disintegratiive:
“i’m ––” not fine, obviously not fine, but she can’t think of anything else to say, either. she’s too stunned by it, and this, and all she can think of is elliot, and who might’ve done this, and what’s going to happen to him if they don’t find him again. she looks to roman, lost again, though he’s no more likely to have a solution than she is. (he’s looked after them for a long time, she thinks, but it’s always been relatively simple. he trails after them at events, he stands off to the side while she does interviews, he checks the perimeter of the house at night before they go to sleep. he’s –– something like a friend, at least to her, which is maybe why she looks at him lik she does, now. he usually has the answers. she wishes he did this time.) “we need to ––”
she hardly notices shilah, or the hum of conversation bubbling around them. there will be newspaper articles, and television coverage, and the sort of attention she does not want to have. something ugly and aching constricts in her chest.
“we have to go. we have to find him.”
they took her brother. probably for money, hopefully not for something worse, but he knew that everything that happened down to this point was a time crunch. the longer they waited, the more the people holding them would get agitated. maybe this was a first time abduction or maybe this was one of many -- he needed to figure it out.
he gets whatever scent he can off the ground to note it to his memory. there wasn’t any to follow; the car smelled like all cars, and not even he could run as fast as that.
“ they’ll contact you once they feel like they’ve gotten to a safe place. “ he says, crouching down on the ground. “ they’ll want whatever money you have. “
