For a few seconds, she could only stare, stunned by his reaction. By the guilt which, in spite of her best efforts, washed right over her at his words. Yes, she told herself, she assumed that it'd been related to Mitchell. Because it was the right city. Because she knew, first-hand, she knew from the very sight of his Bristol when she'd been there in her dreams, how bloodthirsty vampires could get, what they looked like when they'd lost all sense of reason. And perhaps the most damning detail of all was the fact that Mitchell hadn't shied from it. Not in the beginning. Weighed by a guilt she couldn't understand, couldn't fathom, and that she'd tossed aside as well as she could from the start. Why couldn't he have simply told her, she wondered. Why couldn't she have asked, back then?
"Mitchell, I asked you if you'd heard about the Boxcar 20, Box Tunnel 20— god, how many names do they need— and your first response was 'where did you hear about that?'" she reminded him, trying her best not to buckle, feeling anger spark inside herself, denial, denial of the fact that she could be so misguided, denial of the fact that he was capable of all of this. Denial that everything was coming together right then, their worlds crumbling apart. "And you're seriously going to blame me for asking you about it, now?" Carefully, she measured her breathing, flipping through the pages, cringing at the sight of each victim, as many details as could be unearthed listed below each image.
"Besides, unless this is one huge hoax, vampires were at least involved. You told me about what happened to the vampires in Bristol." Her skin grew white, where she pressed her thumb to the page, feeling more and more of the details fall into place. Cautiously, she angled the book so that Mitchell could see, lips pressed tightly shut, eyes searching his expression. "You've at least heard of it."
no subject
"Mitchell, I asked you if you'd heard about the Boxcar 20, Box Tunnel 20— god, how many names do they need— and your first response was 'where did you hear about that?'" she reminded him, trying her best not to buckle, feeling anger spark inside herself, denial, denial of the fact that she could be so misguided, denial of the fact that he was capable of all of this. Denial that everything was coming together right then, their worlds crumbling apart. "And you're seriously going to blame me for asking you about it, now?" Carefully, she measured her breathing, flipping through the pages, cringing at the sight of each victim, as many details as could be unearthed listed below each image.
"Besides, unless this is one huge hoax, vampires were at least involved. You told me about what happened to the vampires in Bristol." Her skin grew white, where she pressed her thumb to the page, feeling more and more of the details fall into place. Cautiously, she angled the book so that Mitchell could see, lips pressed tightly shut, eyes searching his expression. "You've at least heard of it."