((Continued from It's Too Bad She Won't Live))
Paranoia prone, she sat in the back of the car. Sometimes when she moved, the leather squeak. It didn't matter what she did. Move, breathe: squeak. Her sharp, glossy nails tapped nervously against hand rest.
A black SUV stopped in front of Morels French Steakhouse.
The toe of a shiny, black, leather high-heel boot with a blood red sole was the first to exit, followed by the long leg attached, covered in black leather to the mid-thigh. About four inches of bare skin separated the shoe from the main garment: satin, purple Balmain mini-dress.The dress had a wrap-draping in the front with a deep V neckline and cinched at the waist.
Mara's hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail reaching down to the nape of her neck and she wore a smoky eye with no lipstick. Mara turned her arm so that the bottom of her wrist was facing her and looked at a silver Cartier watch. Mara was about 7 minutes late, but she could say that traffic was bad and she would be believed. Traffic was the great equalizer. She reached down and straightened out the dress, which had rode up a bit when she exited the vehicle.
It was June, 2015. She just graduated a few weeks ago. She had done it in three years after grueling work and determination, trying to keep her costs down only to be flooded with funds just six months ago. This trip was an unusually costly one, but she wouldn't make a habit of it. The flight from Los Angeles only took 40 minutes from the Bob Hope airport and she flew business class. This wasn't your average date, though, and even though her current style was to dress down, she wanted to put a good foot forward.
Standing on the street and doing one more once over of herself she noticed a few people stopped and were looking at her. Mara didn't know if it was because they recognized her or just because of how she looked. Mara had made her first public appearance shortly after inheriting her money to announce her charities and she had since been in the media more for subsequent philanthropic events. Images of her high school-self had also seen a resurgence after the announcement of another Survival of the Fittest.
Mara bit on the nail of her manicured thumb, half-smiled and wiggled the rest of her fingers in the direction of the tourists. One seemed embarrassed and looked away. One smiled and the other waved back.
“Hey! You guys want a selfie?”
A few minutes late and a few photos later, she walked through the restaurant's open door, held open by a smartly dressed waiter who was expecting her. It looked like she was the first to arrive, despite her tardiness.
"Two," she said, looking around the empty restaurant. The waiter picked up two menus and led her to a table by a window. The windows were framed by gauzy black curtains which matched the black chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Mara placed the menu in front of her on the table, but instead of looking at the choices, she alternated between looking at her claws and looking at the door.
7s to Burn
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Ruggahissy
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MurderWeasel
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Kimberly made it right on time, fifteen minutes late. She'd picked up the practice soon after finishing her rounds back in Saint Paul, and had wished she'd thought of it sooner. Almost everyone gave her ten or fifteen minutes without question. That allowed time for a bit of reconnaissance, but she was honest with herself these days, and security was not the only reason she preferred to keep others waiting. It also immediately cultivated a dynamic to her liking.
She'd driven past the place once, taken a glance, and seen nothing suspicious, but it was hard to tell from the street. Then she'd found a parking place two blocks away, and had taken a little time to straighten herself out.
She'd told herself she'd get the air conditioning in her car looked at in Kingman, but hadn't actually gotten around to it, so she was once again cooling herself on her drive through the desert mostly by keeping the window down. Her hair was tangled; she ran her fingers through it a few times, worked out the densest knots, considered digging her brush out of her luggage in the backseat, and then instead just fished a hair tie out of her pocket and tied a messy ponytail. She finally put on the straw cowboy hat she'd been carting around not wearing the whole trip. It went alright with everything else she had on: black jeans, a blue denim jacket over a black tank top, worn down sneakers. Her clothes were more or less clean; she'd done laundry a few days ago, but she'd also been traveling through the desert in the middle of the day with no AC.
