Participants:
| Scene Title | Has Anyone Found Doctor Price? |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | When Odessa Price doesn't show up for work, and doesn't answer her phone, Bella Sheridan enlists Dante Lupinetti and Harve Brennan to help track her down. |
| Date | December 2, 2010 |
Suresh Center: Third Floor - Dante Lupinetti's Office
The third floor of the Suresh Center belongs primarily to its administration. The management, purchasers of supplies, keepers of records, and maintainers of facilities all nest on this level. There are four large rooms in the center, each subdivided into sets of cubicles; offices in either of the building's two wings; meeting rooms just inside the wings and a set of communal rooms at the back. Each wing has its own small lounge, with sink, fridge, microwave, tables, chairs, reading material, potted plants, and plenty of windows. The decor of this floor is less colorfully idiosyncratic than those below, but still escapes institutional blandness; the walls are a warm golden-brown color, the floor carpeted in dark oceanic blue, art pieces and more living potted plants set at irregular but comfortably frequent intervals.
Odessa is many things. Former Company doctor, former Vanguard, former bank robber, former Moab prisoner, former drug addict, former Ferry clinic operator…
But she is not, in to Dr. Sheridan's knowledge or experience, someone who skips work.
When you do as little actual work as Isabella Sheridan, you tend to spend a lot of time hovering around what friends you do have in the office. Doing nothing is almost as boring as doing work, though generally less morally reprehensible, at least when you work for the Commonwealth Institute. Pestering co-workers, on the other hand, is both more entertaining, and more likely to bring down productivity at Evil Inc., something that, Bella judges, must count towards her redemption score.
But when you're a cranky slacker like Isabella Sheridan, the number of co-workers whom you can safely bother is pretty small. So when Odessa doesn't show up to work… she notices. And it bugs her. Because she has no one to bug.
That is, until she gets worried enough to bug Dante. There's a quick rap on his office door, followed by a grapple at the knob, which turns. The door swings open and the impudent red of Bella Sheridan's hair frames her face as she leans on. "Mr. Lupinetti?" she inquires and, wasting no time, "do you know where Dr. Price is?"
There aren't many who have taken it upon themselves to bother Dante while he's working. He'd made it abundantly clear when he started that he prefers to work when he's at work, and he's kept his office door closed. So far, he's been mostly left to his own devices, putting in lots of investigation work. So he actually sits up a little when Bella knocks on his door, frowning…until that head of red hair becomes visible, and the male agent looks surprised for a moment.
"Hmm? Oh, hello Miss Sheridan," he says mildly, hunching forward again over his laptop, one hand resting lightly on the space bar. "No, I haven't. Have you tried her office?" He's already getting distracted by whatever it is he's staring at, again. With how hard he's staring, the laptop is in danger of getting up and running away in fear.
Oh no, no way. He is not going to get away with that non-suggestion. "No. It never occurred to me. Her office, of course! How ever did I get this far in life, being so dull witted?" is all delivered with a tone that is transparently if not emphatically sarcastic. Bella steps into the office fully, though she leaves the door open. "I've looked more or less everywhere, and she's not on any assignments. And she hasn't called in sick. I know this fucking city. You know it too. I'm worried, and you would be too if you took half a moment to think about it."
Dante mmmms in agreement to Bella's outpouring of sarcasm, falling quickly back into full focus on his laptop screen. "It's a mystery," he murmurs, with all the airs of someone not really listening.
As Bella steps into his office, he suppresses a sigh and pauses his video. Leaning back, he gives his neck a stretch, loosening his red tie and blinking wetness back into his eyes, after letting them dry out and strain at a computer monitor for the past few hours. "Hmmm? I do, yes. However, I don't know Dr. Price as well as I'd like, so I couldn't say if she's the type to be in trouble, or cause trouble. Or are you worried about both?" She certainly seems the type to cause trouble, to Dante's mind.
"Is there a difference? Causing trouble gets you in trouble. Either way I'm worried about her," Bella says. A whole day without getting to complain and otherwise buzz around has made her particularly insistent. In her slate grey suit and wire rimmed reading glasses, she would look the modern equivalent of the shrew, were it not for her naturally guileless features. Still… rar!
"She's mentioned you, seems to think well of you, and if there is trouble I am not equipped to go it alone," is her justification for picking on him specifically, and why she's sticking around at all when he doesn't know where Odessa is, "so come on. You're an agent type or whatever. We can check her residence, make sure she's okay. Better us than the fucking Gestapo who run this place."
