Participants:
| Scene Title | Just A Few More Pieces |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Rebecca is used by cooper and Audrey at two other scenes to gain insight and possible evidence of their killer. What they learn, isn't good at one scene, but might yield an answer at another. |
| Date | March 31, 2010 |
Train Station, Flushing Queens
It's so cold out that the some six feet of snow on the ground has completely iced over.
That might well be part of the reason why Detective Thomas Cooper is cursing noisily behind a pair of female investigators making headway through the towering snowbanks towards the now closed Flushing Queens subway line. Knee deep in snow thanks to sinking through the ice crust, Cooper is precariously balancing two cups of steaming hot coffee and the ever growing sense that if he struggles much harder he's just going to sink deeper in the snow. There's also that nagging sensation in the back of his mind that agent Audrey Hanson might just let him.
Thankfully for Cooper the third of of three people out here in Queens on this bitterly cold morning has more of a sense of heart behind her than Hanson does. Though for private investigator Rebecca Nakano, the prospect of pulling Detective Cooper's stranded ass out of a snowbank he's sunken into is far less daunting than watching the echoes of a serial killer dump a body here.
The Flushing station is a far cry from what Audrey recalls it looking like just a month ago. The tracks are completely covered by snow so deep that it makes the recessed rail lines flush with the nearly ten foot drop down from street level. This entire line has been closed due to the weather, but thankfully no amount of deep snow will ultimately prevent Nakano from looking back into the past of this place.
Provided no one gets lost in the snow.
"Do you think…" The detective grunts out as he inches his way through the snow, hands occupied and relying on Rebecca to help. "… that when the groundhog saw his shadow… Oof." A foot sinks deep again with a crunch of ice, sheer sign he needs to lay off those sugar coated donuts some. "…that is was a big fucking shadow? That or we really royally pissed off mother nature." This query asked of the woman, eyes squinting at them both. Though he manages to add a, "Thanks, Nakano nice to know that some woman are not cold and heartless." That last bit said with his voice raised slightly, gaze at Audrey's back.
Once he's on stable ground, with a bit of a stumble — note nothing spilled — one of the cups it thrust at the agent. "Your highness, One caramel machiatto, no foam, half caf, soy blah blah blah…" A hand waves off the rest of that long ass order. There is no keeping the sarcasm out of Cooper's tone. He's fucking cold and can't feel his toes in his sneakers. Hell, he can't feel his feet and he's pretty sure his balls decided to head for a much warmer local, a really long time ago.
Turning to glance at Rebecca, however miserable he is, the detective gives her a crooked smile. "When you are ready, miss."
Being a little more helpful than most, Rebecca just wants to keep this thing moving more than anything else. This is the second of however many assignments they plan to use her for, but for the money they are paying her, they could use her for as many as they want. She's not in this business to always do good deeds, as she has been watching her finance slowly shrink, though lately they have been up a slow upturn. "I'm happy to help," she notes, whether happy is the right word or not.
"Whether she knows the inner workings of Mother Nature, she doesn't bother saying, but she figures that someone's none to happy at the moment. She's dressed rather warmly, as expected, all bundled up for the non-stop blizzard going on. She turns her gaze to Audrey for a moment but doesn't bother saying a thing, having dealt with the woman before. She brushes some snow away and sets her bag down, reaching into it for her mirror. "Any direction in particular I should be looking at?"
New boots. God she hates it when boots get ruined. Blood usually, puke from some little cop who can't hold his stomach at seeing a crime scene. Amniotic fluid when a woman a few days from her due date gives birth on your feet. She's already there, watching the scene as if by her gaze alone, the snow might melt.
But she's not Luke.
So she turns when Cooper makes his way through the show, bundled in black with knee high boots and takes the proffered coffee. Does she actually drink this overly picky coffee? Not normally, but it was a test to see whether cooper would do it, or not. She'd been expecting a drip coffee instead. This has promise. Oh yes it does.
"Ms. Nakano. This is Detective Coopers scene, i'll let him take charge" Let. "My questions will be more pertinent in the next scene. I'm more interested here in whether he had his smoke manipulation before or after this woman and the tools he used again as well as a good look at his face"
Bending down to set his own cup on the ground, Cooper dips a hand into his coat, pulling out his little handy dandy notebook. A few flick and he looks at some notes, a photograph tucked in it.
