Layla paused in the hallway, looking into the rec room where a young woman was bent over a spilled bag, moving with frantic precision. Something small had skittered slightly farther away than everything else, and Layla walked quietly into the room, kneeling and lifting up what appeared, upon closer examination, to be a tattoo ink cartridge. She held it out at arm's length to the other woman.
She didn't say anything yet. She was ninety percent sure that a similar look had been on her own face more than once since showing up on the island. The knowledge of that feeling was something she didn't like carrying, and it was mirrored in her own eyes, now.
"Fuck," Lisbeth expelled on an irritated, half-panicked breath. "Fuck, that's mine." She took the cartridge and shoved it into the rucksack, though not without some small bit of care. It could be useful later in trade or something.
"I'd guessed," Layla said simply, dropping her hand, and crossing her arms over her knees, staying crouched.
"Something rattle you?" she asked, willing to put money on it being either the sudden appearance of all the items in front of her or something from the bookshelf that would prompt her to actually drop them.
"All of this shit rattled me," Lisbeth said, biting off the words. This island and its warmth and how friendly the people were-- in her shock she wanted to speak instead of go numb. That was a problem.
"What does this place do to people who come here, who need to be put away?"
They were both good questions, by Layla's count. She gave them a moment's consideration.
"The same thing it does to everyone else. Makes them feel safe," she said, thinking of general patterns, "which usually ends up making them feel stupid."
"That's not what I meant." Lisbeth tapped the DVD on her knee. "This is a reminder that if a certain man comes here, I have to make sure he's in jail or dead. This clean slate shit doesn't work for everyone."
She didn't want to imagine Bjurman in this population, with so many vulnerable girls. She would have to put a bullet in his head first.
Ah, a better question. Layla pursed her lips a little.
"Wait until they do whatever is it they did again, here, or if that doesn't appeal, find some way to make it look like an accident, I guess." She shrugged, gaze turned momentarily inward.
"If you don't like waiting and you don't want to pull the trigger yourself, so to speak, you don't have much choice but going to the Island's Intelligence Bureau and the police and telling them about whoever this guy is, and hope they do their jobs before he does... whatever it is he does."
"He's a sadist, a pig, and a rapist," Lisbeth said flatly. There was a certain knowing air around the other woman such that Lisbeth was sure she wouldn't have to explain how she knew it. "And a coward, so there would be time."
She didn't look or sound convinced even slightly of the soundness of waiting. "I couldn't take the risk that they would let him go."
Numb as she was, Lisbeth raised an eyebrow. It was actually a huge difference in expression for her usually blank face. "And you would know a former superhero or ninja," she said.
"I know all of them," Layla said with as much of a smile as she was usually inclined to display. She didn't have an M tattooed over her eye for nothing. The hero part could sometimes be debatable, but at the end of the day, skills were skills.
"And there are, some places. They may be a little less super, here, but all that does mostly is make them more inclined to jump at the chance to be useful."
She didn't say anything yet. She was ninety percent sure that a similar look had been on her own face more than once since showing up on the island. The knowledge of that feeling was something she didn't like carrying, and it was mirrored in her own eyes, now.
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The little video camera was still there too.
Her heart pounded with possibility.
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"Something rattle you?" she asked, willing to put money on it being either the sudden appearance of all the items in front of her or something from the bookshelf that would prompt her to actually drop them.
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"What does this place do to people who come here, who need to be put away?"
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"The same thing it does to everyone else. Makes them feel safe," she said, thinking of general patterns, "which usually ends up making them feel stupid."
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She didn't want to imagine Bjurman in this population, with so many vulnerable girls. She would have to put a bullet in his head first.
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"Wait until they do whatever is it they did again, here, or if that doesn't appeal, find some way to make it look like an accident, I guess." She shrugged, gaze turned momentarily inward.
"If you don't like waiting and you don't want to pull the trigger yourself, so to speak, you don't have much choice but going to the Island's Intelligence Bureau and the police and telling them about whoever this guy is, and hope they do their jobs before he does... whatever it is he does."
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She didn't look or sound convinced even slightly of the soundness of waiting. "I couldn't take the risk that they would let him go."
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You didn't spend some of your teenage years in a concentration camp and not run into sadists.
"You could probably hire a former super hero or ninja to trail him," she adds, as the thought occurs.
"To keep things above board."
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"No such thing as a superhero."
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"And there are, some places. They may be a little less super, here, but all that does mostly is make them more inclined to jump at the chance to be useful."
She held her hand out.
"Layla Miller."
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