(no subject)

Usually, it doesn't really mean anything, not seeing someone for several days, even here. Common as disappearances are (at least, as she's been told), more common is just carrying about one's life, and that doesn't always include time for just hanging out. Carla Jean wouldn't call herself especially busy, having only a couple of mornings cooking breakfast to worry about, but even so, there's hardly anyone she sees on a daily basis. She makes a point of seeing how people are doing, but not all the time. There's no sense in hovering, even if she's on edge more often than not these days, convinced every motion she catches out of the corners of her eyes, every rustle in the jungle and shadow behind her is Chigurh. Sometimes she could swear she even hears his voice, though he's never there when she turns around. Just because she might be losing her mind doesn't mean she needs to keep tabs on the people she knows every second of every day. They all have lives here, and she doesn't intend to let this get to her that badly. She'll keep going like normal.

That is, maybe, why she's more inclined to notice it when someone's absent longer than usual. Harley is easily her closest friend here, and though a few days isn't long enough for her to worry, it is enough to be conspicuous, enough to make her wonder if something's happened. Around here, just about anything is possible. She thinks, first, about just stopping by; on a whim, she heads to the kitchen to put together something to eat first, just in case. She spends a lot of time close to the Compound and the Winchester, and while it's possible she's just missed him, it doesn't seem too unlikely that he hasn't been here, either.

With everything boxed up in borrowed Tupperware containers, she walks to his hut, knocking on the door when she reaches it. "Harley, you in?" she calls. "It's Carla Jean."