As he does so, his coffee starts sinking into the crust of ice, tilting at an odd angle, hot coffee dripping from the little slit in the top, which has it tilting further. "Um… lets see." He glances up from the photo, head turning, eyes squinting, finally, he point in a general direction. "The body was found there, so it is as good an angle as any." Cooper comments helpfully, glancing at the younger woman.
"Just whatever you can tell me about it, would be awesome." And yes, he used that word. A Glance down and the detective finds the cup on its side, contents spilling onto the group. "Oh..Ffff…." He stops himself, a glance to Nakano, before he sighs and bends down to check if there is any coffee still left in it.
Learn to use one hand Cooper. You've been divorced twice, surely you're a pro at that. That's the unvoiced thought as she smiles just a bit at the tipping coffee and his curse. "We may think about trying to follow the perpetrator, since this was a dump job, if that becomes possible"
Bending with her knees, she lowers herself to dig into her bag for her hand mirror. She'll need to be mobile if the killer tries to run for it. She may or may not be able to follow, as it's something she's never tried before mostly due to the awkward nature in which she views the flashbacks. She'd have to run backwards. Not an easy task.
"Okay, I'll do what I can for you. Just understand that if he makes a hard run for it, there'll be minimal chance that I can keep up with him." She's gotten good at positioning, almost as if the reverse sight has come natural to her. She looks from the agent to the detective and then finally settles her eyes on the mirror, pushing the reflection to move back in time to the date and time in question as she watches the event unfold.
Frost trims the edges of Rebecca Nakano's mirror when exposed to the polar chill that has sunken in to the city. But hauntingly so, the frost seems to serve as a framing quality for the ephemeral display of silhouettes and shadows beginning to play in the mirror's surface in her eyes. She can feel her muscles reflexively tense as what at first appeared to be non-discript humanoid forms instead come into a focus that defines them as what they truly are — shapes in smoke.
Like fog clinging to the surface of a pong, smoke swirls in Rebecca's mirror, a thick and billowing carpet of black and gray smoke that leaves a trail of drizzled ashes as it slithers along the subway rails towards where she's now viewing this event. The smoke rises in volume, collects itself like a lifted piece of cloth and churns as if from a current only the smoke can feel.
Then, like some great amorphous beast spitting out the bones of some long-dead meal, the smoke cloud expels a blue tarp wrapped body onto the gravel between the rails. The corpse bounces, bare feet sticking out from the bottom of the tarp wrapping and a drizzled trail of blood drooling along the rails until the tarp unrolls entirely, spilling a naked corpse with the top of her head sawed clean off out onto the tracks.
She is limp and motionless, but in her display here on the tracks the smoke seems to linger, boiling up and lifting into the air, twisting around and circling her in the same way a carrion bird might circle the corpse were this the deserts of Nevada. Instead it seems to watch her remains, consider them, and then move towards where Rebecca is viewing the grisly display, slithering up the side of the concrete wall now completely packed with snow, before reaching the edge of the parking lot and out of the line of sight of her mirror.
She's able to turn it, change the angle, and to Audrey and Cooper it's obvious she's tracking something. The smoke doesn't move fast at all, in fact it's pace is a languid drifting slither like wind-blown fog on a cold, rainy day. But it's headed towards the street and in the frost-trimmed frame of Rebecca's vision, is crossing the road heedlessly.
The gruesome show that is unknowingly put on for Becca gets the response that might have been intended has this truly been a performance for her benefit. Bile begins to rise in her throat, and only the fact that she wants to be strong in this particular instance allows her to swallow it back down. She doesn't take her eyes off the 'man' as she starts to walk backwards, towards the street. She also doesn't check to see if there might be any traffic coming from either direction as she steps off the sidewalk and onto the pavement.
After brushing a bit of dirt off the lip of his cup and taking a test sip, the detective tucks the cup in the crook of his arm, keeping it close to his body. This way Cooper can be writing fool, pen scratching across the paper as he takes notes. When he catches her moving out of the corner of his eye, Cooper moves to follow.
"So he can do that smoke thing with him and a body. Interesting." He murmurs softly, a glance to the agent. "Wonder if he can do that with a living person or only something dead or an object."
When he sees where Rebecca's going, the homicide detective, hurries to catch up and try to stop her, though his weight in the snow, slows him down a bit.
