by Matthew Fish
“That…” I say as I shake my head and put my arm around her. Her arm still feels cool to the touch. “That didn’t work out. The place Noah wanted us to be—well the people who are after us found it first and burned it down.”
“I’m sorry,” Cherie says as she rests her head against my shoulder.
“We’re alright here thought,” I say as I kiss her cheek. “For now, we’re safe here.”
“Did you buy me new clothes?’
“You had a fever, I had to get you into something simple,” I say. As strange as it seems I miss her unique fall outfits, she was much happier then. She didn’t have to carry so many worries or have to go through such terrible pain. “Plus, it will help us fit in if people start poking around.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Cherie says as she begins to rock back and forth in the bed. She begins to cry. “Where… am I?”
“You just need to rest,” I say as I help her back into a flat position. She curls up and goes through a few shivers. She looks at me with those sad eyes that tend to leave me feeling heartbroken. She doesn’t deserve this.
“Tell me something about your past…”
“Of course,” I say as I nod and lay down behind her. I try and think of something interesting. My mind is filled with sad thoughts so it is difficult. “Before everything changed, the night before everything changed actually… I was doing something really stupid. My life wasn’t going very well and I had been drinking. I decided to go out—so I took my parents car while they were asleep. I ended up driving it into a lake… pretty far from the house. I remember sitting in the car—being half aware of what was going on. I just started laughing. I’m not sure why really. I think that I was just going to go down with it…”
“What stopped you?” Cherie asks as she squeezes both of my hands and inches closer against me.
“I thought about my life—I didn’t have many friends at the time. They had all gone off to do things, while I was doing absolutely nothing. I had no motivation, no talents… anyway, I saw a glimpse of my own funeral and I realized that hardly anyone would be there. No one would really care if I died that night—and I thought that would have made me want to leave more… but instead it didn’t. I felt this feeling like, just hold on a little longer and things will be different. So I broke out the window and I swam my way up. I walked home and arrived home that morning. All those hours I spent walking, I just went over and over in my head about how I didn’t know what I was going to say to my parents—that I had basically sent their car to the bottom of a lake… that I as drunk. When I got home though, they were both… just gone.”
“I’m glad you didn’t die…”
“It was hard, because I just had that moment where it was like… something was telling me to hold on and wait—but I waited, and waited… nothing good happened for years. I quit drinking completely, but I… I just lived half asleep like I did before that night. It was a lot of waiting until I actually felt really important or really alive again—which was when I met you and Noah. Sorry that’s not a happier story. I probably should have come up with something happier… next time, I promise.”
“No that…” Cherie begins as she rests her head against my chest. “…that actually makes me feel better. Although I’m sorry I made you wait so long. I’m sure if Noah was still with us—he’d be sorry too.”
“That’s not even anything that you should be sorry for,” I say as I laugh. “That’s why I was so worried when you took off yesterday morning. Without you, my life would go back to me just… barely getting by, barely living. I’d be alone again and I’d be back in that dark place.”
“I thought it was best,” Cherie says she yawns. “I’m sorry, Ethan.”
“Not your fault,” I say as I kiss her forehead. “Things have sure changed in the past week and a half…”
Cherie is asleep. I think of getting up—it has been an entire day without checking the news… however she is resting against me so comfortably I cannot bring myself to leave. Although I am not tired in the least, and feel that I should be doing something productive—I stay. I watch her sleep for a while. Every now and then she shudders, but then it passes. She smiles every now and then. I hope that she is at least having good dreams. I stare off at the window. The view does bear a striking resemblance to her apartment window. Once again I am left with the thought—why me? I just cannot wrap my mind why Noah would ultimately risk his plan by bringing me in. I am glad for it; I would have never met Cherie had he not gotten me in. I just do not understand his purpose. He had people on the inside, he had a network that he was in contact with… he had to have been working with someone… I mean the car, and the money, all the technology and the guns. It just doesn’t add up because I was the downfall—I was his mistake. Maybe he trusted me because I was a friend—but then again, I never got proof that he remembered me… sure he knew I lied when I applied for the C-Shapes Program, but he probably found that out from sneaking around their system when he got me approved… maybe he wasn’t normal. Just, very lucid and off his medication for years… the thought of it all starts to give me a headache. The more I try and figure out an answer—the more questions I come up with. The more I try and figure out my role… the more I realize I really don’t think I have one. Maybe going through his paperwork will bring me some much needed answers… or just pile on more questions. Even though I am not tired, I eventually allow myself to nap.
12. Recovery
Two more days pass by, nothing important happens and I take that as a rather good sign. Most of the days Cherie spends sleeping, she can only seem to stay awake for a few hours. She still has the shakes every now and again, and moments of incoherency. Whenever she is awake I tell her stories about when I was younger—I find happier moments, like going sledding in winter, and the time I broke my arm playing in a tree house… nothing really of any importance, nothing in my life has been that terribly interesting. Aside from that I make her something to eat, and make sure she gets plenty of water. While she sleeps, I explore the old house. I find old picture albums of the family that used to live here—they seem like a nice old couple who got to live pretty full lives. I see pictures of them when they are younger, they at all different places across the country. I stop at one where they are the Grand Canyon—they stand together, smiling. I suppose they never had any kids, as I do not find pictures of any. Not much else of the couple remains in the house—I know one of them was a fan of old western novels. I find a few handmade blankets. Other than that it is all stuff, the things we leave behind, I suppose.
