Participants:
| Scene Title | Unwanted Warnings |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Peyton comes to Bella's old studio office to let Aaron know about her sordid history. He is less than pleased with the news. |
| Date | May 29, 2010 |
Dr. Isabella Sheridan's Old Studio Office
Of all the conversations that they didn't have, Peyton is cursing herself for not telling him that his beloved therapist Bella was the same person who kidnapped people and forced them to be part of a mad-scientist experiment using Refrain. It just hadn't come up, and Bella was missing, presumed dead, and Aaron was off to the Lighthouse anyway. Then there was the storm, and it seemed to be simply a non-issue. But now it is very much an Issue with a capital I.
Thus Peyton is scurrying from taxi cab to the building she saw in her vision, as she tracked Aaron's progress from her apartment toward the "professional help" he was seeking. Alarms had started to ring in her head when she saw it was no medical facility but an apartment complex. Her new ability to hear in her visions alerted her that it was Bella's apartment — and she began calling Aaron's cell phone. Only to be ignored. She tried calling Cardinal and Liz for advice, but her own cell phone cut out, and her land line hadn't been restored yet.
Through the door, into the elevator, and finally to the door with the number she saw in her vision, Peyton pounds upon it. She knows Bella isn't there; once Aaron dozed off, she switched perspective to Bella's point of view. Aaron is alone and asleep, but not for long.
It took Aaron a great deal of effort to make it back into the recesses of the darkness of sleep after Bella left. To be disturbed so soon after finally getting back to sleep is jarring. He jerks awake, and it's not until the next pound on the door that he realizes what woke him up.
The cold has made him stiff, and it takes him several moments to untangle the blanket he finds himself wound in. He nearly slips on a bit of frost on the flooring as he nears the door. Somewhere along the way, he found a candlestick, which he now wields in his sturdy right hand— sturdy, though shaking. Bella would use her key.
He creeps up to the door and puts his head against it, listening for any signs of who is on the other end. This isn't supposed to be happening.
On the other side of the door, Peyton's eyes unfocus, the black swallowing up the brown iris until she sees Aaron staring at the door. With a swift blink, her eyes return to the same door, but her side of it, and she knocks less harshly, knowing he's right on the other side.
"Aaron. It's Peyton. Open up, please," she says, her lips near the crack so she does not have to shout. "It's important."
Aaron's first thought is that he's hallucinating again, and he backs away from the door. The candlestick clatters to the ground a moment before the more logical part of his brain starts working again. She could know where this place is. If she followed him. He picks the candlestick back up, not sure where its candle has gotten off to.
"I can't believe you followed me," are the first words from his lips when he cracks the door open. He's at least decent enough to the neighbours to let Peyton in all the way before he flies too far off the handle. Somehow, he manages not to shout.
"What? You disapprove? You think you can do better to help me? I think you already showed me and admitted yourself you haven't a hope. So why? What gives you the right to spy on me or criticize my choices?"
"Put that down please," Peyton says, her gaze flicking to the candlestick and then to his face. "And no. You don't understand. I don't think I can do … well, maybe I could do better than Isabella Sheridan… but not because I'm equipped to help. Listen. And don't be angry. I followed you because I care, all right? And I wanted to know where you ended up, because if you ended up at the Nurse Cratchett," yes, she has the name wrong, "Mental Asylum, I wanted to know, okay? I don't want you to disappear and me wonder what happened to you, even if you think that's the best possible solution. I have lost enough friends and it's not okay with me."
Peyton takes a breath and stays near the door, the better to flee if the next part goes badly. "I never had a chance to tell you — and I thought it was … I thought she'd left town, because so many people were angry at her for what she did, but then you came here and…" she takes another deep breath. "Bella is bad, okay? She kidnapped people who went to some Refrain anonymous group, she took them and did experiments on them against their will. Ferry had to rescue them. Good people. Friends of mine."
If he hadn't just fed on Peyton earlier, he would be inclined to think he's hallucinating. AGAIN. Part of him still wants to believe it is a hallucination because he does not like what he's being told. He drops the candlestick on the floor and doesn't notice the clattering it makes. He's shaking his head and pacing. "No, no, that's not true. She's a therapist. She helps people, she doesn't hurt them. You're out of your mind or lying or I'm out of my mind or something."
He faces her, "What the hell is wrong with you? Why can't you let me … God." He goes back to pacing and trembling, trying to block out the information that conflicts so badly with every single one of the therapy sessions he had with the woman. She had plenty of opportunities to make away with him and she didn't. "You've gotta have it wrong. She could have taken me any time, there's no way this is the same person we're talking about."
