Katie was on her way back to bed, when she remembered that she had been looking for the source of the ghost voice before finding Walter in the study. On a whim, she keyed the alarm code and went out onto the back patio. Bill was sitting in one of the wrought iron chairs.

He twisted to face her as she came out, slyly pushing a bottle under his coat as she approached. "Katie. What are you doing up at this hour? It's gotta be two o'clock in the morning."

"It's after three, actually." She sat in the chair across the table from him. "Are you drinking?"

"So why are you up?" He self-consciously pulled his coat a little tighter and ignored her question. "Did something happen?"

She nodded, choosing not to address the slightly slurred speech or the smell of whiskey that reached her nose from across the table. "I heard the ghost again."

"Yeah?" Bill made great efforts to speak slowly and clearly. "What did it say?"

"Same thing as always. Just calling my name." She sighed. "I wish I could help her. I was looking at some articles online about speaking with ghosts."

"Really?" Bill seemed genuinely surprised. "They put stuff like that on the internet?"

"There's all kinds of stuff on the internet." Katie smiled wryly. "But most of the articles say ghosts are usually bound to a place by unfinished business. So, I was thinking if I could find out what she wants me to do, maybe I could help her move on."

"That's very nice of you." Bill's mouth twisted into a pessimistic frown. "But maybe she's stuck here because she's been here so long that she can't remember any other way?"

Katie stared at him a moment. He seemed very troubled by something tonight. "All the more reason to help. Can you imagine being stuck in a role you didn't choose and don't know how to get out of?"

"Yeah." Bill said cryptically, sadly. "Yeah, I can."

She waited for him to explain, but he just stared off into the gardens and said nothing more about it. She could see the emotions at work behind his eyes, the way the corners of his mouth twitched almost microscopically, as if he wanted to say something but was talking himself out of it.

"Bill, are you okay?" She tried again.

He heaved a great sigh and then turned his attention back to her. He was smiling slightly, to show her he was okay, but the sadness behind his eyes was still there. "Yeah. Great."

"You know you can talk to me." She said softly. "I might be able to help."

Bill barked a short laugh that was equal parts sad and dismissing. "Probably not."

She sighed, unsure of how else to reassure him. She stretched her hand across the table to pat his arm, but he pulled it back before she could.

"I don't..." He paused, tried to collect himself. So many emotions seemed poised to burst out of him at any second. Then he suddenly gained control. He looked at her with a level stare. "You should go back to bed. I'm just in one of those moods tonight. You know."

Katie nodded reassuringly. "You know you can talk to me about anything, any time, right?"

Bill nodded and looked out across the yard again. "Yeah, thanks."

She waited, hoping he would open up to her, but he continued to silently scan the dark. She sighed softly and changed the subject. "There's something else. I just spoke with Mr. Barrington. Did you know the murderer at his hotel left a note?"

"Release my property?" Bill nodded. He seemed almost grateful for the change in subject, even if that subject was grim. "Yeah. That's messed up."

"I've been thinking about what you said the other day—about vampires. Do you think that creepy guy from the other night could have left the note?" She suggested.

Bill's expression changed as he considered it. "That would make Clarissa his property?"

"Right." Katie was still uncomfortable thinking about something she had been trained to reject her whole life. "And if it is him..."

Bill sat a little stiffer. "Then he murdered at least some of those people."

"Some?" Katie shook her head. "No, Bill. If he wrote the note, then he's the murderer. How could there be more than one violent murderer in a town like Willow Grove?"

Bill looked miserable once again. He just shook his head and looked away again.

"And that means Clarissa is in serious danger." Katie leaned forward. "I know Walter doesn't want to involve Marcus Jones because of his previous engagement to Diedre, but—"

"I'm not sure Marcus Jones could help, anyway." Bill frowned deeply.

"I still think we should call the police." Katie said, although she knew she hadn't sold him on the idea. "They could do something."

"What would we say? A killer vampire is murdering people to get to Walter's fifteen-year-old daughter?" Bill shook his head. "Besides the fact that we're talking about a vampire, the question is going to be why Clarissa?"

"I don't know." Katie frowned. "But there's got to be something we can do. We can't just sit here night after night and hope we catch him before he hurts her."

"Technically, I'm the only one sitting here night after night." Bill grumbled.

Katie sighed. "I'm sorry."

Bill frowned, looked off into the gardens again. "If only we knew where he makes his lair..."

Katie shifted in her chair. She was trying to maintain the logical perspective that she had worked so hard to cultivate. Yet that logic was being rapidly eroded by all that had happened since she'd come to this house. "If only we knew for sure what he is."

"We know." Bill nodded. Resolve firmed his face. It hardened his mouth, though his eyes were still troubled and sad.

"We need to be sure." She insisted. She could maintain logic outwardly, at least. Inwardly, her instincts only confirmed that what she had experienced was unnatural, supernatural.

Bill continued to scan the gardens. "If we could catch him asleep..."

