into the blanketed chair with something akin to relief emptying the space in her chest.

It'll be fine. Everything will be fine. Erie will be fine. She just has to wait a few hours for the ghosts to start coming through the barrier, which has hopefully fallen by now. And once those few hours have passed, she can easily find an entity that knows something - they're all nosy fuckers, one has to have value - and they can set out again. They can find him first thing in the morning. It won't be long now. Not long at all. For now, she has to worry about me, myself, and I. She takes another sip.

Nefyn's sharp chartreuse watches her. He clears his throat and snaps his fingers at Gideon. "Say, go see if Dolly needs help with anything. She talks a big game about wanting to be busy but I know she has a tendency to overload herself. Go, shoo. Be useful."

In true Gideon fashion, he obliges without complaint, and then it's just Nefyn and Lacey, Lacey and Nefyn. It's a bit awkward, in truth, before he starts speaking. He must not be around people enough to know when the staring threshold should be over, but all the same, he gets to his point eventually. He drapes his hands across the table and nods to himself. "I want to thank you for suggesting I try to mend things with Dolly. I thought it was some horseshit at first, I'll admit, but you got in my head there. I invited her over. I'm glad for it. The time we spent earlier after you left...it helped me come to the decision to do what I did. Now, she didn't want me going out there all late in the storm, and she wouldn't have ever suggested it, but I came to this conclusion all on my own but only with her here, ya know?"

He drums his fingers on the table before seizing them in his other hand. "And I want to...Hm. I want to be able...to offer more than my company or my wallet. I want to connect. The only way for me to do that is to stop living like a hollow shell of a person. I realize that's possible now that I've cast this guilt aside and tried to finally make amends in the proper way, the only way I can."

His mouth is parted like he's about to say more, but his eyes get shifty, and he suddenly rolls backwards to peek around the kitchen's door frame, to make sure nobody is standing out there listening in. Once he's sure the coast is clear, he rolls forward again and leans in close, clasping his hands together over the table with that rare, youthful smile on his face, full of energy, enthusiasm, and good things. "I don't think I ever really stopped feeling somethin' for her. I want to try again. I mean, of course, if she doesn't want to, that's that on that, but a man can hope, and I know that now. I want to hope."

She can't help herself. She smiles, soaking in his gratitude (and she'd better, because if she knows this man at all, it won't last). "I'm happy for you. I think it'll make you a lot less of a hermit-y asshole. I can get used to that."

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, then rolls backwards, away. "Yeah, well, don't." His eyes glint with amusement as he rolls over to the counter and offers something to the air. "Now scram, and take this with you. Make sure Dolly steps away from her busywork and eats a few. She's been avoiding food all night and I don't have a lick of an idea as to why."

As much as she doesn't want to get up, she does, and after making sure one hand has the blanket cinched together at her collarbone, she accepts the wide plate of saran-wrapped cookies. Her mouth waters at the melty appearance of the chocolate chips, but she's not been reduced to a cavewoman yet. She thanks him, and he ignores her, as it should be. Knowing that all has been restored in the universe, she pads out of the kitchen and up the stairs to relish in it.

She finds Dolly and Gideon in the paint room full of half-finished canvases. The latter is crouched down, smoothing blankets over the sandy floorboards, and the former plops a few pillows atop them. As much as her back hates the idea of sleeping on the floor, the sight brings her comfort, and she enters with more pep than she'd ever thought possible for herself. She lifts the plate slightly and smirks. "I come bearing gifts," she says, and stops at the island-esque table in the middle of the room, which sits next to the blankets. There she casts the blanket on her shoulders upon the pile and unfurls the saran wrap.

Gideon yelps with joy and joins her, giddy as he takes up a moon-shaped lump of chocolate. Lacey makes eye contact with Dolly, raises a brow. She lifts the plate and shakes it gently in her direction. It takes a few long tries at this before Dolly finally rolls her eyes and caves, snatching one up and nibbling with her freshly wiped lips. They look a bit raw from it, but it's less messy than the red smudges from before.

Halfway through the cookie, however, the woman hesitates. Slowly, and maybe a little unsure of her own actions, she sinks until she's seated on the blankets. She blinks. Her eyes lift to Lacey's, Gideon's. She pats the ground beside her.

