in the beginning

[watchyoulive]

It's a simple conversation at the hospital. She comes to tell him that she's leaving; it's not that he owes her a goodbye or that she wanted him to make her stay. Honestly, it's that she wants to see him alive after everything that happened. Too much blood; it still stained her shirt, but she'd never wear those clothes again anyhow.

They were wadded up in the trashcan at the boardinghouse, the rest of her clothes neatly in her suitcase. She's not sure where she's going to go now - there were some rooms for rent Atlanta. The world seemed to be getting smaller and smaller since the automobiles were getting more popular, but she figured that Georgia should be far enough. No one would know her - not the deputy, not the Bonderants, and especially not anyone from Chicago.

So she saw him. Still alive, still too pale but she wasn't particularly picky. What she hadn't expected-- well. Honestly Maggie didn't expect much when it came to Forrest - not that she didn't hold him in high regard, but it was more that she never actually knew what he would say when he actually opened his mouth.

That she should stay at the station - that he wanted to keep her safe-- it made her hesitate.

And then for some reason, she said yes.

Her steps from the hospital were sure even though she had a hundred questions if she had one, and her brows furrowed as she hesitated, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, her hands cupped to block the wind, her suitcase by her T-strap heels.

When she looked up from lighting her cigarette, she nearly screamed.

Gone were the green trees and breeze. Gone was everything she'd known, and now she stood in a hallway that was completely unfamiliar, with electric lights along the ceiling. She'd not seen waste like that since she'd left Chicago, and she bent to pick up her bag, frozen like a deer because she was so overwhelmed.

"Hey, get out of the way!" She stepped back from the young woman who was carrying a basket full of clothes, but she couldn't not stare, given that she was barely wearing any clothing. Still, Maggie did what she could; she stopped her. She got information. She got her envelope, her apartment-- she'd appeared right in front of the door. Fumbling with her key, she squinted as she tried to get the unfamiliar key in the keyhole, her mind awhirl. She hadn't realised that while she'd appeared in front of her apartment, the one across the hall? It was rented out some three weeks ago by one James Forrest Bondarant.

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[controlthefear]

Forrest's own job, driving around the morning deliveries for a downtown bakery, was quiet and solitary, requiring little in the way of socializing. Despite the Bondurants' place as local bootlegging legends, he was a man of modest, quiet ambitions, and it suited him just fine.

It also left his evenings free, and he spent every single one of those darkening a corner booth at diner where Maggie worked. He sipped his coffee and ate their meatloaf, which wasn't terrible, but wasn't particularly good, either. He talked to no one, simply leafed through the local newspapers and kept to himself.

The only person he ever had more than a passing grumble for was Maggie.

"Hm. How's the pie today?" He wondered, almost to himself.

[watchyoulive]

"It's good, although there's only one slice of the apple left." She's already moving to go get it, him not even having to ask. She's got some cleanup to do after that, and she was thinking about sitting in the booth with him while she wrapped silverware-- there wasn't hardly anyone else in the restaurant, and she knew her manager wouldn't mind.

Setting down the plate, Maggie wipes her hands on her apron; her hair's pulled back from her face, and even though she's wearing clothes that are a bit more modern than either of them are particularly used to, she's still got on a long sleeved blouse, but she's wearing slim-fitting black trousers instead of a skirt. It came on the advice of one of her coworkers, since the skirt she'd interviewed in didn't seem to lend itself to climbing up on ladders to get stock.

It's only been a week and a half, but somehow she feels like they're both already irrevocably changed by where they are now. neighbors, yes, but this place... It was a chance that she wasn't going to give up, even though she knew he must fiercely miss both his brothers and his land. Coming back with the silverware tray and napkins, she sits down across from him and starts to roll them into neat little bundles, her legs crossed at the knee. Lord, how she'd give her left arm for a smoke, but that was one of the hard things-- No smoking indoors, here.

"Deliveries go well this morning?" She doesn't look up from her work as she keeps rolling-- but it's clear she's interested.

