Chapter Five, Empathite
Catherine and Kaitlyn were calmly eating dinner in the main area of their hired inn accommodations, the thoughts of their next move no longer existing in, but still not far away from their minds. The place at the table for which Clive Winslett was supposed to sit at was currently absent, though his meal and glass of water were there and waiting for him to return. The man in question was in the next room, pacing upon the cheaply woven carpeting with a bluish metallic object in his hands. It was the inn's resident empathite transmitter, a piece of recently rediscovered technology that could transfer thoughts from one receiver to another a long distance away. It sounded farfetched, but here it was in his hands. Clive had had to pay a little extra when reserving their rooms so that he could have access to this expense, though it had taxed his wallet considerably.
He thought it unfair for the inn to charge so much for only one instance of usage, but he didn't want to kick up a fuss, get upset and start an argument all over again. That would be something the old Clive Winslett would do. Not him. Not anymore.
Clive wanted to call and thank Berlitz for the intervention that had led to this new job, for the old professor deeply, deeply deserved it. Berlitz had been a good friend to Clive for as far back as he could remember, and now he was legally Clive's father-in-law, his colleague, and his confidant. He had met Catherine back when he was young by being employed in Berlitz's research team and by becoming prominent amongst all the other masses, a young handsome jack-of-all-trades with a penchant for understanding the past. It didn't take long for Clive to become Berlitz's personal understudy, and a promising one he was. That had been a long time ago, Clive thought with a small smile. Almost an age ago.
Turning his head slightly, Clive could see Kaitlyn playing with her mashed potatoes and getting it all over the rest of her food, and Catherine was smiling like this was a new and novel experience for her, her light grey eyes shining like polished pearls. His grip on the empathite transmitter tightened a little. He had been a horrible alcoholic back in the day when Kaitlyn had been just a little toddling child, he didn't know what had caused it in the beginning, but his fascination with the bottom of the glass did not waver when he was with Berlitz, whether on business or at leisure, a man very much like himself in that respect. The benders usually occurred on weekends, after work was over they'd all have a night out with the professor and about a dozen other colleagues in their team, but Clive and Berlitz were always the only ones staggering home in the ungodly hours of the morning, reeking of booze and vomit, for the bottom of the glass had captured them both.
Berlitz had tried to save him, save Clive from the threat of losing his good reputation in the eyes of Humphrey's Peak, but alas, there were some things that just couldn't be fixed by one man alone. He was one of the six most respected people in the town, and it was those people who had decided Clive's fate that day. They had voted. The results came in at five against one. Berlitz had been the one, and the Winsletts had left town. The charge of rape had not sealed Clive's fate, but the actions he had made afterwards instead. Clive would have been saved, if it wasn't for his pitiful pride.
But apart from his pride, what did he have left? A family he was breaking, one or two thousand gella in stored funds, and a horse that was close enough to death row than it had ever been before? Sometimes- no, all the time Clive thought that it would have been better if he had just left. Then Catherine and Kaitlyn would have been happy.
Turning on the transmitter, Clive waited for Berlitz to pick up. The steady beeping in his ear kept him aware that his call had not been received yet. He remembered that he hadn't seen the old man for quite some time now, a few months at the least, which was odd, considering how close their friendship had been. It was a both a nice, and a terrible friendship, drawn closer by one, irredeemable act. The result of it, Clive recalled, had silenced their eagerness for alcohol once and for all.
It had been in the earliest hours of the next day, while the stars were still out and it could still be nighttime for a long time yet. Berlitz and Clive, spawned by a few trivial conversations in one of the local bars, decided that they would receive a hero's welcome back home if they brought with them a stunning young buck from the nearby forests, a hunting trophy like no other. They had stopped by the ARMsmith's shop beforehand, 'borrowing' a few rifles and a small shotgun for personal protection, should a monster attack, and set out for the wilderness on foot, swaying and laughing and believing that they were the smartest men in the world.
Yet it had gotten steadily darker once the two had left the safe and familiar lights of Humphrey's Peak, like a cluster of glowing fireflies in the distance. Clive remembered turning and looking at that sight once in his haze of drunkenness, likening it to embers burning on a faraway pyre. That feeling of whimsy passed smoothly and he adjusted the strap of his rifle strung along his shoulder, keeping his ears open for the sound of movement, other than Berlitz's stumbly and clumsy gait. They had both drunk enough for six normal people, Clive thought with a vague, peculiar smirk. No matter. They would come home with a prize tonight!
