She moved delicately, if erratically, legs crossed, hands folded. Zeitlin bit the inside of his cheek as to chastise himself for assuming the people here would all be as insane and animalistic as stereotype suggested.
“Miss Shelley Hall, nymphomaniac. You might remember her.” From the folder on the desk, he pulled a picture of the blonde in question. He turned it so that it faced her, leaning back to give her room to look. “She was admitted two years ago, reported missing earlier this year – until we found her about a mile from the institution.” He avoided details of how she was found.
There was a heavy pause, to allow the woman to inspect the photograph. “The police are looking into how she escaped, and why. I’m here to ask around, to hopefully better understand the situation she was leaving.” He hesitated, glancing at the window. Zeitlin didn’t need to know why she escaped. This place was Hell. A blink, and he focused on the task at hand once more.
“More importantly, I need to know about the state she was in – was it… violent? Erratic? Did she appear to be… sick?”
✞✞ Shelley Hall.. Yes, she remembers her, the filthy little thing. Always spreading her legs, always getting down on her knees for anything that BREATHED. But in this place, even a HARLOT such as she proved as a valuable friend.
She nods, leaning forward to meet the pair of eyes on the photograph. They were cold, steely, strong as always, an impish twinkle lingering beneath the blue. The girl purses her lips, recalling those first days that Shelley went missing.. It was kept quiet- as if she’d never been there at all. Two long years of suffering, two long years of heartache, only to be forgotten.
She couldn’t help but wonder what those eyes were seeing now.
WHY she escaped, that was no question. Horror stories hid beneath the fiend’s tongue, just waiting to burst past her lips. All of the evidence that he needed sat just before him.
The woman offers him a dry laugh. “If I knew how Shelley escaped.. you would have been looking for me, too.”
She sighs, her back touching the chair once again. “Miss Hall was.. she was never violent. But she was.. a fighter. Although, I suppose that we all have to be.. in here. In here.. they all think that we’re sick.”
theartofmadeline
vaporwave
kianamaiart
romaincrisis
