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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 1, 2011 3:21:41 GMT -8
Charlotte smiled lopsidedly, making a mental note of his directions. Hopefully that path would get her out of the mansion without any more trouble. I swear if I run into the Smoking Man again I will punch him in the face. All she wanted to do was get back to the hotel and relax. Possibly take a hot bath. And hopefully see David. She would have to give him a call after she got back to her car.
“I’ll be all right. If I drove from the lumbermill to the hotel with a concussion... I think driving still dealing with a bit of reaction will be a piece of cake. I might actually remember this drive.”
Her brow furrowed a little when Mister Stewart apologised softly. That capped it; he was DEFINITELY apologising for something more than just what she went through and how Michael had acted. But what? More oddness.
“It’s okay. I wouldn’t do anything differently.” And as much as she hated that the Smoking Man had managed to manipulate her so thoroughly... she wouldn’t. Her conscience wouldn’t let her. And with that, she slipped out the door of the office.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 1, 2011 3:44:17 GMT -8
"...Be safe. Stay in touch."
Watching the girl leave, Mister Stewart sat in silence...turning about to face his monitors again once he was sure she was gone. Switching the view, he turned it back to the sitting room where Michael had had his fit, wondering what the boy was doing now...and there he was, cigarette held between his lips as he knelt to pick up the mess that he had made. His eyes were deadened, head low...but his expression was blank, as if nothing at all had just happened.
The older man checked the readouts from the test again. They were the same as they had been. The same results he couldn't share with Charlotte...the results that said the hair was Michael's. The signs all pointed the same way, as much as Mister Stewart didn't want to see it - couldn't bear to see it. What it meant...it was too painful, too difficult to think of. He placed his head in his hands, shutting his eyes tightly behind the lenses of his mask.
"Michael...what have I done to you...?"
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In the other room, Michael placed the last of the dishes onto the knocked-over tray, watching the ashes fall from the cigarette between his lips. Sitting back on his heels, he took it between his fingers, looking it over for a long moment...before rolling up his sleeve to put it out amongst all the scars.
Wincing only briefly, he rolled his sleeve back down, standing with the tray.
...I think I'll prepare a roast chicken for dinner, he thought to himself dimly as he started to re-set the table he had knocked over.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 1, 2011 4:19:07 GMT -8
Charlotte started back through the mansion, using Mister Stewart’s direction. Occasionally her eyes flicked to one of the numerous security cameras set up throughout the building. He certainly did have a lot of security. Then again... he might have cause for it. Her brow furrowed slightly. Why does that bother me? Another one of those things that felt odd in some way but that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Maybe a bit of rest and relaxation would help.
That’s odd, she thought, her attention drawn by something. There was a room off the dining room (marked “Private Quarters”) that locked... from the outside. With an electric lock. What the hell? Shiver running down her spine, she continued on.
Things only got odder when she reached the room with the piano... which was completely devoid of ash. She wasn’t sure if it was reassuring or not. Fuck... where’d I drop my cane? It was her father’s... and the thought of having lost it tore at her heart.
What the-
There it was... sitting in the umbrella bin in the entryway. Charlotte hesitantly reached for it, gingerly pulling it from its surprising resting place. Disturbed, she made her way to the front door... only to notice that it was slightly ajar. A prickly sensation ran down her spine, and she shivered. Definitely time to get out of here.
Taking the front steps two at a time, she practically ran to her car, only to be distracted by something. Behind the fence near where she’d parked her car were a few cars. Including the limo. But there was one... She drifted closer, studying it thoughtfully. It was a station wagon, looked old but still fairly nice. Except for one thing. The passenger side window was taped up. It didn’t look shattered, but there were a couple of long cracks...
That prickly sensation intensified and combined with a cold chill.
That’s... familiar. But she’d never seen that car before. So... that just wasn’t possible. Was it? Thoroughly spooked, she quickly climbed into her car and drove off. Possibly a bit faster than was necessary.
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