CHAPTER 16
YOUR SOUL TODAY
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There was something the sunlight that irradiated her skin did to her. Cameron couldn't describe it in words, but he could feel it stir in his chest when he watched her step out of the main door of the hospital where the security guard that performed the body search protocol and supposedly seized any suspicious object from them, became the one to confer to them all of their belongings. She halted at the threshold and just stood there for a taciturn second as though she was confronting two branching pathways in front of her and couldn't decide which one to take to lead her home.
She didn't have any notable possession, merely a tangerine colored backpack that had faded out significantly from time, a little incongruous to be carried by a thirty-six years old woman, but of course she had her reasons. She also wore the only clothes she had other than the allotted hospital uniform, which was a black blouse and tattered baby blue jeans, the attire that she had on when they had admitted her to the first institution that she was confined into after the verdict of her crime was declared. It had gotten slightly bigger on her after eighteen years because she had lost a remarkable weight after all this time.
He could recall clearly as though it had only happened yesterday, that when they had taken her into custody, it was the height of the summer, and if they didn't allow her any respite for a change of clothes that at least brought out some individuality from time to time, then she wouldn't have owned any suitable garments for this winter where she was finally discharged. So he had brought his thickest sweater and overcoat and laid it out for her to wear. She didn't say anything when she had donned it over herself before they made an exit, but he didn't need to hear a word, he already felt complete.
Now as she began to move, his footsteps fell in adjacent motion to her. They descended the stairs and when they reached the ground that was blanketed with the white out snow, something crunched beneath her shoes and she stopped again, looking down to where the noise had come from.
It was cold even though the sun was as lucid as a pearl in the sky today, but warmth spread over him when he looked up at her. "Everything okay?"
At his voice, she perked up again, her dark hair swayed with the wind. In the luster, he could see how dry and brittle the dark brown strands were after years of neglect, and he wanted to offer her a haircut only if she consented to it.
She nodded but didn't utter a reply. Cameron noticed how she had reverted back similarly to the disposition of when he had his first and second session with her, but the fact stood out that she had accepted him now and they were walking home together: the only thing that he had been dreaming of for years since he lost her.
They continued walking to the parking lot and he caught the sight of several security guards watching them intently from the distance, the man who had accosted her for frolicking around suspiciously was among them and he turned his head slightly and gave an acknowledging nod. Back on the stairs of the main door, a couple of nurses and Dr. Singh herself stood by in pensive observation. Cameron was almost unable to suppress the urge to hug her but he didn't want to make her uncomfortable, as he thought that merely shaking her hand firmly wasn't enough to show how grateful he was that after a week long wait for the final conviction, she had pronounced that all of the formal prerequisites had been achieved and Clementine could be cleared for immediate release.
The psychiatrist reminded him that there would be an officer to conduct a wellness checkup every month and it wouldn't only pertain to the condition of Clementine, but also his capability and responsibility as her legal guardian. She also told him she might come and visit from time to time and he was more than happy to invite her for dinner at their house.
When they reached his silver Volvo, Cameron opened the passenger side for her before he took the driver's seat himself. He was setting aside the briefcase that he brought on the backseat, which contained all of Clementine's documents when he heard her say, "seatbelt."
He straightened and jerked his head towards her, finding her eyes down, yet she had all her attention towards him. She had fixed her own seatbelt without him even noticing.
He nodded as he pulled the safety strap across his body. "Seatbelt."
He couldn't help the smile that blossomed on his face.
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"Christmas is coming and I think it's a great idea if we pick up a tree and some decorations, maybe fairy lights. What do you think?" he proposed over the bowl of chicken soup that he had cooked for the both of them. It was the first recipe he had ever learned and it was all in preparation for days like these where he imagined he would be reunited with her again, and if he could give his own testimony about his creation, he would say he was quite proud of himself for it.
They were seated next to each other at the dining table as evening fell and Cameron had finished taking her around the house for a tour. Now he studied her attentively as they ate, her face nearly slumped towards her bowl, inclining further every time she lifted her spoon to her mouth. It reminded him precisely of Nicholas, the way they hovered over their meal as though they were about to devour it in one swift, sucking motion.
Clementine swallowed a mouthful and looked up from her food, albeit she still wouldn't meet his eyes but she could see from her peripheral vision that he was staring at her. She fixed her own gaze at the typography emblazoned on his black sweatshirt instead, Soundgarden, it read. She wondered what it meant, maybe she should ask him, but it wasn't the topic of the conversation and she hated to appear offhand and apathetic. She glanced down at her own attire; she still wore his long-sleeved shirt that he had lent her at the hospital but with another one of his t-shirt underneath, yet neither of them seemed to have any text or picture inscribed onto it, but it was alright. It was the first time since forever that she had worn normal clothes, sane people's clothes, even more felicitous, it was her brother's clothes.
Christmas. Pine tree. Fairy lights.
"Yes, it will make for festive beauty. Very much so," she responded as she flicked her fingers against the wooden table and counted to eight. That was how many times she responded to him up until tonight. She aspired for more, but sometimes it was just hard to speak up her mind. Her thoughts were a hodgepodge of words and disintegrated sentences. Other people wouldn't understand her and would only assume that she had grown crazier than ever. She also feared that the voice that escaped might not be of her own, but that of the woman who had thrusted her all of the abominable conjecture and encouragement about harming her little brother.
"That's great. We can go out and shop tomorrow for some clothes and necessities. I would also like to introduce you to the nurse that would help you settle down. I promise she is nice."
She lifted her gaze to his lips and found that he was beaming at her. She wanted to return the tender sentiment but perhaps she had miscalculated the time it took for her to respond, so she missed the moment when he asked her again, "What do you think of the soup?"
