It was almost sunrise.

"I have to go back," Brett said. "I need clothes, my things."

"It's a crime scene," Calista said, shaking her head. "They won't let you in."

"It can't hurt to try." Brett's head was swimming. The events of the last few days were disorienting to say the least, but he felt that if he could get into his own home, he'd feel at least a modicum of equilibrium. He tried not to think of phrases like 'tampering with evidence.'

"I've still got my key." He reached for his jacket and felt for his wallet, his keys. All was there, all in order. At least something was.

"Let me come with you," Calista said, standing. "Just give me a minute to change."

"You don't want to come," Brett replied. "You don't want to see... You don't owe me that." He was thinking of the bloodstains on the carpet. He wasn't particularly excited to see them again, either, but he thought he might be able to slip in and get what he needed without exposing himself to all that remained of Lauren. 

God, Lauren. How had all of this gone so wrong? If only he'd said no to her. It was a terrible idea to begin with. Of course, he couldn't have expected bloodshed, but they'd risked other misfortunes. An overdose. Nothing good could have come of it. 

"You're angry," Calista said, crinkling her brow. "What's wrong?"

He didn't know how she picked up on his emotions so easily. It's not as if she was touching him. Perhaps the expression on his face said just as much as his words did. And why was he angry, anyway? It's not as if Calista had done anything wrong. She was just listening to him, letting him tell his story. If only he'd had a different one to tell, maybe things would be different.

"I just wish none of this had ever happened. If I could go back to the beginning, I'd change it all."

He thought of Lauren sitting in the common room, her face open wide, confessing everything with so much trust, so much faith in him. He wished he could warn her to not be so open with her pain. And not to take those goddamn pills.

"There's no going back to the beginning. Only seeing through to the end. Figuring out who killed Calista. Bringing her justice." Calista touched his sleeve, and he looked down at her, not quite believing that someone who had just been a neighbor days before was now his confidante.

Something clicked in Brett's head. "You told the cops you saw someone leaving. A man. What did he look like?"

Calista sighed. She leaned down to pick up the glass and the ibuprofen bottle. "I didn't get a good look. He was tall, broad shoulders, dark hair. I only saw the back of him when he was leaving. I thought he was one of your friends. I'm afraid I wasn't much help to the police."

"But he left a footprint. Bigger than mine. Enough to exonerate me."

She nodded. "I'll show you."

Brett waited as Calista wandered back to her bedroom to change. He ran his fingers through his hair in attempt to tame his wild curls. If he could figure out who that footprint belonged to, he'd be getting somewhere. But if the police hadn't found much to go on, how was he supposed to track down the killer?

Calista came down the hall in a sweatshirt and jeans, tying her hair into a knot. "Ready?"

They left the apartment and shut the door behind them quietly, trying not to wake anyone at this ungodly hour. They took the steps down to his level and peered into the hall to see if there were any police stationed there. Besides a strip of yellow tape barring the way to his door, the coast was clear. Brett fished his keys out of his pocket and slid them into the lock. They key turned easily, and he pushed the door inside. They ducked under the tape and stood in the darkened living room.

Shadows hinted at the furniture there, and a strip of moonlight fell across the floor. 

"Should we turn on the lights?"

Brett shook his head, then realized she wouldn't be able to see him in the dark. He turned on the flashlight app on his phone and illuminated the way throughout the apartment. First, he needed to get some clothes and his toothbrush. Next, he needed to grab the leftover drugs from the bathroom to avoid getting into any more trouble than he already was. And then they needed to get the hell out of here.

"You okay?" he asked Calista.

"Yeah," she said, somewhere behind him.

He left her there in the living room and found his way back to his bedroom. He grabbed a couple of sets of shirts, jeans, underwear, and socks from his chest of drawers and threw them into a duffel bag sitting nearby. He stood there for a moment, realizing it was the last time he'd be in his room... maybe forever. The only thing he'd really miss was his dog. There was nothing else in the room that meant anything to him. Maybe starting over would be a good thing. 

Brett ducked into the bathroom and was grabbing the baggie when he heard Calista gasp in the living room.

"Calista?" He was there in a flash. She knelt on the carpet, her fingers sunk in deep. It was the last place Brett had seen Lauren. Calista's head was thrown back, and her eyes fluttered, flashing the whites. She looked like some kind of witch, and he brushed the thought away. At the moment, she was his only friend. He had to trust in her. 

"I can feel her," Calista whispered. "She was scared... scared for you."

Brett remembered the dream then, the bear that had confronted him, ready to consume him until Lauren leapt onto its back. She'd saved his life. And lost hers in turn. 

A light went on outside. "Come on," said Brett. "We have to go."

Calista allowed him to help her to her feet and tug her toward the door.

"But Brett," she whispered. "Lauren... she wasn't who you thought she was."