"Ooh, what do we have here? Little Esmeralda has some split personality problems, I see." Already used to being ignored, Sam carried the little box back to his chair, wiggled his eyebrows at her as she glanced blankly around the room.
Inside the box, stacked up one after the other, were various passports and IDs, legal documents that turned her from Esmeralda Medinas to Thomasina Rinaldi, Julianna Harris, Olivia Dorset, Suzanna Moyer, Natasha Koldari, Amelia Summers, Madeline Benson, and so many more. He saw her smiling face, over and over, as so many different people. She'd been Bailey, Gabriella, Isabella, Layla, and Riana. She'd walked through Italy as Serafina, through Spain as Elena. She'd slipped through Ireland bearing the name Darcy, through France as Genevieve. She'd traveled the world, had seen all the seven wonders, if the pictures tacked to the walls were any indication.
It was a little eerie, seeing her staring at him, over and over again, in those grainy ID pictures, her lips curved in a cool smile, her eyes staring straight ahead, so big and serious. So many people, in just a few years, he thought. So many names she'd carried; so many temporary lives, all leading back to one teenage girl with a habit of going invisible. It was, in his mind, fascinating.
"So, are the Spanish Steps as awesome as they look in all the documentaries?" He asked, looking up from the photo ID of one Elena Vasquez. He watched her blink, turn her focus back to him.
"Come again?" She asked, raising a brow, and he almost chuckled at her sleepy expression. A quick glance at his watch told him that they'd reached three in the morning a few minutes ago.
"The Spanish Steps. What do they look like?" He asked, and watched the blank confusion enter her eyes. Her brow furrowed, as did his as he looked at her obvious confusion.
"The Spanish Steps? They're…impressive, I suppose. I've never been there, so I can't really say." She wished she could stretch, wished, as fatigue set in, that she could at least shift onto her stomach so she could sleep comfortably.
Sam merely stared at her, his eyes narrowed. She wasn't lying, or playing dumb. Not that he could tell, anyway. Besides, there was really no point to lie about such a thing when he had the fake IDs and passports right here to tell him where she'd been and when. He paused for a moment, and then walked around the room, plucked a picture from the wall. It was a grainy picture of the Spanish Steps, taken mere feet from them.
Walking over to the table where Esmeralda was tied down, he held the picture in front of her face, waiting until she focused on it. He saw the moment recognition flared, could almost see the information streaming in her eyes as her brain kicked into overdrive.
This, he thought with some envy, was the wonder of the Ghost Operative. Information just stored away, hidden even from themselves, until visual aids triggered an explosion of mental files. There was power in those dark eyes now, and a knowledge he could only guess at. It was, he discovered, so very captivating.
"The Spanish Steps," She murmured, and would've reached for the picture, just to touch, if the ropes hadn't stopped her.
"Yes, they're magnificent. They're…majestic, in their own way. They stood the test of time." Her voice had softened for a moment, before she caught herself, before those eyes went blank and cool again, before the light left them.
"You should take some time off from Creed, see the sights. You don't live forever."
Aaaaaaaaand, she's back, he thought with a sigh, and lowered the picture. He was a master at killing time, and God knew he'd have to kill quite a bit of time down here until he figured out how exactly he was going to get her off school grounds unnoticed. Not that he'd ever admit that he hadn't exactly figured that out before hand, of course.