Randall

A headless dracula dropped in front of him, adding to the pool of blood, and Randall realized that there was nothing left to kill. As if sensing this, the chainsaw gave one last sputter and died.

A helicopter landed on the roof.

Rescue.

But not for him.

Bloodblood...

He gestured to the helicopter with his dead chainsaw, then staggered toward the door. More draculas would be coming through it. He'd kill them. Saw them up even without the chainsaw running.

When he reached the door, his legs finally gave out and he collapsed.

He sat there, chainsaw on his lap, trying to blink the blood out of his eye, too exhausted to use his hands to wipe it away.

He couldn't stay human in his mind for much longer, but he didn't need to. He didn't have long to live as a monster or a man.

If he could just stick around long enough to see Jenny and the kids fly off to safety, he'd shake hands with God and call it even.

But Jenny didn't get into the helicopter.

Instead, she began to walk his way.

All Randall could think about was the day she left him, and how his one wish--the one thing that kept him sober and sane--was that one day she might come back to him.

Her timing was ironical. Not only was he dying, but he was a dracula, and she was putting herself in danger instead of getting the hell out of there.

But at that moment, when she reached down for him with tears in her eyes, Randall Bolton was the happiest guy on the planet.