Dinah had thought. She had thought a lot about what she wanted to do. What her brother would do. She was given a choice. They let her choose. Choices meant you could change your mind, right? So she snagged a piece partially crumbled paper and wrote something down before her mind flip flopped ... again.
Certainty was never Dinah's strong suite when it came to herself, at least beyond Beckett, beyond survival.
The top of a clock
was left for Mari at the end of Dinah's shift. It rested on top of the counter along with a very simple, very solitary note
, written in extremely simple, almost childlike hand. By the time Mari would find the note, the half dry black pen would still be teetering side to side where it was left only moments before.