The Tragedy of Knowledge (10 page)

After kissing me on the doorstep of my mother’s house, he disappeared around the corner, the wind of his wake blowing the long strands of my brown hair around my face. I took a deep breath and knocked, skipping the doorbell. My mother hated the doorbell. Said it was obnoxious.

The door creaked open and my mother’s face appeared, eyes peering up at me in surprise from her wheelchair. She still wore her long, thin brown hair parted in the middle, the only change the strands of gray peeking through beneath the ashen Seattle sunlight. “Camille …” An aging hand covered her mouth. “What are you doing here? You look … different. Beautiful, but different.”

“Hi, Mom. Thanks, can I … come in?”

“Oh, uh … of course, yes.” She blinked and shook her head, wheeling herself backward to give me room. “The place is a mess, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you’d be in town, it’s been so long since you’ve—”

“Don’t worry about it. And I know, I’m sorry I didn’t call first. It was kind of a last-minute trip. And I can’t stay long. I’m just in town to say hello and pick up some of Audrey’s things.”

“Audrey’s things?”

“Yeah, she’s living with me in Louisiana now. She moved out of her apartment here not long ago, and put some things into storage. I told her I’d go through some of her stuff while I came in town to visit you.” Figuring the partial truth would suffice for an explanation of my random visit, I closed the door behind me and stepped into the gloomy living room. The television ran with the same
Godfather
movie my mom watched religiously ever since I was a kid. She probably knew it line by line by now.

Wading farther into the house, I let my eyes roam the fireplace mantel and coffee table, ashtrays and the same old pictures cluttering every corner and crevice. My shoulders falling at the sight, I thought,
This is what fear does to you. Freezes you in place.
My mother’s isolated lifestyle was a product of giving up dreams, goals, and anything else that might have meant change. Even before she struggled with some of the limitations of her handicap, she’d stayed home and shut out the world, afraid to start over after the divorce, after her struggles with addiction. I’d always felt sympathy for her, for the fact that she’d allowed that fear to steal so much of her life, but the resentment still bubbled up when I saw her in person, when reminded of just how in denial she was of the need to move on, even after all this time.

But today was different.

It didn’t matter that the house was exactly the same, that it was just as unkempt and cluttered as ever. There was a spark in her eyes, a life there I hadn’t seen in … I didn’t know how long. And that felt good to see in the flesh, especially after all this time. Relief pinged in my core, and I turned from the fireplace to face her.

“How are you, Mom? You look good.”

“I do?”

“You do.”

“I’ve been keeping up with my AA meetings, and seeing my therapist, you know.” She glanced around sheepishly, her fingers knotted and fidgety on her lap. “I’m trying, Cam. I miss you terribly.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Can I get you something to eat or drink? I have coffee and leftovers from breakfast.”

“No, thank you, though.” I sat down on the loveseat, pushing aside a ratty newspaper.

“Your skin is glowing,” Mom’s eyes were gleaming, a soft smile in them. “It must be all of that Southern sunshine.”

“Must be.”

An awkward pause settled between us,
Godfather
dialogue the only sound filling the room.

“Camille, there’s so much I’ve wanted to say to you, I don’t know where to begin—”

“Me, too. But I want to start by saying I’m angry.”

Before I could continue, the same uncomfortable burning sensation I’d experienced when I’d been lying on Samira’s throne room floor, when I changed, seized my temples and I froze, wincing as I gripped my forehead. The mere mention of anger sent my mother into a mental flurry, and I could feel her anxiety escalating, seeping into my pores and fueling my own anxiety.

These random, fiery attacks were really starting to piss me off.