Nope, that's the job of the people who hired her. Audrey has an underling back at her cat and with a snap of her fingers, she's pointing to Rebecca. "Clear a path for her. Stop traffic, do whatever you have to, do you understand me?" Since they need to find out where the scene of the crime was and hopefully it's not halfway across the city. "Cooper, let her go" He can bring another mass with him. Equal to his? More? living? or not? This complicates things. Complicates them greatly. And he didn't get the smoke ability from her. So there's another body somewhere between Pandora's husband, and this woman. "Follow her, keep your recorder going"
There's the wail of a horn as a car passing in the eastbound lane whizzes past Rebecca, not close enough to be a real danger to her, but enough to try and emphasize the crazy woman in the street with the horn's cry. That noise isn't enough of a deterrent to detract Nakano from what she sees in the mirror though, and even as more patches of frost blossom on the glass, she can see the smoke swirling to the other side of the curb, lifting up onto the concrete sidewalk and moving in an inch thick carpet of roiling gray around the storefront of a 7 Eleven convenience store.
The smoke ebbs and flows, tiny eddies and currents whorling in its ephemeral surface as it rounds through the parking lot, disappearing under cars that aren't there now while Rebecca trudges and climbs through waist and shoulder deep snow that isn't there then.
Climbing atop a snow drift, she watches a disorienting view of the ground several feet below herself as the smoke swirls and churns, then finds a manhole cover now buried by the snow, sinking down through the vent holes and into whatever tunnel access is below this parking lot.
She really had no choice but to follow. That was the directive, and there was no traffic in the vision, so any traffic that might really be there goes unnoticed, except for the blaring horn. She sees that he disappears down into the sewer, she breaks contact with the mirror and covers her eyes for a moment as they adjust to the outside again. "He went down there. Sorry." It might help, but she doubts it'll be much. She finally drops her hands and blinks at the two. "He used his smoke form to disappear down into there."
The recorder is held up and give a small wiggle as he continues to hurry after the woman, badge pulled out and held up, any driver that glares at him, gets a raise of eyebrows and the meaningful glance at the badge.
Don't mess with them.
When Rebecca stops finally on the other side of the street. Cooper glances down at all that snow and says rather quick. "Oh hey… fancy a trip into the underbelly of the city, Hanson?" The detective sounds a little too happy about the prospect of tromping through crap, sludge or who the hell knows what else.
Does she? There's a glance to her boots before she's digging out her cellphone. That frowney face is back, the one that says she doesn't like where the case turned. Maybe he's hiding out with some radiation bathed turtles? "Maybe not today. We'll need permits and we're not dressed. But we know where, and have a point to work from. Lets go do the Rassmussen house. Schedule sewer schlepping for tomorrow"
With the wind driving snow off the roof of the convenience store and Rebecca waist deep in the drift covering the parking lot, Detective Cooper and Agent Hanson already know they have their work cut out for them. It will take phone calls to the New York City public works department to get the snow cleared, calls to the Water Service to determine where this manhole leads, and a long and frustrated sigh when they do finally discover its origins.
This manhole cover leads to the New York City Water Tunnel No. 2, the single largest water reservoir in all of New York City, which connects to the labyrinthine Water Tunnel No. 1 in Brooklyn and connects all the way down to Staten Island, cutting directly beneath the river. These water passages could lead anywhere, and they're filled with cracks in the tunnels and passages too small for a person to navigate, let alone a post-cognitive private detective.
The Smoke Man could have gone anywhere, and he could have well killed this Jane Doe at any time prior to dumping her body off here in Flushing. The only thing the investigators learned from this exercise in viewing the past, is that the Smoke Man can go anywhere, that no space and no passage is too restrictive for him. He comes and goes through places people wouldn't consider entrances.
He could be anywhere, and that leaves them with only one other avenue of approach. Continue to go where he's been and follow his tracks.
Fresh Kills, Staten Island
Two Hours Later
To say that the neighborhood of Fresh Kills is perhaps unfortunately named would be the least of the misfortunes visited upon this place. Be it the mass exodus that the radioactive fallout cloud in 2006 spurred on, or the immigration of the homeless and destitute fleeing Manhattan that arrived here that followed, or the lack of a public works system to plow the roads or clear the streets, Fresh Kills is a neighborhood that's already been murdered.
