ellectrical (
ellectrical) wrote2010-03-20 11:08 pm
Entry tags:
June 2007, Three Weeks
After three weeks, everything had finally come into place. It had rained until late into the previous night, but the sky was clear by morning, and Elle had packed her bag (a large black purse) with what she'd borrowed from X, her map, her gun, even another plastic bag of Girl Scout cookies, before locking the door to her room and heading out to the street.
She gets an early start, making her way to the alley a couple hours before she thinks he'll show up. After double-checking that the employees of the club have really cleared out, Elle checks her surroundings, then moves to the double doors, and sets her purse down on the wet pavement.
About ten minutes later, with the aid of a torsion wrench and bump key, the padlock on the door has slid open. She leaves it hanging on the chain, puts her tools back into her purse, and moves away.
There's a space on the other side of the alley - it gives her cover in the form of the hair salon's dumpster and is kept dry by a short, striped awning that juts out from the wall, over the dumpster and the door on the other side. Elle positions herself, and waits.
Patience is not one of her virtues.
But sometimes, when she wants something bad enough, it doesn't really matter.
She gets an early start, making her way to the alley a couple hours before she thinks he'll show up. After double-checking that the employees of the club have really cleared out, Elle checks her surroundings, then moves to the double doors, and sets her purse down on the wet pavement.
About ten minutes later, with the aid of a torsion wrench and bump key, the padlock on the door has slid open. She leaves it hanging on the chain, puts her tools back into her purse, and moves away.
There's a space on the other side of the alley - it gives her cover in the form of the hair salon's dumpster and is kept dry by a short, striped awning that juts out from the wall, over the dumpster and the door on the other side. Elle positions herself, and waits.
Patience is not one of her virtues.
But sometimes, when she wants something bad enough, it doesn't really matter.

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Jamie takes a gulp of his drink before asking, "So . . . you did know what was wrong with you, is that what you're saying?"
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"I was going to - find who made me forget."
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Can you get your memories back that way? Maybe it works like that, in Elle's world.
Or maybe she just wants revenge. Which is fair, he supposes.
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Elle still answers, "I want it back."
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He sounds genuinely curious.
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"But he could've told me about it."
She folds her arms. "I didn't even know for sure if it happened."
Since, obviously, she couldn't remember.
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And are you happier? he wants to ask, but he doesn't. He puts his bread and cheese together, instead, and takes a large bite.
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Once she's satisfied that anyone else's interest has been lost, "You think that was it?"
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"How should I know? If you got something useful to you out of it, I'm glad. If you're planning to go around and drag up everybody who ever saw you when you were little and pound information out of them too until you've got a full picture, I suppose that's fine too. I don't know how much you'll need before you think you've heard enough."
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(And it's very easy to think it's wrong, that she's doing it all wrong - that she can't even help but -)
Without looking up, "Do you remember your Dad?"
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Seeing Elle slump like that is making him feel a bit guilty.
"What I mean is, he was an ordinary fellow, you know? I don't - all that I remember, from when I was ordinary, awfully well. More than I'd like sometimes. Lots of the things that came after I've forgotten. I'm not all that sorry for it, either. Lots of things aren't worth remembering. That's how I see it.
"But I can see how it's hard to know what's worth it when you don't even know what it is."
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"He's part of it."
There's one quick glance up, enough for her to say, "Kind of all of it."
Elle pulls her arms a little tighter, and gives a very small shrug. "I don't know who he was."
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He doesn't think he's ever heard Elle talk about her mother.
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And that's about all that's mattered for the last eighteen years.
"Right after I - started."
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Maybe that's besides the point. Jamie doesn't know.
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"My Dad said she couldn't deal with it. When I changed."
Looking back up to Jamie, "I don't know that either."
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But of course Helen's is just one story. It's just as likely that Elle's mum really couldn't deal with her as that it was a lie.
"I reckon I can see why you'd want to know," he says, lamely.
"But you know, who your parents were, it doesn't change - well, I don't reckon my mum or my dad would see much of themselves in how I've turned out."
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After a moment, "You haven't - been with them. For a while."
The hesitation is all the kindness that comes with it.
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"I only mean - right, your parents are important, and you ought to find what you want to know. If it'll make you, you know, feel better about it." The way he says it this time is different from the way he said it before. "But what you know about them, it's not like it'll change much about you."
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"Who do you think told me that."
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She's not entirely sure what she means. Elle lifts her hand to brush back her hair.
"I didn't know. That I'd - forgotten anything."
Her uncertainty is back when she looks up. "He told me what I was like then."
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(Jamie's the boy who reinvents himself every day, to fit the world, the people, the circumstance.
Jamie doesn't have much understanding anymore of continuity of identity.)
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"I'm his daughter.
"And I don't know how to be anything else and I think -"
She stops, glancing once around the pub.
"I think he took that. When he made me forget."
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"Well - who do you want to be instead?"
It's not a flippant question.
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