The Things We Bury - Part 1: In Anticipation of the End of the World [Completed]

Chapter 5: The Monster That You Are (Part 6 of 7)

When the CD came to an end, Jamie was too lost in thought to notice.  The pop notes of Lady Gaga playing low over the loudspeakers had formed a dull white-noise letting him drift through his museum of memories.

The silence took over just as he was deep in study over Glen's face in the umber light of a setting sun.  They were lounging in the outdoor bar on the aft deck, while the cruise ship pulled away from the Ft. Lauderdale harbor.  Two tall pilsner glasses of beer sat on the teak tabletop in front of them.  Only a sip had been taken of both the beer and the vacation.  Glen was smiling watching the hotels and condo buildings slip past, the stress of everyday life draining from his features.

Jamie broke from his reverie unsure of how long he had let the stillness go on for.  Amy didn't seem in any hurry to break it either.  She sat in her wingback chair hugging her knees.  Her government-issued white nightgown was pulled up to the top of her shins. She stared off, looking beyond the cage at some point in her own past. 

"Alright," Jamie said quietly, feeling strangely parental.  "I think you should get some sleep."

"Can't we talk some more?"

The dim nighttime lighting was on in the enclosure and most of the room was lost in the murky illumination.  The antique lamps in the psychiatrist's office filtered through the window and lit the small girl's face.  She was sleepy – it could be seen in the narrow slits of her eyes and the way her head slouched towards one shoulder.  It could also be heard in her voice, which hovered nearly at the level of a yawn.  But under the fatigue, there was desperation: going to bed would mean being alone again.

Jamie relinquished.  How could he not?  "Alright, Amy, but just for a little while.  What's on your mind?"

She thought about this.  Jamie expected her to ask for more music.  They had spent the last three hours listening to the CDs he'd smuggled in.  Security was much laxer about bringing things in than taking things out, and all he had to do was conceal them in the pocket of his sports jacket.

It was a collection of albums that Amy loved and ones she was anxious to hear – ones that had only come out after she'd been imprisoned.  Jamie also added a few of his own favorites to the mix.  It had only taken a few minutes of trial and error for him to figure out how to play them on one of the computers and route the sound into the bedroom's intercom. 

With the music absent, there was only an eerie buzz of the microphones, while he waited for Amy to answer.

"Umm.  I don't know.  Tell me something."  She shifted, putting one leg underneath her.  She seemed to grow excited at the prospect of Jamie telling a story or sharing a secret.

His heart crumbled. 

It could have been Nadia talking.

Whenever he was home, she would ask him to tuck her in.  She never wanted him to leave, never want to have to go to sleep.  There was always an attempt to delay.  Read me one more story.  Sing me one more song.  Tell me something.

Of course, she had been much younger at the time.  Would she still stall at bedtime?  She might if she had to sleep alone in a sterile prison.

About a million things popped into his mind of what he'd like to say to Nadia.  But coming up with something for Amy was more of a challenge.

Some things seemed too personal, others too sad.  Also, he had to be careful about what he said to her.  Just continuing these visits was playing with fire.  When he started his shift, Maxwell had let slip, "We hired you as a geneticist, not Benning's replacement."

It was a less than subtle goad to pressure him to get the revised version of his report in on time.  But it was obvious, Wiley knew about these clandestine visits.  Surprisingly, he hadn't put a stop to them.  If anything, it seemed that he was letting them go on, so long as they didn't interfere with Jamie's duties.