It takes an hour and a half to get roughly two miles into Staten Island. From the time Agent Audrey Hanson crosses the Arthur Kill bridge into Tottenville it's a logistical nightmare. Vehicle traffic is simply impossible, with snow drifts anywhere from three feet to nine feet high swallowing up entire houses. The two and a half miles from the Arthur Kill bridge through Tottenville and Pleasant Plains into Arthur Kill is excruciating.
The trek is made out with the company of the New Jersey State Police and two K-9 units on snowshoes. It's a surreal expedition out to the former residence of Archie and Mizuki Rassmussen. There's no electricity out this far west on Staten Island, maybe because of the snow snapping power lines, maybe because it's been like this for over three years now. But despite the desolation, it's not abandoned.
Footprints in the snow with no one belonging to them threaten the presence of indigenous inhabitants of the forgotten island, while the large paw prints of wild dogs are while the NJPD have brought shotguns and rifles with them for the journey. Along the way there's innumerably haunting sights, from snow buried houses and cars, to entire highways of parked automobiles left abandoned for over three years right where they were on the highway, like people just got up and left.
Graffiti adorns the houses in the neighborhood where Archie Rassmussen died. Houses with shuttered windows and partially shoveled driveways are signs that people still willingly live out here, and the shadows of those people watching from their homes and staying out of sight at the police presence is making the New Jersey officers anxious.
By the time the team has arrived at the Rassmussen residence, it's clear no one's been here perhaps since Archie died. The house's front door is completely covered by snow, and it's here where Agent Hanson and her team are forced to take their first pause in the investigation. The front entrance needs to be cleared, the house needs to be checked for activity, and they need to sit put while that happens.
This wouldn't be her only trip to Staten Island. This is her first though and there's a glance towards some other destination that she can't see from here but knows it's there. She'd rather take the law enforcement with her to there and deal with something she can get her hands on. "I need shovels, we need to clear a way" She's cranky from the traffic and her pinched face is even more pinched at having to be out in the cold, chasing after smoke so that she can find something, something, that will put a halt to these killing. Give her something to tell the Rassmussen widow.
She wades through the snow regardless, swooping armfuls of it out of her way so that she can make it to the door and bang on it. "This is Homeland Security and the New Jersey State Police. If there are any residents within the premises, please vacate promptly. You can return when we're done" SHe's giving them the option to return. There's a circling motion made with her hand towards the police. Go around it if you can, see who all leaves. If he's old.. well. It goes without saying. They've all been furnished with pictures of what he looks like. Supposedly. Or smoke.
The last time that Rebecca Nakano stepped foot on Staten Island, it was to buy Refrain. She has not come back to this place since she got her act cleaned up and the ominous feeling that haunts her as she follows Agent Hansen. There isn't much she can do until they clear the building so she stands to the side, bag in hand.
Thankfully the New Jersey State Police came prepared, be it for packs of feral dogs or — more mundanely — snow. Shovels in hand they're quick to move at the front door of the house, picking away at the drift that's literally frozen the door in place. It becomes readily apparent once they've gotten halfway through shoveling that the snow and ice is the only reason the door's still shut, given that the frame is splintered from what was clearly a forced entry.
It doesn't take more than fifteen minutes in what has already been hours of exposure ot the blistering cold to get that door cleared and an entrance to the house made. With the door open, armed NJPD officers move down into the foyer of the house, a one-floor ranch that — quite likely — was the Rassmussen's start to their family, a home they could raise a child in that instead became Archie's tomb.
On the inside it's clear that the original team of investigators that hastily removed Archie's body did little else to the house. Shouts of "clear!" inside the home come with views through the door of blood stains on the tile and hardwood floor, of broken glass and shattered furniture. It is this frozen sense of violence that permeates the air in this place, and when it's made evident that Audrey and her team can make their way in, it's directly into the broken mouth of this home that they tread.
Archie's death was clearly a violent one. The walls are dappled coppery brown and white, arterial spray and blood clearly from blunt-force impact of already bleeding wounds. Kitchen knives crusted with blood and trimmed with frost lay scattered on the floor. A glass table is shattered into dozens of broken shards and the aluminum frame is bent and warped.
A basement door near the kitchen where it is clear the murder took place has a chair tipped over near it and scuff marks on the wood where Mizuki must have been trying to force the door open with the chair wedged so tight beneath it. There's not even a chalk outline where Archie died, just a stain.
Everyone here silently prays they get more when their time comes.
