((This thread is for the game only. If you would like to chat or join, then please go to the OOC thread.
The two human characters I play do not have OCC profiles.))
“My son’s in town somewhere,” Carol lied, a small, twisted part of her glad that the mayor was murdered. If he hadn’t of been murdered the night before, then he would’ve spilled everything to the agents ad Carol’s son would be left high and dry. Currently, he was locked up in his room— where only the dearest of friends and family were allowed to visit.
“Don’t be a stranger, then,” the agent said, stepping back from the doorway. “Soon as he gets home, you give us a call. Procedure is that
everyone must be tested.”
Carol wondered why exactly the CIA would ever let a man with such a scruffy appearance and redneck accent join their ranks. From the clumsy way he drew her blood earlier, to the bare-line little he knew about his own Agency, she could tell he wasn’t brilliant. Rubbing his wiry beard, he smiled at her, nodding, then proceeded to make his way across the front porch and down the stairs, toting his briefcase – a vial of Carol’s blood hidden inside – with him.
Relieved, she pulled the door shut. Taped to the crook of her elbow was a cotton ball. It was dotted with little red specks, specks that pooled into larger spots as her blood let. The agent had been fairly careless and brutal with the needle, jabbing it in, ripping it out, and leaving her with a tiny but gaping wound.
She went to sit on the living room couch, where she had the best view of the front wall. She grabbed her cup of pink lemonade and propped her legs up on the glass coffee table. Her cabin was by no means a modest one: two stories, a-frame, gleaming wood beams. Massive, specially cut windows smothering the front wall, leaving only a small space for the door. Plasma television. Marble counters and barstools in the kitchen. Leather sofas. Best of all, it had a great view of the small meadow, and, past that, the serene Dolores river.
Eleven years of extreme dedication to being a Vegas showgirl had paid off in thousands for her. But she wasn’t proud. Carol still worked, night shifts at the local café, just to keep herself sane and to make sure she didn’t get spoiled. Her husband had died in a motor accident when their son was six.
“That’s it, keep leaving,” she whispered.
She watched through the cabin’s giant front windows while the agent left. He climbed inside his black SUV. So still was the spring air that she could hear the car door slam, even from inside.
Then he finally left, turning the SUV around in the narrow gravel driveway and taking off into the forest of Quaking Aspen. If she stared at the trembling volley of white tree trunks and silver-green leaves for a few minutes, then past them she would see his SUV emerging from the tiny forest, crossing the bridge over the river and pulling out onto the highway.
But she didn’t have the time to watch him leave.
Because, at that very moment, her son cried out so loudly it jolted her, and violently at that:
”Mom!....Mom!”Carol set down her cup and jumped to her feet. She made a mad dash for Jordan’s room, flinging the door wide open and bursting onto the scene- Jordan, her son, face down on the floor, breathing in the odor of the dusty carpet.
“Baby, oh, baby,” she cried. “What happened?”
He tried to get up on his own, but the ten-year-old was too weak, feeble. He was gasping for breath. Dusty brown hair in disarray. Blue eyes wide and scared. Skin so deathly pale it was tragic. She set to getting him back into bed immediately.
“Honey, baby,” she sobbed, “I told you that if you needed something you should call me. You’re too sick to get up on your own. What happened?”
“I was trying to get some water…so thirsty, but I didn’t want to call you because that guy was out there.”
Carol’s heart twanged. She shouldn’t have been so quick to judge. Her boy could be smarter than her sometimes. She gave him an apologetic look and got him a glass of filtered water from the kitchen tap. But when she came back, her boy was curled up into the fetal position, where bed met wall, mumbling:
“The unicorn. I’m turning into a unicorn, mom…”
