Debbie looked over at Darren. He had just woken up, after being knocked out by Steve Leopard. He was staring at the pit that held the smoldering remains of Mr. Crepsley. His face looked lost, lost in memory, unable to come back to the present. But she didn't bother him, she let him grieve.

She looked around and saw Vancha leaning up against the back wall. He was pinching the bridge o his nose, his green hair covering his face as he leaned hi head forward. She couldn't see his face, but by the way he held himself she could see that he was lost in grieve for his old friend.

Alice Burgess stood a little to the left of him. She looked exhausted, but she guessed that, like Debbie herself, the police chief couldn't sleep. To much had happened. They had seen a person die, a person they trusted turn evil, they were hanging out with vampires.

Debbie hadn't really known the red-haired man very well. When she and Darren had been dating, she had never even met him, but she knew that he was the man Darren had called his father. That was it. She had talked to him all of one time when they were staying at the hotel. Now he was dead. And although she hadn't known him very well, the grief for his loss was overwhelming.

They had been a tight-knit group. Darren. Harkat. Her. Vancha. Alice. Mr. Crepsley. But that was over. One was missing, and now the group would never be the same. There would always be a missing piece, no matter how much time passed, no matter how many more friends ended up joining them, it would never be whole again.

That was a startling assumption, but looking over at Darren, who had buried his head in his hands, she knew it was true.