Lesson learned today boys and girls? Don't die on Staten Island. No one will care about you. Well, no, they might now. leather gloved fingers descend here and there, clearing chair out of the way and looking around. She can only for now, imagine what Mizuki heard. Audrey closes her eyes, picturing what the Asian woman had told her, even going so far at to the stairway that the young woman had been locked in.
"lets keep this quick before we get some bold people. Ms. Nakano, if you would"
There's no huge mirror brought for her, she'll let the woman use her own this time, but Audrey moves out of the way so the other Asian woman can move around as needed. "Far as we know, he didn't have his smoke ability yet. This was a normal breaking in. Which means we can see what he's using, how he's carrying it, get a better look at him before he learned his new trick. I want to see if he carries a doctors bag, some other sort of bag, or just a small kit." Narrowing down his extraction tool of choice might help.
Rebecca nods towards Audrey as she steps into the room and gets herself oriented. Small details within the room stand out to her, as they always have and she uses them to find where she should be for the best look, at least to start. It's hard not to try and recreate the crime scene from scratch, but it's not really her job anymore. She would place her bag down, but the condition of the room gives her pause and she decides to just keep it on her arm, as she reaches in and pulls out her mirror.
She takes a deep breath as she takes one more look around the room, then turns, slowly lifting up the mirror until the image comes into view. An image unlike anything they already see here as it almost immediately pulls her into view as she scrolls back to the specified date and time and begins to watch the scene unfold.
Rebecca Nakano has seen many terrible things in her life, all thanks to the ability she was given. The past doesn't always have terrible things in it, there's love, and hope and life just as much as there is hate and suffering and pain. Like trying to tune in an unfamiliar radio station, Rebecca Nakano's mirror shows those moments before and after what she's searching for, moments of cherished love between two people struggling to make ends meet, moments of passion and anger, moments of happiness and sorrow. These blurred flashes of Archie Rassmussen and his wife come in contrast to the too recent visions of a frozen apartment and dark stains where blood sunk into tile and paint and carpet.
Eventually the mirror hones in on the day and time of Archie Rassmussen's murder. Rebecca can see the briefest glimpse of Mizuki moving towards the door that now lays ajar with a chair tipped over in front of it, the door to the basement where she descends. Quickly, the lanky frame of Mr.Rassmussen moves to slam the door shut, his brows furrowed together and fingers sliding to put the bolt latch across.
He turns, looking through the kitchen towards the living room and the front of the house, a vein throbbing on his forehead as fingers wind around the back of a chair, scrape legs across tile, and jam the back beneath the doorknob. The door bulges, a slam, then another. Rebecca cannot hear Mizuki's panicked noises, but she can see each fist pound against the door trying to push it open.
A moment later, glass is flying past Archie and Rebecca is whipping her mirror around to find the source. The front windows of the home are blown open, glass shattered all across the floor, frame broken and curtains tangled. A dark silhouette stands on the other side of the window, one hand held out and fingers spread.
Moving the mirror again, Rebecca can see Archie already moving, feet treading bloodily over flung shards of broken glass as he reaches the cutting block in the kitchen. A butcher's knife is pulled from within so hastily that the whole block topples over. When he turns, the knife is brandished towards the intruder.
Turning the mirror back, Rebecca can see the man who was outside having climbed thorugh the window, his clothing ratty and old, a tattered flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up and two top buttons undone. His jeans have tears at the knees, body lanky and emaciated. His head is bald, completely hairless and devoid of eyebrows, like a cancer patient fresh off of chemotherapy.
Archie's mouth opens in a silent scream and he moves into frame, dodging to the side a split second before a painting flies off the wall and whips past his head, seeming to be able to predict or estimate the dangers coming. He lunges forward, knife out, but the throw of the bald old man's hand up into the air sends Archie flying backwards, smashing through the top of the dining table and splitting it down the middle. His knife falls from his hand, eyes snap back to his intruder, and Rebecca can see those boots the attacker wears treading over broken glass harmlessly.
He lifts a hand, and Archie's moving — not of the attacker's volition but his own, picking up a broken table leg and swinging it wild. The wooden leg breaks off at the middle, shatters on some unseen force as the bald man raises a brow. Archie turns for the knife, but a twist of the attacker's two forefingers instead sends him crashing into the wall by the door.
