[ He waits for an answer that he's not sure is ever coming. Why does it matter, anyway? Those books were from his old life. The movies have nothing to do with him, not really. Still, in a way, it's a connection to that life, even if he no longer feels like the man who dove into the Lake thirteen years ago.
All I wanted was to go home. Am I home now? Is this real? Can the Director help?
He feels himself hunching over, hands moving as if they want to grasp both sides of his head. No, I can't go to pieces now. I need the Director to help me. I need- I need what I'm missing to- What?
His movements are slow as he finally turns completely away from the window; he's straightened up again, and he's not clutching his head. There's a wary look in his eyes and in his posture, as if he's not sure he can trust her. Can he trust anyone around here? In his mind, even the walls of this room look threatening. Untrustworthy. Don't ask how a wall can look like anything but a wall.
That might as well have been a prison... those four walls. ]
Estevez. [ Alan's expression shifts to something not exactly unreadable, but there's something hesitant in it. Still wary and untrusting. ] I know what she wanted, but she wasn't doing a very good job getting me to do it. [ He huffs out a dry laugh. ]
Even the best negotiator probably would have a hard time. Are you the best negotiator? I- Wait.
[ Belatedly, her words click in Alan's mind, except they don't make sense. ]
I wasn't here with the Director. I was with... someone. Not the Director. You can't take those memories. They're ours.
[ Suddenly there's a hint of force behind Alan's words; it's not anger or hate, just an inexplicable force that even Alan doesn't understand. He's not even sure who the force is directed at. It's not directed at the woman in the room with him. ]
Those reports can't be real. Maybe the story changed and tried to make them real. Tried to make you all believe.
Hartman. He became something else. Turned into something else. The Third Thing. He's been taken care of?
[ Belatedly, Alan realizes his hands have clenched into fists, and he forces himself to relax them a little. ]
Sorry, I- [ He points at his head. ] It's kind of crazy up there. Not that I expect you to know that. What can I clear up for you? I could fly off the handle again, not that I want to do that. But what did you want to know?
no subject
All I wanted was to go home. Am I home now? Is this real? Can the Director help?
He feels himself hunching over, hands moving as if they want to grasp both sides of his head. No, I can't go to pieces now. I need the Director to help me. I need- I need what I'm missing to- What?
His movements are slow as he finally turns completely away from the window; he's straightened up again, and he's not clutching his head. There's a wary look in his eyes and in his posture, as if he's not sure he can trust her. Can he trust anyone around here? In his mind, even the walls of this room look threatening. Untrustworthy. Don't ask how a wall can look like anything but a wall.
That might as well have been a prison... those four walls. ]
Estevez. [ Alan's expression shifts to something not exactly unreadable, but there's something hesitant in it. Still wary and untrusting. ] I know what she wanted, but she wasn't doing a very good job getting me to do it. [ He huffs out a dry laugh. ]
Even the best negotiator probably would have a hard time. Are you the best negotiator? I- Wait.
[ Belatedly, her words click in Alan's mind, except they don't make sense. ]
I wasn't here with the Director. I was with... someone. Not the Director. You can't take those memories. They're ours.
[ Suddenly there's a hint of force behind Alan's words; it's not anger or hate, just an inexplicable force that even Alan doesn't understand. He's not even sure who the force is directed at. It's not directed at the woman in the room with him. ]
Those reports can't be real. Maybe the story changed and tried to make them real. Tried to make you all believe.
Hartman. He became something else. Turned into something else. The Third Thing. He's been taken care of?
[ Belatedly, Alan realizes his hands have clenched into fists, and he forces himself to relax them a little. ]
Sorry, I- [ He points at his head. ] It's kind of crazy up there. Not that I expect you to know that. What can I clear up for you? I could fly off the handle again, not that I want to do that. But what did you want to know?
[ Should I even tell her anything? ]