Note: Gah, I'm late. See, I was with a friend last night, and the update totally escaped my mind. Sorry! As always, my love goes out to the readers and reviewers--and don't be afraid to love or hate a character! It's not my goal to make you love or hate everyone as much as it is to give you different sides to each person. So don't feel guilty about disliking Claire or loving Skye! The story will tell itself in time. ;)
Chapter Eight: Hurdles
Claire reeked of alcohol. Nami backed into her chair cautiously, the woman before her no longer a human being, but something far more unpredictable, far more threatening. Maybe her career hadn't thrown her in the way of psychotic murderers, but Nami knew a dangerous creature when she saw one, and right now, Claire was as venomous as a cobra.
"Well? Aren't you going to ask me questions?" Claire frowned, her eyebrow raised. "Funny. I thought you wanted to squeeze everything out of me, didn't you? Didn't you?"
"Are you saying you'd like to give me more information with regard to the kidnapping?" Nami answered slowly.
"Yes! Yes, I don't give a shit anymore. Ask me. Ask me anything at all. Go on, do it."
"Ms. Claire," Nami replied gently, "are you drunk?"
"No. I've been drunk, but I'm not now. But, oh God, do I wish I was. You have no idea." Her hands flew to her forehead, rubbing her temples as she sighed. "Ask me. Ask me now."
When did the earth decide to turn itself inside-out? Since when did Claire willingly—frighteningly willingly, at that—offer to fix the holes in Nami's investigation? Don't question a good thing. Take it while it's there. The detective's hands groped for a notebook and pulled a pen out of her pants' pocket. "Skye, then. What can you tell me about your relationship with him?"
"He was an accident." Claire shook her head, the words running together. "Skye was a spontaneous shooting star in my life, a—an eclipse, you could say. I didn't go looking for him. I didn't ask for him. He came to me. He said such things: things girls like me don't listen to." Her eyes trained themselves on the floor, on the glass lying there. "But I listened. I don't know why, but I listened."
"When did this happen? Before or after meeting Trent?"
"Shortly after. It didn't—it wasn't supposed to be anything at all. It wasn't, I swear. But he made me feel so strange and so warm inside when before all I'd felt was emptiness…he, well, I thought maybe it was something bigger than what it was." She shut her eyes, her voice weakening in momentum. "I thought maybe I loved him. And that was the scariest thing in the world, Detective Stone. Because I could never, never love a man like that."
No one can love a creature who only loves himself.
"So what happened?"
"I—I told him that he had to go. I told him that I needed someone suitable, someone like Trent. Skye didn't know about me dating Trent, I don't think. It, well, surprised him."
"Surprised?"
"Enraged, more like." Nami watched as this woman—this girl—crumbled before her very eyes, reduced to a shivering husk of what she used to be. Fear rolled off her in waves, and she whispered, "I thought Skye might kill him. Honestly, I did. The way his mouth tilted into a snarl, how his once sweet tongue suddenly cut through me like a knife, how he cursed me, how he cursed Trent! No. No, I—"
A shudder rippled through Claire's body, and Nami found her pen suspended over the paper, writing nothing.
"No. He threatened us, but only—ha!—only to steal my feather." Claire laughed: a maddened sound. "Silly, isn't it? That ruining one tradition made him think he had the power to stop me? I didn't care. I called his bluff." The blonde smoothed her overalls, smiling with tight lips. "And look where we are, a year later. Look, Detective Stone. Does knowing my story help you any? No. Does it, in any way, help you find my baby girl? No. No, it does not. But I hope you are happy. Oh, I hope you've got all the damn happiness you please. Because now my husband—no, no, I should call him Doctor Trent—now Doctor Trent is no longer living in my house. Now I am alone, not only because my daughter has left me, but because my husband thinks I am a cheating slut. So thank you, Detective Stone. Thank you for all the work you've done to bring my daughter back to me. Thank you so damn much."
Her hand extended in the most terrifyingly cold manner, and Nami hesitated before taking it, Claire's mock grin searing through her with nameless intensity. The nails pierced through her skin, drawing blood, and Nami winced despite herself. "What secrets you chose to keep from your husband, Ms. Claire," Nami spoke softly, "were your own, not mine."
