Chapter Text
Agnes is clearly wearing a mask.
That much Dolores is now completely, undeniably certain. She’s seen masks before; if she strains her mind just tightly enough she can picture the vague outline of a man. And she doesn’t know how but she just knows that he schools his features as easy as breathing.
Agnes is no different.
There’s something keen in her eyes as she stares at Dolores, something sharp and shocked in her squint. It’s gone so quickly, that if Dolores didn’t have that- memory, it must be a lost memory of some sort- then she would think nothing of it.
But Dolores is perceptive. She catches on.
“What did I do? Honey, are you catching a cold yourself? Makes more sense with you, doesn’t it? Gallivanting in that darn old town of yours.”
“Of ours,” Dolores corrects, trying to see if she can gage anything else from her neighbour. But the mask is firmly back in place, and Dolores wonders if she’ll ever see what she knows she saw again.
“Of ours,” Agnes says slowly, giving her a look that screams, ‘strange Dolores, silly Dolores.’ “Are you okay, honey? You wanna pop a pill or something?”
Dolores can feel herself rapidly tense by the second.
“You did something to Jo.”
“I talked his ear off, that’s for sure!”
“Agnes,” she snaps, and stops, her eyes widening. Dolores doesn’t snap. And by the quirked eyebrow, Agnes knows this as well.
Agnes sighs, standing up. “I get it, honey. We’ve all had a long day, Ralph’s gone god knows where, and my casserole’s getting cold. At least we can change one of those thi-“
“What did you do, Agnes?”
“Don’t annoy me.” Agnes says, putting the plates in front of two seats on the table. She’s not looking at Dolores, but her voice has an edge of steel to it that wasn’t there before.
Is the mask beginning to crack? Dolores aims to try harder.
“Then give me answers!”
“To what.”
Dolores flaps her hands in the air, hysteria seeping into her posture as she has the sudden urge to pace.
“All of this! None of this makes sense, Agnes! Since when does Jo get sick? Since when- since when are we neighbours, for crying out loud!”
Agnes barks out a laugh, finally meeting her eyes. It’s strange, seeing mirth in her expression; Dolores was expecting her to mirror back some anger. But no, if anything, her neighbour seems happy. Happy, and-
Curious?
“I shouldn’t be laughing, silly, I’m sorry. You’re just so cute when you’re being delusional.”
Dolores grits her teeth. “You’re lying to me.”
“Wait, no, let’s make this about you, gorgeous.” She begins to walk closer to Dolores, each step making Dolores want to back into a corner. But she stands her ground, even if she wishes she could become part of the wall.
“Now why oh why, do you think we’re suddenly neighbours. Weren’t we always this way? Think real hard. That’s it.”
“No!” Dolores snaps again, this time from pure horror rather than rage. When she thinks about it it hurts, it makes something in her mind want to snap, she can’t do this, why did she say anything in the first place, she should’ve eaten that damn casserole and thought about it later in the confines of her own privacy.
But Agnes is a hair away now, hands on both of her shoulders, grounding her.
“No, no. Don’t go in that lovely little head of yours, you’re staying here. I’ll repeat my question: weren’t we always this way?”
“I don’t- I can’t-“
“Yes you can. You’re doing amazing. Come on, think think think,” she sings, her hands slowly going from her shoulders to both sides of her neck. It’s stabilising.
“I’m- we were never-“
“That’s right. Did you live next to someone else? When did we become neighbours? When did we meet?”
“You’re acting like this is fun.”
“It is and it isn’t,” the older woman says conversationally. Dolores’s eyes are shut- when did that happen?- but she can feel the tightening Agnes’s hold has become on her, can feel her practically forcing Dolores to not retreat into herself.
Stabilising.
“I want to go home,” she says, unthinkingly yet urgent in her desperation.
Thumbs rub circles as they now firmly rest on her cheeks.
“Where’s home, Dolores?” She says, and it’s almost soft, and has Agnes ever said her name before? She doesn’t actually think so.
It’s that- it’s that one word, that one name, that makes something in Dolores snap back into place.
Her posture straightens, her mind feeling clearer than ever. She blinks, confused, and sways momentarily, before she’s gripped roughly, yet gently, falling to the ground at a glacial speed.
Dolores blinks up- seeing Agnes.
“Agnes!” She says brightly, looking at her surroundings. “When did you come in?”
Agnes furrows her brows, a frown plastered on her face. She’s sitting opposite Dolores- when did Dolores sit down?- visible confusion evident as she slowly moves her hands away from her face. Which is different. Agnes always seems happy. And why were her hands on her face?”
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in- why on earth am I sitting down? Did I faint?”
Agnes’s confusion is replaced by some sort of anger, in the way her jaw minutely clenches. And she tries to smile at Dolores, but it comes out as more of a deep scowl.
“Are you alright?”
“Dandy,” Agnes says, more deadpan than Dolores has ever seen her. It makes Dolores want to reach out to her, but that wouldn’t be polite, it would be indecent.
And nothing indecent happens in Westview.
“Are you sure? I don’t know what happened- I must have fell.”
“Clumsy,” Agnes chuckles, something forced and uncharacteristically blunt. “Just came by to drop off a casserole, saw you on the floor. Oh well, hope you’re fine. Should be going, Ralph’s waiting for me at home.”
“Oh,” Dolores says, disappointment blooming in her chest. “Do you not want to stay for a while?”
“Would if I could,” Agnes says, not looking at her as she rises, swiftly making her way to the room’s exit. Dolores is a bit disoriented, she doesn’t think she could move if she wanted to. And she does want to, she wants to reach out and grab Agnes’s arm, tell her to stay.
But Agnes won’t look at her, and she doesn’t know why.
“Your husband’s upstairs. Said he was tired.”
“Tired- what time is it?”
“I’m not a clock,” Agnes states, than laughs as if she was making a joke. It didn’t sound like she was trying to be funny, though, it sounded akin to a grunt; Dolores has the sensation of a tug in her chest. Unexplainable.
“Call me if you need anything. We are neighbours, after all. Always have been.”
Dolores blinks at the bitter words as she hears the door shut, the beginnings of longing burning in her throat when she tries not to call out her name.