"I wouldn't have told you," Peyton whispers, face contorted with worry as she stares at him. "I didn't think it would be good to tell you, because it would only upset you and if she was gone — why upset you more? But you can't stay here with her, Aaron. I don't… she's not a good person. She isn't just a therapist, she works for some government group that … that takes people with powers, like DHS but it's not DHS, all this stuff I haven't explained because you don't want to know about it… I saw her files but I don't have proof here with me, but you have to trust me all right?"
The clairvoyant runs a hand through her hair. "Get your stuff, come on. You can come stay with me or … or I can take you to a real hospital, if you don't think I can help you, but you can't stay here, Aaron."
Aaron has to sit down, which he does. The couch he had been sleeping on feels colder than he remembers it. Hell, the entire apartment feels colder than he remembers it, even if nothing's changed. Nothing save for the mood. He rests his head on his knees, his hands trembling. He starts shaking his head.
"No."
"Aaron. She might come back and I don't want to have to deal with explaining why I'm taking her patient, all right? I know she was Wendy's friend and that you feel she's helped you, but she hurt people. She kept people for weeks and when people tried to rescue them, she kept one of them, too. A girl younger than me. And a pastor and I don't know what all," Peyton says, staring hard at him as he goes to sit.
"She made them take Refrain, when they went to her for help to get off of it. That's not okay, right? She's not who you think she is, and I know I'm not equipped to help you, but someone else has to be able to help you that's not a fucking mad scientist!" Her voice is rising and she moves from her spot by the door to his luggage, beginning to pull the bags over her shoulders herself.
"Stop it, stop it, stop it," Aaron cries, overturning one of the end tables. He opens his mouth to say it once more but it doesn't quite make it out. He closes his eyes and sinks backwards into the couch, breathing as slowly as he can. "Just. can't. fucking. win." The words are breathed more than spoken, semi-audible whispers of his growing frustration and inability to control his own life.
He slowly gets to his feet, breathing loudly through his nose. He takes a deep breath in as he reaches down, clutching the base of the couch with his gloved hand. He flips it over and shortly after kicks his therapist's usual chair over. Then he points to the door. "Get out."
The sudden outburst and flinging of furniture has Peyton scurrying backwards — though the two bags she now has over her shoulders makes her top heavy, and she falls back on top of the bags. "I'm not going without you, Aaron. I'm not leaving you here to her," Peyton murmurs — her voice is surprisingly even despite the fact her heart feels like it's going to burst through her throat any moment.
"Don't go breaking my shit." He eyes the bags she toppled onto. "I told you no. Get out. Go away. Leave me alone. What do I have to say or do to make you go away?" Aaron kicks over the last table. "Make you all go away," he whispers. His hands shake more so than tremble at this point and he keeps huffing and puffing.
After disentangling herself from the bags' straps, Peyton rises slowly. "You can't stay here, Aaron. I know you're angry, but being angry at me doesn't make this a better place for you, all right? You're … what's the word… projecting your anger you feel at me and I'm the one trying to help you. I'm not going to leave you like this — not when you're this upset. You've tried to kill yourself twice this year, I'm not going to leave you here, okay? You need to come or … or I'll call the police and tell them you're suicidal. I can make them believe me, Aaron." Her voice shakes and her eyes fill with tears with the threat.
Provided someone hasn't already called the cops, what with all the overturning of furniture.
"Once, once, once!" Aaron turns away from her and moves to reset the chair. "Knew you didn't fucking believe me. Why should you? I'm just the crazy fucking roommate." He knocks the chair over again and sits on its hard underside. He glares at Peyton. "Just go already."
"I'm not going to leave you here, Aaron. I'm not leaving you with a fucking nutcase," Peyton says, pulling out the cell phone, hoping it has power. If not, she might have to call on her mother using thoughts, but she'd rather not have to. A glance at the phone shows service, and she presses 9-1-1, then lifts the phone to her ear, backing up toward the door as she watches him with wide eyes.
"«9-1-1. Please state your emergency,»" a voice chirps on the other end.
"I found my friend trying to kill himself. I stopped him, but he won't leave the residence he's staying at, and I'm afraid to leave him alone," Peyton begins.
Aaron puts his head in one hand and shakes his head. "You're unbelievable," he says under breath. "In case you didn't notice, I'm a bit of a nutcase myself. You shouldn't have to… oh never mind. What's the point? You won't listen, anyway. I hope you know what you're doing." He gets off the chair and pulls the couch back onto its feet. Then he reclines on it, glaring at Peyton from his back.
Her hand shakes as she stares at him, though she chooses not to respond to his words. She answers the questions of the dispatcher: names and address are easy enough. She lies and says she caught him with a razor blade to his wrists, tears streaming down her face as she does so. She does as she is asked and stays on the line until a police unit can arrive.
It is a long and tense twenty minutes of near-silence — Peyton and Aaron staring at one another and Peyton murmuring, "Yes," once in a while when the dispatcher asks if all is still all right — until the police knock on the door.