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HELL'S KITCHEN
Remy Le Beau has no idea how to do this sort of thing, which is bad because it's starting to become commonplace.
When Bel went missing, he simply found someone he knew that was good at finding someone. Now both Bel and that person are missing.
With little idea what else to do, Remy has started posting 'missing' flyers. He also had one of his 'guys' put in a missing person report with the police. Of course, someone wanted for several bad decisions could not travel down to the police station himself, so he had to get creative. Nevertheless, he stands, sunglassed with a cig hanging from his mouth, stapling printed paper to telephone poles.
THE HAMPTONS
Ah. Summer.
Out on the expansive deck that faces the beach, Zebediah Killgrave is seated on a white lawn chair next to Bella Donna Boudreaux. "Nothing quite like summer in New York," he says with a smile on his face. His head hangs, then sways towards her. "I wonder where Jessica is with our lemonade."
Behind them is some gigantic mansion that Killgrave does not own.
*
Say the devil's name and she appears.
Lips curved upwards at the edges, decked in a haltered purple gingham swing dress, and a pair of black kitten heels, Jessica Jones carries a simple silver platter complete with a jug of homemade lemonade and large crystal glasses. Her dark hair, usually simple curls in ringlets around her head.
In short, Jessica Jones has transformed from an edgy near-ruffian into a pseudo-Stepford Wife. A single foot steps backwards into a near-curtsy as she acknowledges Killgrave, and her smile turns toothy — like a model on a toothpaste commercial. "Here is the lemonade," she says brightly in a disembodied tone.
*
"Thank you, Jessica," Killgrave says with a smile and tastes the lemonade, only to falter and give it a second look. It is terrible, he thinks. "Suppose we'll have to work on that for the future." He folds his hands in his lap, nevertheless, "I suppose after you swim we should start getting ready for dinner. Bella Donna, go put on your bikini. The pink one I bought you, not the yellow one. It clashes with your hair."
"Okay, Michael," Bel says as she gets to her feet and begins to walk back towards the house.
"Ah. Now we're alone. I have a confession to make, Jessica. I used to think that Bel was the gal I was going to spend the rest of my days with. But, that's until I met you, of course." His eyes rest upon Jessica in a creepy stare. "Tell me all that you can do."
*
The disgust over the lemonade doesn't even earn a wince; nothing registers as off, almost as if everything Killgrave does is the way he ought to act. Her eyes blink robotically and her hands fold in front of her. With that same bright, barbie-like smile, she is compelled to respond. "I'm good at learning things and uncovering information, writing, talking with people, hand-to-hand combat — " her eyes fit to the side. Clearly this is what he wants to know, right? Maybe she's not as bright as she seemed?
*
"Jessic-ah!" he says with his thick accent. "That's not what I meant and you know it." He gets to his feet and stands, not an inch from her face. His eyes look into hers, then to the side of her face. Then towards her mouth. "I watched you," he says in his sing-song way. "I saw that you were special. Mutant?"
*
Frozen, left to look like a smiling barbie after consistent remarks that she should 'smile more,' Jessica doesn't even flinch as he enters her space. She can't. She can't react beyond blinking. And in a sick, twisted way, she wants to give him what he wants.
And so she answers, "Not a mutant." Again she blinks, and then offers brightly, "I'm strong. Stronger than anyone I've met. I don't get hurt easily. I can fly." Smiiiiiile.
*
"You. can. fly." The last word is said in such a happy way, it surprises even Killgrave. He shakes his head slowly. "You absolutely /are/ magnificent. Just as I'd thought." He sits back down into the chair and grabs the lemonade. This time it tastes a little better. "Right. Off you go, then. Fly around."
HELL'S KITCHEN
When Remy walks up to a biker with a long beard, bald head, and leather vest, they coordinate in a casual succession of bumped fists, snaps, and handshakes. After it's over, he gives an upward nod to the Cajun.
"Lookin' for dese two.""Hey man, that's Bel. And…Hey, I know this broad.""Figgered you would.""Rems, you sure you should be walkin' round out here? I mean, you know you wanted by the police, right?""Pfft." Remy rolls his eyes and jerks his head. "Don, how many times you tink ole Remy ever got busted by da poleece?"
THE HAMPTONS
*
Killgrave's instructions are always heeded in a timely manner. Jessica, in the very purple dress, kicks off the cement and encircles the sky above. She floats in slow, languid laps, all the while beaming from ear to ear. Her hands unnaturally remain folded in front of her; it doesn't prevent her from moving, but it certainly doesn't aid her either.
The heels become lost to the ground thanks to gravity. The scuff as they fall to the ground, but Jessica can't react or grab her shoes. Instead, she just continues to fly. Around. Much like someone would run laps on a track, Jones flies in loose circles. Again. And again. And again.
*
Killgrave sits and watches her fly round and round again with a smile on his face. "Oh, the things we will do together, Jessica!" he calls upwards and laughs. Bel, meanwhile, is in a very skimpy pink bikini that compliments her blonde hair nicely.
HELL'S KITCHEN
Cut to a scene of Remy Le Beau and Don Truss on the hood of a cop car, getting handcuffed.
THE HAMPTONS
Now as the sun begins to set, Killgrave finally calls up to Jessica. "That's enough, Jessica. Come down, now."
*
The smile hasn't faded — it's brightness is wholly intact — but Jessica's hair has flattened thanks to the wind generated from her flight. Beads of sweat have formed along her brow and down her shoulders.
Slowly, her trajectory changes, enabling her to reach a vertical position. Toes point naturally as she nears the pavement, and barefoot feet make purchase against its surface.
She doesn't react to her own warmth and exertion. But whether conscious or not, her eyes drift to the near-empty jug of lemonade on the table. "I'm down," her inflection is nearly warm.
*
"Take a drink, Jessica. You've earned it," Killgrave responds. It seems she's pleased him. "Bel and I are going swimming. You're coming to. We don't have a bikini for you, so I'm afraid you'll have to go without. Come along then."
HELL'S KITCHEN
PRECINCT OFFICE
SLAM!
The bars clang shut on Remy Le Beau as he awaits arraignment. A few hours later he's offered his phone call. For a moment he considers calling Jean Luc. Instead, he calls Trish Walker.