Knock knock.
Hello there, another person to the Institute fishbowl. Brennan's knuckles rap on the doorway, sticking his head into Dante's office, about to inquire about something when the red headed view that is Dr. Bella Sheridan is there. "Oh. Sorry, I was going to ask you something, but you look busy." The white coat clad negator apologizes, file in hand, to the two individuals.
Dante just shakes his head, not about to get into a discussion about semantics when his eyes still hurt from the strain. Slowly, he rubs at them.
"Does she?" he asks, a note of disbelief in his tone, though it's eclipsed by tiredness inherent in the voice of the overworked. Realizing he's just been drafted for a home-visit, he looks up at Bella incredulously. Silence reigns in the office for a moment as Dante's square jaw works… And then he shrugs, carefully readjusting his tie before he stands, sweeping his long coat off the back of his office chair. His suit jacket flows behind him as he takes long strides around his desk, revealing a pale blue button up shirt and dark blue pants to match his jacket, to complete the "unassuming professional" ensemble. "Alright, I should be taking a lunch break anywa—"
And there's another person at Dante's door. This is a new record for this week as another head pokes in to see the owner of the office frowning back at him. "Just heading out the door, actually. What do you need?" he asks brusquely, shaking out his wrinkled trenchcoat and slipping it on.
"You," Bella says, prodding a finger in Brennan's direction, a real nice way to greet a co-worker, "you're a decent human being who gives a shit about his co-worker. Odessa didn't show up for work, and there's no accounting for her not being here, so we're going to check in. Come with us. If there's trouble, you can help shut it down. I've got a key to her place. Lupinetti here is going to drive us." She does? He is?
"Well, Michelle didn't think I was a decent human being when I wouldn't go out ten minutes before curfew to get her a Klondike bar, but.. you know, she's pregnant." He taps his own temple when he says so. The file is tucked under his arms looking to Dante then back to Bella, already starting to take off his whites. "Lunch break, she's not far, we can check in on her. worst is she's forgotten to call in. Is this your way, Doctor, of saying going in with negation guns blazing?"
Dante's eyebrows flick up as he's volunteered, and he just shakes his head in disbelief. Ah well, that's how things work, sometimes. Though he frowns as Brennan is invited along. This sour Evolved's rather used to using his Ability to his advantage, after all. "Can we make it quick?" he asks, "I'd like to grab something on the way home, and I still have a few kilometers of tape to go through."
"It will take as long as it takes," Bella informs Dante. You're the wheels, Brennan's the (negation) guns, and she's the brains of this outfit, see? Looking extra petite standing between the two men, she steps out to lead the pack. "And use all due caution, Dr. Brennan. You know the times we live in, with the jobs we have."
Brennan's hand drifts up to the pink line that graces his temple and disappears into the dark hair with it's silver at the sides. "Far too well, Doctor Sheridan, far too well. I'll talk with you later Dante, about the other case. For now, let's go be the concerned co-workers. See if Doctor Price just needs some chicken soup." He hopes all she'll need is chicken soup as the trio starts down the hall that will eventually get them to the elevator - lobby - parking lot - street to the Octagon with all due haste and only a little bit of gas expenditure.
Feeling like a good resource being squandered, Dante rolls his eyes to the ceiling and lets himself be dragged along. Brennan's offer to talk gets a smile from the ex-detective. Good! Someone remembers how to appreciate an employee. "Sure, sure. I'll pick up a sandwich when we get the chicken soup." Because lunch is always bought, never made.
After the brief carride, Dante pulls up beside Brennan's in the parking lot of the Octagon, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat. Chilly today.
Bella's sporting her winter beret, and her low heels click with precision under the shade of her dark green peacoat. Determined would be a fitting work. Brisk, also. She parades through the front doors of the building, bringing a gust of chilly air into the lobby with her, before the heating system dilutes it into comfort. She turns around and ushers for her companions (she won't be so awful as to say 'escort') to follow before tackling the up button on the elevator and fishing around for her copy of the apartment key. Made while certain reticent jackasses were fucking around in the Happy Nineties.
"Shall we let agent Lupinetti go first? I'll be sure not to look at him, just in case. And on that though, is there anything that we need to be made aware of should we actually need to enter into her apartment?" Does she have a roommate? Brennan wonders. Animals? Small children? You never know sometimes, what with most people keeping work separate from home.