They headed for the trees, as no right minded stag would dare to be out of the forest so close to human civilization. Remembering to stay close together, they loaded their weapons and kept close to the tree trunks, hoping that their frames would be shielded by the dark spires of elm, oak and yew. A rush of adrenaline washed over Clive like a wave, bringing on brief cognizance. What were they doing out here in the forest, drunk, with loaded weapons? Shouldn't he be at home with Catherine and Kaitlyn by now? Oh well, he must have been sidetracked. It had increasingly been occurring as of late, nothing he could do about it now. Clive's focus shifted back towards the hunt.
He could just spy Berlitz's silhouette a short ways away from his tree, leaning up against the back like he was a soldier in adequate camouflage. Clive found this to be incredibly funny, especially considering the older man's height, dress, and portly exterior, the green-haired man having to use up a great amount of power to keep himself from bursting into a fit of girlish giggles. Berlitz's silhouette moved a little and Clive caught himself, he had indeed made a little noise. He thought to apologise quietly, but decided that it would behoove him to just remain quiet, well, as quiet as he could under the circumstances.
Something moved in the darkness, punctuated by the rustles in the dried grass. In Clive's suggestive haze, he could have sworn that he could hear somebody humming. He looked towards Berlitz again, but the man was making not a sound. The old archaeologist also seemed to have picked up on this new stimulus as well. Clive licked his lips, still tasting the heady tang of whatever he had been drinking that night. His head was a little too foggy for him to remember, but he knew that it had been good. Along with that waitress that had served him, she had looked pretty good too…
More movement! Clive hands moved faster than his mind did. It was more of an instinctual reaction, really, while the rest of his body just watched. He couldn't have stopped himself if he had tried, the alcohol in his blood would have slowed him down too much anyway, Clive would have acted a second or two after the deed had already been done. His hands lifted, cocking the weapon and bracing its butt against his left shoulder, Clive steeled his eyes against the iron sight, taking aim. A silhouette in the darkness, not Berlitz's, and not his own. This must be what he was looking for. Assured of this, he pressured the trigger as planned.
It was then that a rational part of Clive's mind spoke up and delivered to him the obvious truth, that the creature he was targeting had a distinctly human shape. It wasn't a deer at all! But why was he-
Berlitz's voice. "Oh fuck, Clive! That's a-"
His eyes widened in alarm. He would have done something, but it was already too late. He had acted.
The rifle he had borrowed wasn't a very big or expensive kind, so it hardly made any noise when fired, but the sound was there alright, low and final like a wailing gust of wind. Clive felt the ARM jerk back against his shoulder as the firing pin hit the bullet's casing, almost like he was shaken out of his drunkenness for the barest fraction of a second. Berlitz was watching him with pale horror, his face obscured by the darkness.
The bullet struck, there was a brief, human cry, and then a long tumbling sound, followed by a cold splashing of water. Oh yes, that was right, there was a small river within the forest, Clive had totally forgotten about that too. But that wasn't important right now. Who on Filgaia had he hit?
Clive lowered the rifle, then it fell out of his hands with an anticlimactic thud. He licked his lips and glanced almost pleadingly at Berlitz, for validation that he was indeed innocent. "God, Berlitz, that couldn't have been a… There wouldn't have been people around at this time of…" Shaken, he looked back to where the silhouette had fallen. "It was a stag, right?"
Berlitz came around to stand by Clive's side. Close by, he could see the look on the older man's face. It was pale and blotchy, like imperfect cheese. "I don't think so. I think… I think we hit a kid." Clive felt a small twinge of guilt when Berlitz said the word 'we', as it was he who had fired the shot, not Berlitz at all. He didn't know if that was to make him feel better or worse. The old man's mustache twitched apprehensively. "You heard that cry, a deer can't make a sound like that! What have we-"
Not wasting time, Clive tore himself away from the sight and ran down the near-invisible slope, his feet skidding in the slightly mulchy dirt. "Fuck that right now!" He cried. "Go back to town and get us some lanterns! C'mon Berlitz, we haven't a second to waste!" Clive was hoping and praying that his aim had been off, and that the kid, if it was a kid, Clive still wasn't sure, was still alive down there. How had been so stupid to have mistaken a human for a beast, even in the dark! Clive swore as overshadowing trees scratched at his face with their twiggy reaching hands, thankfully missing his eyes because of his glasses, by swiping against the rest of his face. The drunkenness was leaving him now, being eaten by fearful adrenaline and leaving a foul-tasting queasy feeling behind.
