Scene 7
Anna contemplated the sweatshirt-hooded figure sitting there on a London park bench, crackers in its hand, birds hopping eagerly around its feet, pecking at crumbs. Such a timeless scene. She almost hated to disturb it, but then again… well, actually, that wasn't true. Who gave a damn about pigeons? She shooed them away and sat down next to the figure.
¨You scared the birds.¨ It was a male voice. The matron must have sent a helper.
¨So? They'll come back.¨
¨If you don't understand, I can't explain it to you.¨
She rolled her eyes. Goddamn hippies. ¨Sorry. Say, I'm looking for a friend. I think he passed by here. You happen to see him?¨
¨I did see one guy; talked with him for a bit. Said his name was doctor Marshall. I don't think he really wanted to see you.¨
¨Too bad for him. You see which way he headed?¨
The figure pointed a pale young finger to its right, which in this case was west. ¨That way, I think.¨
¨Thanks, man. I better get going then, I guess.¨ She started to rise, but an urgent hand on her knee stopped her.
¨Don't do this. Whatever you want, it isn't worth it. They didn't try to wipe us out for the bombings; it was because of what we know. They might decide to kill you too, if you learn too much.¨ He spoke in a hoarse whisper; fearful, frustrated, hopeless.
Anna picked the hand up off her knee and held it as she rose, facing the figure. ¨I know. But they won't find me so easy to kill.¨ He finally raised his head, just for a moment, and she glimpsed his features. He was even younger than she thought - just a kid, really. These cultish groups knew that brainwashing was easier when you recruited ´em young. She grimaced. I'm not doing it for them; I'm doing it for me. She dropped his hand and walked away, farther into the park, going at a leisurely stroll. It was a classic England fall day, way too nice not to enjoy a little.