"didn't i say to keep the explanations rational?" he asks, leaning on the table, on top of the scattered folders and papers there, pictures, a stray pack of his cigarettes. two cups of coffee, about six opened packs of sugar because it really got too bloody bitter if you had it any other way. these were cold cases, closed, shut down, cases that didn't seem to be going anywhere. he was fresh eyes, fresh ears, and she was - well, she was something else. looking too far out there that he feels like he's drowning every single time she dug something up. aliens, ghosts, or whatever it was the bloody woman would prattle on and on about! it was absurd. he swore if he had to hear another tinfoil hat --
he pauses then, when the picture of the site slides out from under his folded arms. it's a weird symbol. maybe a cult or something? he's not sure. but it's bloody strange, isn't it? he can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, a chill running down his back. he swallows harshly, trying to shake the feeling. he gives his watch a glance before looking at her. he figures it could be worse than caroline. maybe - possibly. "you have five minutes, forbes. that's it." - @withliight
