he said he said where we're going i'm dead

[colla_voce]

But it still startles her; she spins around and her head swims, she spins and can't stop, tilting on her axis like the sun dying, crashing, whirling out of control --

- he left cause'a you -

"Please," Eden opens her mouth and Sarah's quavery stupid little voice comes out, hands flashing bloody over the walls, layered over the prints already there,

Comments

[colla_voce]

Red and blue lights flicker like an erratic heartbeat behind her and Eden McCain rolls her eyes drops her hands and lets the black convertible drift like a drunk staggering over to the side of the bridge. Honestly, officer, I'm fine. It takes a lot more than this teeny little bottle these days. Hey, how's your evidence locker looking

[colla_voce]

You wake up and everything you've ever seen in your nightmares is true. Your hands are bound and there's tape on your mouth and there's a man you've never seen before staring at you. He looks like anyone, like someone's uncle, someone's dad, innocuous, even sweet with his little smile and his dorky glasses.

You wake up and the bruise on your head is like a gash in rotting fruit, like if you could just cut out the bad you could walk away and be all right. You wake up and you can't move, you're powerless and while there's tape over your mouth they could do anything, make you do anything. It's like drinking, like the coke you wish for right now, for that little bit of liquid fire in your veins to push you just right, just more, if you just had that you could tear yourself out of this chair - but you don't and what you're realizing now is that your voice, your pretty little mouth, that thrumming power under it, all your suppressed desire, all a little girl's dreams come to life, that's like a drug too

[myfatherstask]

"Eden!" But of course there's nobody there, of course--he looks frantically around, but it's no use. Antinora's succeeded in tearing them apart after all. There's white-hot fury pushing behind his eyes again, because if he can't be afraid, his mind has to compensate somehow. You couldn't make me leave her, or make her leave me, and so you had to do it like this, didn't you? You had to take her--where did you take her--

The monitor flares to life before he can strike it with something, as he'd have invariably done.

"Mr. Suresh?"

The coroner's assistant is short and fat, like all Americans. Mohinder tells himself these things, anyway, lip curling with contempt. He's absolutely determined to hate everything about this country, because it's what Chandra abandoned him for, and if he hadn't, he'd still be alive right now, wouldn't he?

"Dr. Suresh, actually," he corrects, with a hint of impatience that's only going to keep growing the longer he's kept here. He shouldn't have come. His father, he thinks bitterly, wouldn't have even wanted

[myfatherstask]

"Misfiled." Oh, that's fucking rich. "Misfiled. God. Can you really, truly be that inept? Really?" He's in the man's personal space now, his every word dripping acid. "Because he was just a cab driver, is that it? Nobody worth investigating, nobody worth filing properly, just some foreigner, right?"

Weary sigh. "Look, Doctor--"

"Oh, no, I don't blame you. All those important white corpses to process. Someone with a name like 'Chandra Suresh,' I'm sure nobody minded letting him slip through the cracks. I understand perfectlyAnd maybe if he actually meant to be standing up for his father's dignity here, it would be all right to be saying all this. If he were saying it for Chandra, it might be noble somehow, but he's only saying it for himself. Because if it's okay to forget about poor dead Chandra Suresh, if it's socially acceptable here to do that, then who would ever bother to spare Mohinder a second thought