by Matthew Fish
3. The Girl from Paris
As I get ready that Tuesday morning, to my slight bemusement, it is raining pretty hard outside. I look out my large picture window and watch as the cascade of rain flows down like a waterfall against the glass. The morning sun is hidden behind the heavy clouds and a grey tone sets the mood for the day. I do not mind so much, I like the rain and am rather partial to the color grey. I wonder if Noah is pleased to know it is raining so hard, though probably not enough for him to swim in.
After a short drive I reach the apartment complex of the oddly named Cherie Derry. I walk up to the second floor and find apartment 7B. I give the door a rap with my knuckles and wait. I knock a second time, and I can faintly hear footsteps.
“You’re too early,” a soft voice speaks as the door opens a fraction of the way.
“I’m you’re new Sitter.”
“I haven’t unpacked yet.” The voice speaks.
“No, I’m… I’m your caretaker.”
“No, I’m your caretaker…” The girl repeats as she closes the door softly.
“Can I come in?” I ask in a raised tone.
I am answered back with silence for moments as though she is contemplating the idea of allowing me in or not. I have a key—while in training they said it was best if they just invited you inside. It would seem rude to just let myself in, but it is also in my training to do so if I am not allowed access… as long as it poses no danger to me.
“Please?” I add.
The door slowly swings open and Cherie greets me with a curtsey and a smile. Despite it being summertime, she is wearing a long flowing brown scarf and tan long sleeved shirt. Her legs are covered by tight fitting dark fabric and she has on a pleated brown skirt.
“I’m Ethan,” I say as I enter into the small apartment building. I am immediately drawn to the huge unfinished painting of the Eiffel Tower that stands nearly six feet tall against the far wall of the living room. “You’re Cherie right?”
“It’s Che-rie” she corrects my pronunciation.
“I’m sorry, of course, Cherie.”
“I’m sorry.” She replies.
“For what…?” I ask, as I cannot think of anything she should be apologizing for.
“For what…?” She mimics in reply.
‘I get it…’ I whisper to myself. I keep getting thrown off even though I know I should be more than prepared for this kind of thing. She’s a Mirror. She’s going to repeat some of the things I am doing or saying. I have to either let her break the chain or stop talking for a moment for her mind to reset itself. I give the conversation some time and begin to look around, there are a lot of pictures of Paris up on the walls, or I’d assume that is where they are—having never been myself, I’m at best… guessing. Tourism and travel are not really big these days. Mostly it is the diplomats or politicians doing all of the traveling to other countries.
“Can we go out today?” Cherie asks as she sits in a barstool chair and looks longingly out the window.
“We can do that, it is raining though—what did you have in mind?”
“Paris is always the most beautiful in the rain.”
“I’ve heard that before.” I say as I nod uncomfortably. I know that I am supposed to just let them run with it. However, this situation seems somehow a bit more difficult.
Cherie suddenly jumps from her chair and stands in front of me. Eagerly she looks at me as though she is studying me. I am a little uncomfortable; I suppose it is the lack of familiarity I felt when I was with Noah. This is an entirely new person who I know very little about.
“Can we go see the Eiffel Tower today, I’ve been here since Sunday and I still haven’t gotten a chance,” Cherie meekly asks as she looks at me with wide curious eyes.
“Sunday…?” I ask, and then remember that is the odd day they spend in that strange state from the medication. I begin to wonder if every Sunday she believes that she has just arrived to Paris. It seems like a rather cruel trick produced by the machinations of her mind.
“Yeah I know it has only been three days, but it is the main reason I’m here actually.”
I do not know how to answer. I feel like if I say yes I am lying, and if I say no—I am letting her down. I feel conflicted and much more unprepared than I did yesterday. Luckily, I take so much time deciding how to answer that she changes the subject.
“It’s really nice of them to send a Sitter for me while I’m here, you know?” Cherie says as she nods happily.
She has a kind smile that makes me feel better somehow, and her eyes squint in a way that is adorable. For the first time I have to remind myself, never get attached to an Unstable. Not even as I think they are kind of cute in a way—like a stray dog, you never know when or if they’ll turn on you.
“Or is it Caretaker here in Paris?” As she asks as she puffs up her cheeks and looks at me as though she is not getting enough answers.
“I’m your Sitter, I just thought… I like caretaker better,” I say as I attempt to make sense of my own thoughts. “I’m your caretaker.”
“I’m your caretaker,” Cherie repeats slowly.
“I’ll be your Sitter though from now on, even when… we get back.” I say the last part with a heavy amount of disappointment in myself, even though I know that she needs to know that I am her old sitter’s replacement.
“What happened to my first Sitter?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. We never know. Back in training they would always say that nine times out of ten we wouldn’t want to know because the answer would most likely be that one of their cases went Aggro. So new Sitters never know what happened to the old ones. Knowing would do neither of us any good.
“I don’t know.”
“Yep,” I reply shortly as I attempt not to think about the possibilities, although my mind is already full of them.
