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There was something wrong. Quinn knew it the second Flynn walked into his room.
( That is not helping! )
( That is not helping! )
Sep. 7th, 2009
There was something wrong. Quinn knew it the second Flynn walked into his room.
( That is not helping! )
( That is not helping! )
Tasha was gone. She had disappeared right in front of Peter's eyes. It had been like...her brain exploded and then...nothing. Peter didn't know what had happened or how it had happened. He did know one thing. He had started to take pills to stop the visions from occurring during the day, and at night he had dreamed about fucking fishing. He might have stopped it. He might have seen something worthwhile, something that could help, but no. Nothing. He had kept the visions at bay and now his daughter was gone.
Nothing had ever hurt as much as this hurt. Lydia had been missing, but Peter had known she was alive somewhere. Lydia and Anna had disappeared, but they had had a plan. There was no guarantee Tasha was alive. No plan. They had nothing. So Peter stopped taking his pills with the result that he had a seizure every two hours. About nothing. About needing new tyres on his car. About a person losing their ATM card to a machine. About someone getting caught momentarily in the door of an underground train. About a woman getting her wallet taken.
Not a trace of Tasha in any of the visions. Nothing.
Peter locked himself in his room and he sat in the corner, his arms up over his head. And he waited. Waited for the next vision, in the hopes that there would be a clue.
Somewhere, there had to be a clue.
Nothing had ever hurt as much as this hurt. Lydia had been missing, but Peter had known she was alive somewhere. Lydia and Anna had disappeared, but they had had a plan. There was no guarantee Tasha was alive. No plan. They had nothing. So Peter stopped taking his pills with the result that he had a seizure every two hours. About nothing. About needing new tyres on his car. About a person losing their ATM card to a machine. About someone getting caught momentarily in the door of an underground train. About a woman getting her wallet taken.
Not a trace of Tasha in any of the visions. Nothing.
Peter locked himself in his room and he sat in the corner, his arms up over his head. And he waited. Waited for the next vision, in the hopes that there would be a clue.
Somewhere, there had to be a clue.
Tasha was gone. She had disappeared right in front of Peter's eyes. It had been like...her brain exploded and then...nothing. Peter didn't know what had happened or how it had happened. He did know one thing. He had started to take pills to stop the visions from occurring during the day, and at night he had dreamed about fucking fishing. He might have stopped it. He might have seen something worthwhile, something that could help, but no. Nothing. He had kept the visions at bay and now his daughter was gone.
Nothing had ever hurt as much as this hurt. Lydia had been missing, but Peter had known she was alive somewhere. Lydia and Anna had disappeared, but they had had a plan. There was no guarantee Tasha was alive. No plan. They had nothing. So Peter stopped taking his pills with the result that he had a seizure every two hours. About nothing. About needing new tyres on his car. About a person losing their ATM card to a machine. About someone getting caught momentarily in the door of an underground train. About a woman getting her wallet taken.
Not a trace of Tasha in any of the visions. Nothing.
Peter locked himself in his room and he sat in the corner, his arms up over his head. And he waited. Waited for the next vision, in the hopes that there would be a clue.
Somewhere, there had to be a clue.
Nothing had ever hurt as much as this hurt. Lydia had been missing, but Peter had known she was alive somewhere. Lydia and Anna had disappeared, but they had had a plan. There was no guarantee Tasha was alive. No plan. They had nothing. So Peter stopped taking his pills with the result that he had a seizure every two hours. About nothing. About needing new tyres on his car. About a person losing their ATM card to a machine. About someone getting caught momentarily in the door of an underground train. About a woman getting her wallet taken.
Not a trace of Tasha in any of the visions. Nothing.
Peter locked himself in his room and he sat in the corner, his arms up over his head. And he waited. Waited for the next vision, in the hopes that there would be a clue.
Somewhere, there had to be a clue.
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