He doesn’t lash out at the involuntary cry, which gives her the smallest slip of assurance that she won’t be punished for it. It wasn’t like she could have controlled it after all she’d seen and heard tonight. Already she felt so emotionally drained that she felt as though she could sleep for days. Maybe if she did this would all prove to be a terrible, vivid nightmare brought on by stress. She would wake and find her father at the table, drinking his coffee with his cronies nestled in the corners of the room, and her stepmother would be perched at his side, heavily invested in something trivial and rattling off something that her father would only be half listening to. He would ask her what was wrong and tell her to lay off the caffeine before bed. Yeah, that would be a nice dream, wouldn’t it?

Her ghoulish captor speaks again, and once more she is unsure of how to respond. “What do you want me to say?” Said as though she’s hoping he’ll spoonfeed her the answer that will keep her alive. He doesn’t make any sense. Of course her father ruined lives; she had no disillusions about that subject. But her own? No… No, he’d never do that to his own child. It didn’t make any sense. Why would he ever want to do anything to her? “What?”

Nothing felt real anymore. Of course, she had heard rumors of such a place, even back in her younger school days. Crossing her arms over her uniform and squeezing her books to her chest as one of the private school boys whispered animatedly about how he totally had proof that this wretched place was real, he just didn’t have it on him. It always lifted an air of discomfort around the group, only broken by a clumsy joke that it would be the only way he’d get a date. It wasn’t funny but everyone would laugh anyway, just to end the conversation and the heavy air that pressed down on them from it. The idea that she was going to be sold like some object to be possessed scared and confused her. This couldn’t be real… “Show me.” She swallowed, trying to rid herself of the lump in her throat. “Show me the contract.”

Dark eyes squeeze shut, left with no other option to limit the misery than to hide from the sight of it. The screaming seems to go on forever, and whether or not here brain has conjured the sound of wet sawing, it now is audible amongst the screaming. And through it all she hears the singing, rising amidst the horrible din. When the screaming finally stops she is tempted to peek, and lids open a fraction so that only vague silhouettes are visible. It wouldn’t surprise her if the events became sexual, given how completely twisted this man is, but it seems the violence isn’t over. Once more she hides her view, fully turning away so that even if her eyes open again she won’t see what is happening beside her. Finally, the screaming dies, and while she does finally turn, she refuses to look directly beside her at what remains of her stepmother.

Her body trembles as he inches into her sights, tears falling fresh. The moment he touches her a hysterical cry frees itself from her lungs, a reflex before she forces it back down her throat. It’s proven anything will set him off, and now all that’s left for her is to try to survive this ordeal, however long it persists. How could he tell her not to mourn? He might not feel the same but that man had been her father, not simply an employer. He’d tried to protect her and guide her, at least that’s what she’d always believed. Flawed in his reasoning, but her only parent nonetheless. She remains still as he cuts her loose, both fearful of accidents or retribution for any perceived slights. How she’d wanted badly to kiss him not too long ago, in the privacy of that kitchen. How many things could change in such a short time… It’s in her best interest to let him lead her into a dance, and her body will woodenly comply, silently burrowing her face into his chest to continue to hide from the carnage surrounding them.

Her head was reeling; it never occurred to her that her father might make such drastic decisions when it came to his women. Carl was willing and able to kill anyone that laid a hand on his wife, and it made Rose wonder if he had been the same way with her mother. Did he feel that same fierce need to protect his child? It certainly made her wonder what was the most important thing to him. If it turned out to be Alicia, it would break her little heart into a million pieces.

The blonde beside her is far too stupid to think calmly in such a situation, rather taking the way of the lemming and panicking. Her eyes are wide and more distressed muffling eeks out through the gag. Perhaps it’s her lack of engagement in the situation that keeps her from crying out from around her gag. Though she does fall victim to the need to try and free herself, so while her stepmother heaves and whimpers uselessly, she’ll struggle in her restraints. She doesn’t belong here; shouldn’t be a part of this. Here she was, being held hostage simply because of her father and his decisions. The flower doesn’t want to believe the insinuation that her father made these choices, much less in error. Only hearing the word bullet makes her pause, looking up to her captor with horror. No! Not her dad. Not the only person left in the world that cared. He wasn’t perfect but he was her father, and her struggles renewed with a vengeance as though she had a chance to free herself and get between him and the bullet that was promised to him.

Whatever is whispered to Grissom, she cannot hear but knows that whatever it is has chilled him. Such fear in those eyes, like she’d never seen before. He gives a sound off to his employer, and the girl’s eyes fill with tears. Now she joins in with Alicia in trying to cry out from around the obstruction, only to be drowned out with a gunshot. The horrific sight is something that will never leave her, burned onto her retinas for the rest of her life. Her wailing doesn’t cease, so deep and consuming that her body sags and her throat aches. Somehow her mind manages to remind her in her grief that the threat has moved away from her father’s body, and she forces herself to follow his progression. How could he sing a soulful love song while murdering and terrorizing? Not so long ago she’d loved this music and danced in time with it, but now that’s over. Like her father’s life. He’s sick, undeserving of every ache his supposed passing had caused in her. The muffled screaming starts up again and the first sight of red on the blonde’s skin, and now the orphan squeezes her eyes shut, turning her face away from the carnage and praying that it ends soon.