The burning strengthened when she wheeled closer to me and reached out to grasp my hand, but I managed to open my eyes and speak some more. “Just let me finish, don’t worry. Don’t worry, Mom,” I grazed my fingers over her knuckles in a soothing rhythm and the burning lessened, the unease in her eyes softening. I sucked in a deep breath and swallowed, thankful for the relief. “I’ve been angry … with myself, not you. I mean, I thought it was you I was angry with. And for a long time, I was, because of … everything. But over these past few years, I’ve been angry with myself. For feeling responsible for taking care of you, for beating myself up for not being able to fix you.” My voice cracked and I felt the tears coming, but I pushed them back, determined to finish what I came all this way to say. “None of that was my burden to bear, and I realize that now. Carrying all that weight only prevented me from moving on, and it probably left you with a lot of guilt. And the last thing I want is for you to feel guilt. I only want you to be at peace. That’s important to me. Now more than ever.”

Clasping my fingers tighter in hers, Mom’s face tightened, throat visibly constricting when she let out a small spurt of air from her lips. She lowered her gaze to the couch cushions for a moment, then leveled it with mine again. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear that. These years of not speaking to you …” Her other hand reached for her mouth again; tears pooled at the corners of her eyelids. “I thought I’d finally run you off for good, lost you forever. I’m so sorry for all I’ve done to hurt you, so sorry for everything—”

“It’s okay, Mom. It’s okay,” I whispered, leaning forward to lock her in a tight embrace. My knees found the floor next to her wheelchair and my body began to heave with weighty sobs, back shaking as I let them rack my body. “I already know. I forgive you, I do, I do, I do.” The burning was gone now; my temples no longer throbbed. A soft, peaceful humming vibration replaced the pain. After what seemed hours, Mom and I pulled back from one another, and shared a box of tissues to wipe at our tears.

“Are you seeing a man?” she asked, catching sight of the ring on my finger.

“It was a sort of elopement,” I held out my finger for her. “We didn’t invite anyone, so …”

“I understand. Does he treat you good?”

“He does. You’d love him. In fact—”

“Is he here? In Seattle?”

“Yeah. And he’d love to meet you. But he wanted me to have some alone time with you first.” I slid my cell phone from my pocket, texted Gavin, and within a few minutes, there was a soft knock on the door. Mom worked to blot the last of her tears from her cheeks when Gavin walked in. He reached down to shake her hand.

“It’s great to meet you, Ms. Hart.
Er
… that’s not your last name anymore, is it? Uh … should I call you—?”

“Thank you, thank you,” she blinked up at him and stole a glance in my direction. “It’s fine. You can call me Karen.” She adjusted her shirt collar and smoothed her hair. “Well, this is a lot to take in. You certainly are handsome. You two will make beautiful grandbabies for me someday.”

“Mom,” I rolled my eyes, lips turning up in a smile. Although children weren’t exactly a priority and I doubted frozen souls even had kids, I had to hand it to her. She was right. Any child with Gavin’s DNA would be genetically blessed, that was certain.

“Would you both like to stay for an early lunch or something? Gavin, can I fix you some coffee?”

“Thanks, Karen, but we’ve just eaten. Is that Camille there?” He’d noticed the array of photographs on the mantel over my mother’s shoulder, and that launched them into conversation about my childhood. I snuck around the corner into the kitchen and grabbed the notepad by the phone, then cleared some counter space to write. Their chatter floated in from the living room. It was a comforting sound, one I wanted to remember.

Scribbling, I decided to keep it short and sweet.
Live life for me, Mom. Forgive yourself. I love you always, Cam.
Pinning the note under a magnet on the refrigerator, I glanced around the kitchen and returned to the living room to find Gavin seated on the couch, the laugh lines around his mouth defined, eyes warm as he listened to my mother. Clearing my throat from the doorway, the stinging flared up again, causing me to flinch. My mom’s head snapped toward me and it was back—the anxiety, evident on her face, and pulsing through my body. She wondered when she’d see me again, or if she’d ever see me again at all: wanted to know if I truly forgave her for all she’d done. The thoughts came to me as quickly and clearly as they had with the lost little boy.

“Camille, are you okay, love?” Gavin stood, his face full of concern.

