Re: [capital pawnshop: hannah & david]
She was a mystery to him. Before she touched him, when he was still torn between her reality and her non-existence, he wondered why he would have imagined this particular angel in this shape. He had liked Amy, but one could hardly say they knew each other well. It was a little like a dream in that way, a fleeting moment's thought made manifest into a ghost.
The shadows around David didn't have tangible substance, but they didn't need to. There was an unsettling quality to his presence she might even be able to feel, and it seemed to heighten whenever he and Henry were face to face. It clung and draped like a shroud. It was heavy, and cold, and it carried fear.
He should have been more careful with her, but she touched his cheek before he could stop her. The sensation of memory was complete for him - one moment he was standing over the man with the shovel, and the next he was sitting on a roof with a well-dressed man, life stretching out clean and full of hope.
"Safe," he repeated back to her, feeding her own words to her again. He shuddered, just as he had when she had watched through the window, the kind some might blame on footsteps over their grave, or a ghost passing through.
He leaned in close to her. Too close, perhaps. He was examining her with milk-white eyes. His expression had changed, first relaxed and open when the memory/dream ended, now puzzled, warmed by concern. It was a complete mismatch with the distinct creeping dread his presence carried. "Who is safe?" he asked her. On closer inspection, there appeared to be dark, dried blood matted into his hair.
Henry chose this moment to swing the shovel hard at Hannah's legs.