All is quiet in the hallway of the Octagon. At least until the footsteps approach the door to apartment #108. Then someone starts shouting from inside the home.
The Octagon - #108: Odessa Price's Apartment
The apartments of the Octagon are among some of the most prime pieces of rental real-estate in New York City. Bright, open, and clean, these apartments are all painted an eggshell white and feature floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a sweeping, unobstructed view of the East River and Manhattan skyline. The view isn't as impressive from the first floor, but it doesn't give someone with a fear of heights a sense of vertigo as it would on the upper levels. Hardwood floors spread from wall to wall and through the spacious bedrooms and private laundry rooms complete with washer/dryer utilities.
The small entry way leads into the open-concept kitchen with its stainless steel appliances, polished granite counter tops, cherry finished cabinets and ceramic floor tile with all the convenience of a modern kitchen. Around the corner of that tiny hallway for stowing shoes, and the recessed coat closet, there's the living room. The furniture is very modern with clear lines and brushed aluminium frames paired with red upholstery that contrasts with the deep, black shag carpet creating a dark pool in the centre of the room.
A coffee table sits in front of the couch, black legs and glass top surface gleaming in the cool white light overhead. A television has been mounted on the wall, large enough to suggest that the occupant is paid well, but small enough as to indicate that the television doesn't hold much interest. A modest, low entertainment cabinet sits beneath the set, equipped with a Blu-ray, DVD on the first shelf, a video cassette and Betamax player on the next. The Blu-ray player is new, if one judges by the lack of dust settled on it compared to the other components. Beneath that is a collection of films that can be played on any of the four. Mostly in the romance genre.
Nestled in the corner is a tall book shelf, with a step stool nudged out of the way nearby, presumably so the short woman who lives here can reach the top shelves. The reading material is widely varied. Medical journals and texts are present, but so are trashy romance novels, historical fiction, historical non-fiction, and several books on the French, Russian, German, and Japanese languages.
Of all things, a small harpsichord sits in front of the windows. It's more than second-hand, elaborately painted with a rich, but fading landscape across the inside of the lid. Lush trees with leaves turning their colours in autumn. It's been well-played, but also cared for.
The bathroom is adorned with accessories on the counter tops and porcelain pedestal sink, with towels in various shades of yellow from pale to sunny. The room is finished with classic subway wall tile and porcelain floor tiling. An elegantly designed, corner-set curved shower provides a more spacious shower area.
"Help!"
Bella Sheridan is able to recognise her friend's voice immediately.
"Somebody help!"
Odessa Price's voice is thin and hoarse, as though she's been crying out for hours. — She has been. "Somebody get me down!" Her voice wavers, suggesting she's panicked and if she isn't crying currently, she's done so recently.
Dante nods appreciatively to Brennan, a smile curling the corner of his mouth at his suggestion. "Sure, might as well. Worst case scenario, she'll likely just be too sick to get out of bed." Dante heads up towards Odessa's door, eyes narrowed and searching his senses for any sign for Brennan's worries. "No need to disturb her if that's the ca—"
That call from inside Odessa's apartment certainly strikes the "sick" theory down, and he stops with knuckles upraised and eyes wide. Glancing back once to Brennan, Dante quickly slips his 9mm out from under his coat, taking a step back and looking expectantly to Bella. Ready to go all SWAT team on Odessa's apartment. Awww yeah, this is the kind of rush he's been missing, being off the force.
Thank God Bella isn't so grand a bitch as to say 'I told you so'. But she totally did. Never doubt your paranoid hunches. Never.
Okay, maybe she's a little scared now. Not quite so cocky or 'in charge'. As much is evidenced by the slight tremor in her hands, the trouble she has fitting the key into the lock. She finally slips it in, and slowly turns the lock, suddenly lifting her voice to answer, covering the sound of the bolt turning.
"Odessa, it's me!" trusting that recognition will be mutual, "I'm coming in to help, okay? It's going to be okay." 'Get me down?' Bella doesn't really spare too much thought trying to figure out what that means. Help is help is help. They need to find her first. Speculation was pointless.
Brennan's bristling, looking down either side of the hall as if trying to figure out why no one heard Odessa before now. He'll be bringing up the back, keep an eye out for any malcontents who might be hiding around corners, waiting, or in case anyone decides that now they're going to be nosy nelly's.