He could hear Berlitz's straggly rustlings through the taller grass far above him, on the higher slope, as the older man had obeyed Clive's direction and was running to get them some light, heading back towards the glowing embers of town. Clive hit the bottom of the slope and a slight splash back of water struck his boots and pants, dark and smelling of mildew and stagnation. He squinted his eyes into slits and sloshed into the chilly river, the water slowly swilling around his legs. It had been recently disturbed, most likely, perhaps, by a body hitting the water?
Clive let out a curse and sunk to his hands and knees, ignoring the cold and groping blindly in the water and mud for anything resembling a body, a hand, a fistful of hair, a piece of clothing, anything. He heard all over again in his mind the startled cry as the bullet had hit its mark without fault, it had sounded like a male, a young male, but no, it must have been his imagination. Clive prayed to God that it had just been his imagination. But Berlitz had heard it too, so it must have been real. It was just too horrifying to consider.
Numbness began to creep up his body from the constant contact with the chilled water of the night, his hands eventually becoming too frozen for him to feel anything at all, but still, he searched. Clive had stiffened in guilty fear when pouring yellow light had washed over his body in the midst of his search, but it had just turned out to be Berlitz with a lit oil lantern, giving Clive a little more light to see by. Clive had raised a hand over his brow to squint through the source of the light, horrid clumps of mud and foul water running down the shape of his hand. "Dammit, you look like the creature from the Black Lagoon." Berlitz said grimly, chewing a little on the inside of his cheek.
"What-fucking-ever! Is that important now!" Clive shouted, his voice still slurry while his mind, through his state of panic, had sharpened enough to give him perfect clarity of thought. The impact of his situation was beginning to bear down upon him with its considerable weight. "I cannot find him anywhere. Did he wash downstream? God, Berlitz, if anybody was to find out, my family…"
"I know." Berlitz replied. Clive's family was his family too, after all. He made his way down into the muddy river as carefully as he could, so he wouldn't drop the lantern and plunge them all into darkness once more. He noticed Clive's bloodshot eyes, the way the younger man seemed to have trouble breathing, he was truly losing his composure over this. Berlitz felt it too, but had the calm of old age on his side. He helped Clive skim the entire river for about a hundred feet on either side of the falling point, but both of them came up completely empty handed. It was like they had struck nothing at all.
The younger man stood up from the muck, completely soaked in it all the way up to his shoulders. Swallowing hard, he adjusted his glasses that were flecked in the grime. "Bog bodies." He said with breathless anxiety.
"What?" Berlitz asked, sloshing over to where Clive was standing and being painfully aware that his best outing suit was ruined forever.
"Berlitz, you are an archaeologist, you should know. Bog bodies fall into the mud and are preserved for hundreds of years without interruption. They do not even rot. What if… oh God, Berlitz, what if…" Clive clenched his hands. "What if I murdered somebody!"
The shorter and older man grabbed both of Clive's shoulders and shook him as firmly as he could. "Do not speak of such things! You know, perhaps we only heard and thought we saw something! Then, this is all for nothing, our worry for nothing. Wouldn't that be grand? We got filthy for nothing, what a tale!" Berlitz tried to laugh happily, but it came out horribly distorted. It only made him feel like screaming. He slumped a little. "We've been out here for an hour. If there was anything to find, we would have found it by now. Let's… let's go home and clean up. It will be dawn before we know it."
"I'm… I'm giving up." Clive said in a coarse whisper. Berlitz nodded and turned away. He obviously hadn't gotten the correct meaning of what Clive had said. The younger man wiped sludge from off his clothes. Even with all the grungy muck, he could still smell the sour aroma of booze all over his body. He had never realised before just how disgusting it smelt. "No, not the search. Well, yes, the search, but not that." He clarified. "It. You know what I mean."