She wished to tell him it didn't matter what it tasted like. She had sat at the dining table and watched him labor himself up on the stove and it was enough, yet again she couldn't express how she felt when a ringing sound pierced through the air and fractured the amity of the moment.
She didn't know who it was that called but when Cameron picked up the phone from his pocket and read the screen, his expression turned sour in a matter of a second. He returned his gaze to her and attempted to mask his perturbation with a smile, but it went to no avail.
"Sorry, I have to take this," he said as he got up from his seat. The chair screeched at his hasty movement as though he wanted to get over the phone call as soon as possible before he could even answer it.
He strode away and Clementine watched him ascend the stairs. She understood that he didn't want her to hear his conversations.
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...
"What do you want for your birthday?" she asked him as they sat on the bench outside the ice cream parlor while he savored his neapolitan cone. Chilly morsel of ice melted on his tongue and inundated his taste bud with ultimate sweetness, but he couldn't freely indulge in it, each time the confection passed his tongue, guilt and apprehension overcame him, for if their parents found out that they were splurging themselves, any excuses wouldn't cover them from their displeasure, but his older sister said it was okay, that everyone deserved to eat ice cream sometime, that she would protect him if their parents were angry about it and tell them that she dragged him into this, that she would be there for him no matter what... no matter what.
"D–daddy said he will buy me my first computer," he answered in between licking his ice cream, his eyes fixated upon his red and white sneakers, the soles scraping mindlessly against the asphalt ground. She didn't buy an ice cream for herself because she said she didn't want it, but at ten years old, he was clever enough to see beyond the pretext. He remembered their mother rebuking her about how she shouldn't eat too many sweets because she would get sick and add more weight to her body. Was that the real reason why she also wouldn't share his cone with him even if he had offered her multiple times? He didn't understand women. If he could have it his way, he would eat ice cream every single day.
"That's nice and all, but what is it that you really, really want?"
His eyebrows knitted together as he mulled over the question. It wasn't a difficult riddle per se; he had the answer stored on the tip of his tongue but his disposition made it hard for him to respond because he didn't think he should be talking about it. Their father might not like it. "I don't know."
"Think hard. It has to be something that you've been dreaming of for a long time now," she encouraged fervently. She shifted to sit sideways, facing him as she lifted one of her legs on the bench and crossed it while the other lounged.
He glanced at her vivacious expression that beamed at him expectantly. He couldn't ignore her even if he wanted to, even if his qualms were so great... she just shone so bright and he didn't want her lights to fade out. "I–I've seen my friends play a game called D&D once and I wanted to join but I don't know..."
Her hazel eyes widened, excitement filled her expression. "You want to play Dungeons & Dragons? Let's go get it then!"
"But Daddy and Mommy will never let us!" he warned firmly. The ice cream on his tongue suddenly turned stale; his nerves a thief that had stolen his joy. They shouldn't even stop for the ice cream in the first place. They were strictly instructed to come straight home after running errands, yet his sister insisted that they needed the respite, that mom and dad would not arrive until after the sunset, but was it really how it worked? Could they do anything they please as long as their parents weren't aware of it?
"Hush, they don't have to know." She shushed him with the gesticulation of her index finger against her lips, and there it was again, the lure.
Though she said, she would be there for him no matter what, right?
"But I don't have any money."
Like the first flower of spring, her grin bloomed. "Well, that's why it's called a gift. Let's get it tomorrow!"
...
"What is it?"
The irritated voice seized away the memory that captivated him in a reverie and he cleared his throat as he attempted to ground himself in the moment. Holding his phone in one hand, he closed his eyes for a taciturn second and brushed the stray strands of hair that escaped from the ponytail on the back of his neck.
"I'm going back home to Montana for Christmas. Gather 'round," Nicholas answered as he picked up his caffeinated brandy and stood up to his feet from his seat at the desk. He walked to the periphery of the room and took in the sight beneath him where city lights and traffic jams of Los Angeles illuminated the night sky with the glow that seemed to be able to reach heaven. Their glitzing brilliance as though fragments of diamond that he could pluck with his fingers, but when he reached out his hand, the translucent window that expanded from the floor to the ceiling obstructed him, reminding him of his isolation in the cage of his office building with a mind that gnawed on itself over a memory, which refused to die, yet at the same time, would never live to serve him anymore.
"I can't, I've already made plans. Ask Vic instead," his younger brother responded curtly. His answer to the invitation was no surprise to him even though it was something that aggravated his misgivings.
"The 25th is also his birthday, remember?" he gritted his teeth, trying to make his voice level-headed, but someone as close to him as Cameron would be able to recognize his turbulent emotion from the smallest inflection in his sentence.
He heard him hissed a curse. "Look, I can't make it on Christmas but I'll be there the day after."
Nicholas' frown grew deeper. The specter of gray clouds saturated the dusk ahead of him. Would a storm come? "What's so important? I'm sure you've got a lot of free time now."
"Just because I'm retired doesn't mean I have nothing to do," he retorted.
"Oh, really? Then tell me what is so important that you gotta miss your little brother's birthday yet again, huh? Now that you're retired you should've seen it as a chance to make up for all the years that you've lost because you're too busy being famous! Buying some gifts won't cut it!" His anger burst out like a deluge that shattered a dam of his self-control.
A rustling sound emerged from the background where Cameron came from and silence settled over the line. A temporary setback on their quarrel and it assuaged Nicholas off of his indignation.
"You there?"
Another rush of a movement on Cameron's side, as though he was moving swiftly from one place to another. "I'll see what I can do."
Then he hung up on him.
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"I, too, go on living somewhere, blessed with all kinds of wounds."
- Ingeborg Bachman