@empathik said: there he stands, one step past the doorway of the gas station, hot coffee strewn down the front of him. unlucky eyes rise to glance across the parking lot and lock with beverly’s- of course.
THERE’S A CERTAIN DISCONNECT BETWEEN CONCEPT AND REALITY. a notion that violence is meant for the dark shroud of night — that daylight means safety, means peace. beverly thinks of the stacks of horror movies neatly piled on the bottom shelf of her television stand — the warped plastic covers and battered cardboard cases she’s accumulated from various bargain bins and thrift stores, all blacks and reds and loud, stylized fonts. for all the terror they contain — the evil and death and immeasurable hatred, all wrapped up in a few hours’ neatly tied bow — there’s a grand sort of law to those worlds that beverly has always envied.
out here, in a reality at once both more and less terrible, it doesn’t work the same. sunlight only lends atrocity a better spotlight; day arrives, and death remains, coating the grass like dew that refuses to dissolve. there will always be another field, another shady patch beneath the trees where moisture still clings. night may often tempt a man to murder, but day summons another to stand as witness.
beverly sticks her hands in the pockets of her jacket; the leather creaks with her movements, rubbing up against itself with a soft sound. she curls her fingers around the phone in her right pocket, brushing her thumb over the smooth plastic case. it’s relatively early still — on the cusp between late morning and early afternoon — and the sun shines at just the right angle to bounce brightly off the gas pump’s painted side. bev squints against it, sunglasses doing little to cut the bright sting, and watches the numbers roll lazily upward in value. around her suv, and its twin stationed at the pump just behind, there’s a thin bubble of quiet — a sensation of both dedication and weariness, as often follows difficult cases. it’s not somber, really; they’ve long since found the line between gravity and levity, and rest in that small pocket just between — it’s a space beverly has grown comfortable in. has become grateful for.
the pump thunks, numbers arresting on the screen, and beverly turns back to the car, pulling the nozzle from the tank. as she does so, she glances up toward the entrance to the convenience store, where will graham has stopped, the entirety of his cardboard cup of coffee dripping down the front of his shirt. for a moment, surprise holds her taut — she freezes, still holding the gas pump, and stares back at him for the span of a blink. his displeasure is writ clearly on his face, grimace pronounced as he shakes dark liquid from his hand with jerky, frustrated movements. he seems more irritated than anything, which beverly takes as a good sign.
she replaces the nozzle, crossing her arms over her chest and coming around the back of the car toward him, unable to keep her lips from twitching up in the direction of a grin. “ man, you really must’ve pissed off somebody up there, ” she says, even as her eyes rove over him in concern. “ today is just not your day, huh? ” a quick look back to the cars shows her jack’s frown, price’s wide eyes and raised brow. she sobers, willing them to stay quiet, to let her handle this one, and hopes zee has enough sense to keep his mouth shut. they’ve still got a long day of work ahead of them, and the last thing will — or any of them — needs is unwarranted aggression.
beverly turns back to will, face softening. “ you okay? ” she asks, already reaching out a hand to the cold metal door handle behind him. “ i’ll grab some napkins. you want another coffee too? ”