When the door to the apartment swings open, everything is more or less as Bella recalls it. Odessa's place rarely changes, save perhaps for which book is left out on the coffee table, or if there are dishes in the sink. The drawers in the kitchen are left open, however. If one should peek inside, they would find the contents largely and conspicuously missing.
"Oh, thank God," comes the sound of Odessa's scratchy voice.
From the ceiling.
Well, there's the kitchen utensils. They've speared Odessa's grey sweater and black wool skirt, leaving her held fast to the ceiling of her living room like a butterfly under glass. With what little mobility she has - and it wasn't enough to free herself - the backs of the heels of her grey suede boots thunk dully against the ceiling. And without enough force to draw the attention of whoever lives above her. If anyone lives above her.
"He's gone," Odessa half-informs. As if he should mean anything to the small band come to find her. "Oh God. Please get me down from here." Her voice cracks from overuse. It'll be a while before she sounds like herself again.
Dante is right on Bella's heels as the door opens, gun up and pointing to the left, right, and back corners of the room. All good. When she moves in, he pushes past her, glancing up briefly to the suspended Odessa with a bemused frown before poking his head briefly into all the adjacent rooms, doing a quite sweep of the apartment. "Do you have a ladder or anything nearby, Dr. Price?" he asks, still holding his gun tight.
"Oh, sweet Jesus…" are Bella's ever so insightful thoughts vis a vis her dangling friend. Pinned to the ceiling like the victim of some mad lepidopterist, the sight would actually be sort of funny if it weren't absolutely horrible. How long has she been up there? Too long, from the sound of her voice.
Bella doesn't wait around for any ladder. Odessa's not a cat caught in a tree. The slight psychiatrist moves over to the island counter and grabs one of the stools that flank it, taking it from the kitchen to the living room and setting it under Odessa. First shedding her low heels, Bella ascends, stocking footed up onto the stool's seat, one hand reaching up to touch against the handle of a particularly nasty looking dicing knife, giving it a slight wiggle. Or trying. It's driven in pretty deep. Her other hand rises to Odessa's cheek, as Bella tips her head back and catches the white haired doctor's eye.
"We're going to get you down," should maybe go without saying, but Bella figures it's an assurance Odessa may still want to hear. "Dr. Brennan, would you come up here and start to pry these damn things loose? Mr. Lupinetti, I think we're safe. Get over here and be ready to catch Dr. Price if she comes loose suddenly. Start with her legs." Bella gives orders as she steps back down from the stool, clearing it for Brennan's use.
Not going to wait for a ladder? The woman's been up there how long, with certain rescue in sight, surely another five minutes while a supe is tracked down, is not going to kill the woman. But Brennan's stepping in, doing as instructed by Bella, getting up on the stool, starting to pry at the various kitchen implements that were used to secure Odessa to the ceiling.
Odessa turns her head into Bella's hand, her body tensing from the effort it's taking not to sob with relief. Judging from the red and puffiness of her visible eye, she's done plenty of crying already. And judging from the dark circles, not a lot of sleeping. Though that's not out of character for the young white-haired doctor. When her friend withdraws again, to allow Brennan to mount the proper rescue attempt, she tries to put on a braver face.
It starts with a lopsided and dimpled grin. "This is going to end in someone getting hurt," Odessa murmurs tiredly. "I'm sure of it. I'll try not to kick anyone in the head."
"I'm more worried about a number of those knives coming loose suddenly, after we've managed to get others loose. Unless you've been hiding a Healing superpower from us." But hey, Dante's not the brains of the outfit here, so what does he know?
Still, putting his gun away, Dante looks about the living room, and begins to haul the big couch over, grunting as he slides it as close under the hanging woman as he can.
"Wiggle each of the pinions, see how firmly they're stuck in there. We can take the weakest ones out first," Bella suggests - it's just like 'Jenga', only the thing you're trying to stop from collapsing suddenly is a person, not a stack of blocks. Note, also, that 'we' in Bella's above statement really means 'Brennan'. It's plural only insofar as Bella gets a credit as administrator.
And that's what she seems to be after, circling the operation with arms folded, incessantly checking to see if there are any signs of burgeoning instability. It's all she can do, at the moment, to stop herself from bombarding poor Odessa with questions about just how this happened, just who the 'he' that is now 'gone' is. That can wait, she's pretty sure, until Odessa is safely on the ground, maybe with some water to sip on.
