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❝ That's Lee Harvey Oswald's house. Care to explain? ❞
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A YOUNG WOMAN STANDS IDLY at the window overlooking an empty parking lot. It is sometime past four o' clock on this particularly boring day. Sunlight pours through the glass like a golden waterfall, until a dark cloud passes overhead.
The woman stares out, counting the lines of each parking space. Her index finger taps impatiently on the windowsill. She isn't waiting for anything in particular—just searching for something entertaining to pass the time. Thankfully, her prayers are swiftly answered.
A dilapidated yellow taxi swerves into the parking lot and groans to a halt. The bleak walls of the Dallas Mental Institution tower over the little cab. A visitor? Here? Those are rare to come by. She wonders who they want to see. Her dark, obsidian eyes watch eagerly.
The passenger door flies open, and out climbs a lean girl with a mess of brown hair. She wears a white button-up tucked into a contrasting black-pleated skirt, which is accessorized by an onyx-colored tie dangling beneath her collar. She would look professional—classy, even—if not for the pair of dark knee socks hugging her shins. They bring a juvenile and youthful sense to the table. That is, if they weren't so damn tacky.
Soon after, a boy wearing an almost matching uniform follows close behind. The woman squints in displeasure at his arrival.
The two appear around the same age, carrying themselves with an alertness far too old for their teenage bodies. They take a quick look at the giant, ghostly building with too much concrete and too little windows. Then, after exchanging a few words of what seems like bickering, the duo climbs the stairs and enters.
Lila steps away from the window. A scowl adorns her slim face. She is not pleased with the appearance of these two strangers. Well, one stranger. There is something familiar about the girl, but she can't quite put her finger on it. The boy, on the other hand, is an individual she had the deep misfortune of growing familiar with.
How long has that little twerp been in Dallas?
Lila twists the blinds shut. It's about time she receives a status report from her dear co-worker, Five.
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In a small, dimly lit room, Flare and Five sit beside one another at a smooth table. This place—she hates it. It reminds her of a jail cell and a hospital at the same time. Several employees dressed in white loiter about, fairly akin to prison guards. Every inch of this building appears to have been scrubbed meticulously clean, leaving behind a sickening scent of artificial cleaners.
