Blake finally got his gun out, but his hands were shaky and his vision blurry. He raised the revolver as a figure entered the room, his hands too weak to pull the trigger. Blake’s vision started to clear, and he got a good look at who was standing in the doorway.

“Angela?â€? Simon said softly.

“Yeah, baby, I’m here,â€? Angela answered, her face wet with tears. “I’m here.â€?

Simon and Angela embraced, enfolding themselves one into the other, both sobbing. Eventually, Angela looked in Blake’s direction.

“Jesus H. Christ, Uncle Blake. You look like shit.”

“He died,” Simon muttered, still holding tightly to Angela. “But he got better.”

Blake holstered his gun, standing on wobbly legs. “How did you find us, Ang?”

She shrugged. “A little bit of divination, a lot of listening to the police band. The cops want you guys bad.” She frowned at the carnage around her. “But I guess you already know that. What the hell happened?”

Simon let go of Angela and turned away from her, ashamed. “I’ll tell you later,” he mumbled.