Rubbing my temple with two fingers, I nodded, focusing on what I needed to say to diffuse my mother’s fear. “Mom, I’m sorry, but we have to get going. But listen,” I crossed the room and kneeled next to her, glancing up at Gavin. He leaned down and shook Mom’s hand once more, wished her well, and slipped out the front door.

“Please don’t worry about me, and I’ll come visit again as soon as I can … when I have more time. We’ll do dinner at SkyCity. Sound good?” I sent her a faint smile, urging her to recall the last time we’d eaten at the Space Needle together.

Tears shimmered in her eyes again and the pain in my temples subsided as sadness replaced her worry. “That sounds perfect,” she said. “Thank you for coming. And Gavin is … he’s just fantastic, honey.”

“Yeah, he’s a keeper.” I winked and kissed her on the cheek with another tight hug, then turned to the front door. She pivoted her chair to watch me exit. Already moving, I said, “Whenever you’re scared or worried about me … or about me and you … look to the note on the fridge.”

With a deep breath and a curious tilt of her head, she nodded. “I love you, Camille. Have a safe trip home.”

“Love you, too. I will.”

Gavin waited out front, and his fingers locked into mine. “How’s your head?”

“Better now. Wait, how did you know—?”

“You looked as if you were in pain. It was the same pain you felt with the little boy, wasn’t it?”

Turning to face him, I took a slow, steady breath, the aftershocks of my mother’s anxious emotions still fresh in my veins. “Yes. What does that mean?”

“It means you know who you are as a frozen soul now. You’ve discovered your reading ability.”

Hearing that what I’d dreaded might be happening since my contact with the little boy that day was real, had come to fruition, I screwed my eyes shut, willing the truth away. I’d known I’d eventually discover my reading ability, but I had no idea it would have such a strong pull on me. I hated feeling out of control, the way I did when the burning came. But I had to face it now, and I knew.

I could read fears.

6

OWNERSHIP

The weight of Gavin’s words started to sink in. My insides churned with strange excitement, uncertainty—and something else I couldn’t identify. Sauntering down my mother’s street, hand in hand, he led me between two houses, burying us out of sight behind a gathering of pine trees. The light mist of the midmorning Seattle rain beaded up on my skin.

Gavin said, “Arianna and I believe the little boy was your beacon, the one who initiated your identity.”

“And the burning feeling … that’s part of it?”

“Yes. It’s strongest right after the change, although you don’t notice how it develops until you start spending time around humans. Then it appears in spurts, whenever you make contact with those you can read. Those people will be just as drawn to you as you are to them, so you’ll be able to spot them easily. Learning to drain their energy—and to refrain from it—is a matter of meditation. I’ll train you, show you how to harness the skill over time.”

“But I don’t want to drain anyone,” I pulled my hand from his and crossed my arms tight across my chest. All I could think of was the way Andrew took advantage of me, how my abusive ex made me his host and fed off my energy the entire time I knew him, even before I knew he was a frozen soul. I wouldn’t do that to a human being.

Ever.

I also hadn’t forgotten the reason our reading abilities were only compatible with some humans: the human had to possess a strength or natural disposition in whatever emotion from which we drew energy. The fact that I read fears meant I’d be feeding off someone’s weakness. I’d be taking advantage of people who were particularly bent toward anxiety, and that was just cruel. Out of all the emotions or personality traits I could have fed from, of course it turned out that I read this one.

Great.
Shuddering, I shook my head. “I want to live as you and the resistance do … I won’t harm humans the way the other frozen souls do.”

“Of course you won’t,” he reached for my hand again, gently caressing my shoulder. “You have to learn how to control the skill, though, baby. You might need the energy in an emergency … just as I did, the day I drained you to help us escape Samira’s castle. Or you’ll have to know how to stop yourself from naturally draining someone you don’t want to. Pulling that energy becomes very addicting, when you feel the strength it can give you. It requires a lot of restraint.” Eyeing the neighborhood’s surroundings, he pulled me tighter against him amidst the trees. “But don’t worry about that right now. We have enough to deal with when we get home.”