A Very Frail Thread

Participants:

abby_icon.gif cardinal_icon.gif

Scene Title A Very Frail Thread
Synopsis Cardinal peeks into Muldoon's Zoo to look for someone else and make his rounds with Abigail. It's a little too much for everyone to take.
Date March 8, 2009

Staten Island - Rusty Warehouse

At one point in the not-so-distant past, this derelict warehouse was used to store loading equipment for the dockyards of Fresh Kills Harbor. Today, it serves as a makeshift prison with storage containers converted into simplistic cells that look out across the warehouse's concrete floor, blocked off with three steel walls and one made from industrial-grade wire mesh with an electrical current running through it to prevent escape.

Each cell is outfitted with a cot, a toilet and sink to provide the prisoners with fresh water, as well as a bucket that can be overturned and used as a stool.


Another night, yet again. Same old same old. Everyone's carted off, leaving behind the Healer and a few stragglers not necessary for the nights events. The dim lights from the warehouse filter in through the front of the shipping containers electrified mesh but very little of it filters past the blanket that's hung up across the gauze clothes line.

Abigail's awake on the cot, curled up beneath the spare blanket, blonde scraggly hair sprawled across the pillow like the proverbial halo most associate with her. Her shoes are tucked just underneath the side of the cot, everything in her area neat and tidy. A tray with barely touched food sits near the front of the cage, ready to be taken back by the jailers when they return the people to their cages and haul her out to do her own rounds. at the back of her eyelids the blonde stares, alone with her thoughts, one palm closed around the cross beneath the blanket, listening to one of the other 'inmates' singing some song with a slow cadence.

It's another night of the hell of human slavery, packed away in rusty cargo containers like so many toys left forgotten in a child's room once he's moved on to newer, more interesting playthings. The shadows spread long over the warehouse's floors, though who's to say what time it is? There's never daylight to brighten the lives of the prisoners here, after all. Just silence and loneliness… or pain.

The shadow of one particular container's mesh stretches slowly across the cell, darker lines spreading from it to separate into a patch of living darkness that spills itself over the pillow, darkening dirty blonde hair. A voice, familiar though it's been some time, hollow whispers in her ear. "Abigail."

Richard" Abby quietly whispers. "Your back. I've been wondering when you'd show up again" Abby doesn't bother opening her eyes. He's a shadow, he's intangible and… at least he's not a figment of her imagination.

"I've been busy," the voice replies ever so softly, "It won't be long now… we're on the move. Laudani's a pussy, but he knows enough people to get things rolling, at least." A pause, "How're you holding up?"

"He's not a pussy. He's Italian, and he's…" he's what. "And he's.. He's Italian" As if that explained everything "He's under stress. He's got.. friends stuck elsewhere. They're more important than me. I understand" But then he asks how she's holding up and there's a slight shrug, barely seen under the blankets. "Not so good Richard" She's as thin as she's ever been, like she could stand to gain back a good five to ten pounds. 'Don't.. know how much longer I can do this. Getting harder to heal. Foods…" it's food, and crappy food. Not like Muldoon keeps a cook, not likely.

An admirable amount of restraint keeps the shadow from further commenting about the young Italian gentleman in question, merely silent as he listens to her speak… and when he speaks again, that low murmur holds a dangerous thread to it. "You won't have to. We'll be coming soon. I'll bring you a cheeseburger." He pauses, "How's your leg?"

"I fixed it. I can move around on it. Nothing wrong with it anymore" The answer to his question. She opens her eyes though, craning her head to look around, find him. "Magnes got hurt, really bad. I don't know who they had him fight, but he was… it was bad. I don't know whether they… broke him, in the other way but… he's finally stopped saying that he can save me, protect me"

"We'll get him out, too," he reassures her, his voice quiet. That's all he can say, though, silent for a few long moments before asking, "Have you seen a girl named Cally, by any chance?"

"Uh… " Abigail nods, sniffing her nose then wiping at it. "I think, she might be a few cages to the left? They had her in the brothel with me at one point. Dumped her in for some healing, but she tried to escape. I think I've heard her here." There's another sniff then a press of the edge of the blanket to her eyes, holding it there.

