Roll - Kidman

(Between ALS and Seraphim) Darkness stole up behind the sun’s fading glory and slowly embraced the small figure traveling towards it. Kidman had wished to circle the island, or walk as far as she could. Days before she had managed to haggle away some money from Vic, and with it she had bought new clothes days before. Only now had she gotten to wear them. The fever that came on the night she had arrived had certainly not been welcome, but it turned out to be not entirely unwelcome. For nearly three days she had been forced away from herself, and she found her mind a much quieter space when she returned. Kidman paused to pick another shell off the beach. She already had tens of them in her wicker basket, but the thrill of finding the 30th one was the same as finding the first. Still, the action of bending and standing made her slightly dizzy, so she promised each shell would be the last. It had been concluded that a compromised immune system had be the cause. Custody with ACME would have been more than enough, but the loss the mask to Chase felt like a loss of virginity, and the dreams... Kidman’s face darkened and she looked out over the ocean for solace. The consensus had been that she never speak of the dreams, for it made people nervous. Had she never found ’San Raphael’ meant something, had not spent nearly 24 hours in isolation drawing them, had not felt the ghosts of her lost beloved’s affections for the grey man, surely she would be inclined to agree that they meant nothing. The fever had seemingly burnt much of her memory of them, the trauma they carried remained, and she dearly resented being left alone with them. Carmen’s fear and exhaustion now had a solid context, and months of suffering now made sense, but she couldn’t speak of any of it, to anyone. It hurt more than she would ever be allowed to say. Kidman saw a piece of glass in the sand and sighed, then placed it in her basket to throw out later. Again the thick ooze of lethargy swayed her and she steadied herself against a bench. It could have been the explosion, it could have been the fight with Rosen, it could have been the vague coherence that in a month’s time they could all die in the Russian wasteland and leave a madman free for their failure. It was more likely a cumulation of all of these, yet something stood out amongst them; the sight of the back of her shaved head between two mirrors in her hotel bathroom. Beneath the fuzz ran two long, S-shaped scars. It was the last thing she could recall before falling ill. Nausea rose at the memory and she shook it off as she continued on her way. She had kept her head covered ever since by a white fisherman’s hat, and when the day had been brighter, a large pair of sunglasses. The sun hurt her skin when it touched her directly, but she resolved to let it do so to make her skin colour to a more natural tone and possibly erase some scars. She had forced herself to buy clothes with colour, and now wore the loose, red and white striped tank top and grey-blue linen gaucho pants she had procured. Her shoes were merely plastic flip-flops, though chose to go barefoot when she could. A wicker tote held her only other possessions; the hotel key card (possibly a disposable phone) a bottle of water, a half eaten bag of chips, and dozens of shells mixed with glass. Really, Kidman owned next to nothing. ‘Just like poor Mr. Chase.’ No, she would never be like Chase. He was fully human, and while she didn’t believe she was an alien thing, she felt it, deep in her bones. “Chase...” she murmured to the stretch of sand ahead. It was growing ever darker and a voice nagged at her to go back to the hotel. She paused to watch the water roll over the sand instead. She had never seen a beach like this before. Once she had gone with her old group to Blackpool, but it was nothing like this. Everything here was so lush and vivid, every wild inch of it beckoning her to renounce her grey ways and to stay here forever. A vision of Carmen freezing in the tundra slammed her back to reality, and the voice in her head whined ever louder of the dangers of dark places until she reluctantly turned back. If she had to put herself in danger, it should be for a good cause, but going back meant having to socialize. Kidman kicked up an extra bit of sand as she walked back towards the remains of the day. Happy as she was to be back with her fellows, being so resurfaced an old wound. Vic, Joe, and Patty were seasoned agents, trusted agents. Had Vic told them that she had failed to merit that rank a year before? Details of the night she had met Carmen had gone in and out of focus over the months, but the emotions were burned to memory. The Queen had looked disappointed in what stood before her. Really, she couldn’t see Carmen being happy at any of them if they could manage to find her. They would be breaking the cardinal rule; don’t look for Carmen- Kidman paused mid-step. “Roux!” she said to herself  “That’s where I know that name! He was the last to see her.” He had tracked down the boss in a rather reckless fashion, and yet, he was still allowed to stay. ‘I suppose that’s something, but Joe and I went to ACME, and then convinced Vic to give over her things on a hunch. The others have a history, so she might spare them, but I...’ It didn’t matter. She would do it all again. Even if the visions had been dismissed as the offshoot of psychosis, she still believed them. ‘I did what I felt I had to.’ And for a long while after Kidman thought of nothing. Warm as Hawaii was, it was still winter and the breeze off the ocean made her wish she had bought a jacket, but there was no money left for that now. ‘I’m almost there anyway’ she thought as she caught sight of the neon motel sign in the distance. Other concerns sought to present themselves but she wouldn’t allow them. The raid was out of her depth of understanding, a year’s worth of nightmares were now consigned to her ever incoherent history, and the confusing flickers of attachment to ACME’s Director of Operations led her into places she felt she had no business being in. Ever. For a second the sight of her head scars blinked in to her line of sight and her jaw tightened. She clutched her hat miserably in the middle of the vacant street, a solitary thing bathed in the pale pink glow of the (hotel name)’s sign. Kidman looked up at it with faint nostalgia. She had often imagined Carmen hiding in one of these old motels when she first went on the run. She had always wanted to experience it for herself, and she wrapped herself in the comfort of old fantasies she ascended the ancient stairs. ‘Please, Master, just let us find you and know you are safe. That is all I want. Past that... I no longer wish to think on.’