Remove all traces of the past...
"Why do we have to do this again?" Stitches groused.
"You know why. We were tasked with fixing the life of a hopeless case. Now help me clean this place up." Andy said, grabbing up the empty bottles and taking them out of the room.
"Pfft. I've said it a million times, humans are all the fucking same." Stitches said, following him.
"How so?" Andy asked, as he tossed the bottles into the garbage can outside. They made a clinking noise as they hit the bottom. He flipped the lid of the bin back down, only to find his companion standing there, leaning against the dark green plastic side.
"How so? I'll tell you how fucking so. You can give them everything they ever fucking asked for, and they'll still fucking ask for more!"
"Ease up on the cursing will ya?" Andy spat, heading back into the house. The other man followed, saying, "Besides, even if they get a fucking perfect life, either it's not perfect enough, or it's boring, so they have to go around causing drama to make it interesting."
"Not all humans are like that. We've had a few successful cases." Andy retorted, halfheartedly. He forgot to mention that there were hundreds of thousands of cases that had failed, because the people had done exactly what Stitches complained that they always did.
"But she's like that!" Stitches insisted, even as he grabbed the garbage bag from the bathroom, full of the empty pill bottles.
"What gives you the right to say that?" Andy asked, still refusing to give in, even though he could see that he was slowly but surely losing the argument.
Stitches rolled his eyes, before saying, "Uh, because I've fucking been through most of this before with her."
"Stitches..." The singer said with a sigh.
"We got assigned to this, so I'm expecting you to cooperate."
Back in the room, Andy took a look around, before asking, "Did she keep a diary?"
"No fucking clue."
Andy sighed. This guy was no help. Glancing at the shelf affixed to the wall fairly high up, so that someone of her height would need to be standing on tip toe or a chair at minimum to reach anything on it, he could only see books, a jewelery box, a small box that looked like it was made of seashells, and several plastic containers. None of those books looked like they could be a diary. Most were standing on end, but one was on it's side, with the seashell box on top of it. He picked it up, opening it. Inside were crumpled dollar bills and seashells, and a library card. Unsatisfied, Andy dumped the contents of the box onto the desk, poking through them with a finger.
"The fuck are you looking for?"
"Any thing that reminds her of the past year."
"We've already fixed the memories of everyone else, sealed all the records we needed to, and cleared the rest of everything out of the house that we needed to get rid of. This is the final step."
"But she's still going to have her memories, and when nobody else can collaborate them, she's going to think she's crazy." Stitches stated flatly. He was unimpressed.
Whoever had worked out all of these 'perfect life' plans apparently wasn't too bright, because they refused to tamper with the person in question's memories, leaving them usually mostly in the same rut that they were in before it seemed. It was certainly vicious. NO wonder that so many of them went insane and ended up blowing out their brains, because they knew it to be real, even when everything around them told them that it wasn't.
"Nope. Aha!" Andy said, holding up something. It was a small piece of broken glass that'd been hidden below the rest of the contents of the box.
Stitches rolled his eyes. "You're taking this too far. 'Sides, it's pointless tossing out everything sharp if she's got so many scars."
"We can say she recovered. A lot of people do." Andy said, scooping the things spilled onto the desk back into the box, before returning it to it's place upon the book. He couldn't help but notice the way that the cover lifted away from the book unless it was weighed down. Shrugging, he decided to ignore it, grabbing her jewelery box, and beginning to comb through the contents.
"Like that's going to work."
Andy sighed. He didn't believe that it would work himself, but it wasn't like he would say that. He had to at least pretend that be believed this would work, even though the overwhelming past history showed that most of the time, it never did. "Just help me, ok?" He said instead of what was going through his mind.
"Whatever." Stitches muttered in annoyance.
Soon enough, they came across quite a few things. A pen knife in a box with pens and markers, a straight razor below the keyboard of the computer, and loose pills in the nightstand. "Oxy's" Andy muttered. Those could do some real damage. Vaguely, he wondered why she didn't decide to include them in what they interrupted her at last night. Even though they'd found all this, however, they still hadn't found a diary. Andy tried the computer, just in case she had it saved there, only to find it locked.
"Dammit." He muttered. Looks like they'd just have to search it whenever she unlocked it.
"You planning on throwing that out too?"
"Shut up." Andy snapped. He wasn't exactly in an amicable mood considering he had the mother of all hangovers.
But the other male wouldn't take that as a response, for he said, "Planning on going through ever inch of this goddamn shithole?"
"Shut the fuck up!" Andy roared.
"Just do your motherfucking job!"
The fallen angel slunk away, mumbling profanities below his breath, left right and center, wings clamped firmly against his sides.
"Goddamn overgrown bird." Six hissed, continuing in his task of turning the room upside down.
By the time it was nearly 8 AM, the duet were finished plucking apart the room. The amount of things that they'd found that Andy needed to get rid of was unbelievable.
"Really is a hopeless case." Andy remarked, somewhat sadly.
"Why the fuck do you think I don't speak to her anymore?"
Andy ignored the comment, scooping up the still comatose girl and tossing her onto the bed. "You kind of have to now." he said, leaving the room. Stitches followed him. Both felt that they had forgotten something, but couldn't tell what it was, considering that they believed that they'd flipped every inch of the room, and gotten rid of all the 'evidence'.
And they were right. But there was one place that they hadn't thought to look, because honestly, who would leave anything there? They hadn't looked under the rug.
If they had, they'd have found the feathers that the girl had stashed there.