Participants:
Scene Title | Clemency |
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Synopsis | Eileen pleads someone else's case. |
Date | March 5, 2013 |
Washington, D.C.
There are days that she doesn’t recognize the face staring back at her in the mirror. Eileen’s damp hair clings to her cheeks and stands out against the paler skin of her high brow, so she runs her fingers through it, then a towel generously supplied by the hotel, sapping away the excess water.
She decides she can cover the dark circles under her eyes with a sheer layer of foundation and draw attention away from them by applying a darker shade of lipstick to her mouth.
Her hands move through the routine on autopilot because her mind is somewhere else entirely.
Please state your name for the record.
Moisturizer that smells of milk and honey warms in the palms of her hands as she smooths it over her face, chin held at a sharp angle. There are wrinkles where she doesn’t remember being wrinkles before. Crow’s feet feel strangely fitting.
Is it true that you were only fifteen years old at the time you were first introduced to Kazimir Volken by Amato Salucci?
The shade of foundation she picked up from the drug store on the corner is a shade too light even though its label reads porcelain, but she applies it anyway. It erases the dark circles, the pink flush of her skin and discoloration around her eyes, which she lines in crowfeather black.
In your own words, can you describe your relationship to Yvette Volken, codename Hel, and will you confirm for the court that Ms. Volken’s birth name is in fact Yvette Krausner?
Fingernails pick at the chips of dead skin holding stubbornly to her lips, chapped as they often are at this time of year. Eileen scrubs at her mouth with the back of a knuckle in a focused attempt to create a smooth surface for her lipstick so that when it glides on, it appears to have been applied with a steady hand.
It doesn’t work.
Her hands are anything but steady.
In your own words, can you describe Ms. Volken’s relationship to Charles Alexander Sharrow, codename Njord, as well as Mr. Sharrow’s relationship with his children? Also please explain, to the best of your ability, how Mr. Volken and Mr. Sharrow funded Mr. Volken’s organization, and to what extent Mr. Sharrow was involved with the Vanguard’s day-to-day operations?
She fastens the clasp of her necklace at the nape of her neck and counts the pearls, hoping to redirect her thoughts, even though she knows exactly how many sit pretty on the string.
It is the twenty-third morning she’s done this.
It is sixteen inches long. There are one hundred and thirty-six pearls.
In your own words, can you describe your relationship to Iago Ramirez, codename Thor?
She discards the towel over the back of the vanity’s chair and rises from it. All her clothes are black, down to the underthings she wears beneath them like armor made from a disparate marriage of lace and hard wire. Her eyes catch but do not linger on the V-shaped scar on her back, nestled between piano key ribs.
The heel of her left hand goes to the mark instead and presses down against it, producing a slow, shaky breath that shudders out of her lungs.
Will you please describe the shape and location of the physical disfigurement inflicted on you by Mr. Ramirez, as well as the specific method he used to inflict it?
When she’s done exploring the familiar texture of the scar tissue on her back with the tips of her emboldened fingers, Eileen slips into her black linen dress, freshly laundered and ironed the night before. She needs no assistance with the zipper or the buttons that cinch the sleeves at her wrists. Its cut is conservative, and so is she.
In your own words, can you describe your relationship with the late Braxton Pendragon, also known as Hector Steele, codename Volundr, as well as Mr. Pendragon’s relationship to Mr. Ramirez?
As she braids her hair and twists it into a modest knot at the back of her head, a bobby-pin pinched in anticipation between her teeth, she notices her phone screen light up on the vanity.
It chimes a moment later. Then again.
She ignores it for as long as she can.
In your official statement, you claim that Mr. Pendragon’s relationship to Mr. Volken changed at some point during 2008. Will you please elaborate as to why you believe this shift occurred?
It is the twenty-third morning she’s done this. Her necklace is sixteen inches long. There are one hundred and thirty-six pearls on it. She has eleven unread text messages. Two of them are from Epstein. Three of them are from Catherine. Two of them are from Abigail. Three of them are from her brother. One of them is from her husband.
Did you, at any point during your involvement with the Vanguard, have sexual relations of any kind with any of the individuals employed by Mr. Volken?
Eileen takes the time only to respond to the message that’s been waiting for her the longest. She taps out a response with her thumb.
i wish you could be here
i love you xx
Please state their names for the record.
It is the twenty-third morning she’s done this. Her necklace is sixteen inches long. There are one hundred and thirty-six pearls on it.
She has ten unread text messages. Two of them are from Epstein. Three of them are from Catherine. Two of them are from Abigail. Three of them are from her brother.
Eileen applies exactly three spritzes of perfume that carries heavy notes of white tuberose, cardamom, and moss.
In your own words, can you describe your relationship to Joshua Lang, also known as The Butcher of Mandritsara?
Her shoes, like her dress and underwear, are black. Flat. She sinks onto the edge of the bed and wedges one foot into them, and then the other, remembering Catherine's advice not to wear anything with a heel.
She should appear small.
She should appear vulnerable.
In your official statement, you say that you felt a kinship with Mr. Lang due to his “family of origin”. Will you please define this term for the court?
Eyes that are neither gray nor green assess her appearance in front of the full length mirror attached to the hotel room's wardrobe. There are days that Eileen doesn’t recognize the face staring back at her, and today was one of them. So was yesterday. With the knowledge that tomorrow will be too, she lets her wool coat swallow up her body and its unfamiliar curves, tying it at the waist to ward against the crisp March chill outside.
It is the twenty-third morning she’s done this. Her necklace is sixteen inches long. There are one hundred and thirty-six pearls on it.
She has ten unread text messages. Two of them are from Epstein. Three of them are from Catherine. Two of them are from Abigail. Three of them are from her brother.
She is wearing exactly three shots of tuberose-scented perfume undercut with cardamom and moss.
The time is 6:46am.
The trial resumes in one hour and fourteen minutes.
Is it true that you’re here today of your own volition, on behalf of Mr. Ramirez and Mr. Lang’s legal defense, against the recommendation of your lawyer, Ms. Catherine Chesterfield, and Mr. Avi Epstein?
Why?
Supreme Court Building, Washington D.C.
It is a media circus outside of the courtroom. Hundreds have gathered out front of the building, blocked off by sawhorses and metal barricades. Police stand with their backs to the crowd, many of whom hold signs up demanding the deaths of each and every Vanguard member. Screams arise from the mob as soon as Eileen Gray emerges from within, escorted by her attorney.
“Mrs. Gray, Mrs. Gray,” come the first calls from the sea of reporters surging in like hurricane-driven tides. “Mrs. Gray, can you comment on the nature of your relationship with your brother Nicholas? Is it true you suffered from abuse at the hands of your family members?” They’re like carrion birds, except that she has no empathy toward their cries.
“Mrs. Gray!” Another screams, trying to be heard over the others. “Can you comment on the revelation regarding your biological father, Ethan Holden?”
The wounds these carrion birds inflict are not from beak and claw, but are no less painful. They bite, grasp, and tear at the things that are her and pull them away in different directions.
“Mrs. Gray!” They are relentless. “Is it true that you’re applying for guardianship of Bai-chan Zhang, son of the terrorist Wu-Long Zhang?”
They will strip all of the meat from her bones, and leave nothing more than a skeleton behind.
But at least that skeleton will be free.