"And what decisions I've made, Detective Stone," Claire replied in a tone equally level, "are my own business, not yours. So next time, go ruin your own life, not mine."
For a while, they stood like that, before Nami slipped her hand free of the farmer's death-grip. "I…I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Claire," she managed to say. "I am."
Claire started towards the hallway, the sound of crunching glass underfoot echoing in the room. In the doorway, she paused, turning her head to give the briefest of smiles. "Like hell you are, Detective Stone. Like hell you are."
Yesterday was a word that used to refuse to sit on Skye's tongue: a time that was easier forgotten than remembered. Yesterdays spoke of robberies, of escapes, of adrenaline rushes that he'd never receive again. Yesterday was a stale word, measured by routine. Yet, when a day is measured by smiles and by laughter, suddenly it's worth remembering. Skye closed his eyes at night and dreamed of those days, days that, sooner or later, would slip out of his fingers into thin air.
He had never been caught. Never.
He was beginning to mistrust that word.
"Look, Claire. Look at Gwen's pony." The mare pranced about the field, its owner proud and erect as she stared down her spectators. Then, like a shot, her body lunged forward, one with the beast's—racing, racing down cobblestone roads as Gwen's hair flew behind her: a teasing golden ribbon on the wind. Claire squirmed in Skye's hands, reaching for this woman from behind the safety of the fence, and let out a whine when he refused to let go. "No, baby," he purred into her ear. "No, you can't go after her. She's pretty, though, isn't she?"
Beauty is deceiving, though. Beauty mocks you if you let it.
"Hey!" The sound of hoofbeats slowed to a halt, and Gwen laughed, shaky breaths leaving her ruby lips. "So? How'd I do?"
"You're asking the wrong equestrian," Skye replied with a smile. "You looked marvelous, though, fair maiden. Claire couldn't take her eyes off of you."
"Really?" The girl's mouth split into a grin. "Wow, my first fan! I'm going to get an ego trip if she keeps cheering me on like this."
She had such an agile body, leaping nimbly from the horse's back and landing feet-first on the ground. It was a trick Skye himself had mastered once, during a minor burglary he no longer cared to recall. Still, he'd never seen anyone else manage to pull off anything of the sort, and felt a begrudging respect for this woman he was so cleverly duping.
"Hey, Gwen, looking good!" a voice called, and both their heads turned to see Bob, waving from atop a fiery stallion. "Heh, we're going to have some serious competition this year, I can tell!"
"What competition?" Gwen laughed. "I'm going to beat you into the ground, and you know it!"
"Oh, Gwen, you better make sure you can ride as well as you talk," he chuckled. "Tina's entering this year, too. You better brace yourself, alright?" The strong man kicked his horse into action and sped away, leaving a blushing Gwen alone by a confused Skye's side.
"You're racing?" he surmised.
"There are two horse races every year," Gwen explained. "Bob and I have this friendly rivalry thing annually, and if he wins, I give him lunch on the house."
"And if you win…?"
She paused and made a face. "Let's just say that I haven't gotten that far yet."
"So you've never won?" Skye cocked his head at her, and she mumbled a string of unintelligible excuses, things about 'bad weather,' 'sick horse,' and 'fog.' "You've been racing for how long again?"
"It doesn't matter. Bob has always been racing longer," she muttered. "I'm always behind." Tilting her head to rest on the horse's saddle, Gwen sighed and played with the stirrups. "In more ways than one, I guess."
A sharp whinny broke through the air, and Skye yelped, Claire pulling on the horse's mane and antagonizing it just enough to make the mare back away in alarm. In moments, Gwen, Skye, and baby Claire found themselves piled in a heap in the dirt, one slipping forward to protect a child with his hands, the other losing her support as the horse trotted off in the distance. Red eyes met blue eyes, and, with the relief of safety behind them, started to sparkle with laughter.
"Graceful work, huh?" Gwen giggled, standing herself up.
"Your elegance is matched only by your cooking skills, Gwen." Skye patted Claire's head fondly, her little mouth grinning from her latest adventure. "This one, here, needs to keep her hands to herself, though."
"And as her father, I think you're deserving of her punishment." The cook grinned impishly. "Laundry. Someone's going to have to get these dirt stains out."
