NOW
Neither Camelia nor James rest, notwithstanding going through the night twisted around Lucas on the overlay-out futon in Leo and Daisy's lounge. Camelia lies still and numb, feeling the manner in which she envisions an apparition should feel: got somewhere close to the universes of the living and the dead, her brain going over everything about, herself for each misstep, incapable to make any move. James advises her to take a Xanax yet she denies it; if the criminal investigators need something, she must be perceptive. It's terrible enough the police have effectively inferred the whole gathering is a bunch of untrustworthy drunkards, she can't make them think she pops pills, as well.
"They're positive somebody grabbed her," she murmurs to James in the haziness.
"Relax. They'll get he