The planning for this had come together near the end of her jaunt to Kingman, and Kimberly had managed to structure her trip to make the timing work without stranding her in the city longer than necessary. She'd been a little reluctant at first, but her lukewarm communication had been met with persistence, and so here she was, locking her car and strolling down The Strip towards The Palazzo, watching the tourists and the locals and the all-night gamblers starting their days early or ending them late. The city made a certain token effort to be pedestrian-friendly, but the roads were so wide she strongly doubted she could throw something from one side to the other, and the lanes going in each direction were separated by a low median of rather sickly looking bushes and tall, thin palm trees that seemed pitiful compared the lush foliage in front of The Mirage on the other side.
She passed the fountains and fake gondolas of The Venetian, spared the comparatively-drab Treasure Island only a brief glance, and then she was walking towards Morels. The hotel it was built into seemed fancy, but then, what didn't in Las Vegas? She hoped it wasn't actually high class enough to worry strictly about security. Getting patted down would be awkward at best.
Fortunately, the restaurant was easy enough to access and didn't force her to cut through the hotel proper. As she walked towards it, Kimberly noticed a few things. The building was more or less empty, aside from a young woman sitting at the window—surely the one she'd come here to meet. There were staff, yes, but no other customers. The woman herself was wearing a nice dress, and the staff had on suits. Kimberly opened the door, stepped inside, scanned the room. It was all black and white, hard angles and geometric shapes, the only real splashes of color the bottles behind the bar and the huge paintings of naked bodies entwined.
The waiter who approached her eyed her for a moment, but seemed to decide that she belonged. She gave him a nod and followed him to the sole occupied table.
"Hey," Kimberly said. "Sorry I'm late."
She'd driven past the place once, taken a glance, and seen nothing suspicious, but it was hard to tell from the street. Then she'd found a parking place two blocks away, and had taken a little time to straighten herself out.
She'd told herself she'd get the air conditioning in her car looked at in Kingman, but hadn't actually gotten around to it, so she was once again cooling herself on her drive through the desert mostly by keeping the window down. Her hair was tangled; she ran her fingers through it a few times, worked out the densest knots, considered digging her brush out of her luggage in the backseat, and then instead just fished a hair tie out of her pocket and tied a messy ponytail. She finally put on the straw cowboy hat she'd been carting around not wearing the whole trip. It went alright with everything else she had on: black jeans, a blue denim jacket over a black tank top, worn down sneakers. Her clothes were more or less clean; she'd done laundry a few days ago, but she'd also been traveling through the desert in the middle of the day with no AC.
The planning for this had come together near the end of her jaunt to Kingman, and Kimberly had managed to structure her trip to make the timing work without stranding her in the city longer than necessary. She'd been a little reluctant at first, but her lukewarm communication had been met with persistence, and so here she was, locking her car and strolling down The Strip towards The Palazzo, watching the tourists and the locals and the all-night gamblers starting their days early or ending them late. The city made a certain token effort to be pedestrian-friendly, but the roads were so wide she strongly doubted she could throw something from one side to the other, and the lanes going in each direction were separated by a low median of rather sickly looking bushes and tall, thin palm trees that seemed pitiful compared the lush foliage in front of The Mirage on the other side.
She passed the fountains and fake gondolas of The Venetian, spared the comparatively-drab Treasure Island only a brief glance, and then she was walking towards Morels. The hotel it was built into seemed fancy, but then, what didn't in Las Vegas? She hoped it wasn't actually high class enough to worry strictly about security. Getting patted down would be awkward at best.
Fortunately, the restaurant was easy enough to access and didn't force her to cut through the hotel proper. As she walked towards it, Kimberly noticed a few things. The building was more or less empty, aside from a young woman sitting at the window—surely the one she'd come here to meet. There were staff, yes, but no other customers. The woman herself was wearing a nice dress, and the staff had on suits. Kimberly opened the door, stepped inside, scanned the room. It was all black and white, hard angles and geometric shapes, the only real splashes of color the bottles behind the bar and the huge paintings of naked bodies entwined.
The waiter who approached her eyed her for a moment, but seemed to decide that she belonged. She gave him a nod and followed him to the sole occupied table.
"Hey," Kimberly said. "Sorry I'm late."
