She looks at him quietly for a moment, trying to decide if she actually wants to talk about this or not. But hey, it's not like Hansel will probably ever mention this again, and she knows for a fact that he never talks about her anyway, so maybe getting it off her chest will be good for her.
"When I was sixteen, I got abducted from school during the homecoming dance. I wasn't found until almost three days later. I have little to no memories of that time, but there was plenty of physical trauma for the police to document. Including DNA. Turns out the man who took me was dead, had died earlier in the year. Imagine how well that went over, hm. Dead culprit kidnaps teenage girl." It sounds like she's quoting headlines now, and she is. She's back to staring at her towels because looking at his face is too difficult. "Nobody believed me. My injuries healed and people forgot and I made myself stop thinking about it. I went to college all the way across the country, never stepped foot back home, immersed myself in my new life so I could forget. And everything was just fine, until I graduated Yale and went on to do my master's at Harvard."
A long pause again, before she sighs, her fingers twisting the towel. "He was one of my professors. First day of class, he looks straight at me in the sea of faces in lecture, right into my eyes, and smiles at me. I knew it was him. I could feel it in my bones. I tried telling campus police, called up the city, everything. Nobody believed me. They told me I was imagining things, that I had unresolved emotional issues that were pushing to the fore, that I was projecting. I'm not crazy," she insists, lifting her head to stare at him with a determined expression. "I'm not. It was him, I knew it was. But nobody paid any attention, so I did the only thing I could think of: I dropped out. I moved out of Boston, I got a new job, I bought a taser and a gun." A gun she keeps with her at all times.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2013-03-19 06:53 pm (UTC)"When I was sixteen, I got abducted from school during the homecoming dance. I wasn't found until almost three days later. I have little to no memories of that time, but there was plenty of physical trauma for the police to document. Including DNA. Turns out the man who took me was dead, had died earlier in the year. Imagine how well that went over, hm. Dead culprit kidnaps teenage girl." It sounds like she's quoting headlines now, and she is. She's back to staring at her towels because looking at his face is too difficult. "Nobody believed me. My injuries healed and people forgot and I made myself stop thinking about it. I went to college all the way across the country, never stepped foot back home, immersed myself in my new life so I could forget. And everything was just fine, until I graduated Yale and went on to do my master's at Harvard."
A long pause again, before she sighs, her fingers twisting the towel. "He was one of my professors. First day of class, he looks straight at me in the sea of faces in lecture, right into my eyes, and smiles at me. I knew it was him. I could feel it in my bones. I tried telling campus police, called up the city, everything. Nobody believed me. They told me I was imagining things, that I had unresolved emotional issues that were pushing to the fore, that I was projecting. I'm not crazy," she insists, lifting her head to stare at him with a determined expression. "I'm not. It was him, I knew it was. But nobody paid any attention, so I did the only thing I could think of: I dropped out. I moved out of Boston, I got a new job, I bought a taser and a gun." A gun she keeps with her at all times.
"That's why."