On the third day I wake up early. Cherie is still heavily asleep. I begin to crawl out of bed; however she stirs, and turns to me. “Are you leaving?”
“I was just going to check on a few things,” I say as I look out the window, it looks like a beautiful day outside—perhaps a bit warm, mornings in this old house are usually much cooler. “How are you doing today?”
Cherie’s eyes look sad as she turns to face me and rests her head against my stomach. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus… at the same time I feel clearer—clearer than I have in forever, but sad as well.”
“Why sad, Cherie…?”
“You don’t… I know my name is Claire. I remember. I am sad because I know that I’ll never get to Paris.”
“Why not… and why Paris…?” I ask as I begin to rub her shoulder. She is feeling warmer. I am glad to see that she is out of the worst of it. Just as Noah said, this Paris thing is slowly starting to clear up as her memory improves.
“…and why Paris…?”
“Yeah, why did you always want to go to Paris?”
“…want to go to Paris…?”
I nod once as Claire nods as well. I realize that, also, just as Noah had said—even if she improves, she will always be a mirror. I spend a few moments looking out the window. I watch as a robin lands in the tree, it hops from branch to branch; its head constantly changing direction, the bird almost seems robotic in the way it moves.
“You don’t have to tell me—don’t push yourself too hard.”
“I remember though,” Claire says as she closes her eyes. Her voice is heavy and sad. “My dad used to… travel I think. I feel like he was gone a lot. I get flashes of him and my… mother? She was usually at home. She was nice although we didn’t always get along, not important—I have this memory… I think it is accurate. One day my father came home and he had one of these tiny silver Eiffel Tower souvenirs. I used to carry it around for luck. I don’t know when I lost it. I know I lost it though… not important. He said when I turned eighteen that I could go to Paris. I wanted to see the lights—I wanted to see something new. I suppose, most importantly I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower.”
“You turned 18 the same year as V-Day… didn’t you?”
“I was packed,” Claire says as she nods once. “I was ready to go. I thought I was still going. I suppose… for eight years I’ve been thinking I’ve been going… going and always coming back—never getting to see it.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say as I remember back to the time that I helped her pack. She was so excited—I hated lying to her playing along.
Claire opens her eyes and places a hand to her forehead. “That is why you looked sad that day when we packed.”
“I feel so guilty about it—it’s just that they told me to let you do it. I wanted to tell you the truth. I just… I wasn’t strong enough.”
“I’d been doing it for eight years… you were just being kind. You just didn’t want to hurt me.”
“It still doesn’t feel like the right thing to do.”
“I forgive you,” Claire says as she reaches her hand up and places it upon the place where she slapped me earlier. “I’m still not going to be normal though, am I?”
“Normal is overrated,” I say as I place my hand over hers. “I like you the way you are.”
“…the way you are.”
I climb out of bed and get dressed. I put on a pair of blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. I pick up the rifle from the side of the dresser.
“Are you… the way you are…” Claire stutters as she attempts to correct herself. “Are you, going outside?”
“I’ve been checking the area every morning,” I say as I nod. “Just in case of Hunters… or people curious us about us being here.”
“Can I come, I would like to go outside,” Claire asks as she gets out of bed. She puts on a pair of jeans resting on her night stand and brings up her blue shirt and smells it. “I smell sweaty.”
“I put all of your clothes in the closet,” I say as nod. “You don’t have to ask, you can come with me—you can do whatever you want. Just, try and stay near me for now until we are safe.”
To my amusement, she digs through the drawers and pulls out her brown flower printed long sleeve shirt. She rolls up the sleeves and walks back into the room. As she passes a mirror she attempts to fix her hair, it is getting a bit longer and she has a bit more difficulty getting it to co-operate.
As we leave the house and begin to walk around the property, Claire spends most of the time exploring the new surroundings. Aside from the tall grass, it is pretty nice here—there is a small pond that a few ducks have claimed. An old rusted tractor sits covered in vines.
“You’ve stopped shaving,” Claire points out as we begin to walk towards the road.
“Do you not like it?” I ask as I run my hand through the short growth of hair.
“You just look a little different… that’s all.”
As we reach the road I look both ways. The view afforded to us allows us to see for miles. Everything seems clear. We head back to the house and I show Claire the storage room past the red cellar door. She places her hand upon a few of the canned goods. There is a lot of different soups, she pauses and laughs as she holds up a can of French onion soup.
“Lunch..?” I ask as I laugh.
“Is it strange if I say that I want French toast?”
