Under The Influence

Seven: Secret Keepers

The orange light of early dawn was begging to peak through the darkened clouds and creep down the quiet, still streets of the small town. Ruthie Camden watched from the front porch, sitting on the cold, wooden bench with her knees pulled up to her chest, her chin resting on them. In all of her life, she had never once seen the sun rise, taking place of darkness, and for a few solitary moments, making everything right in the world. And only those who were sleepless with turmoil saw this beautiful occurrence.

It would just be a few more minutes before the lights of the house across the way would flick on and the day would officially begin. The streets would come alive with cars and people whose small children would laugh because to them nothing bad existed. She missed those days.

She sighed deeply, heavily, and watched silently as the sun peeked over the rooftops.

As she stood to go back into the home that didn't feel like hers anymore, she felt eyes on her back. Slowly, she turned her head and glanced over her shoulder. She gasped.

"Hi," he said softly, smiling.

Ruthie looked away, anxiety the only thing running through her veins. She clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into her skin. The last memory she had of seeing this man was of him staring fixedly into her eyes, dead.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, suddenly feeling somewhat dizzy.

When he spoke, his tone was light, "Oh, I've been all over town. This was the last stop on my list."

His hand was on her shoulder.

She whipped around and glared into his cheerful eyes. "What's the matter with you, Brian? Is the afterlife treating you well?" she asked sarcastically.

He shrugged, his grin never faltering. "It's alright."

She scoffed. "Do you think this is all just some big fat joke!" she screamed, "Because it's not. You're never going to see anyone that you care about again! This is it."

Brian put his hand to her face and looked lovingly into her bright eyes. "The only person that I care about it you. And here you are." His lips brushed against hers and, for a moment, she was enticed by his kiss.

"No!" she exclaimed, pushing him away. "This is crazy! What about your parents? Aren't you going to miss them? They love you."

Brain's smile disappeared and he retracted his hand. She had his a nerve. "No, I won't miss them, and I'm sure they won't even be thinking about me. The only time they'll even have to deal with me is when they're picking out my coffin and putting me in the ground at my funeral." He paused, averting his eyes and shoving his balled-up fists into his pockets.

Ruthie was instantly reminded of an insecure, little boy who was being picked on by bullies. Her facial expression went from angry to sympathetic in a half second.

"Then it's back to the divorce and arguing over who gets that stupid, ceramic antique elephant that they bought together."

She took a step toward him, laying her hand on his shoulder and looking up into his eyes. "Brian, I am so sorry. I didn't know."

He shook his head and tried to smile. "It was easier with you by my side – even if I never told you about it."

Ruthie reached up to brush the tear from Brian's cheek. "Well, you were never one for sharing your emotions."

He chuckled as she snuggled up to his chest. Brian kissed the top of her head before pulling away gently. She looked up at him, confused.

"I should go," he said and turned before she could say anything.

"No," she cried and grabbed his arm, "Stay with me."

Brian studied her pleading face and nodded. Her lips curved upward and she led him over to the bench.

It was thirty passed two and Doctor Gibson's office was completely quiet, save for the rustling sounds as either of them moved. Gibson sighed and tapped his pencil impatiently against the yellow pad of paper. He glanced from the clock to Simon, who had not yet said anything more than "Hello".

"Simon," Gibson said, breaking the silence, "I think it's time we talk about forgiveness."

The young man looked up at him blankly. "I can never forgive her for what she did. That would be like saying what she did was okay."

"I'm not talking about Ruthie," Gibson replied softly. "You need to forgive yourself first."

Simon scoffed and looked down at his lap. "I'm not angry with myself."

Gibson cocked an eyebrow. "The last time we spoke you expressed some distress about what you said when she-"

"I know exactly what I said," Simon interrupted angrily then repeated, "I'm not angry with myself."

The elder man said nothing as he knew they would get nowhere by arguing over who was correct.

"Fine. Have you been to visit her grave?" he asked.

There was a long pause and Gibson wondered if he was ever going to get an answer.

"No," Simon whispered, refusing to look this other man in the eye. "Not since the funeral."

"Perhaps that's the first step to getting over this. It might be good for you to go. Maybe take her some fresh flowers if you'd like."

Simon looked out the window, staring off into the clouds that were floating slowly by. He heard what Doctor Gibson was saying, but knew that it would be impossible for him to bring himself to do it. If he went to the cemetery, it would just solidify that she was really gone. How could he face the fact that his little sister was never coming back?

Even at the funeral it had seemed surreal; like it was someone else's daughter, sister. He hadn't completely accepted what Ruthie had done like everyone else around him. And now Doctor Gibson was asking him to face his fear, but he didn't think he was strong enough. He didn't think he would ever be strong enough.

Lucy hadn't been down to the church in days, which, on top of everything else, was beginning to make her feel like the world's walls were closing in on her. Since five-thirty that morning, she had been awake. Kevin had kissed her forehead before leaving for work like he always did. Last night, after her breakdown, she had thought she could be the new Sleeping Beauty, but now sleep seemed to be impossible to achieve.

She hauled herself out of bed and put on a fresh pot of coffee. Sighing, she rubbed her hands over her face and could almost feel the bags under her eyes. There was a knock on her door.

"Come in," she bellowed, grabbing her bathrobe from the back of a dining table chair as her father climbed the stairs to her apartment, a bouquet of yellow roses in his hand.

"Hey, you," Eric greeted her, kissing her forehead. "These came to the door for you," he explained as she smiled and accepted the flowers. "I thought I would drop them off on my way to the office."

Lucy eyed the flowers curiously. "Yellow roses are my favorite." She sniffed the elegant plants. There was a card attached.

"Who're they from?" Eric asked, but obviously already knew.

Lucy smiled and rolled her eyes at her father's lame attempt to be innocent. With a careful thumb, she opened the envelope and slid out the card. It read:

"It's not your fault.

Love, Kevin"

Eric was grinning when she looked up at him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I read it on my way over here."

"That's not very polite, Reverend," she joked, going to put the fresh roses in a vase.

He shrugged. "Well, I'm the Dad, what can I say?"

She flicked the water faucet off and set the vase as a centerpiece for the table. There was a short, uncomfortable silence before Eric spoke up:

"So, now that I've read the card, I think it's time you tell me what it means."