How Catherine came to accept Chloe's hairpin. The "lost scene" from the film.
Based on the film Chloe, directed by Atom Egoyan, written by Erin Cressida Wilson, which in turn was based on the film Nathalie, directed by Anne Fontaine, and written by Jacques Fieschi, François-Olivier Rousseau, and Anne Fontaine, from an original idea by Philippe Blasband.
The Relic
by Diablo Priest
Julie, the dark-haired receptionist, met Catherine as she emerged from exam room #3.
"There's a cop in your office," she announced to Catherine, giving her his card.
It was the homicide detective who had been in charge of the investigation into the death at her house two months before. The cop who looked like an affable college professor. His manner inspired an insidious trust that made him an effective interviewer. What could he want, Catherine thought, the grand jury refused to hand down an inditement in the case. It had absolved her of all criminal culpability.
"I'll see him now, thanks Julie."
He was seated in Catherine's office. When Catherine entered, he rose out of the chair and offered his hand:
"How are you, Dr Stewart?"
Despite his formality, the detective projected an avuncular - nay, priestly - manner.
They shook hands.
"Good afternoon, Sergeant Pasolino. What can I do for you?"
The policeman could tell she was slightly annoyed at his presence; but nonetheless, she gestured for him to sit and lowered herself into her own chair behind her large desk.
"Well," Sgt Pasolino said, "I know you're a busy woman - patients and babies and all - but there's a few loose ends that we'd like to tie up now that the investigation into Chloe Sweeney's death is over."
"Such as..."
"This..."
And Sgt Pasolino took Chloe's hairpin from the pocket of his sport coat and, leaning forward, placed it on the desk before Catherine. It was still in the evidence bag. Silently, she looked down at the antique hairpin with ornamentation of fine golden filigree - the precious golden blossom that a wounded little girl had given to her.
"I want to return this to you."
"It belonged to that girl," Catherine said coldly without looking up.
"But you said she gave it to you as a gift. It belongs to you now," the policeman said. "That girl, as you call Chloe, wanted you to have it. She had no one. Her body wasn't even claimed - she was buried in an unmarked grave, as though she had been invisible in life."
"I know how that feels," Catherine sighed, as her eyes began to water.
"Maybe that's why the two of you were drawn together," said Sgt Pasolino and, shifting back in his chair, added, "You know, I've been involved in many, many investigations over the years; and I know when people have secrets..."
Catherine wiped the tears from her eyes and looked up from the desk, straight into the policeman's knowledgeable gaze.
"Permit me to give you some personal advice," he continued. "After all, I feel I've come to know you intimately during the course of this investigation. I come here to return a relic to you, and you pretend you don't care about the person who gave it to you - 'that girl' - you call her. You're a doctor, you have money, you have a respected position in society, you want to protect your image; but think hard about what controlling that image has done: your perfect life and your perfect family are shams; and you are perfectly miserable. Stop lying to yourself and others. I know you loved that girl, and this tragic accident might have been avoided if you had only admitted that to yourself and behaved accordingly. You need to mourn for Chloe - you lost someone special. And that lost child deserves to be remembered by someone - remembered by someone who loved her."
Catherine was silent, and she dropped her gaze down to Chloe's hairpin.
"This all started, you told me, when you suspected David was unfaithful," Sgt Pasolino resumed after a long pause. "Let me clear that up for you - I think you have a right to know - he was."
"I know that," Catherine said, looking up again.
"You do?"
"She told me - Chloe told me. I've come to realize that the stories she told me about meeting him were true. Her stories were like parables. My husband didn't fuck Chloe, but somehow she knew that he was cheating on me. I guess she wanted to spare me the shock of discovering that by myself and to guide me safely through the crisis. My husband is a Don Juan, a God-damned Don Juan who ought to be dragged down to hell. Chloe knew that if she met with David, he would fuck her like the other girls. She knew that it would kill me."
"How did she know all this?" the policeman asked.
"Maybe she was like you, Sergeant," Catherine said. "Maybe she knew when people had secrets. Maybe she was intuitive. Maybe she was sent to die in my place."
"Now you're getting metaphysical, Doctor."
"The death of someone you love will do that," Catherine said, as she opened up the evidence bag and took out Chloe's hairpin. It shone brightly, reflecting the dazzling sunlight from the big window in the office. "Thank you for bringing this back."
The cop smiled sadly.
[The End]