[The click of the lock is like a bolt of electricity going through Ran's heart; it jolts her, sending her eyes whisking and wide towards the door. Suddenly her throat is dry -- too dry -- and nothing will quite staunch the anxiety that wells up, not even the onlooking cats piling up on the windowsills, tails twitching as they wind back and forth across the glass.]

I can't-- [Without further thought she darts towards the door, flicking the latch back to unlocked. Only then does she feel like she can breathe, the coolness of the metal at her back.]

I'm sorry.

[Why is she apologizing? She isn't sure. Maybe it's habit, maybe it's false memory . . . maybe, for some unconscious reason, it just feels right to do so. She presses her lips together, moistens them.]

The last time I remember you from home, you were threatening to shoot me and a child. [The words are soft, but with the door at her back, she feels brave enough to say them.] I . . . It would be easier to pretend like everything is like it's supposed to be here. I wouldn't be so scared. But I can't forget that.

[Distantly, it begs the question in her mind -- why does Christina want to gloss over it? But it's not a conscious thought. Not yet.]

I can't help it. You scare me. A lot.