Safehouse

marymwatson:

Mary gratefully took the tissues from Frankie and tried her best to compose herself. She took a deep breath in and let it out in a rush. It shook less than she thought it was going to. She ran her hands over her hair, messily pulled back in a ponytail, suddenly self conscious. When was the last time she’d looked in a mirror? She couldn’t have guessed the answer to that. “I feelill. And shaken, and so very tired, Frankie. I don’t know how all this has happened to us.”

She bit her lip, resting her forehead on the heels of her hands, her elbows propped on the table. Her voice sounded hollow in her own ears, and she spoke the words to the table, unable to look up at her sister, sticking to the bare necessities of the story as the details were far too gruesome for her to recount, “Moran kidnapped John. And he hurt him, but he’s going to be ok. We can’t go back to the house until things have settled down, though. It isn’t safe there.”

Chucking her bag under the table, Frankie folded her arms across the tabletop and sucked her lips into a tight, straight line. She couldn’t pretend that she was the one to goto for rousing pep talks, and to be honest Mary didn’t look like she was in the mood to listen to someone harping on about how things would get better. There was never any promising that.

Moran. She nodded as she recollected the name from the first attack. “How the police are letting this guy slip through their fingers is beyond me.”

Again, she nodded. Though this time with an obvious look. “I sort of reckoned, with the amount of coppers swarming your place. Any idea why you’ve suddenly become a hot target?”