"What?" Berlitz said again, hardly daring to tempt fate, especially when Clive seemed to be panicking like he was. He flicked the shutter of the lantern down a little, turning the bright light into a dimmer hazy glow.
"The drink. I'm giving it up." The green-haired man laughed nervously. Was that all it took to quit? Definitely not. Still, the proclamation was enough, for now. Clive admitted it, he was an alcoholic and he needed help. If destroying Kaitlyn's dear little hand had not been enough, the onset of becoming a murderer became like a cold slap in the face for Clive, and he at last saw the truth. What drinking had done to him. A child-hurting murderer with mud flung all over his good name. Clive sniffed, wiping at his nose and smearing a track of muck all over his face. "No more deer hunts for me. Ever."
All Berlitz did was nod. "Yeah, me too." He replied with finality, beginning to climb the slope back onto sturdier ground. "Catherine doesn't need two drunks in the family. One is too many, but I digress. It'd be better if there were none at all. It's my fault, really. My old lady sent me down there, but after she left this world, God now damn her heart, I never crawled out of that place." Clive smiled bleakly, he knew too well on what Catherine's mother had been like. It was a blessing that Catherine had turned out to be nothing like her at all.
They made their way back home, both of them swearing to come back in the afternoon and begin their search anew, and to come prepared this time. Berlitz lived by himself on the wealthier side of Humphrey's Peak, so he could be closer to his workplace, so Clive bid farewell to him just before the break of dawn in the backroads of town, where they split ways. He remembered watching Berlitz leave clearly, the senior archaeologist looking thirty years older in the diminishing darkness, wearied and haggard. Clive knew that he himself must have looked the same.
He found his way home in the usual way after a bender, by looking up and watching carefully for the building with a blue roof overhead. There were other, more efficient ways, he was sure, but this was the one that worked best for him. He opened the door with the key he had hidden under the welcome mat and staggered inside, being mindful to kick off his muddy boots before he stepped inside. His vision lurched as he stepped in though the threshold and Clive doubled over a little, feeling like he had exited one world and had entered another.
Firstly, he washed for a good long while, intent on removing all traces of mud and beer-smell, then he threw all the clothes he had been wearing into the bin. They were too dirty and tainted, even if they could be cleaned, Clive didn't think that he could wear them again. Redressing himself, he went into the kitchen and made himself an incredibly strong cup of black coffee, to take away the blight that seemed to be torturing his nerves. He took a few sips then found himself running to the bathroom and vomiting up everything he had managed to keep down from the night before, not much but enough for it to be unpleasant for him. Clive could have sworn that there were traces of blood in his vomit, but that too could have just been his imagination.
On shaky legs he crept back into the kitchen, drinking the rest of his coffee while waiting for the sun to rise. When it refused to come and Clive noticed that he was just standing there with an empty mug in his hands, he set it down on the kitchen table and went into the living room, trying to keep on the move. Catherine and Kaitlyn were asleep on the large comfy couch together, they must have waited for him until they could fight sleep no longer. Catherine's head was propped up against one of the armrests, her face serene. Her arm was around Kaitlyn, their precious little girl, her small arms looped in such a way as to substitute for a pillow. They were both sleeping deeply in a place where reality could not touch them, but Clive could see Kaitlyn's little crooked fingers buried under her locks of golden hair, and the dried trail of tears down Catherine's cheeks, had she cried all night?
Clive went to the linen closet and found a nice warm blanket, returning and draping it across the two blissfully sleeping girls, tucking it in along the edges to keep both of them comfortable. Then, wordlessly, Clive strode towards Catherine's and his own room and searched their closet until he found the rope he was looking for, thick and supportive, supposing to be used in any kind of contingency plan. He exited the back door and went into their backyard, towards a large maple tree that had stood there for many years. Clive tied the rope at the bottom to a thick peeking part of root from the ground, fashioned an adequate noose at the correct end, then threw the rest of the length across a steady branch. Stepping back, he regarded his work with a morbid kind of pride. It looked like a scene right of out a painting, he thought. Red leaves, ancient tree, dawn skies, and a hanging man. Beautiful. He watched this scene for a very long time.
By the time Kaitlyn had woken up and had gone outside to greet the new virginal day, Clive had turned the makeshift gallows into a child's swing, using a plank of wood he had found in their garden shed.
