Freedom

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

This morning starts like any other morning. There were no restless points the night before, no enthusiasm-based insomnia, and this morning is cold and groggy.

As per usual, Amelia is awake disturbingly early. At five AM, she begins to collect her things. She has no one to say goodbye to, so the following four hours are spent packing in silence and solitude. For the first time in many years, Amelia's mind is clear.

When everything has been packed, the room looks like the only bit of life that might've ever breathed into it has been sucked out. It's become another dead cell, cleaned and prepped for someone else's humiliation.

Amelia covers her eyes, and closes the door.

There's two hours of meetings with her various doctors during her stay, and her lawyer. Then it's time to make the appearance in court. The warden and psychiatric head are kinder than she thought they'd be. Dr. Tomin is not, but Amelia keeps a neutral face and answers as best she can. The judge reiterates all the information of her release, but finally it's done. She signs a head-spinning amount of paperwork.

At seven after two-- at least, Eastern Standard Time-- she's on her way back to her big, empty house for the first time in many months. Setting down her things in the front hallway makes an echo. She closes the door, shutting out the snow and wind.

Comments

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

Everything looks mostly the same as she left it. The place has been cleaned up a little, but that's all. Her green hoodie is still piled in the armchair facing the window, just as she left it.

Amelia walks over to the glass, staring out at the mountains and swirling snow. This was her hiding place. This was where she had resolved to stay away from the world, to keep herself and others safe, and live her days out in solitude, making things.

33 miles away from any other living soul. There's no blinking red light on her answering machine. The fridge is filled with post-it notes she left herself in her craze, the Kenmore-white speckled with bright blue, green and lavender squares.

There's finally no one looking. She sinks to the floor.

[caleb-z.livejournal.com]

No one except for Braat, that is, taking in the sight, and returning nothing but sympathy. He's been here himself, after Neron. He remembers what it was like, suddenly being able to appreciate how out of your mind you were, and not having anyone to lean on for support.

In that way, at least, Bird isn't going to be able to commiserate.

Caleb finds a spot on the floor next to her, knowing that he can't (and in any event, shouldn't) rush her along. She'll talk when she's ready. In the mean time, she'll be aware of his presence. It's the best he can do for her.

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

Amelia sits like that staring out the window for near an hour. Fifteen minutes on the tail end of it, she cries, but it's silent. It's only meant to be to herself. So much has changed. She has to go through this whole house, room by room, go through every project she had and weed out the madness.

She feels dirty, like this black oily mess seeped into her life and sullied up everything. "I'm so sorry," she finally says softly. "I was scared. Scared, really, out of my mind. And I feel that way now, and it was so fast, so sudden, I didn't even know. Everything seemed like it made sense so what if I just go back there? What if I become that again, what if I am that?"

She looks over at him, trying to wipe her face clean, at the same time replacing the dry stretches with new tears. "I wanna kill him, Caleb. I want to put him out of my misery, and I don't know how to stop feeling this way, how to not want to make him suffer like he made me suffer. What if I don't know how to be anything but a monster?"

[caleb-z.livejournal.com]

Caleb sits there silently, though in his current state, he isn't so great at staying on topic. His mind wanders from topic to topic for the better part of the hour, though the sight of Amelia's tears renews his focus. He wishes to God he could take away her pain - even feel it himself instead, if he had to. Anything to give her back just something of what she lost.

"Somehow, Bird, I'm not too terribly concerned about that. You were motivated by love, not by hate. That wouldn't make you much of a monster, now would it?"

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

She scoffs. Tell that to Christie. Or Tara... or Corrine.

She doesn't believe it now but maybe she'll adjust to the idea. She looks over at her kitchen. Those obnoxious sticky notes are a good place to start on a long endeavor. "I have a lot of work to do."

[caleb-z.livejournal.com]

No, no, no. This isn't going to do at all, I'm afraid.

"Birdie," he calls as he comes alongside her, one arm wrapping itself around her shoulder. "You've been in an institution since June, and you've been dying for years. Now your free, and your healthy. Just now possibly isn't the best time to begin the lengthy task of sorting out the past."

He gives her a mischievous smile. "Surely there was something you were looking forward to doing."

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

"[All I wanted was your health and happiness.]" She snickers to herself. "Sullied that up, too."

Amelia flops her hands, then moves to get up, going tipsy on the way like a lazy marionette righting itself. She makes her way over to the fridge, glancing at the first sticky-note there. The phone number of someone who honestly just irritated Amelia; that number could go. She peeled the green square from its surface.

Between two fingers, she waves it like a flag at Caleb. "Let's make a fire."

[caleb-z.livejournal.com]

"[Gather up what you need,]" he says, restraining a great deal of enthusiasm.

The magic to arrange the niche was simple enough, and conveniently enough, Amelia's garage did have cans of lighter fluid. In three minutes, the fireplace is set up and ready to go.

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

Amelia approached with her upper body nearly hidden by the stack of papers in her arms. She'd spent an hour or two combing through surface things; notes left about, notebooks, contact books, and stacks of discarded notes she'd never thrown away. She dropped them in a pile a bit away from the fireplace, watching them flutter and settle for a second.

She leans over to take a swig of the open bottle of Lambic on the floor, and then tosses the first handful of papers into the fireplace. "I found some, uh.." She pulls a handful of pills from a pocket. She throws them into the fire. "Hid them. All over the place."

[caleb-z.livejournal.com]

Caleb watches the pills fall into the fire, welcoming the sight with a private smile.

"Your, uh ... Your crawlers are in three crates in the basement," Caleb offers. "I-I had to ward them to be certain no one stole them. Don't let me, uh ... don't forget to disable it for you."