“Yep…”
I pause the conversation again as I look outside. The rain continues to fall pretty hard.
“So I have to ask, how are you feeling?” I ask, feeling that enough time has passed.
“No changes.” Cherie answers almost immediately as though she has grown used to it.
I realize that it must be hardest on the Mirror and Amnesiac types. Mirrors generally know that they are different but they don’t understand why. Amnesiacs know exactly what they are and what they can become and it causes them the fits of depression that they often get. The Catatonics… well, it’s believed are completely oblivious to the situation, and the Psychopaths are too self destructive to either care or notice. The Manics are believed to always be in a state of disbelief or too fixated on their highs and lows to know their fate. If I had to pick one, I’d probably be a Catatonic. Ignorance is bliss, after all.
“You know then that I have to watch you take your pill,” I say as I run through the drill.
Cherie nods compliantly as she fetches the familiar white and blue bottle from a painted white wooden dresser drawer. It is the only thing that is in there. She walks into the kitchen, pours herself a glass of water and places the pill on her tongue. She makes a special point to show me that the little white pill is on there, and then drinks the water and shows me that it is gone. “Good?”
“Is that what your last Sitter made you do?”
Cherie nods.
“You don’t…” I begin.
“She never trusted me,” Cherie says as she continues to smile happily despite the fact that her eyes look saddened. “I never did anything, maybe she was mad that I went to Paris without her.”
“I trust you, just take your pill, you don’t have to show me.”
“I trust you…” Cherie repeats as she nods once.
“This is only my second day,” I add, hoping it will make it an easier transition to a more comfortable rapport with Cherie. “I’m pretty new at this.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I could make something if you like,” I reply as I do feel like I could eat. “After all, I feel like I’m
not really doing much.”
“I do the cooking.”
“Oh that’s right, that was in your file… I forgot,” I say as I shrugged my shoulders. I feel like this whole Sitting job is more of just me making sure they’re taking their pills and doing little else other than providing company. I suppose the company part is important though, I just never figured myself to really be good company.
“I forgot.” Cherie repeated as she shrugged her shoulders.
Without another word, for fear of sticking us into another conversation loop, I follow her into the kitchen. I watch as she gathers different bowls and utensils, all the while wondering what it is that she is planning on preparing. After a bit of silence, I ask.
“Can I help with anything?”
“Can you crack eggs?”
“Yeah,” I say pretty confidently. That sounds like a pretty easy task. I go to the fridge. “…how many?”
“Five.”
“I grab five eggs from a container and cautiously make my way to the marble countertop and set them down beside a bowl. I take a plastic bag from a nearby dispenser and ready an egg for cracking.
Cherie covers her ears with cupped hands and looks away.
“Are you alright?” I say loudly.
“I don’t like the noise,” Cherie loudly replies back, although she is the one with her ears covered and mine are not at all.
I nod in response. Despite the fact that her ears are covered she cringes as each egg cracks open against the bowl. Once finished she lowers her hands and lets out a sigh of relief.
“Is there anything else that bothers you… just so I know for future reference?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Well if there is just let me know in advance, like with the eggs.”
“I don’t like that I can’t leave the house without a Sitter.”
“I’m sorry about that,” I reply as I feel bad for things that are well beyond my control. The government says it is best for everyone. It is meant to stop the instances of Unstables going Aggro in public and killing. Also supposedly, it is for the protection of the Unstable from the groups that seek to harm them out of fear. Although if I saw Cherie on the streets walking, I would never suspect that she was an Unstable. She looks just like any other person. Besides, when an Unstable goes Aggro there is almost always some collateral damage to the public. I suppose some rules regarding the matter are just made to make people feel better and aren’t worth much else.
“People are afraid of people like me though. I don’t know why.”
“People are afraid of anything that is different.”
“Are you afraid of me?”
I look at her. I can see no harmful intent in those kind eyes. Even if I know better… I feel like I should know better. I should have a healthy amount of fear. However, for some reason, perhaps stupidity, I don’t. “I’m not… I’m your caregiver.”
“I’m your caregiver.”
“Right…” I say as I nod.
“Right…” Cherie nods.
I place the broken bag of eggshells into the waste bin and wash my hands in the sink. I look over as Cherie is firing up the stove.
“Go and sit please,” Cherie says as she gestures to the dark wooden table in the other room.
“You don’t need any more help?”
“Go and sit please.”
“Got it,” I reply, as I do as I am told. I make my way into a small dining room with only enough room for two chairs and a few decorations. Like much of the rest of the apartment they are all Paris themed. A vintage poster of a giant black cat adorned with some French writing rests upon the far wall. I’ve seen the image before, but I have a terrible time remembering names or artists, or even what style it is. I can smell that food is on its way as my stomach grumbles a bit.
“Thank you,” I say as she places a plate and sets up a napkin with a fork and knife on it. I haven’t had someone serve me in years, at least since my parents died, that wasn’t in a restaurant setting.
“I figured since we’re in Paris,” Cherie says as she places down her own plate. “We should have some French food.”
