[ON HOLD]
Carmen relished everyone's misfortune; better yet, she was the author of it.
After a childhood filled with hardships, conning people as a faux tarot card reader was the easy way out, and Carmen takes it. Being the bootstrapper that she is...
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A pair of eyes scanned the theatre from the back of the room, the unwavering gaze catching the little movements from all the members present. The blonde girl was the farthest from the eye's vicinity but her sunken posture was caught by them. There was a new sensation in the air, sending sweat down their spines as their hair stood on ends.
They were being watched.
The tall blonde man looked away from the others, loosening his jaw. Carmen was the second to follow, raising her shoulder as she looked at the blonde guy only. Something about his sereneness rubbed Carmen in a terrible way but he was the only man whose expression didn't pressure her to break down and cry.
The blonde girl looked miserable; her seemingly long hair was propped in a bun and hair follicles stuck out from the tiny elastic. Carmen didn't get a chance to see her face; it had been buried under her thigh since the moment Carmen opened her eyes. Reed was out of the question; his memory beleaguered her thus far and his presence elucidated the question lingering in her mind.
This had something to do with Nikolas.
Carmen felt the eerie inkling again, causing her to turn around in search of the eyes on her. Beyond the seven rows of recliners, each row holding 4 seats, was a compact, circular disk. Following her lead, she skipped over to it, still unable to feel her legs.
On a small coffee table - one Carmen had seen before - was a CCTV camera-esque object. It was not placed on the corners of the wall (as is the norm), rather it was on a fucking coffee table. One that had witnessed Emily's tragedy.
This really was Nikolas's doing.
"Did you see this?" Carmen asked, still unable to feign authority in her tone.
Upon her question, the blonde man shrugged off his green denim jacket, placing it on one of the many recliners. He climbed the stairs, the effects of the drug - if that had happened to him - evidently long gone.
"Who is this psycho?" he growled, picking the minuscule object in his large palms.
"Put that down," Carmen ordered, "we don't want to get in trouble."
He chuckled dryly, "Sweetheart, we are in trouble."
The silence took over again. It wasn't atypical for Carmen - she'd spent the last six years in solitude, only ever speaking to the customers. In fact, this was the nascent time she'd spoken to people her age and yet the silence was more uncomfortable. As if on cue, Reed looked away from the hopeless door. His skin was paler than the last time Carmen had seen him and she wondered - how long had he been awake?