[controlthefear]

When she returned, he murmured his thanks, his mouth tightening at one corner, in something almost resembling a smile.

She sat down across from him and his spine stiffened, though he found himself unexpectedly comforted by her presence. He kept his eyes on his newspaper, but his attention was drawn by the rustle of her blouse, the tap of her lacquered nails on the flatware, and the soft, feminine smell of her perfume.

"Hm. Well as they could," he muttered, having more words for her than he would've for anybody else. There wasn't much to tell, of course. He drove the truck, he unloaded stock, he passed along papers to be signed.

[watchyoulive]

"That's good. I'd been thinking it could have been complicated by the snow." Her fingers were practiced at rolling silverware after a week of doing it, the repetitive task of stacking them - knife-fork-spoon - and then wrapping the silverware tightly before wrapping it in a paper band was calming. She didn't have to think about it, and could look up at him. He wasn't watching her-- not much, anyhow, although she knew he was paying attention to her.

She wondered sometimes if he'd make a move; he didn't seem the type, but she also honestly wished he would, and she's thought about going further than she already has, since she's given him a key to her apartment. Ostensibly it's in case of emergency, but she told him that he could come over whenever he liked, although he'd not used it so far.

Licking her lips, Maggie's brows furrow for a moment before she looks up - maybe she was going to ask him a question, maybe she was going to ask him over for dinner instead of knocking on his door. Maybe she'd ask him if she really needed to go home afterward, but all of those maybes went right out the window in that second.

Six-forty-eight PM. That was the time when Maggie Beauford sat across from Forrest Bondurant, when everyone else in Darrow was living their own lives, up to their own business. It was when the sun went down.

It was when the siren started, the low wail starting so quiet that Maggie wasn't sure that she'd heard anything until it kept growing-- not a siren on a car coming closer, but an all-encompassing howl of warning. "What in the world..." She pushed herself up from her chair, her eyes flicking to Forrest just before she twists to look out the windows, and it looks like it's snowing even though the skies were clear just ten minutes ago. "What's going on?" The bell rings in the back-- the manager's left without a word, running home to his family and leaving the two of them alone.

[controlthefear]

He polished off his dinner. He'd never feel right about leaving good food uneaten on his plate. Waste not, want not. Jack's world was one of excess, but Forrest would live like a poor man, until the day he died.

And while the food was adequate, and the pie was suitably sweet, he hardly noticed. Maggie was, as she'd been for a good long while now, the soul keeper of his attention. Which was why he noticed her reaction, first. The tension in her shoulders, the faint line between her brows.

And then he heard it. His own body tensed, bristling like a threatened animal. Slowly, he sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowed as the manager cut out on them, like a goddamn coward.

"Hm," Forrest grunted, rising to his feet. He shook his head slowly, holding out a hand to motion for Maggie to stay put. He edged toward the window, his hand sliding into the pocket of his cardigan.

Outside, it was gray. Visibility was for shit.

"That boss of yours didn't mention this, hm?"

[watchyoulive]

She's still standing by the table they'd been at - it'd been pure reaction that when Forrest had held up a hand she'd stopped where she was. No thought went into it, although she's certain that she'd have done the same.

It's only when he moved to the window that she took a step, then another - still back, still staying out of the way and behind him, but she's thinking about the gun that the manager keeps under the cash register. "No. He didn't mention anything like this," she says first, and then she moves - still back from the windows, but it's to get the gun and her day's pay from the till, because damned if she's going to leave it here when she's got no idea what's going on.

The ash is falling thick and heavy, and--

"Oh, God," she breathes the words, barely audible as she moves closer to the windows. "Do you hear it?" That's louder, to Forrest instead of to herself. Someone outside is screaming; she can hear it in her bones. She thinks it's a man, but she can just hear him screaming, and her brows furrow as she presses her fingers to her mouth to stop herself from making a sound.

She's heard a man scream like that, once or twice in her life, and she wishes she could forget it.