Fishing rods... why did he have lines and a tacklebox, but no rods?  They must have gotten lost.  He reasoned, at best, they could attempt fly-fishing using some sticks, or pick something up at the market on the way out of town.  Then, he saw the light.  Bingo.  He didn't know if Cass had ever been night fishing using a waterproof lantern, but if not, she'd be in for one hell of a treat.  Blake was in awe at himself for even forgetting about it.<br/><br/>Meanwhile, Sarah marched up to the ghost and jabbed him in the chest with one pale-blue and bony index finger.  Her dead-face always came out when she was angry; lips paled, eyes bloodshot, cheeks bony, skin blue, and her once radiant blond hair a silky sheet of white.  The skin round her neck was bruised in an irregular pattern.<span style="color: #FF80FF">“I'm not being funny,”</span>she hissed, but calmed significantly after Cassandra passed through them, yelling about cold medicine.  Her attention was only drawn briefly.  Her cold eyes snapped back to him as her southern accent started to seep out with lexical venom.<span style="color: #FF80FF">“I <span style="font-style: italic">know</span> you been using him.  Bet it was easy, huh?  Just rattle his head a bit, make him wanna hurt that poor gal.”</span><br/><br/>He knew damn well what she meant, Sarah thought.  If her husband didn't act of his own accord, they would<span style="font-style: italic">make</span>him.  She had less time than she thought.  Her features began to recover as she recollected her nerves.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF80FF">“Sides, what's wrong with blondes?”</span>she ran her finger up his neck, gently scratching at his skin.  She broke off the contact at the end of his chin, pulling away with a sharp nail.  She licked away the blood on the tip of her tongue, as one might savour the remnants of a spoon dipped in cookie dough.<span style="color: #FF80FF"> “They say even killing them is more fun.”</span><br/><br/>Blake collected the light and the tacklebox, stuffing the fishing wire under his arm.  He could hear Cassandra's hurried footsteps above, like she was running from something.  He swiftly exited the basement and rounded the corner, only to find his wife safe and sound in the foyer.  A moment passed as he attempted to assess the situation, turning up with nothing logical.  She was asking for cold medicine.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8000">“Er... maybe... with my stuff,”</span>he answered, a little puzzled by her behaviour.<span style="color: #FF8000">“Everything alright up there?  Thought we could go fishing.”</span>He held up the tacklebox as if to demonstrate.<span style="font-style: italic">Just hold out until tomorrow,</span>he reminded himself.