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“Everybody comfortable?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? We’re being sent back to the Hapstall mansion at night - knowing Annalise, there’s probably been another goddamn murder.” Laurel was uncharacteristically snarky, as though she had taken Connor’s usual role whereas Connor stared out the window, silently brooding. He had no desire to go to work at night, enough that he had refused to drive, meaning Michaela was at the wheel. Michaela drove, Waitlist in the passenger seat, also quiet, though that was normal for his googly-eyed self.
They would be trapped, later, Annalise having gone completely insane, begging first Connor to shoot her. Michaela had to jump between Annalise and the gun in Connor’s hand, knowing that after all the shit she had survived in her life, she wasn’t going to die that way. Connor’s eventual response to Annalise’s demand after Michaela forced him out of the vague violent fantasy of listening to Annalise: “I hate you so much,” he gritted out, holding back tears.
“Laurel, you can do this! You’ve gone through worse with your father,” Annalise cajoled, completely insane. Laurel wanted to quit, to leave, to stop Wes who now had the gun and was being convinced, goaded by Annalise, told what was possibly the truth, that “Rebecca’s dead, Wes! She’s been dead this whole time.” Wes shot her, would have killed her had he not heard a name he had left behind a decade earlier.
Annalise bled on the floor of that Godforsaken mansion, as she probably deserved considering how much blood was on her hands: Sam, Rebecca, William Millstone…