The two share a look, but nevertheless, they sit, and the three create a triangle. Whatever this is about, it must be tough, because Dolly hasn't spoken yet. To fill the silence, Lacey breaks the soft flesh of the cookie with her teeth and chews. Saliva rushes to flood the chips, to dilute the sweetness. She wants to laugh at how good it is, but then Dolly's lips part.

"I know y'all darlings must not think too well of me. I know to you kids I'm just some hooker who happens to be involved in the things you're out gettin' into but I need y'all to listen to me. I don't got a damned clue about why you two were out there tonight, gettin' soaked right through, standing by the edge of that cliff, but I don't ever wanna see it or hear about it happenin' again. You two are dedicated, I know that, loud and clear. But whatever it is you're out there doin', I've no doubt it's got somethin' to do with this whole Stella, Erie, and that other girl thing, with Isaac and Clint, with the bodies piling up or poofin' right outta thin air. And it's dangerous. Please just stop this madness. We've lost enough kids in this town already and I don't need to see two more faces on those posts and bulletins. I won't allow it."

Gideon is the first to respond; he reaches out and pats the back of her hand. "We've gotten this far. We're so close, Dolly. We can find Erie. I know it. And we will, I will. You might be scared for us but we're capable, we're careful, and we can't stop, knowing he's still out there. Once he's back, safe and sound, we'll stop, I promise. But not now. And I hope this doesn't mean you're abandoning us because we still need-"

Dolly shakes her head and pulls her hand away, pulling her sleeve over the knuckles and rubbing them through the tight red fabric. "Now don't think just 'cause I want you safe that it means I'm givin' up. But if my givin' up is the only thing that'll dissuade you, I might just have to."

Gideon is warmed by the comment - aw, look at this, such sweetness, he must be thinking. But Lacey looks upon situations with a much more critical eye, and suddenly the chocolate in her mouth is too sweet, and then it's gone, and there's room for her to talk. "Dolly, the last time we talked one-on-one you emphasized self-preservation, and now you're out here putting yourself on the line for us. Giving us your time, your energy. Why? Why are you out here acting like our mother?"

It stuns them both into silence, but only Gideon's expression changes. Dolly fixes a blank stare on her as she thinks of what to say, blinking only once over the stretch of so many shared breaths the air might be starting to thin with oxygen. Then, she sighs. "I've done things I'm not proud of. Said things I know I shouldn't have said. Bad things, horrible things. Now I admit I was prickly in the past, but the way I see it now, if I can help you, and by extension y'all can see the good in me, then maybe I can learn to see myself as a good person who's just made mistakes." Her features remain solemn when she lifts her hands into the air in surrender. "Sue me."

Her brows lift at the same time and she puffs out a breath as she pushes herself to a stand. She gives the half-eaten cookie in her hand a once-over and, all at once, shoves the rest of it into her mouth. With crumbs at the corners of her raw lips, and cheeks chipmunked full of cookie, she says, amazingly with her accent still clear as day, "Alright, sweetpeas. I'll keep tryna change your minds in the mornin', but for now, get some rest."

And with that, she marches out of the room, cracking the door behind her. Gideon and Lacey sit there a while, letting the woman's words settle, but then Lacey moves to crawl under the blankets, and it sets him into action as well. Soon, they're snug and warm. Even the storm blaring outside is far away in here.

"Lacey," Gideon whispers.

"What do you want?"

"Do you really think we'll find Erie tomorrow?" He swallows. "Can you promise me?"

Maybe she really believes it. Maybe she only believes it because she hopes it'll be true. Regardless, she says, "I promise."

This is what he needs to rest easy. Once the words are out of her mouth, they both fill with contentment, and as the storm rages on, the two fall into a soft, peaceful slumber.

When consciousness rouses Lacey, the room is no longer shrouded in shadow, but painted a rich, deep morning blue, so reality-altering that for a moment, she's not entirely sure where she is. It's the kind of light that fills a room on its own before the sun has risen, light reserved for those who accidentally lay eyes upon on it or dedicate themselves to early rising just so they can feel its peace before it goes.

Gideon is already awake. She sees him blinking at the ceiling through the corner of her eye, and he must know she's awake, but he doesn't pay her any mind. He's basking in this light he woke early to watch color his skin blue. His eyelashes flutter as he glances at the rustling of papers, and Lacey looks to the source, too. Their murder board sits loosely on the far wall. At least, she thinks it does. The pages hang there, but she can't make out any of the connections or words or faces. It's all a blur.