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Ruggahissy
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Mara saw Kim enter the restaurant; her gaze had been more or less fixed on the door. But when she saw the girl come through the door she quickly looked down as if she were studying the menu. It was the furtive glance of someone not wanting someone to have seen them looking at them.
She pretended she was very focused on the offerings and the wine list until she heard her voice from above. Mara looked up and her face spread into a warm smile in response.
"No need to apologize," she said, deciding not to mention that she was also late. Mara stood and noticed that she was actually a few inches taller than her guest due to her heeled boots. Without them, they were the same height. She wasn't used to being taller than someone.
"Thanks for coming. How was the trip?" Mara said. She hesitated, trying to consider what would be the correct gesture of greeting -- certainly not a hug or kiss on the cheek. A handshake seemed like a bad choice, too. Mara instead pulled out a chair and lightly touched Kim on the small of the back as if to guide her before sitting down again.
She looked just like Mara thought she would; she looked like a traveler. In another life she might have looked down on Kim or tried to use a backhanded compliment by calling her "bohemian." That wasn't the case now. She stopped looking at Kim, concerned that she might become irritated and leave early on.
"Order anything you like. It's on me," she said quietly to the menu, tracing items with her finger as she went down the list.
She pretended she was very focused on the offerings and the wine list until she heard her voice from above. Mara looked up and her face spread into a warm smile in response.
"No need to apologize," she said, deciding not to mention that she was also late. Mara stood and noticed that she was actually a few inches taller than her guest due to her heeled boots. Without them, they were the same height. She wasn't used to being taller than someone.
"Thanks for coming. How was the trip?" Mara said. She hesitated, trying to consider what would be the correct gesture of greeting -- certainly not a hug or kiss on the cheek. A handshake seemed like a bad choice, too. Mara instead pulled out a chair and lightly touched Kim on the small of the back as if to guide her before sitting down again.
She looked just like Mara thought she would; she looked like a traveler. In another life she might have looked down on Kim or tried to use a backhanded compliment by calling her "bohemian." That wasn't the case now. She stopped looking at Kim, concerned that she might become irritated and leave early on.
"Order anything you like. It's on me," she said quietly to the menu, tracing items with her finger as she went down the list.
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MurderWeasel
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Kimberly let Mara guide her into her seat without any pause due to the familiarity, then took off her hat and set it on the table next to the menu, which she did not yet touch. The waiter retreated, but not completely; he gave the pair room enough for privacy, but stood close enough to swoop in once it looked like the two were ready to order. Kimberly smiled back for Mara.
"Thanks," she said, laying her hand on the menu. She turned it over, glanced over it briefly. "For treating me and meeting me. The drive has been okay. It's warm out."
She shrugged off her jacket, letting it drape over the back of the chair. This was a moment she'd built for herself, one she brought out every so often when the situation felt right. The straps of the tank top she wore clearly showed off her shoulders, the pale circle surrounded by a spider-webbing stitchwork of scar on her left standing out against her darker complexion. Normally, this was a dramatic movement, a statement. Here I am, it said, I've been through a lot, so please don't waste my time. But today, it wasn't about putting anyone in their place or off their guard. Today, the message was different: we both know what's up.
There were people outside, going about their own business, none of them paying perceptible attention to the restaurant. Kimberly put them aside in her mind, relegated them to her peripheral vision, but didn't let herself forget them entirely.
She turned the menu over again, skimming it more properly, though quickly. The drinks were extremely expensive, but she wasn't going to be touching alcohol today, not least because she had a long drive ahead of her yet. The food offerings were varied, but she made a decision quickly and looked up at the girl across from her again.
"And how was your trip?" she asked. "You flew?"
"Thanks," she said, laying her hand on the menu. She turned it over, glanced over it briefly. "For treating me and meeting me. The drive has been okay. It's warm out."