Blood tracks from where his head impacts with the wall and where sheet rock is split. But he's not down, not out. A shard of broken glass is picked up before he is telekinetically flipped over, and when the attacker leans in, Archie lunges up, driving the wedge of glass into the old man's leg between knee and kneecap. The bald man screams silently, mouth open and a line of spittle connecting upper and lower teeth.
Archie scrambles for his knife, but then tries to stop himself and move away from it, but he's too slow. The knife lifts up into the air and slams into Archie's chest, then pulls out and drives into his shoulder, then his neck, then his right cheek, then his hand as it shields his face, then his stomach and then his back.
A bloody piece of glass hits the floor, and limping his bald attacker lifts a hand towards Archie and throws him into the kitchen counter with considerable force. He lands, bloodily on the ground, and then is dragged by invisible threads across the tile, leaving that long bloody streak that has dried where Rebecca is now.
Archie is flipped over, turned around, and with yellowed teeth gnashed together the bald man spreads his fingers and splits Archie's head open with a sawing line that zig-sags across his brow, wrenches the bone of his skull open like the jaws of life. But the horror does not end there, writhing aroun don the ground, eyes clenched and screaming, Rebecca watches as the bald killer licks his lips and moves to crouch over Archie's body, hands shaking.
He reaches down to the ground, picking up a shard of glass, and begins to cut the membrane around the brain away while Archie yet still lives. The piece of glass is a tool of opportunity, less precise than the surgical tools used in more recent killings. It reflects a refinement of the art, more patience and time in the future, more premeditation. This may well have been, somehow, a crime of opportunity.
Somewhere along the way Archie stops moving, while his attacker is severing the optical nerves that connect brain to eyes, and then slides his fingers inside the skull cavity, to begin wrenching the whole thing free.
It doesn't how many crime scenes you visit, how many autopsies you assist or how many times you hear the story of a vividly told tale of murder. It doesn't matter at all. Not when you can relive the incident in full detail. The scene, at first, has no real effect on the woman who is more about details and descriptions than about content. She begins to almost dictate what she's seeing to those present, describing the bald man and hard fought battle between the two. About the final blow that is delivered to Archie and the way his forehead is cut open.
It's when that bald man begins to play with Archie's brain that Rebecca's mind finally registers what is exactly happening here and she pales, dropping the mirror to the floor the moment that the man begins to pull the brain from Archie's head. Rebecca turns her head to the side, bending over as if she might hurl on the floor, though there really isn't anything in her stomach to come out. The mirror itself shatters upon contact with the floor, sending reflective shards around the floor. This would be a first for Rebecca. The first time that something like this has ever made her feel this way.
"Does someone have any water?" Not the stuff from the tap, even Audrey wouldn't trust the stuff from the tap in here. She's moving over to Rebecca, the recorder still going but put the side and kneeling down to put a hand to the PI's back. "You did good. You did real good Nakano, you're helping us with the investigation and we're leaning more. I think this will be the last that we'll need you for" She didn't get much from here other than the knowledge of at least one more victim possibly two or three.
Shaking her head, Rebecca finally pulls herself up and takes a deep breath. "I'm okay. Thanks." Probably the best thing for her right now is for her to get the hell off this island. She glances down at her broken mirror and wrinkles up her nose. "I guess I can write that one off." Not that she can't afford a new one or three with the money she's getting paid for this gig. But, it was her first. "You can call me anytime you need me." It sounds like this might just be over, at least as far as she's concerned. Chasing adulterer doesn't sound all that bad at the moment.
Chasing adulterer's won't possibly get your head split open if the smoke man catches wind of what the cops are using to pinpoint his kills or determine his abilities currently at hand. Audrey steps back even as the NJPD manage to somehow scrounge a bottle of water for Rebecca and it makes it's way into the building.
There's a nod to the other woman and curt order to someone to get Rebecca to wherever she needs to go. Then, it's back to this house of death. "I want finger prints. I want them off of here" Gestures aplenty to where the attacker came in and things he touched. "It's i don't know how many months old, but I want evidence collected. This blood over here" Audrey's got a scene untouched by anything but nature and the cops who came before for a short short period of time.
"Get it done now"
Rebecca gathers herself up and accepts the bottle of water. "You know where to reach me," is all she offers as she's led from the scene of the crime and taken off the island, thankfully so. The one thing that has never crossed her mind is that she could be in danger for doing all of this. Never once. Perhaps it should have.