"Dante, I'll get her legs first, if you'll see fit to help ease them down one limb at a time. This will keep her from falling, a controlled release." Brennan advises, a few butter knives and other cutlery has already been removed, tossed to the coffee table out of the way. "You'll be down soon enough Odessa, and you'll be able to rant like crazy."
"Knives falling I can handle," Odessa assures Dante. "Me falling isn't something I can do much about." Not with her ability, at any rate. "And besides, most of these are butter knives and forks. Not sharp enough for the fall to hurt you. I mean, much. They could hit a squishy bit, and that would kind'a s- Just get me down." After a quiet sigh of exhaustion, she adds, "Please." Her lips purse and she offers a squint to Brennan. "Okay, I guess that was a little bit of a rant. I've been up here since supper time. I think I'm entitled." Supper time yesterday. Yikes.
Dante winces at each of the wiggles, arms up to catch her legs as they come down, but leaning back away and watching each of those knives with trepidation. Doesn't matter that he'll see the fall coming plenty of time ahead of time, he's still looking at that suspended woman like she were a bomb ready to blow. Still, he's there to catch her should she need it, as well as the couch underneath her. "Who was it who got you like this, anyways?" he asks, addressing the elephant in the room. And no, that isn't a comment about your weight, Odessa.
Bella is silently grateful that Dante asks this question. She sees her own role here as essentially supportive. Odessa's friend, reluctant to probe into matters that don't directly concern her current welfare. Lupinetti, with his detective cred, is a better choice for interrogator. Still, she pipes up with her own answer - "Some son of a bitch who crossed the wrong people!" Color commentary.
There's going to be a leg coming down, Brennan making quick work and strategic about what he releases first, fair warning to Dante when it's coming. Soon enough the second leg too and wait so that Odessa is almost halfway free and part of her lowered carefully. He remains silent in his assigned task, working quickly as possible.
There's a bit of inertia that accompanies Odessa's first leg being freed, and compounded when the second joins it. "Ho shit!" Her fingers turn into fists as though there were something to grab purchase of and keep her from falling. Truth be told, the falling part does scare her. Even if the ceiling isn't terribly high to fall from. Once she's relearned how to breathe, she fixes a look on Dante. "Samson Gray," she murmurs, almost defeated.
As Odessa starts to tip downwards, she'll find her legs draping across a sturdy, upheld arm, and Dante's focused expression with his set jaw moves closer to her to help her slowly down. The mention of that name doesn't cause any flash of recognition on his face, but he does narrow his eyes, filing it away. "Samson Gray, huh? Any relation to Gabriel Gray?" Sure, everyone with access to any kind of database knows Gabriel Gray.
Despite his urgency, Dante lowers Odessa to the couch, making sure she's got her feet under her (metaphorically) before straightening up and pulling his collar around his neck. "Got everything in control here? I'll head back to HQ ASAP and start the files." There's quarry afoot! And so Dante turns in a swirl of his trench coat and marches out the door, hot on the trail. Tally-ho!
Bella makes herself as useful as she ostensibly may by gathering the cutlery Brennan has pried loose and gathering it in a small, gleaming pile. This keeps her busy until Odessa ho-shits at the descent of her legs and Dante tally-ho's his way out of the apartment entirely. Well, at least someone's taking care of the official aspect of what has now become what seems to be a follow-up operation.
The invocation of the dread family Gray doesn't do a lot to make Bella feel at ease, and she breaches her previous self-pledge to avoid questioning Odessa, if only to distract her from her slow and perilous release. "What happened? What did he want?" A glance is cast to Brennan, checking to see if maybe he actually does need her help, since their sans one strapping gentleman.
Brennan has a hidden strength in him, and Odessa isn't that very big. Feet planted square to provide her with the support necessary and so they both don't go toppling and an arm around her waist for mutual support, it's another minute then two before wonk, the last piece of cutlery gives and Odessa is free as a bird and her weight supported by Brennan.
Odessa lets out a startled cry as the last utensil is pried free of sweater and ceiling, and she wraps herself around Brennan for dear life. "Floor, floor, floor! Oh please, put me down." She's trembling, panic-inspired adrenaline leaving her jittery. Once she's finally on her own two feet, she sits down on the floor heavily, all but tangling her fingers in the deep shag carpet beneath her.