"Oh, fine." Then, as a look of confusion crossed his face, Skye asked, "But how…how do you wash clothes, exactly?"
Gwen couldn't help it; she burst out laughing.
"So there we were, the two of us, and he was—I swear, he was!—about to dump the whole bottle of detergent in. Can you imagine? All those bubbles, everywhere!"
The table was full, or at least as full as Gwen would like it to be. The two girls across from her giggled, and Gwen laughed as well, the scene playing her mind. "Oh, Gwen, I kind of wish you'd let him do it," Katie admitted with a grin. "That would have been hilarious."
"But imagine how much work she'd have to do afterwards, and all that water damage," Eve murmured. "I'd feel guilty, yet…"
The girls exchanged smirks once more, doubling over in fits of hilarity. Oh, it felt so good to spend time with the girls again, Gwen decided; how long had she spent taking care of Steiner and baby Claire, anyway? Hanging out with Bob and horses instead of with her crew, for that matter?
This week, it was her turn to bring the food; curry, oddly enough, was her choice. Eve usually chose something sophisticated, like filet mignon, cooked to absolute perfection. Katie, on the other hand, loved baking, and she'd spoil them with cookies and cakes and sweets. Eventually, in the interest of calorie minimizing, the three had decided when they met for breakfast, they'd spend it at Calloway Café with Katie's cooking. Lunch was spent at the Inn with Gwen, and dinner, of course, took place at the Moonlight Café with Eve as chef.
"So, come on, Gwen—is he here?" Eve twirled a strand of her golden hair and smiled. "I've heard some people talking about your handsome new waiter, and even if he can't wash clothes, he sounds dreamy."
"Dreamy?" Gwen repeated. Well, yes, she could kind of see it; Steiner was attractive, but it hadn't occurred to her that someone else might think so. "He's a horrible flirt, Eve. Us girls can do much better than that."
"Speaking of which!" Katie piped in. "I got asked out by Joe for the last festival."
"Ooh! And?"
The baker shrugged, her ginger curls bouncing. "Oh, you know. I went." She winked one baby blue eye. "And I might do it again."
"About time, girl!" Eve squealed, and Gwen rolled her eyes as they began talking about what-clothes-did-you-wear and is-he-a-good-kisser and shut-up!-he-did-not-say-that! Predictably, Eve brought up her very own tan and gorgeous boyfriend, Dan, and they redid the entire conversation, just from Eve's point of view. Gwen usually took these opportunities to throw in snide comments and eat her food, but she found herself silent as she stuffed curry in her mouth.
It wasn't as if she had anything to say…did she?
Beautiful. Am I really beautiful? Her hand strayed to her cheek, and it occurred to her that she wasn't even referring to the physical definition of the word. A blind man could see beauty, couldn't he? There's a beauty of the soul; there's a loveliness of the mind and the heart. When earthly splendor fades, it's that other beauty that remains—one more vital, more pure.
"You are a beautiful, caring, and loving soul, Gwen, with a perfect heart to give. Remember that. Don't lose that."
He wasn't toying with her…was he?
"And so, I told him no, that I wasn't busy that night, but I would be free a week later, if he was still interested. Didn't want to seem too clingy, you know."
"Oh, totally, we completely understand. Right, Gwen? Gwen?"
Vaguely the cook could feel her friend elbowing her, and she shook her head, clearing her thoughts. "Oh. Sure. Yeah."
"Monosyllabic much?" Katie accused. "You look so down and quiet, Gwen—it's kinda killing the mood. Are you alright? Do you need to talk about anything?"
She shrugged. "It's…nothing."
"Something's on your mind, girl," Eve concluded with a little 'tsk.' "Spill before Katie shakes it out of you."
"But it is nothing. Really." To prove her point, she shoveled more curry in her mouth—too much, she realized belatedly as her tongue caught afire. Frantic, she grabbed the pitcher of water and poured it down her throat, dousing her mistakes as quickly and painlessly as possible.
The barmaid and the baker raised their eyebrows simultaneously.
"Well."
"If you say so."
"But you're still lying."
"And we're going to get the truth sooner or later."
At that very moment, as luck would have it, the kitchen door swung open wide to reveal an attractive young man, hugging a tiny and precious child in his arms. He stopped in the doorway, his clear blue eyes stunned then relaxed as he took in the trio, and he flashed a disarming grin. "Well. I see you've invited some lovely company today, fair maiden."
