They're stuck here, slumped on the floor, staring eye to eye like kids. She hangs her head. "No I'm not. I'm here, aren't I?"

She stares at him, and he's finally talking straight with her and not trying to attack, so she listens. They're not the same; she's worse.

Her answer is immediate. "Of course I believe in God." She holds out her hands to the room around them, as if the existence of a higher power is evident in the O'Neil's attic. In the dark recesses of her mind, she thinks she hears laughter. "I won't ask if you do. Never figured you were a fucking zealot."