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

She nods a little and sits cross-legged in front of the fire. Another sip of the Lambic is sweet and just a little bitter, and heavy. She's gotten a little drunk while gathering her tinder. It's always been a 'happy' drink between Amelia and Caleb; it feels nice to be back to this.

All the lights are off in the house, except for the glow of the fireplace. She snickers to herself through the silence, tossing another pile of papers in. "You know I remember the very moment I wrote Tara away? I met with Angela, Louis and Crystal. They were talking about taking Tefe, too, and Magique showed up. They said no promises about Tara, or you, especially if you fought back and they said without saying that they wanted you to. And I thought, 'well, I didn't save Mike, I'm not even sure how I'll pull this off... it's Caleb or Tara. It must be Caleb.'

"I was so logical about it all. Like I was playing chess."

[caleb-z.livejournal.com]

It's a mindset Caleb is quite familiar with. Keep it professional - work is business, and you don't take business home with you.

"It helps maintain detachment," he commiserates, while staring off contemplatively.

"[Somewhere along the way, the, uh ... the Outsiders helped me beyond that mindset. They've done a lot of right by me.]" His unspoken question: Is that easier to understand now?

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

Amelia looks down into the pile, then tosses some more in. "[I know that. All I saw then was the bad. What they didn't do.]"

[caleb-z.livejournal.com]

"Stop." There's a voice he hasn't used in a while.

He tosses a handful of papers into the fire. Part of him is dying with curiosity to see what, precisely, she is getting rid of, but he doesn't look at the pages. It would feel disrespectful.

"If I'm supposed to stop chastising myself, then I'll expect the same from you."

The flames consume another handful of papers. "I, uh ..." He stops to stare at the fire for a few moments, the red glow bringing out his red eyes. "In your shoes, I would have done no less for you. Your efforts were touching, if somewhat misguided. And none of us are perfect, Bird. You just learn, and move on."

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

"You were given a reasonable amount of time to mourn for what was you," she says coldly. "Let me do the same. I want everyone to stop telling me what I did was understandable and just let me feel awful for a while."

She takes another swig. Then, she snickers. "I thought I might try to put you and Tara together. You can't tell me that isn't crazy. And side-splittingly funny. But mostly crazy."

[caleb-z.livejournal.com]

That strikes Caleb as completely reasonable. Losing fifteen years would be a rather large loss to cope with for anyone to handle, let alone a teenager. There's no telling how long a grieving process one might require to accept such a thing.

The cycle goes denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

She moved through denial quickly. She ran from the room and demanded a phone.

She spent her time in anger, lashing out at everyone and everything, looking for every excuse she could find to legitimize her rage.

She spent her time bargaining with fate, hoping to correct things by removing 'the Witch.' Taking matters into her own hands always has been such an Amelia way to approach matters.

Depression is a rather dreary place to be, but it's the next step in her healing.

"I think she'd act on the desire to choke me to death one night," he snickers. "I'd just... I'd just go to sleep, and wake up with her hands just sort of crushing my throat."

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

"Who's surprised you're still arrogant enough to believe it's a foregone conclusion you could get far enough that she'd want to choke you in your sleep? Five-hundred says she'd kick you in the family jewels if you insinuated."

She cracks a small smile. "Better yet, I think she'd knock your lights out for asking even before the Emerald Knight chewtoy got to you."

[caleb-z.livejournal.com]

Braat dismisses the notion with a wave. "I could handle Lantern," he says confidently.

After a beat, "I think," he adds, somewhat less so. "Not that I'd want to try, of course. He's rather creative."

Caleb stops to appreciate the warmth from the fire, telekinetically levitating pages off of the pile and into the flame one after another.

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

"Please remember the side-splittingly funny and crazy part?"

That'd be like nailing two rabid badgers into a crate. And if it ever happens, by some curse of God, Amelia will be prepared with the clue-by-four. "Besides, you've been insane once already."

[caleb-z.livejournal.com]

"So there's no sense in relapsing, then."

"While, uh ... while we're on the subject, it was good to see you two speaking again."

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

Amelia scoffs as she tosses another handful of papers in. After a second, she reaches for one of the pokers and pushes a burning stack of papers farther back in the fireplace. She puts the screen up again and shrugs, looking over at Caleb. "I didn't think she'd even show."

Caleb will get a playful punch in the arm as his little sister looks back to the fire. "Spasiba. I, uh... I guess I've got to catch up with her... now that everything's done."

[caleb-z.livejournal.com]

"It couldn't hurt," he acknowledges. "Though - slight non-sequitur - um .... How, uh ... There is one thing I've been wanting to ask you."

He stares at the fire for a moment, asking himself one last time if he really wants to ask.

Of course I do.

"Obnoxious workaholic?"

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

Amelia stares at him for a few seconds, face neutral except for one confused brow.

Then she cracks up, flopping over on him as she's overcome with laughter. "[What's this? Awwww! Did your feelings get hurt when I was out of my mind? You big baby!]"

She backs off, still laughing and poking him in the arm. "I try to kill you and that's what hurts your feelings? That? Haven't we established that I was Super Mecha-Streisand level bitch? C'mon, give me some credit, I came up with way nastier things than that!"

[caleb-z.livejournal.com]

He opens his mouth to speak, but the words abandon him. After a few seconds he slips into laughter himself, and even turns slightly red. He feels quite foolish, just now.

"Well, yes, but ..." He dawns his 'neener' face, and theatrically waves a fist. "One of these days, Amelia! ONE OF THESE DAYS!"

It's good to be laughing with her again.

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

"Ooh! Ooh! I liked my 'you can't do this to me' tantrum! That was the best!" she says like an excited little kid.

"What'd I say? Communist? Did I actually call you a communist? You need therapy or Jesus or something, because 'workaholic' should not be that bad."

A pause.

"Calling Hawkins 'Toto' was way worse."