He was taken aback. “Why do you ask?”
“Because Norestrom is what Rocco called the man that night,” I told him.
“Emmy, do you remember everything that happened that night?”
I nodded that I did.
“Do you think you can tell me everything you remember?” he asked cautiously.
I nodded again. I didn’t wait for further encouragement and started my discourse right away.
The gunfire in the distance, the phone call with Cameron, the view from the wicker chest … the
words just poured out of my mouth. I couldn’t stop any of it. While the tears unnoticeably
continued to run down my cheeks, Cameron’s face remained unchanged. He listened to my every
word without question or interruption.
By the time I had finished with the part where Cameron came to find me in the woods, Cameron was
already digging through his jeans that were draped over the banister and found his cell phone.
He pressed one key, and I heard Spider grumble hello on the other end.
“It was Norestrom,” Cameron said coldly. “Bring him in.” He then hung up the phone and came
back to me, while I sobbed every tear that I had left in me. He held me tight. I could tell from
the shortness of his breath and the tenseness of his body that he was furious. But he continued
to hold onto me without wavering.
In the morning, I awoke to the sound of his voice coming from outside. I went downstairs and
peeked out the window. Cameron was pacing back and forth on the old porch, talking rapidly on
his cell phone. I could hear him angrily retelling my story to whoever was listening on the
other side. He was beside himself, and a string of cuss words preceded and followed Norestrom’s
name.
I took the opportunity to wash my face and have a boiling hot shower. As the grime washed off my
body, so did my remaining jumbled thoughts. Everything in my head was clear again, and, though
my heart still felt like it was being squeezed every time I thought of Rocco, I didn’t let my
brain run away from it anymore. I let myself feel the pain and remember everything as it
happened. When I walked out of the washroom, Cameron was still outside. I couldn’t hear his
voice anymore, so I went searching for him. He was sitting on the swinging porch chair, glaring
in the distance. This time I went over to him. I kissed him on the cheek and wrapped my arms
around his neck. Cameron followed my lead and held me in a crushing bear hug. His body slowly
started to relax, and he dug his head into my neck.
After a while, he looked up with his tired dark eyes. “There’s something I need to do today,”
he announced. “You’ll have to come with me. I can’t leave you here alone.”
While Cameron showered, I got breakfast ready. He came out of the washroom dressed in jeans and
nothing else. I couldn’t help but ogle as he walked about, bare-chested. I never liked tattoos
—but everything about Cameron, especially his tattoos, made him irresistible. When Cameron
caught me staring at him, I quickly glanced away, almost dropping a teacup in the process.
“So where are we going?” I asked, obviously trying to change the subject.
“My mother’s,” he replied, stuffing a piece of toast in his mouth. I couldn’t hide my
surprise at hearing this.
We drove away from the cottage and back into the city. Cameron drove too fast, and I noticed
that his hand started to squeeze mine tighter.
“You need to prepare yourself for this,” he warned me. “My mother can be pretty shocking when
you first meet her.”
I smiled at him with reassurance. I couldn’t imagine any mother being more horrifying than
mine.
We pulled into one of Callister’s slum districts. It was the middle of the week. The streets
were empty, except for the men and boys who hung around the corners, eying us as we drove by.
Most of the shops were boarded up. Those that were open were receded behind steel lattices, with
blinking neon lights barely shining through the dirty glass. The streets were lined with garbage
bags and empty cardboard boxes, broken down and stacked by the side of the road. Bottles and
other litter were strewn by the sidewalks and at the foot of the boarded-up buildings. While I
looked ahead, I could feel Cameron anxiously glancing at me, watching for any sign of revolt. I
remained unchanged and continued to watch the scene.
We turned onto one of the side streets and were met with row upon row of low-income housing.
Most of the lots were completely paved around the houses; the houses that were fortunate enough
to have green patches out front had, for the most part, knee-high weeds growing among damaged
furniture, old couches, and other forgotten possessions. I watched an old woman slowly stroll on
the sidewalk, pulling her disagreeable kitty cat behind her with a leash. There was one of those
in every neighborhood.
Cameron pulled up in front of a semi-detached house and stopped. He sat silently for a few
seconds, uncomfortably staring ahead.
“Is this your mother’s house?” I asked, breaking the silence.