Gwen's cheeks caught ablaze at her friends' giggles. "M-my friends. This is Katie, from Carl's bakery down the way, and of course this is Eve, the barmaid up at Duke's. Um, and this is Steiner. Our new waiter. And baby Claire."
"Charmed, I'm sure," Eve greeted him, her voice laced with insinuations. "It's so nice to meet the man that our dear Gwen has talked so much about. I don't remember her saying you were so young?" Was it really so terrible that, right now, Gwen wanted nothing more than to sock her right in the mouth?
Steiner's lips curved into a smile. "She didn't, did she?"
"Not at all," Katie murmured. "You…you're the one with the baby, right?"
The waiter paused to look at little Claire in his arms before replying. "Judging from the baby I'm holding," he laughed, "I think I'm going to have to say yes. Quite intelligent friends you've got, my beautiful Gwen."
"Shut up and leave them alone," Gwen snapped. "No one asked you to come in here, you know."
"No, let him stay. He's funny." Eve patted the empty seat beside her and smiled. "Eat a bit. We should chat, get to know each other—and by chance, Steiner, are you married?"
He smiled back slyly. "Not at all."
"Well." Eve leaned back in her chair and gave Gwen a satisfied look, one brimming with knowledge and delight. "That, Gwen, certainly explains that."
It's not that Elli liked sleeping in this big empty clinic by herself. There'd always been this eeriness permeating the air as she turned off the lights for the day and settled herself down in her room, alone in this big dark world. Even so, she wasn't happy to see Trent arriving with his big suitcase and his plastered-on smile; if anything, a fear had seized her heart, leaving chills in its wake.
"What are you doing here, Doctor?" she demanded quietly. "Why aren't you home?"
"Home?" The word sounded so foreign, so new on his tongue. "I don't think I understand what you're talking about." He brushed past her up the stairs, and the poor nurse floundered for words as she pursued him from behind.
"Why aren't you with Claire?" she persisted. The steps fell behind her with alarming speed, and the brunette accused, "Doctor Trent, what's going on? Why are you here? Why won't you—?"
"Whenever Lillia walks in here," Trent interrupted her softly, "don't you ever feel helpless?"
"H-helpless, Doctor?" This wasn't her point; he was hedging her protests, he was skipping the blame. Still, Elli found her tongue couldn't form the accusals as rapidly as her mind, and she was silent.
"Helpless," he repeated. The click on the suitcase opened, and he began taking out his clothes, one blouse at a time. "A doctor's job is…is to heal people, you understand? We take someone who's hurting, and we fix them. We give them what everyone else seems to have without even trying: their old life." He opened the drawers almost reverently, folding his clothes there within their shadows. "When Lillia first got sick, I think I realized, deep down, that I didn't have the power to save her. That was the first time I'd ever felt this weak, Elli. I felt like…like I didn't have any real power in this world, no real meaning. But that didn't stop me from trying to help her. It still hasn't, even today."
Trent froze, a suit suddenly in his hands. His hands ran up and down the silk, each button perfectly round and whole. His fingers slipped into the pockets, and yes, the gloves were still there—those gloves his father had worn for his very own wedding day. He closed his eyes, trembling, as he placed the mementos back in their resting place. "There are some things in life," he whispered, "that even I can't fix. And, sometimes, I have to let them go and accept that they're going to falter."
"Doctor…?"
"It's beyond my control now," Trent stated, his voice cracking. "Elli, there's nothing I can do now. Isn't it terrible, when a doctor can't even save the one person he loves most? Isn't it ironic, Elli, when it's because she won't let him?"
And he could remember, vividly, how clear her voice had been as she said her vows, how innocent she'd seemed. He could say all the hopes and dreams that had swept through them both, and yet he, too, could name the seed of discontent that sat within him like a stone, sinking deeper and deeper until it was far too late to be pulled free. Doubt. Mistrust. Fear.
"Here, Doctor." His nurse's hands were now on the suit as well, pulling it free from his tight grasp. "Please. Let me help you."
Perhaps there was nothing more comforting than knowing that, somehow, someone else could realize that understanding and accepting someone can, in the end, be two different things.