Which, by the way, also didn’t make him look any less attractive, especially since he didn’t get his hair cut that short. I had a change of heart. It wasn’t fair, really. Somehow, even being a new person and having a new look, he still managed to look hot. I’d stopped swooning over him as soon as I learned that he was borderline insane, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t still checking him out from time to time.
When we were done with the hair, we made our way to the passport photo place and I had to explain to the old, deaf man who was taking the pictures that it wasn’t for a passport but for an ID. We couldn’t say driver’s license since that was illegal and all, so we made it look like Camden owned a growing business and wanted to get security passes for the staff. That was enough for the old guy and we got three tiny photos ready to become a forgery.
It was surprising how different he looked in the photos. I was standing off camera, looking at the screen and giving him directions. Despite the glasses, the new Camden looked serious and tough, the kind of person who never forgot a face. The kind of person you didn’t want to mess with. I wanted for Camden to feel empowered by the new him every time he looked down at his ID and new name.
Speaking of, now that the hard part was over, we retreated back to his house before anyone could see me and got started on finding his new name. He had picked up a bottle of Buffalo Trace whisky at the store, and over a glass of it, we were brainstorming.
“Your new name is the most important step in this whole process,” I informed him, sitting back on the couch. He was sitting in the leather armchair across from me and swirling his glass. Again, I had passed on the alcohol. “You’re going to have to live with this name. You’ll no longer be Camden McQueen. Even though that sounds like a good idea right now, it’ll hit you somewhere down the road. That you can’t go back.”
He stared at the swirling bourbon. “You came back. You got to be Ellie Watt again.”
“Yeah, well that’s only because that name was clean. It might not be clean when we leave this place.”
“That name,” he said curiously. His eyes were on me. “You refer to it as ‘that name’ but it’s your name. You were born with it, were you not?”
“I was,” I said cautiously.
“Yet you’re treating it like it’s made up, like it’s not even yours. Like it won’t even stick.”
I started fiddling with the tassels on the end of the white throw blanket. “It probably won’t stick, not until I go legit. Not until I have a home.”
“A name is like a home, then. All those years without a name. All those years without a home.”
I twisted my lips. What was this, amateur psychiatry hour?
“Be that as it may, you need a name that you like, Camden. And the easiest names to remember, to believe, are the ones that have the same initials as your current name. Or your real name. Either or. There’s something very…reassuring about seeing those initials over and over again, no matter how many times your name changes.”
He watched me for a beat, then downed the rest of his drink. The glass was refilled in no time. There was something very cagey about the look on his face, and considering it was only six in the evening, if he kept up at this pace he’d be drunk as a skunk.
“Camden? Now’s the time you tell me your favorite names that start with C.”
He shook his head. “Does it have to be the same letter?”
“Trust me. It’s easier this way.”
As he lapsed into silence, I said, “Caleb?”
He made a disgusting face.
“All right, Calum.”
“God no.”
“Cade?”
“Way too evil. Next.”
“Cory.”
“Haim or Feldman?”
“Cash?”
“Might as well call me Douchebag.”
That can be arranged, I thought. “Okay, Carter.”
“Gah. When I hear Carter, I think nerd.”
“Well, if the shoe fits…”
He glared at me over his glasses.
“Cody, then,” I suggested.
“Sounds like I should have a mullet. How about Cameron?”
“Oh, I think that’s pushing it a bit too close.”
“Caithness.”
I was starting to worry.
“What?” he said, raising his arm defensively, his drink sloshing over the rim. “It’s from MacBeth. Hey, there’s a last name too. Caithness Macbeth!”
The drink was obviously going to his head and I was starting to feel a bit nervous about the whole situation.
Still, I couldn’t help but tell him, “That is the worst name ever.”
“Caithness Macbeth,” he mulled over it.
“People will know it’s a fake name,” I pointed out.
“People are illiterate. No one will know.” He pulled out his iPhone and started tapping on the screen.
“What are you doing?”