Upstairs, Brian was starting to feel tired. He picked up Khaat's untouched scone and ate it with his cup of coffee. She was tired but not able to sleep. She was worried about Escobar and the beast.
"Brian," she said. "Where is my pensieve?"
"Right where its supposed to be. It wont help you, you know," he said. "It won't help you see into the present. And there is no memory from the past that will help you find him now. You really do have to stop worrying," he yawned. He leaned back against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes, the silence of the bedroom luring him into a deep, exhausted sleep the instant he shut his eyes.
The sound of his even breathing told her he was in a sound sleep. She knew to keep her back and neck straight, and she got up. The spinal pain and head pain seered, but she managed to get up. She found clean clothes and managed to shower. The marks of the chain were horrid looking around her neck. And they hurt. She was in too much pain to really dress. She found sweat pants and one of Brian's old football jerseys. She looked like hell, and she knew it. But if life was going forward, so was she.