Under the Influence

Three: Nothing but a Shadow

"If you weren't so stupid, you would know to shut the hell up!" Brian screamed at her, his words slurred from all the alcohol.

"Well, if you were a real man, you would do what I want you to do!" Ruthie spat, turning in her seat to where she was fully facing him.

Brian looked at her, taking his eyes away from the road longer than necessary. "That's the problem with you women. You're always thinking the world revolves around you, but it doesn't!"

They were nearing the intersection and neither of them took notice. Ruthie opened her mouth to say more than a few rude words, but was cut short of breath when she became aware of the cars coming at them over Brian's shoulder. She screamed just as an impact was made, throwing her boyfriend, who hadn't been wearing a seatbelt, onto her as she was jerked sideways, her head colliding with the window. The last glimpse she managed to get before she fell ultimately unconscious was Brian's piercing, unblinking blue eyes staring up at her, blood almost entirely covering his face.

"I'm sorry!" Ruthie screamed out, letting the newspaper fall to the floor from her limp grasp. "I'm sorry."

Her father stood in the doorway to the room looking upset and confused. For a second, Ruthie stopped crying, her breath ceased. It seemed as if he had heard her, was watching her. She could feel a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Daddy?" she called uneasily, walking toward him. Her fingers were twitching – she wasn't sure if she should reach out to him or not.

Eric shivered, feeling a sudden cool draft. He sighed and stepped further into the room, his arms crossed as if he was shielding the cold. His brow furrowed as he spotted the tribune on the floor. Wondering how it ended up on the ground, Eric bent to pick it up, unknowingly going straight through his deceased daughter's ghost.

Ruthie jumped back, not only seeing her father's head slice through her form, but also feeling it. She thought that death gave you certain advantages, the absence of pain being one of them, but she was wrong. Having someone cut through you like that kind of stung – like you were jumping into a pool of ice-cold water. It was like there were a thousand tiny needles sticking her everywhere on her body.

Her father hadn't seen her after all, and in a way, that hurt even more than being dead and invisible. The silent heart in her chest sank and tears welled in her coffee-colored eyes. She could scream all she wanted, but no one would ever hear her. Even if she stood in a crowd with hundreds of people and screamed at the top of her lungs, not one person would look up or turn their head.

"I went to see her in the hospital," Simon recalled. He glanced up at Doctor Gibson who was staring at him with such intense interest he had to look away. There was a small hole in the bottom of Simon's shirt and he instantly began playing with it, feeling a need to fidget.

"How'd that go?" Gibson asked as the boy continued to mess with his shirt.

Simon sighed and shrugged as he remembered.

He held her hand in his, felt the vague warmth generating in the space between their palms. Her skin was pale, ghostly, compared to the bright red blood creeping through the white bandage that was wrapped tightly around her head. She was so beaten, bruises forming on her scratched skin, making it difficult to even look at her.

Truthfully, he was angry with her. Hadn't she enough sense to not go to a wild party where there would be without doubt drugs and alcohol? Their parents trusted her to follow the guidelines they had set, to use the knowledge they provided her with. Unfortunately, she chose to ignore everything she had previously stood for, and this was what happened.

Simon wanted to take her by the shoulders and give her a good shake – maybe shake her until her head fell off. Ruthie was supposed to be the smartest person in the Camden family – had said it herself. She was the one person who knew him best, knew how he felt. He could not believe that it was she who ended up in the hospital in critical condition, and not him.

"How could you do this Ruthie?" he asked her staring at her expressionless face. "How could you be so stupid?" His grip on her fragile hand was tight enough to break the bones, but he didn't care. She deserved it. "Damn it, Ruthie. I hate this." He released his hold on her and let his head fall into his own hands.

"Did you learn nothing from my experience? God…"

"You were angry, Simon. You didn't do anything wrong."

Simon glared at the man who sat opposite him. "She was dieing," he spat. "I should have said something other than 'I hate you'."

Gibson cleared his throat and set down his pen. "Simon, you didn't know that she was dieing at the time. You cannot blame yourself for the words said in anger. Ruthie knowingly made a mistake and that wasn't your fault." He pushed back his sleeve to look at his watch. "We'll continue this discussion tomorrow. Time's up."

"I look forward to it," he replied sarcastically under his breath as he stood.

Lucy had been cleaning all morning and Kevin was beginning to feel concerned to a certain degree. She had been Ms. Fix-It all week, and he thought there was a connection between her handiness and her sister's death. Kevin himself had not been put out on the scene, which was something he was grateful for. He didn't want to be the one to record every detail of Ruthie's accident. It was unfortunate, though, the way Ruthie had died: young and drunk.

Kevin put a large, calloused hand on his wife's shoulder as she made the bed for the second time that day. Lucy turned around to face him with a smile on his face, but her eyes lacked that sparkle that always shone. He knew she wasn't okay, and he was positive she knew it too – even if she didn't admit it right away.

"Honey, the bed was fine the first time you made it," Kevin said with worry dancing in his eyes.

"It had a wrinkle in it," she replied, going back to tugging on the sheet corner. "I had to fix it."

"Since when did you care about a single wrinkle?" he asked, finding his wife's newfound attitude bizarre.

"Don't you have to go to work?" she asked, clearly avoiding the question. "It's almost nine."

Kevin shook his head. "Lucy."

She whipped around and he had to take a step back to keep from getting run into. "Kevin, you don't have to fret about me," she said playfully. "I'm fine."

"You're being a perfectionist," he argued.

Lucy laughed. "What's wrong with that?"

Kevin shrugged. "Nothing, but it's not you. You aren't being yourself."

She stood on the tips of her toes, reaching up to plant an emotionless kiss on his cheek. "I'm fine, and that's the last I want to hear about it."