Though River more or less gave herself over to the agents who came to arrest her, her mind did not give her any peace.
Not on the ride to their facility.
Not when they processed her.
Not when they started to ask her questions, not when she kept silent.
Her thoughts were a jumbled mess she had no control of, even if she was struggling to remember Harry Dresden's lessons on how to be in control. And despite John Coffey's help, River sounded more like her old self than she had in quite some time.
The men had handcuffed her because she'd hit one of the agents, and River was not making any attempt to free herself from the cuffs. Her mind was racing, yet that destructive point where she saw only red had somehow been replaced with something like disbelief. No one had seen her. She knew this. There had been only her and the man and the tree.
No one had been there.
No one could have known.
It was not long before she began saying these things aloud, and also peppering her speech with things that no one would understand--except possibly Simon or Hannibal. She'd told them, with a very cold expression, to contact Dr. Hannibal Lecter when they'd asked if she had a lawyer, or if they should call her family.
They'd put her in a room with a big lock on the door, and men guarding it. She was free to pace and babble, which is what she was doing, boots hardly making any noise on the floor.
When she lapsed into Mandarin, River heard the man at the door ask if there was anyone in the building that spoke Chinese. She'd stopped pacing to glare.
She could escape, if she wanted to hurt a lot of people. But River did not want to do that, despite her anger, and despite how close she was to that line where she lost herself entirely.
A few agents came in, left food, told her Hannibal'd been called, a message left. When the door opened, River was never surprised.
Someone always had something to say. And it was a big building.