One Sided Conversation



Scene Title One Sided Conversation
Synopsis with God
Date march 5, 2009

Rusty Warehouse

Abigails has long since started to hate the sound of people in their cells, shuffling like some exhibits on display at a zoo. She doens't know their names. She knows their abilities. She could list them off like some zookeeper who knows all his animals.

Only she's part of the display and not the zookeeper. She's been lucky not to see the Zookeeper, just his attendants. She's long since abandoned the schedule that she kept at the whorehouse, telling time by when the hookers came with her meals. Now time is measured out by the pass of the armed guards on their check in every few hours or so, dropping off of food that doesn't get touched. Night comes with the sounds of the electricity stopping it's incessant whine across the front of the cage and the shuffle of fighters to leave the warehouse largely quiet.

She's never going to the zoo ever again. She doesn't even think she can handle the museum of natural history with it's glassed in exhibits. She was never claustrophobic, but these days. But these the box just seems to get a little smaller with every time they shove her back in it and the current starts up again, making the hairs on her arm stand at attention from proximity. Everyone's gone, mostly everyone. There's a couple fighters at the end who aren't out earning their 'Owner' some money tonight. She can hear the one going to the bathroom, The other one doing.. push ups from the sound of it, his breathing.

The healer turns away from the electrified gate, her own feet joining in the din of the warehouse, the guards playing cards, or dice, she hasn't figured it out yet and at this point, she's stopped caring. Time to wash her hair. Get it done while she's awake, has the energy. She'd already washed her sweater and it had dried, folded at the foot of her cot ready to be switched for her shirt. Being in a cage is no excuse for being dirty, not when you have a sink at least.

A flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye makes the healer look, hold her breath, hope. Shadow moved. Was it Richard or just… her movement? She's been doing this ever since he found her. Every shadow is circumspect, is that him? Did he come back? Every niggle in her mind ends up with a mental 'Parkman?' directed outward, everywhere, in the hopes that the HomeSec Agent is nearby, offering comforting platitudes. That she's not alone, they haven't forgotten her. But there's no soothing voice to be heard. Just her own silence that fills her mind with some dull roar.

Up goes the blanket to cover the view from the front of the cell, give her privacy and the water in the tap's turned on. a lot of hot, little cold. "I Know I haven't spoken much, this last month. I haven't gone to church, to give you proper credit. To sit, with others, raise my voice to you. I've just used you, selfishly, to keep myself alive by keeping the others alive. I've meant what I pray to you, I do. It helps them, helps them survive a little longer, gives them hope, that maybe someone will come soon, save them" Abigail's voice reverberates through her cell, voice ricochet's off the corrugated steel walls as she starts to peel her shirt off leaving her in only her bra and jeans with the bullet holes in them. The blue cotton shirt is folded, placed to the side. Pale hands cup under the stream of running water, lifted to splash over her face to wash away the day's grime.

"He took my tongue, thinking it would stop me from praying to you. You know that, you see all" Another splash of water, burying her face in her hands before she remains hunkered over, cupping water to wet her hair. "I don't even know what day it is. But I know that it's another day and i'm still here, and you haven't revoked your gift and I thank you for that. I know at times.. that I must seem unworthy, unwilling, ungrateful for it, for the special touch that you bring to my life, but I'm not. It's brought me here and I know I've cursed you for that. But, there's a reason, you have a reason for everything" There's the shuffle of footsteps past her cell, a pause to listen to what she's talking to, god, and then guard moves on when he can see her feet below the hung up blanket. It's the crazy healer, talking to god.

"Just.. I really think, maybe, this might be the load that I can bear and no more. Please. I know it must seem selfish to you, to ask, to pray that you give me a breather, from whatever life's trials that you throw at me but, I do, I do. I killed a man, some call it sending his soul to you for judgement that he's been avoiding, others say he deserved it, and maybe he did, but I didn't have the time to come to terms with it. With doing what I did. And when i tried. I found myself here" It's a lot of hair she has, the blonde wavy tresses darkening to a deeper blonde as it's whetted and satisfied, the small bar of soap is plucked up, countless applications of the suds to her hair. She separates it all into chunks to wash, easier that way when you don't have a shower.

"Did you not want me going home to Louisiana? If I went, would I have missed something here? I really don't think you wanted me to learn the "swirl" from Marlena. I really doubt, that you placed me in such a way as to learn that" Abigail falls silent, letting the running water, her hands rubbing soap through her hair be her thoughts for the moment. "I just wanted to go home" Down she puts her head under the tap, wending it there to let the water spill over her forehead, forcing her eyes closed as it courses over her eyes across her nose and down her cheek, bringing weak suds with it. "They say hang on, stick with it, it'll be okay" She pulls her head back, tilting it again grabbing sections of blonde to run it under the water till it's clear fluid that shows instead of clouded water.

"But they're not here. They're out there, trying to… get in. But in here" Over and over she rinses her hair, staring at the wall, as if she could will her eyes to see Magnes's cell on the other side. But she can't unless he reaches up and touches her fingers through the rent in the wall and alters her gravity. "I want out. Please. I know, that just by asking you this probably means that I haven't been here long enough, but.." Her shirt is plucked up, used to dry her hair after she's squeezed out all the moisture that she can. "I don't think I can take anymore. They know where I live. where I work, they.. I don't know what to do… if they get me free"

Abigail eases back onto her cot, feet on the floor, leaning over as she let her hair dry, finger coming the wet locks with her finger to get them into some semblance of order so she can braid it. She falls quiet during it all the water turned off, hair roughly braided into a thick rope that falls down her back. That done, the sweater is unfolded, her head slid in and arms through the sleeves. "Just… watch over them. help them. Just please God, help them, that's all I ask. What little faith I have, that still bubbles and spills over for you, use it for them"

Abigail looks up towards the ceiling of her cell.

"I don't.. want to die here. Not here. Anywhere, but here. please"

She looks down at her hands, the little gold cross playing between her finger against her collarbone.

"I'm.. so scared God. Please. Make it go away. All of it."

March 5th: Left This Behind
March 5th: Don't Drink The Punch
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