“It looks great,” I say as a try very hard to not laugh. Arranged on the plate is a stack of two pieces of French toast with a side of French fries. A pat of butter rests atop both, and a fancy swirl of syrup runs from the center of the French toast and covers the top of the French fries. I am a little bit surprised by this, but I realize at this point, nothing should surprise me.
“Thank you,” Cherie says as she smiles and her cheeks flush red like they would on a cold winter day. “I’ve been practicing.”
“It looks perfect,” I add as I smile and dig into the food. As strange as it is, I enjoy it. Then again, I have never been a picky eater.
“Last Sitter would never eat my food,” Cherie says as her eyes look saddened a bit, but she continues to wear that smile. I begin to wonder if she can’t properly show emotion. Or is just always a little bit happy, even when she’s a little bit sad… it seems like a contradiction, or a great way to look at life. I’m not sure which, but I think I’d like to go with the second part.
“It was their loss.”
“It was their loss…” Cherie says as she begins to eat.
After eating I ask if she would still like to go out. Secretly I hope that she does not want to see the Eiffel Tower. Luckily, she only wants to go for a drive. I’m a little hesitant as I think that she will realize that we’re not in Paris at all, but Chicago… however, I do not deny her the chance to get out.
“Is this your car?”
“Yes,” I say as we pull away from her apartment.
“It is very nice…” Cherie says as she runs her hand along the leather interior. “I had a nice car once… It’s raining so hard you can’t even make out the Eiffel Tower today.”
“Yeah, that’s unfortunate,” I say as I bite my lower lip nervously.
“You’re new; you just came from C Shape right?”
“That I did, I have a feeling I know the question before it is going to be asked. In training I was told that the ones that are capable of realization that they are different are always going to ask.
“How much longer until I can be normal…? How much longer do I have to be watched?”
“I think soon,” I say as I look over and attempt to smile reassuringly. I hate all of this lying shit that comes with this part of the job. I knew that sometimes I was going to have to tell little lies in order to comfort my cases, but I had no idea I would end up feeling so terrible about it. “Has to be soon…”
“Good,” Cherie says as she smiles. “How come you don’t have glasses?”
“I don’t need them?” I answer, confused once more.
“My last Sitter had them,” Cherie says as she lowers her voice to a whisper. “They had a display that could tell if you were different. I looked through them once when she was in the bathroom. She left them on my counter. When she came out she was blue and it said normal on the screen. I looked at my hand, it was orange and it said Unstable. What does Unstable mean?”
“It’s just another word for different.”
“It’s just another word for different.” Cherie repeated.
“I’ve heard of them,” I add. “It’s for people who are afraid.”
“People who are afraid…”
“I’m apparently not as afraid as others are. Which makes me feel a little better about myself,” I continue to see if she will keep mimicking my conversation or if this can eventually be broken without the need for silence.
“Feel better about myself…” Cherie says as she pulls her legs up to her chest and wraps her arms around them.
I let some time pass as I continue to drive. I look over to Cherie, and she looks terrified.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
“My chest hurts, I think I’m going to pass out,” she says as her eyes begin to water.
“You are alright,” I say reassuringly. I r
emember from training that Mirrors have anxiety issues. “I begin to instantly route my way back to her apartment. “It’s an anxiety attack, it will pass.”
I speed through the streets, careful to not cause any more anxiety. Cherie rocks back and forth in the seat and wipes away fresh tears with the back of her hand. “I think I’m going to die. I don’t want to die.”
“You are not going to die, I promise.”
I pull up to her apartment. “Let’s get you inside.”
“I can’t walk, I’ll pass out,” Cherie says as she begins to place a hand to her chest.
“You just stay there…” I say as I quickly round the car and pick up Cherie in my arms and carry her towards the apartment door.
“A little help,” I say as a man dressed in a business suit and carrying an umbrella passes by just in time.
Noticing my C Shape badge, which I have to wear when I’m with an Unstable, he ignores me and says, “It’s your nutcase; get it the fuck away from me.” He then makes it a point to walk across the street to be as far away as possible.
I manage to get the door open with a bit of a struggle and make my way up to Cherie’s apartment. I carry her into the living room and rest her upon the couch.
“Do you feel better now?” I ask, I find a box of tissues and hand them to her. Seems like that is at least one thing I’ve been good at these past two days—getting people tissues.
She nods quietly as she takes in a heavy breath. Then after a few moments of calmness she begins to cry once more.
“What’s wrong, what can I do?”
“That man… he hates you now because of me.”
I wipe away her tears and place a hand upon her shoulder. “I don’t care about that guy. He doesn’t mean a single thing to me. He is not even worth a single tear.”
“He is not even worth a single tear.”
“Exactly,” I say, even though I know she is repeating. However, it does seem rather fitting. I couldn’t give a single shit about some asshole that has no sense of compassion.
“Exactly…” Cherie says as she stops crying.
“I’ll get you some water,” I say as I get up and head towards the kitchen.
