May 9, 2017
Sara taps her middle finger on the table. At first it seems random, but careful examination reveals a pattern, quicker sequences interspersed with pauses. 1-5-1, 1-4-3, 2-5-2. And then again.
The light overhead flickers slightly. It’s out of frame, but the dinginess of the room makes the presence of old wiring unsurprising. Sara glances up toward it, staring blankly.
ASHFORD: Miss Donoghue?
SARA: Who else are you talking to?
ASHFORD: A number of people. Though the Jeffries family has retained a lawyer. We haven’t been able to get an interview. Have you spoken to any of the families of—
SARA: No. I haven’t spoken to any of them.
ASHFORD: Why is that?
She chews on her lip. The tapping continues. 1-5-1, 1-4-3, 2-5-2. She seems to realize she’s doing it and stops abruptly, clenching her hand into a fist on the tabletop.
SARA: It’s my fault.
ASHFORD: What is?
SARA: All of it. They wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me.
ASHFORD: And you wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for your sister. So couldn’t you say it was Becca’s fault, by that logic?
SARA: None of this is Becca’s fault.
ASHFORD: I’m not saying it is. I’m saying that it isn’t yours, either.
SARA: Have you ever played the game, Dr. Ashford?
ASHFORD: The game? No. I haven’t.
SARA: But you’ve played games before. In general.
ASHFORD: Of course.
SARA: Do you know what all games have in common?
ASHFORD: All games have rules.
SARA: Exactly. And what happens when you break them?
ASHFORD: It depends on the game, I suppose. Did you break the rules?
Sara doesn’t answer. Her hand splays out on the table. After a few seconds, her finger starts tapping again. 1-5-1, 1-4-3, 2-5-2.
ASHFORD: Miss Donoghue? Did you break the rules?
SARA: We all did.