Under the Influence

Two: Unforgivable

Annie entered her husband's office searching for nothing more than a pen but what she ended up with would make her the angriest she'd been in a long while. Sitting smack dab in the middle of Eric's desk was a newspaper. On the front page was an article that she had wanted to forget was ever written.

Eric stood entirely still in the doorframe of his office, daring not even to breathe the slightest breath. He stared wide-eyed at the item in his wife's shaking hands, frightened. He had promised her he would throw it out – had told her he had weeks ago - when really he hadn't had the courage.

She looked up at him, fire blazing in her eyes. "I thought you got rid of this," she said, jaw clenched, close to losing her temper.

Eric found no words, could only choke out small, inhuman, throaty sounds. There was no excuse for what he had done, and by not doing what he said he would, just caused more pain that was uncalled for. The family had already been through enough in just the past month.

"Why the hell didn't you throw this out!" she cried, slamming the newspaper down on his desk.

Sometimes, Ruthie told herself, things happen that you can't exactly explain. Oh, whom are you kidding? You were drunk last night; it was probably just a hallucination.

Ruthie crept up as near as she dared to her father's office. Her parents rarely fought, and when they did, it was disheartening, but she had to at least know what they were on about. Just because she wasn't a little kid anymore, didn't mean that she had to grow out of her Camden trait of sneakiness.

What was her mother talking about, and why was she so angry? Whatever it was, it was big enough to get her off the hook. Neither of her parents had gotten on her tail for getting in hours after curfew. She couldn't even remember what time she had crawled into bed, but she was sure it was well after three in the morning.

"How could I, Annie?" Eric asked, finding his voice and his courage. "It's our little girl." His voice was shaking and he knew he was close to tears, but he didn't care.

Annie scoffed. "This is how you want to remember her?" she asked, lowering her voice to where it was barely audible and dangerous.

Once again, Eric was beat. There was nothing he could say, no perfect excuse. This was the cold hard truth staring him straight in the face. He hadn't known why he didn't do what his wife had asked. It was simple, mundane, really. Taking out the trash is what any man should do, but this was different.

"Of course not," he whispered, tears stinging behind his eyes.

Annie glanced back at the desk where the paper lay. Without warning, she broke down, tears glistening on her aging face as they fell. She cried long and messily, just as a child would when they were told they couldn't have something that they desperately wanted. It was the sort of crying of a person who had lost something they could never get back.

Ruthie felt her heart sink. She had only heard her mother cry like that once before, and that was when her mother had died of leukemia several years ago. Ruthie sat Indian-style on the floor as she continued to listen.

Eric moved to comfort Annie, embracing her tightly, not caring if his good shirt got wet or not. It had been a painful time for all of them, and they were all still trying to move on. Nothing seemed to matter, it just happened, and not one person could figure out why.

"I'll never forgive her," Annie sobbed. "Never."

"I don't know why Ruthie did what she did. It was unforgivable. She knew better; we taught her better."

Annie fell silent, her sobs halted. "Are you saying that she got what she deserved?" she asked, her voice unsure.

"No! No, no, no. My point was that we can forgive our daughter, but not her actions," Eric explained hastily. "Ruthie was responsible – her alone."

Ruthie found herself overwhelmed with guilt, but she didn't know why. She had caused her mother this great pain, but there was nothing that stood out in her mind about what had taken place that might have caused this.

"I was so angry with her," Annie continued. "Heck, I'm still angry with her, but I don't want to be. I feel guilty for feeling like this." Eric nodded. "I mean, my daughter's dead and –"

The rest of her mother's words drowned under the sudden pounding of blood in Ruthie's ears. For countless moments, Ruthie sat there, feeling herself being disconnected from reality, losing herself in disbelief. Her mother really had gone crazy. Annie and Eric both. They thought she was dead? What a stupid idea. After all, she was sitting right here, flesh and bones.

Approaching footsteps snapped Ruthie out of her reverie. She moved quickly, scrambling to get around the corner of the office and out of sight. Ruthie watched as her parents left the room, arms around each other as they walked into the kitchen. When she was sure the coast was clear, she went to take a closer look at what they were making such a big fuss about.

As she got closer and closed to her father's desk, she could feel her nerves escalating. Her body was shaking as she leaned over and looked straight into her own face. She gasped and put a hand to her chest, as if that would slow her heart rate. The headline read: Teenagers Killed While Driving Under Influence.

Last night tragedy struck home hard for two local families of Glenoak. Two teenagers, Brian Rivers, 17, and Ruthie Camden, 16, were killed after what started out like a normal evening. Their car slammed into another vehicle while driving home from a potentially wild party. Rivers was killed instantly, while Camden, daughter of Reverend Camden, was rushed to the hospital in critical condition where she fell into a coma and died six hours later. Both Camden and Rivers were under the influence of alcohol. See page A2 for funeral service dates and times.

Ruthie tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it was impossible. Screwing her eyes shut, she began to remember. She remembered everything.

She never once questioned what she was about to do; she was going to let Brian drive even though he wasn't sober. But neither was she, and unless she wanted to arrive home in a cop car, Brian was her only escape. He'd gotten her home safely before when he was drunk, why should this time be any different?

They laughed as they got in the car. Excitement of getting away from the police and the intoxication of the alcohol was getting to them. Forgetting their seat belts, they started in on the five-mile drive to the Camden home.

The radio was on so loud that it hurt her ears. She asked Brian to turn it down but he refused, setting off the fight they had. Ruthie couldn't remember what was being said, but it didn't seem important. With the added distraction of her fiery screams and rants, Brian didn't take any extra care to watch the street signs. She didn't even notice when they came to an intersection that the light was red, and neither did Brian.

The clock in Doctor Gibson's office tick-ticked away second after second as the two sat in complete silence. It had been a kind of staring contest, or at least one to see how long the other could go without talking. Simon didn't know about Gibson, but he knew he could sit here the rest of the session without saying a single word. He'd done it before, what was to say it wouldn't happen again?

"Do you even know why you are here, Simon?" Doctor Gibson sighed, reaching for the Bic pen behind his ear. Simon just watched as the man scribbled something down on the yellow pad of paper that sat on his lap.

"Why are you writing? I haven't said anything," Simon snapped, suddenly feeling as if he had to be defensive. He shifted in his leather seat, somewhat expecting the doctor to answer him.

"You are here," Gibson continued as if Simon hadn't spoken, "because your parents noticed a change in you. They told me you haven't been yourself for a while now."

Simon rolled his eyes, and became decidedly busy with picking dirt from his chewed-down-to-the-quick fingernails. He mumbled, "Of course I haven't been myself, my sister died."

Gibson offered his sympathies, "I was very sorry to hear about Ruthie."

Simon made a deep, throaty sort of sound, halfway between a grunt and a scoff. "I'm not," he said as clear as the light of day.

Gibson's eyebrows furrowed as he prepared to write something else down in his sloppy scrawl. "Why is that? Didn't you love your sister?"

Simon could feel anger rise in his veins as he briefly threw the doctor a dirty look before glancing away again. "You don't even know how she died," Simon grumbled.

"Tell me, Simon. Tell me how she died." Doctor Gibson knew very well how Ruthie Camden had died. He had read it in the paper himself. Maybe if Simon went through and relived it, he would have more of a chance to discover why he was so angry with his sister, and perhaps be on his way to forgiving her.