He had about a minute.

He ran at the people, pushing, shoving his way through the throngs, faces dancing wildly past him in some sick waltz, and he didn't spare them a second glance, once he knew they weren't her.

Further in he got, and the police charged, knocking people back and trampling them with their horses. His heart beat faster and faster, and the fear in his head had wound itself up to an almost deafening whine.

She wasn't there.
She wasn't there.
She wasn't there.
And then she was.

- almost unrecognizable, her face contorted with hatred -

Mariah!

- there she was, his own, his darling, hurling everything she had and everything she was at them -

Mariah! Mariah!

- and he grabbed her, and spun her around, and he was staring into her eyes.

And she was looking back at him like she didn't know him, and her eyes were murderous.

We've got to get out of here, Mariah! They'll kill you if they get the chance!

She was staring at him like she, like she -

It's me, Mariah! It's me!

like she hated him.

He held her eyes for one, long second, and then the look broke, and she was herself again.

He drew her away, shaking, through the back streets to their home. They got changed and went to bed, and he clutched her tight to his chest, but even as he stroked her hair and told her everything was fine, he was scared.

Because, what was that?