“I bought the stuff to make it,” I say as shrug my shoulders. “You like what you like…”
After a French toast lunch, I show her around the house—I tell her about the pictures that I found, that the people who lived here seemed happy. As I show her the bathroom, with its claw foot tub—she spots the bottle of shampoo.
“I could really use a bath…”
“I actually got some peroxide,” I say as I hold up the bottle. “When I was in high school I had a friend whose parents would not let her dye her hair, so I remembered that one time she mixed peroxide and shampoo and kept it I her hair for I think she said like half an hour—and it turned blonde.”
“So we look different?”
“That’s the general idea…” I say as I nod. “I don’t know how good it is. I dyed mine black and attempted to grow this beard—but I suppose if we were ever spotted, I mean we can’t do much about our how tall we are or the fact that… well—it’s a pretty shitty idea for a disguise.”
“Will you help me?” Claire asks as she pulls her shirt up and off.
“I’ll do my best,” I say as I watch her undress. Her small, waifish, beautiful form is illuminated by the light from a tinted window. I swallow hard as I have not seen her in the light. I find myself growing rather aroused at the sight of her nude form. She lies in the bathtub as I prepare a mixture in a bowl from the kitchen—it smells rather terrible. I lather it into her light brown hair and I run a little warm water so that she is not naked and cold in the tub.
“Are you looking at me…?” Claire says as she peeks over behind me and smiles.
“I’m finding it pretty impossible to not.”
“This burns,” she says as she begins to sound as though she is getting a little upset.
“I’m sorry… Claire.” I find it strange to use her real name, but I know that it will help her.
She draws her legs up and places them against her and begins to rock back and forth. I place my hand against her bare back and gently rub my hand along her spine.
“Not much longer…” I whisper.
“Not much longer…”
I check my father’s old watch, mentally counting down the minutes.
“Did I ever tell you about the time that I got in trouble when I was on a school fieldtrip?”
“On a school fieldtrip…”
“Well we were staying at this fancy hotel, I don’t even remember which one it was now—it doesn’t matter. But we were doing this whole thing where we were seeing the art museum and the history museums, it was a lot of museum visiting… stuff you don’t really care as much about when you’re in high school. Anyway, on this trip we were staying at this really nice hotel—and right before we got there we stopped at this grocery store to stock up on snacks, like cookies and chips and things. I saw this vending machine that had a bunch of those tiny little rubbing bouncy balls for fifty cents. I got change from the guy at the counter and I bought like ten of them. At the hotel, we get all checked in and they start breaking us into groups because we can’t fall fit into these all glass elevators… back then, I wasn’t afraid of them—now they terrify me, kind of strange yeah?”
“Kind of strange yeah…?”
“I suppose some fears you grow into… anyway, I’m in this group of six other people. I take a handful of the rubber balls from my pocket and I throw them against the window as hard as I can, they go whizzing around like crazy, bouncing against the wall, the ceiling, it is just madness—the other fix students with me are yelling, jumping around trying to dodge and not get hit—a few of them do… even myself. Those things were a lot harder than I thought they would be. The teacher who has volunteered to escort us sees the entire thing and I get sent home that same day. I never got to stay in the hotel. My parents were angry, but even they think that she overreacted. After all, it is not like I broke anything or really hurt anyone.”
Claire laughs as she continues to rock back and forth.<
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“It’s time,” I say as I reach down and pull out the stopper and allow some water to drain. I lean her head back beneath the faucet and wash out the mixture; I keep a hand over her eyes careful that none of it gets into her eyes or reaches her face. I run a towel through her hair, and to my relief it does not all fall out. It is definitely a very light blonde.
Claire takes the towel from me and dries off. She then rushes to the bed and lies down, covering herself up with the sheets.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I shake my head. “It was probably a bad idea.”
“I’m just… I know that I go somewhere else sometimes—It takes a lot out of me. I need to nap again.”
“I might run into town and check in with a guy I met… see if anything is going on. Do you want anything?”
“Get more eggs and bread?” Claire asks quietly. “I like to stock up…”
“Of course,” I say as I laugh.
“Mayonnaise,” she adds. “Egg salad sandwiches…”
“Got it,” I say as I pull up on the sheets and make sure she is properly tucked in.
I take the tarp off of the car and put it into drive. I pause at the edge of the driveway. “Any vehicles on the road…?”
“Currently no vehicles are active.”
I drive into Lawson; my rifle is seated beside me in the passenger seat. I make my way to the grocery store. I sling the firearm over my shoulder and enter the building.
The old man instantly recognizes me, despite my black hair and meager beard. I suppose though, last time it was nearly dark outside.
“Benjamin…”
“Eli,” I say as I nod. “Just came in to pick up some bread and eggs—anything going on in town?”
“We missed you at the militia meeting.”
“My girlfriend has had the stomach flu—picked it up from the drive over I suppose,” I say as I realize that I had completely forgotten. “I’ll make sure I make the next one.”
Eli nods. He then gestures over to an old hotel. About four of them C-Shapes Hunters have set themselves up in the hotel there—it is makin’ a lot of people nervous. They won’t say what their business is, which only makes them more suspicious.”