She shrugged off her jacket, letting it drape over the back of the chair. This was a moment she'd built for herself, one she brought out every so often when the situation felt right. The straps of the tank top she wore clearly showed off her shoulders, the pale circle surrounded by a spider-webbing stitchwork of scar on her left standing out against her darker complexion. Normally, this was a dramatic movement, a statement. Here I am, it said, I've been through a lot, so please don't waste my time. But today, it wasn't about putting anyone in their place or off their guard. Today, the message was different: we both know what's up.
There were people outside, going about their own business, none of them paying perceptible attention to the restaurant. Kimberly put them aside in her mind, relegated them to her peripheral vision, but didn't let herself forget them entirely.
She turned the menu over again, skimming it more properly, though quickly. The drinks were extremely expensive, but she wasn't going to be touching alcohol today, not least because she had a long drive ahead of her yet. The food offerings were varied, but she made a decision quickly and looked up at the girl across from her again.
"And how was your trip?" she asked. "You flew?"
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Ruggahissy
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"I did. It's a short flight. Easy breezy, you know?" she replied with her inflection ending on an upward tilt.
Mara picked up the menu and held it half up as if it were protecting her chest. Her eyes flitted up when she sensed movement. Kim took her jacket off, placing it on her table and responded to her query. In turn, Mara placed the menu down and put the index finger of left hand to the corner of her mouth as if she were thinking. A jagged, messy scar spanned the length of palm.
She made a motion for the man to come over and ordered a New York sirloin steak, rare, with sautéed green beans and a diet coke.
"Are you doing some desert sightseeing?" she asked, fairly secure in the knowledge that Kim had not become a sudden Southwest nature enthusiast.
Mara picked up the menu and held it half up as if it were protecting her chest. Her eyes flitted up when she sensed movement. Kim took her jacket off, placing it on her table and responded to her query. In turn, Mara placed the menu down and put the index finger of left hand to the corner of her mouth as if she were thinking. A jagged, messy scar spanned the length of palm.
She made a motion for the man to come over and ordered a New York sirloin steak, rare, with sautéed green beans and a diet coke.
"Are you doing some desert sightseeing?" she asked, fairly secure in the knowledge that Kim had not become a sudden Southwest nature enthusiast.
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MurderWeasel
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Kimberly glanced at Mara, let her gaze linger a moment on the girl's hand, smiled wider. Mara summoned the waiter back and ordered, and then he turned to Kimberly.
"I'll have the farm fresh omelet, please," she said to the man, "and water."
He made his way back towards what must have been the kitchen, and Kimberly watched him go, tracing his path through the room, though her attention was on the surroundings as much as the man. She took in the empty tables, all nicely set like they were awaiting occupants. The chandeliers almost matched her tastes, but she wasn't sold on the faux-candle light bulbs. The real deal would be impractical, unsafe, and probably illegal, but the imitation didn't scratch the same itch. A little fire would spice the place up.
"Sightseeing?" Kimberly said, turning back around a few moments after the waiter disappeared from view and responding to Mara's question a hair belatedly. "Sort of. I spent a bit over a week outside Kingman. There's this big park nearby. It had a lot more trees than I expected."
"I'll have the farm fresh omelet, please," she said to the man, "and water."
He made his way back towards what must have been the kitchen, and Kimberly watched him go, tracing his path through the room, though her attention was on the surroundings as much as the man. She took in the empty tables, all nicely set like they were awaiting occupants. The chandeliers almost matched her tastes, but she wasn't sold on the faux-candle light bulbs. The real deal would be impractical, unsafe, and probably illegal, but the imitation didn't scratch the same itch. A little fire would spice the place up.
"Sightseeing?" Kimberly said, turning back around a few moments after the waiter disappeared from view and responding to Mara's question a hair belatedly. "Sort of. I spent a bit over a week outside Kingman. There's this big park nearby. It had a lot more trees than I expected."
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Ruggahissy
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"Hmm..." she said slowly and raised her eyebrows in the way that people do when told an interesting piece of trivia.
