For his part Ralph would have been wondering how Jefferson’s end of things was going, but he was too busy staring down the double barrel of Lorraine Coomer’s shotgun, which was now mere inches from his terrified face.

Lorraine’s own exotic, strangely beautiful visage was streaked with a mother’s (guilty?) tears. “You think I killed my boy, Ralph?” She nearly pleaded. There was something of the child in her tone now.

“Hell no, Lorraine,” Ralph whimpered. “Hell no, we all know you loved that boy.”

Lorraine began to laugh, tears still falling out of her eyes. “Loved him. Yeh. Surely did. Loved him enough to pull the trigger on him.”

Ralph’s eyes widened. “Y-you didn’t.”

She shook her head, deeply grieved. “No. But I may as well have.”

Her eyes locked onto Ralph’s over the gun. She was searching for something, Ralph knew that, some kind of excuse for her to put her gun down and let Ralph live. He aimed to find her one just as he aimed to help Jefferson put all this together when the time came.