The voice comes as a surprise, prompting Carla Jean to suck in a sharp breath, as if the sound has somehow brought her back to reality. All of this, of course, is far too real as it is, but she's been half-dazed, still trying to process what's happened. No matter how long she's been half-expecting this, preparing for the possibility of the worst, it's a task a hell of a lot easier in theory than in actual practice. Theory didn't involve the act of killing someone, of staring down at a body with bullet holes in it and knowing she put them there. Theory didn't involve the sick satisfaction of what she supposes might be revenge, though it's self-preservation in equal parts. She can content herself with that. He killed her once before, and he would have done so again if she hadn't beaten him to it.

Tense as it's left her, all of this having barely begun to sink in yet, she relaxes some when she realizes that the person calling her name is one she knows, a friend. "Kate," she says, exhaling the breath she'd drawn in heavily. The dog with her is one Carla Jean doesn't recognize, but that doesn't matter much. It's that she knows the girl that counts, especially when she can't be entirely sure of where she is. She swallows hard, brushing her free hand under her eyes, though it's a precautionary measure more than anything else. "Jesus."