She had something she wanted to say; she also wanted to come out and ask Kim what she was doing in Kingman. Even without an answer, Mara could at least make a guess. She weighed her curiosity for further understanding of Kim's motivations against the likelihood that Kim would decide the conversation was over, dump the omelet into her hat and leave. Mara referred to an old reporter trick she had learned while on the school newspaper a lifetime ago and put a pin in that one for now.
The waiter arrived with the drinks and bread. Mara took her drink and slid it closer with her left hand while extending her right hand to lie across the table. Without other people present, the ice clinking against the glass was the ambient noise.
There Kim was, living and breathing across from her. She knew it wasn't fair, but her jealousy pricked her slightly and she became aware of her exposed skin. Mara shifted and crossed her legs and her foot lightly bumped Kim's leg.
Kim wasn't like her and "Kenny;" she had 30 classmates. The cruel man had said as much. Kim was so different from “Kenny" but much more familiar. Kim was a barbed puzzle box of trying to navigate the right path, but it wasn't altogether an unpleasant thing to be in Mara's view. Puzzles were fun -- even dangerous ones. She started to say something and caught herself.
"T-"
She started again.
"How are you? Generally?"
She had something she wanted to say; she also wanted to come out and ask Kim what she was doing in Kingman. Even without an answer, Mara could at least make a guess. She weighed her curiosity for further understanding of Kim's motivations against the likelihood that Kim would decide the conversation was over, dump the omelet into her hat and leave. Mara referred to an old reporter trick she had learned while on the school newspaper a lifetime ago and put a pin in that one for now.
The waiter arrived with the drinks and bread. Mara took her drink and slid it closer with her left hand while extending her right hand to lie across the table. Without other people present, the ice clinking against the glass was the ambient noise.
There Kim was, living and breathing across from her. She knew it wasn't fair, but her jealousy pricked her slightly and she became aware of her exposed skin. Mara shifted and crossed her legs and her foot lightly bumped Kim's leg.
Kim wasn't like her and "Kenny;" she had 30 classmates. The cruel man had said as much. Kim was so different from “Kenny" but much more familiar. Kim was a barbed puzzle box of trying to navigate the right path, but it wasn't altogether an unpleasant thing to be in Mara's view. Puzzles were fun -- even dangerous ones. She started to say something and caught herself.
"T-"
She started again.
"How are you? Generally?"
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MurderWeasel
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"I'm generally fine," Kimberly said, allowing the small invasion of her space to pass unacknowledged.
Instead, she frowned at her glass of water. She'd been caught up enough in the moment that she'd neglected to ask for her drink without ice, and while it wasn't as big a deal for water as it was for a beverage with actual flavor, it still irritated her just a little bit. She'd never liked ice in her drinks; anything too cold just tasted like ice, and that wasn't touching how it changed the balance of flavors through dilution or bumped up against her lips and froze them or slipped into her mouth and forced her to choose between suffering the horrible sensation of chewing it, enduring the slow melting process, or spitting it back into her cup.
She eyed the basket of bread, picked up a piece, took a bite. It was good. Bread wasn't one of those things she put much thought into, but at the sort of place that put out bread baskets it was often tastier than the meal proper. She chewed slowly, remembering her manners in the middle and belatedly spreading her napkin over her lap to catch crumbs. She washed the bite down with a sip from her glass.
Just like she'd expected, the water was too cold.
She hadn't been ignoring Mara, not exactly. Kimberly had kept up good enough eye contact without falling into her usual pattern of staring her conversational partners down. She had, however, been content to craft a pause for herself. That was one of the good things about conversing over a meal: it made it easier to pace the discourse.
She set her glass back down, hating the way it chilled her fingertips.
"And you?" she said. "Are you handling everything alright?"
Instead, she frowned at her glass of water. She'd been caught up enough in the moment that she'd neglected to ask for her drink without ice, and while it wasn't as big a deal for water as it was for a beverage with actual flavor, it still irritated her just a little bit. She'd never liked ice in her drinks; anything too cold just tasted like ice, and that wasn't touching how it changed the balance of flavors through dilution or bumped up against her lips and froze them or slipped into her mouth and forced her to choose between suffering the horrible sensation of chewing it, enduring the slow melting process, or spitting it back into her cup.