It won't matter soon anyways, she thinks, stretching. Benevolence will end this for us.

The pages flap again, and she rolls onto her stomach. The large window is cracked a tad, which is where the wind comes. There's a small puddle beneath it - water having dripped from the corner of the inward-swung frame - but the rain's stopped. No violent pelts, no angry gusts, no distant thunder. Instead, there's only the calm lap of the lake far down the hill outside, no doubt nearer than it ought to be after the storm.

Birdsong drifts in. Sparrows and warblers and thrushes, all tittering at one another. It's startling - she's gotten used to the silence of that empty space between winter and spring, and now the latter is all she can feel caressing her skin. A warm chill, no ice undertoning it. A flush of excitement fills her chest, though she's not sure what for, and she arches her neck a bit higher. There, those are the green silhouettes of trees finally starting to blossom in full, pressed against the blue-grey backdrop of the receding storm. Some have buds of white, and they stick out like sore thumbs. This is it, she thinks. This is spring and the world blooms, really blooms.

As it fills with life, so, too, does it fill with the dead. They hover as white illuminations or streaks of light or sometimes full-bodied men and women, all drifting around outside, across Nefyn's balcony, through the air, out towards the lake. If she holds her breath and strains hard enough, she can even hear the soft tink of salt on the windowsill.

She took advantage of waking up to this before. Not again. Not after everything. "Thank you," she whispers.

Now Gideon gives her a queer look. "What'd I do?"

She laughs through her nose. "No, not you. The ghosts are back. The benevolent sort."

"Oh," he says. A smile touches his mouth. "That's good, then. Relieving." He cranes his head back and calls out to them too, an earnest, "Thank you!" They remain passive towards him, but passive is just fine. It's just fine, indeed.

Even though they're awake and could be out running halfway across Carrick, the two lay back and just take in the nice spring morning. Ten more minutes, they tell themselves. Twenty, thirty. Half an hour of this won't hurt. Gideon rolls around a bit, and Lacey pulls the fleecy blanket up to her chin while the cool breeze brushes her cheeks. She might very well fall back asleep, which nobody can blame her for, can they? But then a small murmuring fills the air, and then she realizes Gideon is talking. His voice isn't sad, isn't happy. He's just...talking. Telling a story. Clearly, Lore's Hill has this effect on people.

"Erie was looking for her in that last week before he was taken," he starts, mouth-breathing between his words while he stares at the slowly brightening ceiling. "Looking for Stella. I know that now. He wouldn't ever tell me what he was doing, just that he had things to do. I think he didn't want to worry me. But he still did. He came to me while my mom was out one night, which we did a lot, where he'd come over and we'd just sleep, but he came a few times during that week, and each time, there was this crease between his eyebrows that just didn't want to go away." He presses his thumb into the spot on his forehead and leaves it there.

"I told him to stop. To stay with me. To sleep, to let me make him a warm meal, to stop working himself to the bone. But he wouldn't listen. He kept going out, trying to find out where she went, and every time he came back to me, his shoulders would be slumped but I'd hold him and his- all of his muscles would be so tense...He hardly relaxed even in his sleep. I think it rubbed off on me, y'know, I can't sleep with him gone and I feel like...like I'm still not doing enough. Still not doing all that he tried to do. God, I love his dedication. His refusal to not give something up until it's all finished. His...everything. I love all of him. I do."

He speaks with so much fondness in his voice, so much that he doesn't even realize for himself because it just comes out, pours and spills, that it almost hurts her. Will she ever be able to talk about someone as fondly as he talks about Erie? She gives it some thought. Probably not. But with this fondness in his tone, there is also pain, and though he reverts back, she remembers how that pain sounds, and she decides that if that's what comes with having an Erie for yourself, maybe she doesn't want one. It's safer that way. She's safer that way.

His thumb edges away from his forehead, and his fingers take to fiddling with the nearby surroundings. Anything within reach, he brushes with gentle fingertips. There are cabinet doors on the side of the island, and he loops his digits through the handle of one of them. He opens and closes it, closes and opens it, over and over again, and Lacey is so at peace and so weighed down by exhaustion that all she does is watch.