Yes, I know there should be more than this by now. Way more. Excuses have been as abundant as ever, and I’ve spent very little time writing over the last two weeks, but it’s time to get it together and post something, so here ya go: ‘Consequences’: scene 1.
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It was bound to happen I guess.
Truth be told, I’d expected it sooner, but now, as I sat there in that room, as alone a man could be, I could only wish that I had more time.
Time to say goodbye, time to right my wrongs, time to spend in any of the numberless places I’d rather be at this moment; away for my responsibilty; from my call.
But my time was up.
One of the the two fluorescent tubes above my head was out. That was the only change since last time. Same bolted-down table and chairs, same cameras. The reinforced glass panel in the door was the only break from the gray walls and grey ceiling, and nothing ever happened on the other side.
I wished I could kill the genius who put that window there. The guy who built this whole, boring closet, and decided to force me to stare at the same boring part of it for eternity, a glimmer of freedom dangled just out of reach.
Leaving the light burnt out was a nice touch though, made the atmosphere just a little more depressing, and put off a vibe of neglect like they might forget you in there too, and let you starve to death. That’s the sort of thing that makes a good interrogation room, or in this case, a “waiting room”. The distinction coming from the handcuffs which had secured me to the table on my last visit.
I suppose that was different too.
She didn’t knock, but why should she? If there were a name on the building, it would be hers. She shut the door behind her, and took a seat in the chair across the table before speaking.
“Mr. Allen.”
I nodded. “Susie.”
Susan Keller would have been pretty if she didn’t spend so much time being the man. One whiff of her airs, and it was clear who wore the pantsuit in this corporation. Her shoes were tight, her hair was tight, and her manner was tight. Oh, and she hates it when you call her ‘Susie’. Predictable.
“Do you know why you’re here?” She asked. Ms. Keller always had a file with her. Today’s, she placed on the table, turning it for my perspective.
“I hope not.” I said, even as her expression confirmed my fears. She said nothing, only pushing the folder toward me with her fingertips. I accepted it, refusing to allow my hand to tremble. The manila folder sat directly in front of me, unlabeled, save for the cliched ‘classified’ stamp. I pushed it away, unopened.
“How did she get out?”
She sat back in her chair, finally letting what must have been a long day’s frustration escape in a sigh. “I’m not sure anyone can hold on to Patience. Not anymore.” She leaned in. “My guys are the best. You just take a look at that file and tell me what I could have done!”
“Can’t you keep her sedated? Some drugs still work in strong doses...and it weakens when you’re hungry--maybe if you...rationed...”
As I spoke, she shook her head faster and faster. “Allen, we’re not interested in holding her here again. We won’t.”
“Nobody else will hold her.”
“No one else can. And now neither can we. I can’t risk more lives.”
“No, no, no. We had a deal!”
“She killed three of my men!” Susan scooped up the folder, and began to slap papers down in front of me; personnel files. The faces of three dead men stared me down. Lizzie, what have you done? Susan continued. “The terms of our agreement have expired.”
Grant Simpson: Security, Thomas Cardosa: Security, Scott James: Patient care. Two guards and a nurse. Excuses circled in my mind. Maybe the guards fired on her. Maybe the nurse got caught in a blast. No excuse for me, though. Whatever happened, it was my fault.
A photograph was stapled behind every personnel sheet. I lifted the corner of the first; a crime scene shot of Mr. Simpson’s remains. I straightened, my hands in my hair. “What do you want from me? I can’t reason with her. I--I tried.”
“Reason with her?” Indignation. “I don’t care if you can rock her to sleep, we’re not interested in negotiation! She is an extremely dangerous killer, and a terrorist. A death warrant has been issued, and this organization is cooperating fully with the FBI in the manhunt for Patience Elizabeth Allen.”
I lept to my feet. “You brought me here to tell me that?” I demanded. “She’s my sister!”
“Oh, I’m well aware of that. And no, your presence here is a part of our cooperation. You are going to help us find her.”
“I won’t help you kill my sister!”
“Mm, but you will. You see, I don’t think you want any more deaths on your conscience.”
Angry, I slammed my hands down on the metal table surface. “I didn’t do that!” I jabbed my finger at the open file. “This is not on me!”
The tiniest hint of a smirk threatened her unimpressed frown. “I haven’t accused you, Mr. Allen. Frankly, I can’t comprehend why you feel so responsible for your sister’s actions. ...Is it a twin thing? I meant, of course, that you would be responsible if you did not help us.”
“You said ‘more deaths’.”
“Did I?” Now, it was a smirk. “Regardless, willing or not, you will help us find Patience.”
“Willing or not?” I displayed my wrists. “I think you forgot the handcuffs. And the warrant.”
“You’re not a prisoner;” She stood, and made a show of swinging the door wide open. “You’re free to go. We just thought you’d feel safer here, as we believe your sister is trying to find you.”
But of course she was. I began to pace my side of the room; it was so narrow I was practically walking in a tight circle. “We haven’t spoken in years...why would she want anything to do with me?”
“She never stopped asking about you. At first, we told her we didn’t allow visitors, but eventually she realized that you had completely abandoned her. It was shortly after our last conversation about you that she escaped.”
“You think she’ll try to kill me? She wouldn’t...”
“I think she’ll succeed if you don’t tell us how to stop her.”
“You want me to be the bait?”
“Would you prefer ‘victim’?”
I collapsed back into my seat, tears welling in my eyes. “She’s my sister.”
Three dead faces had no mercy. Susan Keller gave them a voice. “She is a killer.”
I broke.
It was quiet for a while. I could only sit, rocking back and forth, weeping silently for Lizzie, and for myself. In my wringing hands, a fourth portrait crumpled, a face I knew better than any other; my childhood, my regrets, my blood.
Minutes passed. Susan was still staring at me, emotionless. Feebly, I opened my clasped hands. The face was unrecognizable, a blotted and runny mess from my tears. Above the featureless picture, two words read clear in bold print. ‘Extremely Dangerous’. I took a deep, shaky breath, and looked up. “She’s stronger than she used to be--I don’t even know what she’s capable of anymore.”
She looked relieved. “Then I’d say it’s time we brought you up to speed.”
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And now, a preview of next week’s episode!
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When she’s angry, it seems like the whole world is angry. The way the leaves are moving--it can’t just be the wind.
“I can’t believe she said that!”
I’ve got to calm her down before the treehouse falls out of the tree. “Who cares what Kirstie says? She’s just a stupid teenager like the rest of ‘em.”
“A stupid teenager who has no idea what she’s dealing with. Just that look on her face!” Is that smoke coming from the wooden floor by her hands? “I could’ve...I could’ve...”
“Hurt her? What good would that do? You’ll get yourself locked up!”
“Hmph. Locked up.” I don’t like that look. “What do they make jail cells out of these days?”
“Here it is. Ceramic composite, just like you specified. We followed your instructions exactly.” My tour guide knocked indicatively on the white wall of the cell, jarring me from my memory. “If any room coulda held her in, it would’ve been this one.”
It did appear that they had followed my instructions, but surely I didn’t mean for it to be so small. The thought that Lizzie had been confined to this tiny room for nearly two years was sickening. The thought that she might justifiably blame me was terrifying...
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