He nods, patting the pocket that it's safely folded into. "Yeah...it's not too far from here, actually. We could probably walk there quicker than going to the car. How's the rain?" He peeks out from under his umbrella. The rain was a dark blanket pressing in on them. He didn't like it as much as he used to. It made him feel isolated. "Doesn't look like it's going to let up anytime soon."
"Yeah, it's coming down. The rain puts me to sleep." She smiles, as well as one can when you're scrunching up one side of your face in irritation at the moisture. "The sound of it, anyways. I liked the snow better." She hops a little to evade a puddle, stepping down from the promenade to walk along the street with him. "I was worried I wouldn't remember it well," she continues in a lower register. "It's been more than a year since we came back... I think I'm pretty good, though." Due, no doubt, to having to repeat it from time to time. Whenever she meets someone new who hears whisperings about a tragic past from someone old, or when they ask her about the scar on her face, across her collarbone, along her arm, take your pick. She raises her umbrella up a bit, to be perfectly sure that she's not at risk of nudging it into his face. "You?"
"Yeah....I hope so, anyway..." He has far less confidence in his presentation. Despite their story being burned into his memory by repeating it so many times when they first got back, he's not sure he can say it convincingly anymore. It seems so far away, while what actually happened- well, he wondered if that would ever fade. He's starting to doubt it. "I remember all the names and dates, I'm just...nervous, I guess." If he didn't have to hold the umbrella, he'd stick both hands in his pockets.
"Yeah." She gives him a look of commiseration. "Just, remember that this might not fly no matter how good we are. They just... might not be in a place where they can listen to the possibilities right now. How it goes is probably more in their hands than in yours." She shifts her grip to free up a hand to pat his shoulder, though it's a little awkward reaching across the distance that their two umbrellas necessitate. "And both of us being there, it's gotta be easier than it was telling it to that precinct captain with the unpronouncable last name."
Henry fidgets with the tapes in Eileen's purse for the entire car ride. By the end, he's still unsure he's got it right, but it might be passable.
Eileen may pull herself together in the amount of time it takes to walk up to the desk, but Henry has to do everything just to keep from looking like he belongs inside. He can really only make himself look like he's out of it, so he does that rather than trying to be pleasant or friendly.
He's incredibly relieved as well when the guard just tells them to sign in. He does so, then finds a spot against a back wall to lean.
Dr. Kazan doesn't take very long. He's a older man, with peppered hair and kind eyes, and he talks to Eileen as soon as he comes out. "Hello, Mrs. DeAngelis told me you were both coming. It's good to meet you, Miss...Galvin, is it not?"
"Mm hmm. And this is Henry. Townshend. It's nice to meet you," she replies, warmly shaking his hand, though she can't entirely erase stress from her face. Being here under the auspices of friends of a troubled runaway, though, that's luckily not too likely to count against her. "Thanks so much for seeing us on such short notice. I know... this must be a hard time around here." And it's not even empty sympathy; she remembers the odd, delicate way that some of the doctors and nurses in St. Jerome's looked at her when she returned after disappearing from within their walls and their care
( ... )
"Yeah..." Eileen can probably tell that this is Henry's automatic response, that he's not thinking about what she's talking about right now. He does seem to eventually drift back to attentiveness, though, and he adds, "Uh...I guess it's better to make it look more comfortable? I don't know."
He eventually gets up and walks around, feeling too anxious to read. He looks at the paintings on the wall, on the portraits they have near the window. They seem to be the therapists at the hospital, and-
Her automatic response is a distracted mumbled, "Hmm?" The hush in his voice only registers after. At full attention now, she flips the magazine closed in her lap and gives him a look of concern. Only, he's not looking back. Following his eyesight to the little array of staff physician plaques, middle-aged men and women smiling comfortingly out from above small bronze nameplates
( ... )
True to her word a couple hours earlier, once home, she winds up with alcohol in hand. Sleep will be difficult to come by tonight, she doesn't want to be a depressed and tired zombie tomorrow morning, and honestly, finding out that there are two endangered lives you need to protect is a decent occasion if she's ever heard of one. The wine would not be appropriate, so that leaves the strawberry liqueur to start creating a water ring on her glass coffee table
( ... )
"Well, unless we got the wrong tape....I'd say it's pretty likely. I don't know if we're going to see anything on it right now, though." If they did, maybe it'd be another indication they should move again. Or maybe just an indication of how much they'd been affected. Henry is not about to suggest they go back to South Ashfield and start shoving tapes under doors.
He feels as exhausted as Eileen seems, but yes, they need to talk this out. "We can try them now, but...if they don't have anything, I think we should still hold onto them. Eileen..." He sits down on the couch, next to her. "Was there anything you noticed about the place they disappeared? It sounded like a pretty normal spot, but..." But Toluca seemed normal. So did South Ashfield Heights.
Lesson #1 in lying and/or not being entirely forthright: When someone asks you about it, assume they asked innocently. Answering 'Hey, have you seen my dog?' with 'NO my bumper's fine!', world's biggest tip-off. But, uh, Eileen's not real good at this stuff. She seems to balk, and sounds uncertain when she responds, "Why would you ask?" She fiddles a little with the curled-up edge of a fresh label on the #3 tape. To put it in now or not? Kind of rude, and distracting and weird, but if they've got 10 hours of video to get through sooner or later, maybe she ought to go get them started...
Oh, damn. He thought she might be a little defensive about that. He rubs the back of his neck and thinks of a good way to put it. "It's just...uh, now that we know what we're dealing with, here, I thought...maybe there was something that happened, or something you noticed that turned out weird. Or...uh, something." He sighs. "I don't know..." He probably shouldn't have brought it up. But on the off-chance that something odd did occur to her- well, he had to ask.
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Eileen may pull herself together in the amount of time it takes to walk up to the desk, but Henry has to do everything just to keep from looking like he belongs inside. He can really only make himself look like he's out of it, so he does that rather than trying to be pleasant or friendly.
He's incredibly relieved as well when the guard just tells them to sign in. He does so, then finds a spot against a back wall to lean.
Dr. Kazan doesn't take very long. He's a older man, with peppered hair and kind eyes, and he talks to Eileen as soon as he comes out. "Hello, Mrs. DeAngelis told me you were both coming. It's good to meet you, Miss...Galvin, is it not?"
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He eventually gets up and walks around, feeling too anxious to read. He looks at the paintings on the wall, on the portraits they have near the window. They seem to be the therapists at the hospital, and-
Henry freezes. "Oh, god."
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He feels as exhausted as Eileen seems, but yes, they need to talk this out. "We can try them now, but...if they don't have anything, I think we should still hold onto them. Eileen..." He sits down on the couch, next to her. "Was there anything you noticed about the place they disappeared? It sounded like a pretty normal spot, but..." But Toluca seemed normal. So did South Ashfield Heights.
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