Lexi woke up before dawn with the urge to run again, and run she did, bolting into the closet and up through the attic, around and down the folding staircase into the hallway, then downstairs and out the front door and into the snow for a while.  She was in pajamas, sockless in boots, and the snow that slopped over the sides burned deliciously, just the level of discomfort some part of her was looking for.  She ran to the Buick and back, then threw herself in the snow to get the feeling all over her body, and she screamed wordlessly at the sky. 

"I'm not going to stop you from running around in the snow," her father said, "But you'd best start doing it with a coat on, Al."

"Hi, Bert."  She smiled up at him, crowned in snow.

He frowned down at her, his cheeks ruddy from the cold wind.  He was wearing flannel and the John Deere watchcap he'd always worn in the winter.  "Get up out of the snow, Al," he said.  There was no anger in his voice, just matter-of-fact logic.  The snow was cold, and she was going to get frostbite, and she should get up, that was all Bert's voice said.  So she did.  "What're you running away from?"

"I don't know."

"No need to be afraid of it, then, is there?"

"I don't think I am."  She wanted to tell him about yesterday's encounter with Gray, but it made her think of the abuse she'd suffered at Darron's hands and Bert had never known about that.  Lexi shuddered to think of what her father would've done to Darron if he'd been alive, if he'd been around to find out about the rape.

"I know," Bert said.  Lexi looked at him, horrified.  He reached out, as if to squeeze her shoulder, but she couldn't feel his hand.  "Why are you so surprised?  I'm dead!"

The naked exasperation in his voice yanked a laugh out of her, and Bert smiled back.  The humor faded quickly.  "I'm sorry, Bert. I'm sorry you had to know that."

He shook his head.  "You survived," he said.  "That's what counts."  There was pride in his voice.

"That's what I do, bounce back," Lexi said without humor.  She started back toward the house, mood neutral.  Halfway there she decided to go in the carriage house instead.  "Did I show you the old car I found?" Lexi asked her father, but he was gone.  Had she dreamt the car, too?  Well, now she had to doublecheck.

She didn't hesitate to veer off of the path that she'd broken, heading for the derelict garage that stood a dozen yards or so from the house.  It had weathered seventy-odd years' indignities with less composure than the house had; there were cracks in the doors and walls where gray sunlight peeked through.  The roof was slate, with some missing and broken tiles. 

A push on the door opened a wide enough gap for her to slip inside.  The shadows weren't as deep as Lexi expected, considering the dim day.  Sure enough, the Packard was still there.  The car had a feeling of sleek opulence, even though it had been there so long that all four tires had gone flat and it was gray-brown with a thick coating of dust.

Lexi stepped softly toward it, one hand extended, moving with mingled reverence and excitement.  After a few careful steps her fingertips touched a gracefully curving fender, and she brushed dust off of it.  She could smell it, the warm soft smell of old things and a coarser scent of oil or rust.  It made the air seem clearer, and the cold in her feet was forgotten.

A streak of goosebumps raced up Lexi's arms.  The car made the dreams she'd had about Marion real, too real, and she was suddenly afraid of it.  The headlights stared like big, blank eyes.  Lexi opened the driver's door and leaned inside.  The scent of the interior rushed out at her, a smell of antique cloth and a hint of powder, delicate and feminine.  She was smelling Marion.  It was whole.  There were thirty-two thousand miles on the odometer.  It would be a nightmare to put back together, of course, but it was hers.  Marion had parked the car one day and never used it again, and here it was, whole. 

She returned to the house exhausted and cold and wet, and soaked in the tub for a while before going back to bed.  An excellent morning, all things considered.  She'd risen again, around noon, put on a chunky white sweater and black leggings and white go-go boots on, then drifted downstairs to say hello to Martin and Doctor Edward in the kitchen and to prepare herself a breakfast of hot apple cider and pecan spinwheels.  She expected Doctor Edward to give her a pill, but none was forthcoming.  The two of them were discussing sports, which interested Lexi not at all.  Of Gray and Nikki there was no sign. 

She went into the library where Ren's car was, and discovered that the partly-assembled engine was up on the stand, bolted perfectly into place.  When she touched it, the motor was as cold as ice.