Enough time has elapsed since Bella's question that Odessa may have forgotten it entirely, but after a few steadying breaths, she tips her head up to regard her friend with her singular gaze. "He… He wanted to find his son. I told him I couldn't do it." Wouldn't do it. And only sort of. It's true enough that she would not find Sylar for Samson, but she's still going through other people who can. "He… Got mad and he…" She points vaguely up to the ceiling with one finger, not daring to look up that high herself. "I don't know why he left me alive."
And that much is true. Though Odessa Price fancies herself to be very important, useful, but even she has a hard time reconciling the fact that she was left alive. Except that she's certain it means she'll be called upon again. She'll just have to stay useful. And work on being less mouthy.
"I'm sure our shadowy superiors won't stand for this," Bella says, which is really more of an insistence on how things out to be than a real certainty as to how things are. "If this island isn't safe then what the hell are all our precautions for?" She quirks her lips to one side. "Dr. Brennan," she states, after a moment's pause, "would you check on Dr. Price's condition? I'm going to go get her some water," which she does, moving back towards the kitchen before, pausing and asking, apropos something, she swears, "so you have any straws?"
Brennan looks at Odessa, a smile on his face. "You'd think that she didn't trust me to check you over on my own. Or you know, that I'm her boss." He gives Odessa a wink, easing the both of them down to the floor letting her sit down so he can kneel himself, start taking pulses, vitals, look for obvious injuries.
"Vodka," Odessa insists to Bella as she retreats. She's a doctor, after all. She knows what she's doing. Even when she's doing it wrong. "Just bring the fuckin' bottle." She sits obediently for Brennan, apparently having learned better than to fight with her boss over things like this. Shaken as she is, she shows no signs of injury. "I… I'm really glad you guys showed up." She tilts her head toward the far wall. "My neighbour the boss is kind of on an extended vacation." Not that traction is not vacation. Sorry, Harper.
"HA!" Bella barks from the kitchen, filling a glass with water and, after a moment's sober consideration, snagging Odessa her intoxicant of choice as well. She re-emerges with glass in hand, vodka bottle tucked under her other arm. "Then fire me, big shot," is tossed at Brennan. Step by step towards a talk with HR. 'Bad attitude' has been lifted to the level of work ethic.
The glass of water is extended towards Odessa. "Hydration first," Bella says, keeping a firm hold on the vodka, "then we talk primitive anesthetic."
"As if I'd do such a thing. It's not me who dictates such a thing. But Bella is right. Water first, little sips, then you can have some of the hard stuff. I'm going to call for an ambulance from the hospital." Brennan doesn't care, and he's not taking any chances, it was a certainly awkward position he found their co-worker in. "Dr. Sheridan can watch you."
Odessa takes the glass of water from Bella, without arguing her logic. Considering if their roles were reversed, she'd be making the same demand. "Thanks." The first sips from her glass burn in her dry throat, causing her to actually rethink the prudence of consuming vodka right now.
When Doctor Brennan says he's going to call an ambulance, Odessa's quick to shake her head. "No. I don't need that. I just need rest. That's all. I just… I'm just shaken up. I'm all right." A look is shot to Bella as if to ask for back-up. "Just give me the day to rest and I promise I will come in for a full exam tomorrow, okay? Please, please don't call an ambulance."
You see, Odessa, some things are for your own good. Bella guards the vodka bottle closely, a gimlet eyed watchfulness pointed at Odessa, like a hardass nurse making sure a patient takes their nasty medicine. "I'll defer to your authority, Dr. Brennan," Bella says, with, okay, maybe a touch of snideness, "but it's my professional and personal opinion that our patient here needn't be put through any more disturbance of her routine. Not after an event like this. She should do whatever makes her feel safest."
"Then you're getting in the car and you're being settled in at the Suresh Center, your home was broken into and you can't stay here, not till locks are changed and everything else that you have to do. We'll take my car when you're feeling up to going. But I insist Doctor Price. For your safety and your wellbeing" Arms crossed, looking down and over at the blonde woman.
"I knew you shrinks would be good for somethin' sooner or later," Odessa quips to Bella, her sardonic nature returning slowly. She turns her gaze back to Brennan, "Locks have nothing to do with it. He…" She shakes her head. "He didn't enter by the door. I don't know what ability he's picked up. He was just here."
But she relents. "Fine. Fine. I won't stay here tonight." And Odessa is only promising tonight. "Let me shower and pack some clothes. I'll be ready to go before you know it."