deep_red_bells: ([Emote] Lost)

after this and this and this


They keep saying names like she should recognize them. And she probably should. Tommy and Carbone Karras. Cain and Henrietta Callahan. Julian Sark. People they tell her she knows, loves, cares deeply for, people that they tell her love her very much in return.

But they’re just names to her. Just names.

That’s a beautiful ring, sweetheart.

She blinks up at the kind-faced woman who steered her to the kitchen earlier and insisted that she eat. “…What?”

The woman--the mother of the man that found her in the street--she smiles, and wipes her hand on a dishtowel, reaches down to take her left hand lightly in her right, turning it this way and that to make the stone sparkle. It startles her, a little; she didn’t notice it there before. She’s…never seen it, before. “Oh,” she remarks quietly, tugging her hand back and folding her arms, suddenly uncomfortable. “It is…pretty.”

The woman makes a soft noise…sympathy, perhaps. She turns back to the stove and silence descends for a time…uneasy at first, but as the pleasant scents of food cooking fill the tiny room, the tension eases. Now that its presence has been pointed out to her, she can’t leave the piece of jewelry alone, constantly turning it on her finger, touching the stone with her fingertips. She wonders if someone gave it to her, and who, and when, and why she didn’t notice it before.

She’s afraid. If just one thing, just one thing would look or sound familiar, she’s so sure the rest would come back to her. There are people that know her, that care about her, but they‘re all gone from her mind. What happened to her?

“It’s all right, sweetheart.” Baileigh jumps a little, startled out of her thoughts as the round-faced woman sets a plate in front of her. “You’re safe with us.”

And she wants so badly to believe it. To feel safe, cared for. To feel anything but lost and confused and frightened.

She wants to. But she can’t.

“That’s all right, too,” she could swear she hears the lady murmur, almost sadly, as she sweeps across the kitchen to begin preparing even more food.
deep_red_bells: ([Emote] Upset)

She never said nothin', there was nothin' she wrote
She's gone with the man in the long black coat


[continued from here]

Her breath fogs the air. It’s a struggle to keep walking. It’s so bright. And so loud. And her head hurts. And everything in her wants to sink to the sidewalk and clutch at her head and cover her ears and wait for the hurting to stop. But she keeps walking, palm flat against the brick building to her left for constant support, forcing herself to stay upright.

Nothing looks familiar. Nothing sounds or smells or feels familiar. She doesn’t remember walking this street or turning this corner or every laying eyes on this stretch of concrete sidewalk before. Her insides twist and she has to stop walking so that her stomach doesn’t heave, so that the pain doesn’t explode behind her eyes again. She pushes through it and propels herself forward. Something will have to look familiar eventually. She had to have gotten here somehow.

She follows the sidewalks when the pain subsides and she can function. She wanders. No one looks at her twice, and she’s too dazed to even think to ask for help. Eventually someone calls her name. She doesn’t turn because she doesn’t recognize it as hers.

A hand touches her arm. She doesn’t jerk away or scream, merely turns and looks into the wholly unfamiliar face of the its owner. Shock of red through dark hair. Dark eyes. Fair skin. Black coat. “Bee,” he keeps saying. “Bee. Baileigh. Bee.

She shakes her head slowly. Tears gather along her eyelids, like some part of her realizes that she’s broken, but she doesn‘t feel the sting of them. “I don’t…know.”

But he must know her…right? Why else would be have chased her down a crowded street? Why else would he still be talking, why else would he hold out his hand to take hers?

She takes it without thinking, without knowing to think, to mistrust, to even wonder who he is, and how he knows her name.

Baileigh. He tells her that her name is Baileigh, and when he speaks it, yes…yes, that’s her name. She knows it. And yet…

And yet even in knowing that, her name, her name…she doesn’t really remember who she is.

How can she know her name with such clarity, such certainty, and not know who she is?

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deep_red_bells: (Default)
Baileigh Solis

December 2010

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