She wasn't sure which one of the dead folk had done it, but it seemed a decent sign that building the car was barking up the right tree at least.  "Thank you kindly," she told the room, and got back to work on the car.  She'd have to go and get the body, soon.  Actually it might be easier to take everything to the body.  The engine was finished, and the transmissions were still in their crates from Getrag, the company who'd made them, so there was nothing to put together there.  Steering and suspension components were lined up neatly, ready to be installed.  And the wheels?  Where had--oh, she was sitting on the stack, never mind.  And the wiring harness was done; she'd finished it and her cheesecake at about the same time, at three in the morning two nights ago.  Might as well build brake calipers today.  They were in boxes too, direct from Brembo; Ren had insisted on only wonderful pieces, of course.  She went into the basement to fetch them, dumped them in the knobby-tired Radio Flyer wagon that had been parked in the hall of mirrors for the purpose of schlepping parts, and headed back into the library.  Halfway there she was struck by an uncontrollable urge to sing Primus, so she did, only getting through a few verses of "My Name Is Mud" before deciding that she didn't want to sing alone.  She took a detour into the ballroom and put the CD on, loud enough that she could hear it in the library to her satisfaction.

That taken care of, she set herself up next to the various clusters of car parts.

She'd finished the first caliper when Martin drifted into the library.  He looked around the room, sizing it up as if it were a bar, and then made a beeline for the wingback chair, which he turned to face her.  "Afternoon," he said. 

He was holding a glass of milk in a way that she found annoying, but let it go.  Letting the little things about people bother you was just a waste of time.  Martin was nice enough apart from that, and apart from the fact that he was here sort of dishonestly.  "Oh, welcome to this world of fools, of pink champagne and swimming pools...where all you have to lose is your virginity," she sang along with Primus, fully aware that the rapid, rolling lyrics were nearly unintelligible (and equally aware that it was "well" not "where" but "where" made more sense).

"Uh-huh," he said.  "So how are you going to get the car out, once you've built it?"

"Oh, there's plenty of room.  Look at those doors!" she said, pointing to the wide doorway that led into the foyer.  "There's enough space to admit a buffalo, also known as the American bison.  Not to be confused with the European bison, which, in addition to being smaller, is extinct.  What was I talking about?"

Martin smiled indulgently.  "Don't you worry that they'll institutionalize you, if you keep acting like this?"

"I've spent too much time worrying about how to do things, and how to behave in front of whom.  I stopped worrying about it, and I'm much happier.  Besides, it's my house."

"That it is.  I envy your freedom."

"As well you should," she replied.

"Can I help you at all with that?"

Lexi shook her head.  "My hands only," she said.  "No other hands allowed.  Those are the rules."

"What rules?"

She gave him an innocent, head-tilted look.  "What rules?"

"What rules are you talking about?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said.

Martin nodded slowly.  "I guess you don't," he said.  "Hey, I've got another question for you.  Two of them, actually."

"No, I'm not wearing anything under this sweater," she said.

He grinned.  "How'd you know I was going to ask that?"  Actually he hadn't been, but he had noticed, and humoring her would keep her talking. 

"Roger, that's a Special Forces tattoo," she said imperiously.

Martin didn't catch the Lethal Weapon reference.  He was learning better than to ask her to repeat herself though.  "Let me ask you another question, then.  Is that okay?"

"Kinder with poison than pushed down a well," she replied.  Her attention seemed to be entirely in the brake caliper she was assembling, although it wasn't.

"It's hard to understand you, when you talk in riddles all the time," he said.

"Did you ever stop and ask yourself why I talk in riddles?"

"No.  But I suppose you're going to tell me."

"Nope.  I am not.  And anyway, they're not riddles."

Martin got out of the chair and walked to Lexi's side.  He squatted between her and the Radio Flyer, and put his hand lightly on her shoulder.  "What are they, then?"

"Ooh, an invading cheliped," she said.  "Is it full of meat?  It's painfully typical."

He started to rub her shoulders, then her neck.  "Don't worry, it's platonic," he said.  "I'm sure you're terribly lonely.  Since Warren," he added.

"We had a race car--it was a Saab, we called it HellSaab Number One--that said, 'get your Eye-talian loafers out of my bedpan!' up one side and 'I'll give you boys five dollars for this!' down the other.  How can you not miss someone who knows what all of that means?  There's the trick.  You can't."

Martin opened his mouth, then closed it without saying anything.  He continued to rub Lexi's neck for a few minutes, but apart from a small sigh she didn't acknowledge him.  She might as well have been made of warm wax.

"Afternoon," Doctor Edward said as he entered the library with a mug of the cider Lexi had made.  He looked at home, and he didn't ask what Lexi and Martin were doing.  Martin turned and nodded. 

"Gozer the Gozerian, Gozer the Destructor...the traveller has come," Lexi said in a gravelly voice, without looking up from the proportioning valve in her hands.