Transcribed by Operative Morgan Goode
WOODS: She’s dead, Blake. There is no other logical explanation.
HUGHES: You keep telling yourself that and one of these days you might believe it.
//: A soft, whimsical melody plays through the air and the Operative realizes that she has sumbled across the rec room. The Operative doesn’t know who is playing, but she hopes they never stop. :\\
WOODS: What else is there? What other options could there possibly be?
HUGHES: Are you asking me how a D.A. might’ve disappeared. That’s a tough one—let me think.
WOODS: I’m not kidding.
HUGHES: And neither am I. Ellie is fine. You’re the one who’s worrying yourself into madness.
//: Another set of hands joins in with the first, playing notes that are higher and harsher. :\\
WOODS: She has to be. I don’t know what I’ll do without her.
HUGHES: That’s a big statement. Should I be jealous of Ellie Sutton?
WOODS: Everyone is jealous of Ellie Sutton.
//: The first melody stops abruptly, sending the second melody into its last, dwindling squeak. :\\
WOODS: I’m sorry. What a stupid thing for me to say—of course you shouldn’t be jealous of her.
HUGHES: You’re sure? Because it sounds like I’m supposed to be j—
WOODS: I’m sorry. Blake, I love you. I’m just distracted at the moment, but you are always going to be the person I need the most.
HUGHES: What was that?
WOODS: I need you, Blake.
//: The music begins again, slowly at first, but gradually pulling more and more energy in. It is, in every way, the smell of cheese guiding a mouse into the trap. The music pulls and pulls you in until you’re caught in it. Entranced. It’s beautiful. :\\
HUGHES: You shouldn’t wear that jacket anymore.
WOODS: Ellie gave it to me.
HUGHES: I know. She’s given you all of your leather jackets, which is probably why you’re so upset all of the time. You can’t even look down without thinking of her.
WOODS: I love wearing this jacket.
HUGHES: I can’t help you if you don’t let me, Charlotte.
WOODS: I can’t stop wearing the jacket. It’s the only thing that—
//: A rough, piercing collection of notes rings out as someone slams the keys. The melody stops again, this time more hesitant than the last. :\\
HUGHES: What? The only thing that what?
WOODS: It’s the only thing that covers these—these disgusting things!
//: The Operative wished that someone would play the piano. Whistle. Hum. Speak. Anything. But only silence prevailed in that musical room. :\\
HUGHES: I thought you had gotten over your scars.
WOODS: Would you? Would you be able to get over these if you had to look in the mirror every day and see them?
HUGHES: Well, I—
WOODS: You wouldn’t, Blake. You wouldn’t be able to see past these. Every day you’d walk past the mirror and all you’d be able to see are these horrible memories ripping at your flesh day after day after day… It was nice to have someone know how to help you see past that.
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Dropping Like Spies - A Gallagher Girls Story
FanfictionBOOK 3 - It started with her mother, but it certainly didn't end there. A series of strange disappearances sends the Goode family scrambling. Who will be next on the list?
Chapter Sixteen
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