(no subject)
“Today’s the day,” is what the guard told Lisbeth that morning at six AM. “I have a package from your lawyer.”
Inside the package were exactly the clothes Lisbeth had asked for, right down to the piercings and massive boots. Putting the piercings back in would prove to be harder than she’d anticipated, most of the holes having closed partially during her time in the hospital. She was careful to run the water in her little sink while she re-pierced herself, to cover the little grunts of pain and wash away the bit of blood. Once she was pleased with the results of her work, she took the scissors to her hair. This had to be done with her guard watching, and Lisbeth was never more aware of the work involved in spiking up her hair to its old heights.
She dressed then, tightening the laces on her boots with a satisfying tug, and returned to the mirror to apply the dark make-up. When Annika had insisted that she dress as she would normally dress, provocatively Goth and punk instead of the demure sweater set most women would wear to their trials, Lisbeth had actually smiled. The woman was smarter than being Kalle Blomkvist’s sister would suggest, despite how badly Lisbeth had wanted to believe otherwise. All of it rattled her and irritated her at the same time, defended by the sister of the man whom she hated for leading her into the humiliation of love.
Once satisfied with her appearance, Lisbeth allowed the guard to put the handcuffs on her and lead her down the long, stark hallway towards the outer doors. Though she’d been confined to isolation, she had to walk through a few populated areas, and was slightly gratified to hear the leering calls of the other prisoners. They knew who she was, for the most part, and the variety of charges that had been leveled at her in the past several months. She refused to smile.
“You understand how this works,” her guard half-informed her, half-questioned. “Don’t do anything stupid.” Lisbeth didn’t blame the woman for warning her. They’d probably told her that Lisbeth was dangerous, crazy, and retarded. It had been a pleasant change when the guard had treated her with cautious, bland respect.
“Yes,” said Lisbeth, mostly because she would like to keep this particular jailer.
The others began the process of unlocking the door. When it opened, the light was blinding to Lisbeth, and strong hands guided her into that light as she squinted and tried to hide her face in a way that didn’t suggest struggle.
Then the hands were no longer on her, and when Lisbeth forced her eyes open against the sunlight, there was no police car waiting for her. There was no street. There were no guards, though her hands were still cuffed firmly behind her back. For several seconds in which she could hear her own breathing like a howling wind, Lisbeth wondered if she really was crazy.
She stood on a beach, the sort of beautiful place she hadn’t seen since leaving St. Lucia and Grenada.
“What the fuck,” she said calmly.
Inside the package were exactly the clothes Lisbeth had asked for, right down to the piercings and massive boots. Putting the piercings back in would prove to be harder than she’d anticipated, most of the holes having closed partially during her time in the hospital. She was careful to run the water in her little sink while she re-pierced herself, to cover the little grunts of pain and wash away the bit of blood. Once she was pleased with the results of her work, she took the scissors to her hair. This had to be done with her guard watching, and Lisbeth was never more aware of the work involved in spiking up her hair to its old heights.
She dressed then, tightening the laces on her boots with a satisfying tug, and returned to the mirror to apply the dark make-up. When Annika had insisted that she dress as she would normally dress, provocatively Goth and punk instead of the demure sweater set most women would wear to their trials, Lisbeth had actually smiled. The woman was smarter than being Kalle Blomkvist’s sister would suggest, despite how badly Lisbeth had wanted to believe otherwise. All of it rattled her and irritated her at the same time, defended by the sister of the man whom she hated for leading her into the humiliation of love.
Once satisfied with her appearance, Lisbeth allowed the guard to put the handcuffs on her and lead her down the long, stark hallway towards the outer doors. Though she’d been confined to isolation, she had to walk through a few populated areas, and was slightly gratified to hear the leering calls of the other prisoners. They knew who she was, for the most part, and the variety of charges that had been leveled at her in the past several months. She refused to smile.
“You understand how this works,” her guard half-informed her, half-questioned. “Don’t do anything stupid.” Lisbeth didn’t blame the woman for warning her. They’d probably told her that Lisbeth was dangerous, crazy, and retarded. It had been a pleasant change when the guard had treated her with cautious, bland respect.
“Yes,” said Lisbeth, mostly because she would like to keep this particular jailer.
The others began the process of unlocking the door. When it opened, the light was blinding to Lisbeth, and strong hands guided her into that light as she squinted and tried to hide her face in a way that didn’t suggest struggle.
Then the hands were no longer on her, and when Lisbeth forced her eyes open against the sunlight, there was no police car waiting for her. There was no street. There were no guards, though her hands were still cuffed firmly behind her back. For several seconds in which she could hear her own breathing like a howling wind, Lisbeth wondered if she really was crazy.
She stood on a beach, the sort of beautiful place she hadn’t seen since leaving St. Lucia and Grenada.
“What the fuck,” she said calmly.