Ticking clock
"Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real."
― Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses
Chapter 3 – Human Error
Ashley hesitated for a long moment before grabbing the documents like a vice. She examined the upcoming possibility like it was an ultimatum. An overwhelming sympathy overtook the blanket of numbness that seemed to cloak the morning's events. She appeared to realize instantly the implication of what they discovered and she shoved wildly her shaking hands into the pockets, stopping mid-thought and turning towards the main entrance. "I will definitely go to see him. And remember me to kill you for that last comment," Ashley hinted warningly and simply waved her hand as appreciation gesture. She was gone, and the two boys remained trapped in the place, flushing a sickly alien color of jaundice and throbbing anxiety.
Ashley quickly found out that her body couldn't function as a whole because of the muted tension which is kept deep hidden inertly. The condescension in her voice had been obvious; the words had felt shallow and empty. The bus ride was painfully slow and she sensed her body sank into the hollow of elusive shadows. She was practically able to feel the air being sucked from her own lungs; her jaw tightened; everything about her tensed to the breaking point. She had an inkling of a panic knot uncoiling in the pit of her stomach, but she was rooted to the spot, entirely unable to distinguish between what is right and what is completely wrong. She allowed herself to get lost into her own intents, hands curling into fists as she fought for control. The long-awaited station of Princeton finally came into sight and the young girl's ghosts start to haunt the quiet parts of her mind on the rare occasions when there are more personal demons absent. She followed the other passengers in a rush, feeling propelled in the public air by the illusion of his presence approaching her.
She entered the hospital and slammed the glass door shut with immense power. She looked around disorientated; her face looked like a mask of glassy-eyed impassivity. Her movements became labored. The rebellious spark which used to be maddening was entirely gone. She went straight to the nurse station and felt totally strange by the sudden shocking environment.
"I'm sorry. I'm looking for Dr. Chase. Do you know where I can find him?" the curly, blonde figure asked politely, hinting the last syllable with a panicked note. She doesn't have the energy to bear the emotions which this encounter ought to elicit.
The nurse approached the functioning computer and checked the hourly-updated schedule in order to provide the requested information. "He's in room D35, but he especially asked not to be disturbed," the nurse replied quickly, cutting off Ashley's last dose of adrenaline.
"I have a personal issue to discuss with him!" Ashley insisted, her judgment was blurred by the future scenario of a happy family. She started to move impossibly slow in comparison to her own heartbeat pounding in her temples. She had the dizzying sense that the nurse trying to oppress her steps was the last barricade she needed to pass.
She turned her head almost mechanical when the mignon nurse grabbed her forearm tight enough to let a bluish mark. Ashley clumsily bumped into a tall, dark male that was silently watching the current action. Ashley caught his obsessive gaze and quickly managed to figure out who was that doctor whose resentment was barely concealed in his movements.
"What's happening?" Dr. Eric Foreman incredulously asked, studying the shifting tension. His features had been greatly preserved, aside from the white roots which were quite visible.
"I'm looking for Dr. Chase. I have a personal issue," Ashley replied sincerely, remembering clearly how to be all business and to put grief aside in order to focus on the details. "I'm sorry, doctor, I'll make sure this delusional will be on her way out," the nurse assured, pouring every little drop of bitterness she had in her blood. "I'm not crazy!" Ashley protested back and desperately tried to release herself form the deadly grip.
"Let her say what she wants," Dr. Foreman shot back, his tone molding considerably into an intrigued layer of words.
"I think I might be his daughter. I have all the paperwork to confirm it," she confessed, the terribly-trembling voice and the bloody scar from her lower lip showed the affective distress she was facing.
She handed the older doctor the total amount of legal proof she had amassed. He analyzed the vital data and realized with a pang of guilt that he was facing his fellow's teenage daughter. He took a better look and observed the sea-blue eyes and golden hair he was accustomed to in his far-away years of residential and trivial differentials. Now, there was nothing, no doubt, only specters and ruined nostalgia.
"His office is this way," Foreman instructed gently, tilting his head in order to provide an easily-accessible scenery of the labyrinthine hospital hallways. Ashley smiled profoundly and muttered a deaf thank under her hot breath.
"Are you going to let her do that?" the nurse frowned and asked again, desperate to obtain a much more detailed explanation. Foreman smiled as his eyes traced the way the petite girl was moving, wondering what secrets had been erased from the once-great life now fading before his negativity.
"Chase needs to deal with his past mistakes. She might help, actually," he said as an ultimatum and returned to the eternal sense of failure, loss, devastation and to the occasional guilt which all had etched their way into his memory.
Ashley slipped into the office, muted by the clamor of fear and rejection, clearly unnoticed until she stood in all her glory near the transparent door. The head of the department stood by the window, absent-mindedly admiring the grey shade of the late-summer vegetation. The girl makes another step into the room, trying to mark her territory before attacking the foundation of it. He sensed the presence behind him and turned around to welcome his visitor with an icy glance that looked potentially harmful. He had a deep frown plastered on his forehead like a he had just witnessed a validated accusation. His hands were on his hips, a full mechanism of self-defense he developed in the dark years of torment.
"How can I help you?" he inquired bitterly, his tone matching the neutrality of his demeanor. His words are woefully inadequate, like is trying to absorb the reality.
"My name is Ashley Cameron," she started fearfully and offered her hand to shake which he intentionally ignored. She could recognize deep-seated grief behind his façade of anger and resentment in the moment he flinched at her name. "I think I'm your daughter," she blurted out, unquestionably harsh. It was a bold statement, so she was preparing for her fallout. She arranged the divorce papers in front of him and waited for a slight reaction.
He took the vital paper and read it while all his joints trembled with anticipation. Everything seemed heavy with resignation. He remembered this past mistake that occurred during the lockdown and looked back up with a stunning, mild look on his face. He recognized the wide curls he used to tangle every morning and brightly-colored eyes he fell in love with. She is the perfect harmony of both maternal and paternal features and it took all his newfound willpower not to bolt towards Cameron for hiding this living treasure for so many years in a row. All his grief and depressive thoughts paled in front of the divine possibility that he might have a second chance at being the ultimate best version of himself.
He felt overwhelmed by a sense of love he had never felt, a parental power of protectiveness he never had the chance to use. He quickened the pace towards her fragile body and gently lifted her chin in order to take refuge in the familiar, deep shade of blue.
"It's really you!" he whispers in her ear and evenly realized that his words sounded completely sensitive now that they were released into the outside air.
"I really am!" she replied silently, profoundly. She felt a surge of dominant satisfaction that rushed down her spine sending nervous impulses in every corner of her body. Two warm arms enveloped her completely and she can't help the natural impetus to let little salty drops falling from her eyes and streaming like a river down her rosy cheeks.
Outside, the late-summer, afternoon breeze was gently sweeping across the wet soil, smelling strongly of herbs and honeysuckle. For the first time, in months, the whole atmosphere had a new reflexive tint. Ashley was finally feeling as though she might be able to conceal her true emotions in the elusive shadows that should arise triumphantly.
-FIN-
Author's Note: Read and Review? :* This story was totally dedicated to my father. Thank you for being in my life! Hope you liked my Chase/Cameron fic. I'm willing to do a sequel if you want to. For everyone that follows "The Art of Asking", I will update it in the upcoming month, because right now, I'm busy with a volunteering campaign.