She eyed the basket of bread, picked up a piece, took a bite. It was good. Bread wasn't one of those things she put much thought into, but at the sort of place that put out bread baskets it was often tastier than the meal proper. She chewed slowly, remembering her manners in the middle and belatedly spreading her napkin over her lap to catch crumbs. She washed the bite down with a sip from her glass.
Just like she'd expected, the water was too cold.
She hadn't been ignoring Mara, not exactly. Kimberly had kept up good enough eye contact without falling into her usual pattern of staring her conversational partners down. She had, however, been content to craft a pause for herself. That was one of the good things about conversing over a meal: it made it easier to pace the discourse.
She set her glass back down, hating the way it chilled her fingertips.
"And you?" she said. "Are you handling everything alright?"
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Ruggahissy
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Mara studied her, eyes roving over Kim and she tried the bread. Having someone ask about her was unexpected.
"Always," she said as soon as the question was asked. Her breathing picked up. She spread her own napkin over her lap and looked down at it for a moment.
"I've always been able to take care of myself," she said, slower. "There are two items that I wanted to discuss with you, just between us girls."
Mara re-crossed her legs and pulled her hand back in to rest fingers laced with her other hand.
"It's not that I'm telling you to do anything or suggesting that you do anything, but do you think you'd ever consider talking to the survivor, if -- when he comes home? Besides you and I there's another from years ago. I tracked him down a few weeks ago and it -- uh, it occurred to me how difficult the process of reintegration is.... in a situation like this."
She stopped for a moment.
"For others" she added quickly.
"Always," she said as soon as the question was asked. Her breathing picked up. She spread her own napkin over her lap and looked down at it for a moment.
"I've always been able to take care of myself," she said, slower. "There are two items that I wanted to discuss with you, just between us girls."
Mara re-crossed her legs and pulled her hand back in to rest fingers laced with her other hand.
"It's not that I'm telling you to do anything or suggesting that you do anything, but do you think you'd ever consider talking to the survivor, if -- when he comes home? Besides you and I there's another from years ago. I tracked him down a few weeks ago and it -- uh, it occurred to me how difficult the process of reintegration is.... in a situation like this."
She stopped for a moment.
"For others" she added quickly.
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MurderWeasel
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"It's important to be able to take care of yourself," Kimberly said, as much to buy a moment in which to pick her next, more important words as to communicate any agreement.
There was something interesting in what Mara had told her, something Kimberly hadn't known. She could take a guess or two as to who and what the girl was talking about, but it was no better than conjecture. Her first impulse was to ask immediately, but she paused, weighing her own motivations as she took another bite of bread, which she chewed without tasting. Did she care about the answer, or was her curiosity just aroused by the phrasing?
And then there was the other little issue. That one, at least, she had a quicker response for, another thing to say while she considered.
"I don't know about talking," Kimberly said. "Maybe if whoever it is—he, you said?—maybe if he asked me to talk. Maybe. I don't know why he would, though. And, you know, I really don't know why I'd want to talk to him."
She took a quick glance each direction, making sure the waiter wasn't returning, though it was so soon there was no way their food would be ready, and double checking that nobody outside was paying them undo mind. Confirming their relative privacy, she looked Mara straight in the eyes.
"I talked to a lot of people when I came home. Some were useful. Most were not. One of the best things anyone told me was that she couldn't help me a bit."
She kept her gaze steady as she shifted gears. She'd found her answer.
"You said there's another. Another what?"
There was something interesting in what Mara had told her, something Kimberly hadn't known. She could take a guess or two as to who and what the girl was talking about, but it was no better than conjecture. Her first impulse was to ask immediately, but she paused, weighing her own motivations as she took another bite of bread, which she chewed without tasting. Did she care about the answer, or was her curiosity just aroused by the phrasing?
And then there was the other little issue. That one, at least, she had a quicker response for, another thing to say while she considered.