Katie watched the emotions play across his face another minute, then reached for him again. She rested her palm on his forearm. "Bill, what's wrong?"

This time, he didn't shrink from her touch. Instead, he closed his own hand over hers and looked down at the two hands, as if he had never seen such a thing. Large tears formed in his eyes and dropped onto their hands.

"Oh, Bill." Katie was surprised and hurt by the raw emotion. "Please. What is it?"

Bill abruptly withdrew his hand and his arm, then withdrew the bottle from under his coat. He uncapped it and took a long draw straight from the bottle. He swiped at his eyes with the back of one hand. "You should get back to bed."

Katie was near tears herself. "Bill, please."

She watched him war with himself. He was obviously troubled deeply by something that he definitely didn't want to say but needed to. He chewed at the inside of his lip and looked out at the grounds, wiping his eyes again.

"Bill..." She encouraged softly, but he wasn't looking at her anymore. He took two more swigs from the bottle and that seemed to add to his fortitude. His face hardened with resolve.

She was about to go back into the house, defeated in her attempts to help anyone tonight, when Bill suddenly spoke.

"I killed Diedre." He blurted it out so quickly and the words were so slurred that she had to replay them in her head to make sure she had heard them correctly.

"No." She could not have been more shocked than if he had hit her. Her heartrate increased sharply—her body's way of telling her to run. But her mind would not believe, would not let her body move. She watched his face, a miserable and tortured mask, and said simply, quietly. "Why would you say that?"

"I killed her." He croaked a sob and then took another long draw off the bottle. He looked at her finally, as if he were surprised she were still sitting there after his confession. "I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't stay. Why do I stay?"

"Bill, you can't think that." Katie studied the guilt and remorse that twisted his face. "Why would you even think that?"

He shook his head, almost violently. "It was me. I should've known not to..."

She reached out for him again, tried to comfort him sympathetically, but he jerked away. He was fully crying now, great racking sobs that terrified her because they underscored his belief in his guilt.

"She was murdered." Katie tried to soothe him with facts. "The police investigated it."

Bill tipped the bottle to his lips and took such a long drink that she was almost ready to knock it away from him. Anyone else would have collapsed, blacked out. Anyone else would be violently ill from alcohol poisoning, at least. But the bottle seemed to have merely subdued Bill. He took a deep breath and wiped his eyes one last time.

"Before I came to work for Walter, I used to drink a lot." He started, his voice calm now.

Katie refrained from responding to the phrase used to.

"One night, I was attacked." He spoke slowly, watched her to make sure she understood his meaning. "Like Diedre was attacked."

Katie nodded, curious now as to what he was trying to tell her.

"After that, I noticed..." He sighed, searched for the word. "I knew that something was happening to me."

"What was happening?" She asked softly, unsure of what his answer would be, but instinctively sure it would be unsettling.

"I knew it was happening. I knew it." He shook his head and tears threatened his eyes again. Then he regained control. "I was in denial."

Katie watched him carefully arrange the words in his mind before continuing. He watched her, too, for any sign of rejection.

"It made my life hard. I was a mess, Katie." He sighed. "You can't know."

"I know." She nodded. "But alcohol never solves—"

"Yeah. Yeah, it does." He cut her off. "But coming here... Walter and the kids... and Diedre. Oh man, I would have done anything for Diedre. She was that kind of a person, you know?"

Katie nodded. "Everyone tells me she was a wonderful person."

"Yeah." He smiled the briefest of smiles before frowning again. "I drove her to town. She wanted to do some shopping. I drove her, even though..."

"Bill, it wasn't your fault." Her heart broke, watching him struggle with himself. "You weren't responsible."

"I felt it. I was... so sick... I knew it was coming." He stared off, eyes filling with tears again. "I ran. I ran and then in the morning they said she was dead."

"Oh Bill." Katie whispered. He felt so much guilt, she didn't know how to comfort him.

"I must have..." He shook his head, looked down at the bottle in his hand. "Why did I drive her that night? I killed her."

"No, Bill. No. You couldn't have known. You were just doing your job." Katie frowned, deeply sympathetic. "You didn't know what was going to happen. Besides, if you hadn't gotten sick and run off, you might have been killed too."

He laughed humorlessly, a raw, aching sound that ripped at her heart. "I wish I—"

"Don't you say that." Katie made her voice firm, but caring. "Don't ever say that. It wasn't your fault."

Bill scrubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. Katie felt he had more to say, but she could see he'd talked himself out of it. He took another large swallow from the bottle and stared at her sadly.

"This is called survivor's guilt." Katie said softly. "But you have to know, deep down, that you didn't cause it to happen. You didn't kill Diedre."

"I know what I know." He said, his voice thick with sadness and whiskey. He cleared his throat and took another drink.

Katie sighed, admonished him lightly. "You also know that drinking is not going to help you."

Bill turned his gaze away from her, out into the night. "I know that it's the only thing that helps me."