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shoplifter[It's been... a hell of a last two weeks for Laura. She had woken up with a chunk of memory inexplicably gone, uninjured as always, and yet — the faintest scent of blood under her scrubbed nails. She wasn't in a hospital, but some big room with heavy doors and Linda the social worker; her head was bandaged, her look one of bone-deep concern as she sits beside the girl.
Oh. The memory of her recapture sits heavy in her gut. The collar, the chair, the network recording, just before everything vanished from her mind. Linda runs a hand through her hair and explains things basically: Shiloh came, he took her, and he used something on her to control her. But it's fine now — all fine, his body was found, he can't do anything anymore.
Laura looks tiredly skeptical at the whole thing. She asks if she killed anybody. Linda dodges the question, which is answer enough. "We just... what he used might still be in effect, so we're making sure you're back to yourself." Linda knows her bad history with rooms like this. Maybe it's why it's so big and spacious.
But she stays, and days pass, and she's not sure what happens outside. She just knows people are dead, and she hasn't any clue who. There's something terrifying about not remembering if you took a life, even if such an act is too easy for someone like her.
When she's finally cleared to leave, there's a paranoia in her that maybe she isn't.
So she steers clear and packs a bag and runs away into the woods. But she at least leaves Linda little note this time, so she doesn't pull her hair out panicking. Out there where she can find comfort in isolation, she makes herself known on the network; she doesn't use text. It feels like an easy out.]
I do not remember... what happened. I know a man did something to make me hurt people, but...
[A pause, heavy and unsure how to proceed; but the guilt is there to carry her forward.]
I am sorry for any pain or suffering I caused.
I will be staying outside the wall for a little while, to make sure I am not a danger.
[She thought she'd maybe figure out something to say after that, but...
Her mouth just sort of freezes there.]
Oh. The memory of her recapture sits heavy in her gut. The collar, the chair, the network recording, just before everything vanished from her mind. Linda runs a hand through her hair and explains things basically: Shiloh came, he took her, and he used something on her to control her. But it's fine now — all fine, his body was found, he can't do anything anymore.
Laura looks tiredly skeptical at the whole thing. She asks if she killed anybody. Linda dodges the question, which is answer enough. "We just... what he used might still be in effect, so we're making sure you're back to yourself." Linda knows her bad history with rooms like this. Maybe it's why it's so big and spacious.
But she stays, and days pass, and she's not sure what happens outside. She just knows people are dead, and she hasn't any clue who. There's something terrifying about not remembering if you took a life, even if such an act is too easy for someone like her.
When she's finally cleared to leave, there's a paranoia in her that maybe she isn't.
So she steers clear and packs a bag and runs away into the woods. But she at least leaves Linda little note this time, so she doesn't pull her hair out panicking. Out there where she can find comfort in isolation, she makes herself known on the network; she doesn't use text. It feels like an easy out.]
I do not remember... what happened. I know a man did something to make me hurt people, but...
[A pause, heavy and unsure how to proceed; but the guilt is there to carry her forward.]
I am sorry for any pain or suffering I caused.
I will be staying outside the wall for a little while, to make sure I am not a danger.
[She thought she'd maybe figure out something to say after that, but...
Her mouth just sort of freezes there.]
