@muddledmenagerie [ for elise ]
Alex peers down at her phone, hand cupped over it to keep the worst of the slanting rain from the screen. In the muddy light of the overcast afternoon, the soft glow of it is almost a comfort. The pulsing blue dot of the maps app is grounding, too: you have reached your destination, you are here, you exist.
God, she needs more sleep. She locks her phone, slips it into her pocket, and retrieves her recorder, clicking it on before she reaches up to knock on the door. It’s nondescript, an average door. There’s nothing creepy or weird or out-of-place about it. Alex wishes she found that comforting, these days.
When the door opens, she fixes an open, friendly smile on her face.
“—Elise Rainier? I’m Alex Reagan. I’m making a podcast and your name came up in my research, I was hoping I could speak to you for a few minutes?” I was hoping you could help me, she doesn’t say, because she’s recording, and Strand will listen to this later, and he already worries too much about her. “I’m recording, I hope that’s okay. It’s just a few questions about—your work?”
She hasn’t done her due diligence, she realises. A flush begins to creep up her cheeks as she shifts from foot to foot. This woman might have a perfectly normal job and perfectly normal hobbies, outside of what Alex has heard. She didn’t bother to check. There’s been too much unsettling her, too many bumps in the night, the dreams and—
—she’d run here without even stopping to do some basic research. Without even telling Strand or her producer where she was going. Well, too late to go back now; she can worry about all that later.
“I mean—I was hoping you might be able to explain some things for me.”