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Maisie steps backwards into the corridor, eyes locked onto the receding rectangle of light showing her the end of the bright hallway she just escaped.
Her muscles move fluidly, each motion coming to her with the ease and grace of both instinct and years of practice. The soles of her sneakers make no sound as she sets her feet. It has always been her favourite game, hiding and sneaking and then going for the surprise. Now it feels like that was preparation, each moment of joy working towards this instance where it becomes a matter of life and death.
In spite of that, her breath doesn't quicken. Her heart doesn't beat faster, a drumbeat far too steady. Neither have ever happened to her before but now it registers as strange on some level, unusual at least, she is frightened, shouldn't she feel her heart hammer in her chest and and choke on her gasps of fear? But then she's also thankful, when the two men step into view and she is able to be calm, and noiseless.
Stepping backwards and backwards.
Don't turn around, she thinks at the men, her thoughts pounding where her heart does not, don't turn around, don't look, don't see me, I'm not here.
Step by step she retreats, eyes fixed on the men, listening to their words while fervently praying for them to leave.
Miraculously, they do without ever glancing in her direction.
She's just starting to feel relief when she suddenly feels something touch her, the faint tickle of her hair pulling back and falling back onto her neck strand by strand. For a moment she freezes, not quite wanting to understand or acknowledge the implication, but she's always been too curious for her own good and too aware that some things must be faced head on. Someone is touching her hair and so she has to turn around.
They look into each other's eyes as soon as her turn is completed.
The creature behind the bars is hard to make out, apart from the jaw full of teeth and the claws and the slitted orange eyes framed by a stripe of gold that hold her frozen in their gaze. Maisie feels the horror of seeing it all, feels the scream rising in her throat just as the creature opens it jaws to roar.
It's a split second where she's overcome by flashes of very recent memories, rushing at her faster than she or the creature can move.
The video of a man and a baby dinosaur, demonstrating their interactions. Cowering and attacking, cowering and being consoled. Talk of empathy, of understanding, of curiosity. The movements of the raptors, stirring amusement and familiarity. The doctor that accompanied Eli Mills, saying, “it needs a mother.”
Just a split second, the fraction of a moment between two very different outcomes and she picks one over the other in spite of her fear.
Maisie closes her throat, focuses on her ever steady heartbeat, and cocks her head to the left, quick and curious like a bird.
The creature behind the bars stills, its mouth still wide open. It too doesn't make a sound. Considers her instead. Closes the maw.
It cocks its head right, mirroring her, just as quick and curious. She tilts hers right and once again it follows. They stare at each other and the creature lowers itself, brings its had closer to her eye level. Its muscles move fluidly, each motion coming with the ease and grace of both instinct and years of practise. It moves without a sound. Something about that catches her off guard - she recognises it in spite of seeing it from the outside for the first time.
It reminds her of herself, playing hide and seek.
Not an imitation, simply two different entities moving exactly alike. Maisie doesn't understand why, not yet, but all at once she feels scared and alien in her own skin. She feels the need to imitate the creature, instead of the other way round, she feels the need to run, to scream, to hiss and challenge and hunt. The creature looks at her with recognition in its eyes.
And its maw curls into a smile too knowing for a mere animal.
And Maisie feels all the hairs on her arms rise one by one.