Re: log; marina & russ
Marina lied like she breathed, a habit developed by genetics that misconstrued the parameters of what exactly qualified as all in good sport. She did it for the fuck of it or the thrill of it, and sometimes in malice.. but when she lied tonight, it wasn't for any of those reasons. She'd thought that 'a couple of hours' was sufficient to drive wherever the fuck her employers wanted her to drive to and back, but hindsight came on thick and cloying when the dashboard clock glowed 3:20. The shop's lot was deserted, but the bike was still here, and she put the car in park before quietly turning the key.
The engine went quiet and she listened to the night. She stared at a pool of light that reflected off of the shiny hood of her car, and she thought about how everything was cold and metal here, even in the summer. At least in Vegas she'd been able to hear crickets, and really she tried to think about anything but the reason that her hands wouldn't stop shaking. She forced herself to get out of the car, to collect the car seat from the trunk and quietly reattached all of the straps in the backseat. The backseat where they'd put the blindfolded man who kept begging for his life and the lives of his family while her employers sat on either side with guns drawn. They'd talked over his pleas conversationally, about things like reality tv and Memorial day parties, and it'd felt like Marina was the only one listening to the crying man with the family. Then way out at the marsh, with the trio illuminated in her highbeams, she'd watched them shoot the man and weigh him down in the water. Then it was back to the car and the friendly conversation that felt alien inside of her when they asked her about her son, if he was excited about going to school, and then they talked about their moms. She'd been autopiloting then.. but now, she stared at nothing while she straightened the car seat and was overcome with loss that she couldn't explain. It was like death rode back with her, and Marina slammed the door on it with a shudder before she marched back up to the shop.
There was a light on, but the place looked dead to the world otherwise. She tried very hard not to think or liken the inanimate to dead things, and Marina uncrossed her arms when she knelt to collect some of Nathan's discarded trains and toys, putting them back into his backpack with solemn dexterity. It was meticulous and organized movement, and it helped her hands stop shaking.