Scenelet // Betsy
Sep. 24th, 2005 04:53 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBetsy revisits the alleyway where they found the two children, reflecting on what happened with Lorna, and how it all went wrong.
This is where Manuel found them. Of all people, it was Manny. She looked up at the other end of the alleyway, toward the retirement home. He was the one she hated. The one person who was a sore spot for both Betsy and Lorna and the one who caused the most damage out of them all.
Betsy had come here every day since it’d happen. Kneeling down at the very spot, noticing the dirt displaced by a splattering of footprints and tracks as it had been when they’d first inspected the area with Scott. She ran her hands along the grime, kneading the grains in between her fingertips, trying to squeeze reasoning from all that seemed illogical.
It couldn't have been Lorna, she thought angrily, dragging her nails along the ground. And then the other voice whispered sweetly in her mind. And if it was your green-eyed girl? "Fuck," she muttered, cursing to herself. If only she hadn’t been too busy with finding the others, with finding Paul. If Remy had been here.
Maybe, maybe, maybe....
She’d had all week to find some clue – a tidbit that would lead her to the truth -- to where Lorna could be. But she found nothing. She’d let a friend down, abandoned her when she was in need. The shame that hung over her head was palpable.
The last time she’d seen her, Betsy handed her the gift she thought would look lovely in the Hawaiian climate and sent her off on her way. No questions asked. Not once did she think to call or email her; too wrapped up in her own life to think to do so and now it was too late.
A deep welling of anguished swept through Betsy and she clamped down, grinding her teeth to keep herself from letting the pain overtake her. Her hands were bone-white as she held it in a tight fist, each grimy grain slipping through her fingers as she held for control.
The air lifted lightly, blowing her hair back, carrying the sweet, gnawing smell of the alleyway garbage to her nostrils. Standing up, Betsy turned down the other end of the back street. She wiped the dirt off on her black trenchcoat, a private reminder of her personal sin, and exited the dark passage feeling the burden of the world and realizing she wasn’t strong enough to carry it.
This is where Manuel found them. Of all people, it was Manny. She looked up at the other end of the alleyway, toward the retirement home. He was the one she hated. The one person who was a sore spot for both Betsy and Lorna and the one who caused the most damage out of them all.
Betsy had come here every day since it’d happen. Kneeling down at the very spot, noticing the dirt displaced by a splattering of footprints and tracks as it had been when they’d first inspected the area with Scott. She ran her hands along the grime, kneading the grains in between her fingertips, trying to squeeze reasoning from all that seemed illogical.
It couldn't have been Lorna, she thought angrily, dragging her nails along the ground. And then the other voice whispered sweetly in her mind. And if it was your green-eyed girl? "Fuck," she muttered, cursing to herself. If only she hadn’t been too busy with finding the others, with finding Paul. If Remy had been here.
Maybe, maybe, maybe....
She’d had all week to find some clue – a tidbit that would lead her to the truth -- to where Lorna could be. But she found nothing. She’d let a friend down, abandoned her when she was in need. The shame that hung over her head was palpable.
The last time she’d seen her, Betsy handed her the gift she thought would look lovely in the Hawaiian climate and sent her off on her way. No questions asked. Not once did she think to call or email her; too wrapped up in her own life to think to do so and now it was too late.
A deep welling of anguished swept through Betsy and she clamped down, grinding her teeth to keep herself from letting the pain overtake her. Her hands were bone-white as she held it in a tight fist, each grimy grain slipping through her fingers as she held for control.
The air lifted lightly, blowing her hair back, carrying the sweet, gnawing smell of the alleyway garbage to her nostrils. Standing up, Betsy turned down the other end of the back street. She wiped the dirt off on her black trenchcoat, a private reminder of her personal sin, and exited the dark passage feeling the burden of the world and realizing she wasn’t strong enough to carry it.
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