"I don't know about talking," Kimberly said. "Maybe if whoever it is—he, you said?—maybe if he asked me to talk. Maybe. I don't know why he would, though. And, you know, I really don't know why I'd want to talk to him."
She took a quick glance each direction, making sure the waiter wasn't returning, though it was so soon there was no way their food would be ready, and double checking that nobody outside was paying them undo mind. Confirming their relative privacy, she looked Mara straight in the eyes.
"I talked to a lot of people when I came home. Some were useful. Most were not. One of the best things anyone told me was that she couldn't help me a bit."
She kept her gaze steady as she shifted gears. She'd found her answer.
"You said there's another. Another what?"
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Ruggahissy
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"Min Jae," Mara said quietly, aware of Kim's steely gaze on her, leaning toward her dining partner.
"He's the one from Kingman which you were just in for the foliage?" she said, keeping her voice even, though there was a slight element of irony. It had been a few days since the broadcast ended.
"What you did was different. I think you talked to those people for yourself." Mara lost the staring contest when Kim instead asked about the other survivor she'd tracked down. Mara blushed and she drew back, looking a bit angry.
"Another… final survivor of Survival of the Fittest," she said looking away. She didn't want to say "winner." The term didn't feel appropriate.
"From the second incident. Danya told me he was the only other one besides you and I -- and I guess your classmates -- that was still alive." she set through set teeth.
"He's the one from Kingman which you were just in for the foliage?" she said, keeping her voice even, though there was a slight element of irony. It had been a few days since the broadcast ended.
"What you did was different. I think you talked to those people for yourself." Mara lost the staring contest when Kim instead asked about the other survivor she'd tracked down. Mara blushed and she drew back, looking a bit angry.
"Another… final survivor of Survival of the Fittest," she said looking away. She didn't want to say "winner." The term didn't feel appropriate.
"From the second incident. Danya told me he was the only other one besides you and I -- and I guess your classmates -- that was still alive." she set through set teeth.
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MurderWeasel
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Kimberly smiled wider when Mara clarified, and as the girl broke eye contact, she allowed her own gaze to drift away again. Final survivor? Alright. It was a good answer, one that passed the test she'd only half-consciously slipped into. She'd been right, then: they both knew where they stood, both understood in a way most people couldn't. She picked up her chunk of bread, turned it around in her hands, and looked out the window.
"I guess I'm glad he's still out there," Kimberly said. "I never had a clue what happened to him. I respect that."
Cars passed. A faint breeze sent a ripple through the fronds of the palm trees outside, and she imagined how it would feel. She set the bread back down without taking a bite.
"I heard on the radio there might be others, from 2007. Maybe it's true, maybe not."
She shrugged, but she'd been driving so much and sleeping more or less on the ground and so her shoulder wasn't doing great. The flash of pain was sudden, over almost as soon as it arrived, but she let it make her wince.
"I don't know why I went to Kingman," she said. "I don't know anything about anyone who was taken."
She was letting her posture relax, her tone turn casual. It was strange, saying out loud what she'd known all along. She had no regrets about her trip, though, even if nothing she'd encountered had met what scant expectations she'd held.
"I went to Seattle too. I left a little before you got back, I think."
"I guess I'm glad he's still out there," Kimberly said. "I never had a clue what happened to him. I respect that."
Cars passed. A faint breeze sent a ripple through the fronds of the palm trees outside, and she imagined how it would feel. She set the bread back down without taking a bite.
"I heard on the radio there might be others, from 2007. Maybe it's true, maybe not."
She shrugged, but she'd been driving so much and sleeping more or less on the ground and so her shoulder wasn't doing great. The flash of pain was sudden, over almost as soon as it arrived, but she let it make her wince.
"I don't know why I went to Kingman," she said. "I don't know anything about anyone who was taken."
She was letting her posture relax, her tone turn casual. It was strange, saying out loud what she'd known all along. She had no regrets about her trip, though, even if nothing she'd encountered had met what scant expectations she'd held.
"I went to Seattle too. I left a little before you got back, I think."