Stranger

Settling into the living room, Justin sits down on the couch next to Beth, but makes sure she has plenty of space. Hearing her quiet prayer, a little smile comes to his lips and he bows his head, murmuring a soft "amen" as she ends.

At her cue to dig in, he rubs his hands together in anticipation. "Say no more."

Danitza's head rises up from the floor and she looks at Justin with a little bit of drool running from her mouth. He shakes a finger at her. "If you think I'm going to give up this food to you, you are sorely mistaken."

Old habits die hard, and they also take over any precautions of being proper. With his shoes slipped off, Justin pulls his legs up to sit cross-legged on the couch and sets his plate in his lap. Going for his hamburger first, he takes a bite and chews slowly, enjoying it. "Mm-mm..." He gives Beth a thumbs up before he can speak again. "Ya done good... tastes great."


Scott usually looked Dalton in the eye, but today, he had a hard time. Staring at his food tray, he listens, even if it doesn't seem like it. Not his time? God's reason? Scott had admitted to no one that lately he'd begun to question God. He'd been abducted by the Agency, beaten, starved, tortured and worse, then once he was brought back to the living, he'd undergone more mental anguish, just to think he'd recovered then backslide into an even deeper pit, sending him to a mental hospital where he'd gone half mad from a nervous breakdown and brain overload, and all to wind up in this point in time where the data still was controlling him, and even his brain was trying to kill him with an eating disorder. Yeah, it felt like a reason to stay alive, alright.

Without realizing it, Scott's hand had balled into a fist, clenching his blanket tightly. There was anger inside of him that had not been allowed to surface. Complaints he wanted to hurl at the wind. He wanted to hit someone or something and wanted to kick and scream his way out of this miserable place.

Dalton's words do sink in though... the ones about the people who cared. He missed his friends... he missed his family. Part of him though, was unsure if he'd even be able to face them after this. He knew that being at Brookshire wasn't his fault, but having been in a mental hospital, it... to him, it was embarrassing. What would people think of him after this? Would they treat him the same? Or differently? Where would he go, anyway? He was out of a job... his photography had gone into the trash the day he'd thrown his camera away. His camera.... he missed it.

"But what's my purpose, Dalton?" His voice comes out quiet... strained... weak. "Even if I ever get out of here... what's the point? I... I have nowhere to belong now. It's all just... meaningless."

Despite that thought, he takes hold of a slice of toast and takes a good-sized bite out of the corner, gagging just to make it go down. A sip of Mountain Dew helps.


A tall man, appearing to be nearing thirty, leans on the counter at Mom and Pop's and enjoys a cold coke. Turning, he scans the peaceful restaurant and the faces. A family in the corner... a couple of guys - probably on their lunch break from work and... a single young woman near the window. She was a pretty blonde - looked quiet.

A closely trimmed beard kept his appearance rugged, his hair with a reddish tint just a little long. His olive cargo pants and gray t-shirt gave him a look of someone who might enjoy the outdoors, while his eyes had a somewhat tired glint to them.

Finishing off his coke, he leaves the money on a counter, along with a nice tip for the cute redhead that had helped him. Heading for the door, he throws another glance in the female customer's direction. But this time, his eyes linger, and his feet stop. His gaze zooms in on the chain hanging around her neck, and the dogtags that were attached. Even from this distance, he could see what the lettering was on one of them and his for a moment, he stands in shock.

Shaking it off, he takes the couple steps to the woman's table and squats down lower than her eye level. His gaze lingers on the dogtags until he looks up at her face, his eyes full of wonder and urgency. "Where did you get those dogtags?"


Back in the kitchen, Carson dries a pan as he looks out onto the floor. Seeing the strange man lower himself by Jess' table, his guard goes up. This man wasn't familiar, and the car outside had out-of-state plates. Carson would bet that Jess did not know him. So who was he and what did he want?

Feeling a bit of protectiveness, Carson sets down the pan and slings the towel over his shoulder, ambling out towards the table. If he was concerned for nothing, he'd just ask Jess if she needed anything else for lunch.