She nods, tossing in a little sound of affirmation when she realizes he doesn't see it.
"I thought so," she says softly, gently petting over his knuckles with her thumb. That's when she realizes—the coppery scent in the air. His clothes. Her expression suddenly tenses, bowing under the weight of sudden anguish. There's some of it, dried, smeared across his cheek. She hasn't looked at him closely since the early evening of the previous day, when he was torn alive and fresh with the agony and loss.
"Lauren," she manages, almost pleadingly, her voice pinching in what must be a suppressed whimper. "Lauren, you've got to clean up." Her voice is shaky whispers, now. A clumsy, shaky hand comes forward, her thumb brushing that streak of what is some of Susan's remains away in dry flakes. Annabelle already had.
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"I thought so," she says softly, gently petting over his knuckles with her thumb. That's when she realizes—the coppery scent in the air. His clothes. Her expression suddenly tenses, bowing under the weight of sudden anguish. There's some of it, dried, smeared across his cheek. She hasn't looked at him closely since the early evening of the previous day, when he was torn alive and fresh with the agony and loss.
"Lauren," she manages, almost pleadingly, her voice pinching in what must be a suppressed whimper. "Lauren, you've got to clean up." Her voice is shaky whispers, now. A clumsy, shaky hand comes forward, her thumb brushing that streak of what is some of Susan's remains away in dry flakes. Annabelle already had.