Penny hadn't intended to stumble upon Eden on her way down to the beach, her too big button-down shirt left open over a bikini top, but she stopped at the sight of the other girl, bending over with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. "Hey," she said, and tossed her head gently to get a loose curl off her face. "What's that?"
Eden's first instinct was to hide the papers, but training overrode that without her thinking about it. Folding her hands flat against the paper, one atop the other, like they were nothing unusual, she lifted her head and opened her mouth to speak. Her breath caught in her throat, though, and she shook her head. Her expression drawn, she pressed her lips firmly together, took a deep breath, tried again. "From home," she said. "It's... my files. From my old job." Her lips quirked higher on one side as she tried to smile, then shrugged instead.
It didn't take long for her to put together exactly what that meant -- that Eden, like Penny and countless other people on the island, had something meaningful from home show up, and likely just to mess with her head. Penny dropped to one denim-covered knee beside Eden, a look of slight concern on her face. So far, it didn't seem to be too bad, but there was no way to be sure. "And it was just there?"
"I tripped," Eden said. "On the tree. These roots are -" She shook her head again. "It was just sitting there." Anyone could have found them. From everything she'd heard, that wasn't how it worked, and no matter how many private items were found in public places, she'd never heard of someone finding something that wasn't theirs. That didn't keep it from being scary anymore than did the certainty that people didn't go poking around tree roots all the time. It had been sitting and waiting, and there were things people didn't need to know; just because it hadn't happened before didn't mean she wanted to be the first.
Automatically, she drew the papers toward her, blocking the box behind one leg. Even trusting Penny as she did, she didn't want her to see what was still in the box. There was knowing she was dead and there was seeing the proof detailed on paper, seeing herold name and face in grey and black, however grainy, all of who and what she'd been held tight to her.
Brodie wasn't stalking Eden or anything-- he wasn't one of those mopey bastards who followed their girlfriend's every move to track EVERY FUCKING TINY THING that she did-- but he ended up running into her on one of his daily walks around the island anyway. He'd tried to go and use the TV in the compound, but Karen and some Shirley Temple headed bastard wouldn't give with the goods, so he'd given up and gone out instead.
"Why the hell are you unpacking on the path?" Brodie asked Eden when he came across her, instead of saying 'hey'.
And where where people getting fucking BOXES, anyway? This was the SECOND time he'd come across someone he knew unpacking shit places that it wasn't usually unpacked. Though, Eden's box was too small to be a leg lamp.
Eden heard his approach before she realized who was coming, and the papers were flat on her lap beneath her hands, shoulders back and tense. Even seeing him, she didn't relax. At least a stranger would just pass by.
"Because I found it on the path," she replied. That it had just been sitting there for anyone to come across, that she had found it entirely by chance, was nearly as unsettling as the actual contents of the box itself. It could have been Brodie who tripped over a root and found everything about her just waiting to be discovered. She had told him some things about her, but there were topics it was difficult to slip into conversation. Suicides and murders you'd committed were apparently among them. "I wanted to I didn't want to go all the way back home first." She'd never before thought about what would be in her file or that she'd have one, though it made sense now that of course she did. Maybe it would have been better, not knowing.
"You don't need help carrying it back or anything, do you?" Brodie asked. Not that he was against being all helpful and shit, but it was hot out. The hell if he was getting heatstroke because some jackass had decided to leave his shit on the path.
He leaned forward to try and get a look inside. "What's in it, anyway?"
Eden drew back, holding the papers against herself as she blocked the box with a leg. She'd tell him, she meant to, but the last way he needed to find out was by pulling out an autopsy. It wasn't even that big a deal here, she told herself. It just felt like one. "I can carry it," she said quickly, shaking her head. "It had my name on it. They're files. From the Company. I didn't know what would be in it. I can carry it myself, I just wanted to see first."
She bit her lip, knowing how stupidly suspicious she had to look, trying to hide things from him when he was right there. It was too much at once, a whole rush of worry about how Bennet had lied -- and if she thought too long about that last lie, it hurt too much and she wasn't even sure why -- or how to tell him or how bad her hair looked in the old photos, like that even mattered.
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Automatically, she drew the papers toward her, blocking the box behind one leg. Even trusting Penny as she did, she didn't want her to see what was still in the box. There was knowing she was dead and there was seeing the proof detailed on paper, seeing herold name and face in grey and black, however grainy, all of who and what she'd been held tight to her.
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"Why the hell are you unpacking on the path?" Brodie asked Eden when he came across her, instead of saying 'hey'.
And where where people getting fucking BOXES, anyway? This was the SECOND time he'd come across someone he knew unpacking shit places that it wasn't usually unpacked. Though, Eden's box was too small to be a leg lamp.
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"Because I found it on the path," she replied. That it had just been sitting there for anyone to come across, that she had found it entirely by chance, was nearly as unsettling as the actual contents of the box itself. It could have been Brodie who tripped over a root and found everything about her just waiting to be discovered. She had told him some things about her, but there were topics it was difficult to slip into conversation. Suicides and murders you'd committed were apparently among them. "I wanted to I didn't want to go all the way back home first." She'd never before thought about what would be in her file or that she'd have one, though it made sense now that of course she did. Maybe it would have been better, not knowing.
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He leaned forward to try and get a look inside. "What's in it, anyway?"
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She bit her lip, knowing how stupidly suspicious she had to look, trying to hide things from him when he was right there. It was too much at once, a whole rush of worry about how Bennet had lied -- and if she thought too long about that last lie, it hurt too much and she wasn't even sure why -- or how to tell him or how bad her hair looked in the old photos, like that even mattered.
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