A tight smile plays across Detrius's face.<br/><br/><strong>"Wouldn't have touched the drink anyway, too sweet for me.</strong><br/><br/>As the young man walks away Isaac sighs in relief. Ever since the lost year, he's run out of things to say. Must be too deep in his head, or maybe too far out of it. He gives the refreshments table a quick scan and slips in when Phaedra slinks off to the distraught arsonist across the room. He tucks a small sandwich into his pocket and leans up against the wall. He opens his sketch book and quickly jots down what the voices said. Isaac will not allow any more clues to slip from his memory.<br/><br/>Isaac pulls the sandwich out of his pocket and watches the others as he eats. The voices still echo in his head, and he's not about to oblige any of them until he can understand them. Where is the pixie girl from before? He was certain she'd heard them too. The others mill about warily, like members of a social club for psychopaths. Mr. Thomas leers hungrily as the detective grills him off away from the others. Alice shuffles along with a dead look in her eye. Ness soothes and Phaedra scolds. The girl in the middle looks like she could cry. The nameless newcomer remains seated.<br/><br/>And what of Winter, and her sensual resident? She's talking with Alice who seems to be back in the land of the living for a moment. A splash of color catches his eye, Kenzie! It looks like Detrius found her. Maybe now there's time to sort out whats going on-<br/><br/>Isaac's thoughts are interrupted by a loud crack, followed by a crackling groan. His eyes follow the sound to the psychiatrist, who stares up at a buckling section of the ceiling. It collapses, swallowing up the doctor and blocking off the door with a roiling wall of flame. Things seem to slow down as the fire spreads, and the others fade away, as though he were watching them at a great distance. As if Isaac were watching himself from a distance.<br/><br/>Isaac puts the half eaten sandwich back on the table and tucks a bottle of water in his coat pocket, slowly walks back to his chair and retrieves his things. He soaks his muffler in water and wraps it around his face. He folds up his chair, and drags it, sketchbook and umbrella under arm, to the nearest window.<br/><br/>The first blow only makes the glass wobble like gelatin in a mold. The second shatters it against the soggy plywood on the other side. A quick scrape with the chair and the larger shards are broken apart and swept off the windowsill. Isaac can't feel the heat of the blaze, or the cold steel in his hand. He can only watch as something, climbs up into the windowsill and begins kicking at the rotten wood. It sticks the chair into the small gap it makes.<br/><br/>'I'm having an episode, I'm having one right now,' Isaac tries to move, tries to reach out and grab himself, tries to scream. The thing stops levering at the window and turns to look directly at him. Isaac feels cold breath on his neck.<br/><br/>It's air! Isaac turns around and looks at the chair jammed into the boards, looks down at hands, his hands. There's a rush of cold air coming in from outside, and an inferno raging at his back, and a reeling feeling in his head. He starts prying at the window again, feeling it slowly give, feeling the cold steel in his hands.<br/><br/>"Someone, help!" he yells through over his shoulder at the others.