"Okay." The shadow's edge spills up and over the blanket's side, covering her hand briefly as the shadow of a man's hand on hers — though she may not even notice, as there's no tactile sensation to go with it. "You'll be out've here soon, Abigail."

"God, please make it soon. I can't do this. I can't. It's like a nightmare and I want to wake up, but I can't, because it's real. He cut out my tongue Richard, he cut out my fucking tongue, who cuts out tongues? What if she hadn't been able to fix it? I couldn't have fixed it. Not in pain. God" Logan's not near to induce the panic attack, it's of Abigail's own doing, the ratcheting up of her heartbeat and breathing. "He needs to do it soon, I can't do this, I can't. I want to go home Richard"

"Shh, shh…" A sharp, concerned reassurance, "…shh, calm down, you'll draw the guards' attention. It'll be soon. I promise. No more delays, or arguments, or—any've that shit. We'll get you out of here. Get you home. I promise."

"Why are you doing this?" She's kept her voice low, still is, even though it's taken that fearful quality to it. "who.. who're you working for? Your not someone I've healed before, who sent you" Abigail nods her head though, a non verbal agreement to try and do that, knuckles white on the blanket and around her necklace. 'I'll try, I'm trying, God. I just.. I want.. out. It's a cage, a fucking cage. Like a fucking animal and this is a fucking zoo except the animals are treated better ina real fucking zoo"

The question brings silence, silence for a good, full minute before a response comes from the living shadow. "I'm not working for anybody," Richard answers her, even more quietly than before, his words carefully chosen, "I was just… trying to get a handle on who was in power here. Deckard asked me to look for a van." Quiet, again, before he says, "This's… too much. All of it. It's just not fucking right."

"Deckard. Who yells at me for trying to heal the world and for believing in God" Abby's shoulders shake, not from sobbing but from laugher, muffled into the pillow.

A faint, humorless chuckle rasps in the shadow, "Yeah. Funny. Isn't it?"

Hysterical. Though more out of her seesawing emotions than real humor. The man's singing in the warehouse is luckily drowning out what she can't muffle into the pillow as it tapers into sobs finally. Fucking Deckard is the one who finds out where she is. Deckard. He lost an eye too out of it. Her slight form jerks against the cot, letting it out into the pillow quietly as she can.

There's a silence from the living shadow as she laughs, as she cries; he could be gone, even, slipped out during her emotional moment. He isn't, of course, just curled there amongst the darkness of the cell, keeping his thoughts his own.

Ten minutes, maybe more, is what it takes, before Abigail quiets down. Someone comes walking by, rapp's at her box, which prompts her to lower a hand, wave below the blanket so that the guy can see shes in there before the guard walks away, carrying on his rounds. Crying sounds are not that uncommon. Not with people who are here against their will. It's another minute or two, till she deems it safe enough to whisper. "Richard?"

"Yeah." Quiet, "I'm here."

Abigail quietly swallows. 'Sorry"

"There's nothing to be sorry about…" A sigh stirs like the wind over the grass, "Sorry. I'm just… not very good at being comforting. And you don't even know me."

"No, I don't" And yet, she's having to place implicit trust in him. "I'm still sorry. I'm not.. like that. Like this. I'm cleaner and.. smell better and.. weigh more"

"I think I can forgive you all've that," he replies with a faint, humorless chuckle, "You're right, though. You don't know me, and I don't have any reason to be doing this. I don't even know why I am."

"Altruistic Intentions?" She can't be the only one.

"No." A twist of wry humor, there, "No, I don't think so. There're just some things… anyway. I'll have you with your friends soon, Abigail. Then you won't have to worry about my intentions any more."

"Don't break my trust. Please. You haven't so far but.. I need.. to trust something, someone right now, other than god" Her hand tightens around her little cross once more, pressing it close. "I don't care what you do, what you've done, just.. please. I need this"

"I won't," he replies gently, "I'll get you out of here, and you have my word on that."

Abigail nods, blindly, agreeing. "You should go. Before I start… crying again, or worse. Before they come for me"

"Alright." Richard murmurs, "It won't be long now, Abigail. Trust me."

The shadows shift, lengthen; and are gone.


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March 7th: A Parting Of Ways
Previously in this storyline…
Thank You

Next in this storyline…
Bowling for Muldoon

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March 8th: Company Deposit
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