Stacey's eyes flew open once more. She wanted to get up, but found herself petrified. Paranoia flooded her with a barrage of ideas that, albeit foolish, left her terrified. The most prominent was that an intruder had broken into her home, making the loud noise by accident. If she were to stand up, she knew that her floorboards would creak; the second floor was especially prone to this. If her floorboards creaked, the intruder would know that she was awake -- or worse yet: exactly where she was.

She was really dead, wasn't she? The pictures from Cameron were true, and not some sort of sick joke. Stacey was gone. He'd only just started to feel friendly with her. Had Cameron killed her? That was what threw him for a real loop: Cameron's involvement. He had pictures, and he seemed calm... if not pleased. Cameron was the nicest, most generous man that Max had ever met, and now he'd killed a woman!

When he finished all the wine in his glass, Cameron exhaled and put it down. Then, he leaned back in his chair and gazed at Max. He said nothing. For a long moment, both of them were dead silent and staring at each other. Then, without warning, Cameron uttered, "You know, Val reminds me a lot of you."