Kaitlyn never used it, not even once. She seemed to be frightened of it, or of what it had been.
And after that, Clive remained bone dry. He had never touched a drop of alcohol since then, though the temptation came to his mind every day- no, almost every waking hour. The crack of the rifle going off, the sound of that startled cry in the darkness, imaginary or not, and the tiny, pitiful imperfection of Kaitlyn's mangled digits, curled tiredly near his daughter's face. That was enough all right, it was enough to keep temptation out of, but not far from his door. Berlitz had followed Clive's example, the green-haired man often wondering how the older, more dependent man had managed to abstain at all. Well, all the more power to him, Clive supposed.
Sober, the two men had gone back to their searching anew, which became a bit of an excursion for them after work and before they were required back at home, replacing the time they had used to take at the bar and putting it into a different endeavor. The closest thing they had come to success was a scrap of red material that Berlitz had found one afternoon, but that could have come from anything, so it was ignored. Eventually, they decided to let sleeping dogs lie, and gave up altogether. What was done was done. They threw the rest of their time to their work and their families, and things almost seemed to be better.
Until Melody.
The empathite transmitter in Clive's hand gave a little buzz of activity and this was enough to pull Clive's thoughts back into the present, the now not-so-young man(Or at least it felt that way) standing in a rented inn room with the remained of his exiled family in the room next door, having dinner far away from home. The incident with Melody had been a terrible one, because it had happened when Clive had been stone cold sober. He had still lost his temper, nevertheless. Clive had always considered himself a docile man at heart, but now, from where he was, he knew that he had been lying to himself. He was a drunk no longer, but one part of his more primitive mind refused to believe that, not just yet.
Clive tilted his head a little so that his ear would be a little closer to the receiver, finding himself pacing around and around again on the cheap rug beneath him. Dammit Berlitz, pick up! Clive thought desperately. Pick up and let me get this over with!
The transmitter made a small sound and a voice flowed out of the speaker, sounding like the voice of the old man that he remembered. "Hello?" It said cautiously. "Who is this?"
"Berlitz!" Clive exclaimed, "What took you so long! I thought you practically lived in your office nowadays. You weren't-"
"No." Came the abrupt reply. "I'm dry. What about you?"
"Drier than this damned planet." Clive replied with a bitter smirk. "Listen, I wanted to call and thank you for wheedling that job out of the duke, that really was above and beyond. Thank you." Even if the duke was a madman, that was still okay. As long as Clive got paid, anything was okay.
"Well, you know. I want you, my daughter and granddaughter to be happy. I thought this job might fix up what- well… you know what I am referring to…" Clive nodded unconsciously, he did indeed know very well. Thank God Berlitz was not stating the obvious, Clive certainly was not in the mood for that. "Clive," Berlitz continued, "I am working very hard at convincing the town that what they did to you was far too hasty. People listen to an old experienced coot like me, I believe that by the end of winter, they might lift the exile over you and your family. I really want to see Catherine and little Kaitlyn again."
"Godammit." Clive said warmly into the receiver. "I do not deserve a father-in-law like you."
"Take good care of yourselves this winter."
"I promise you, we will. If this does not work, we will make it work. Now-" He felt somebody tug at his red coat and Clive looked down. Kaitlyn was there and extending her arms upward, desiring the transmitter for herself. It looked like she wanted to talk with her grandfather. That was the odd thing about Kaitlyn, she knew things in advance. Clive nodded down at her. "Yes, Kaitie does want to speak to you. She will rip my coat if I do not allow it. She is a big brute, you know." All of them, including Berlitz on transmitter, laughed at this. Clive knelt down at handed Kaitlyn the transmitter, patting her softly on the head.
"Grandpa!" She exclaimed, beginning her own conversation with the older man.
Clive went back into the kitchen, met with, and eradicated his dinner. It was a little cold, but he didn't mind. Catherine was already doing the dishes nearby, silent, not facing him. Clive did not notice this. His mind was still far away, back in Humphrey's Peak three years ago, back during the dark night with its single, solitary cry, the one that had changed Clive's life. It was also in the future too, in the Heaven that they were going to protect and live in. Clive thought that now, this might be the only thing that would save his marriage.
He would just have to wait and see.
