She flopped down on the chair. The sun sent its gentle warm rays from westward. Twisting her wrist to check her watch, she saw it was three pm already.
A tinge of blush crept on her client's cheeks. "Apologies for hogging you here. You've got to be somewhere else. I really didn't mean to mess up your schedule."
It took a little bit more than self-control to not let his regret tug at her heartstrings.
"We're okay. I dedicate today to this appointment, anyway. You don't eat up anyone else's time."
He puffed out a breather but still looked down at the yellowish bedsheet.
"What is this?" Mark asked when Stephanie handed him a black notebook and a pen.
"It's a journal. I want you to write your experience, feelings, thoughts, anything, day by day. It doesn't have to be a full story. You can take one snippet of that day that sticks with you the most and work from there. Short or long is up to you. And it's not an assignment to submit to me, because I won't read it without your permission."
"Like writing a diary?"
"Yes, in a way. But this is for you to disentangle your emotions. The thing is, your mental state will be impacted much after this day. As the routine changes, your new status becomes more internalised from now on. Tonight, the 'free man' status might still sound elusive as your mind tries to wrap around the concept. But as time passes, it will cling more as a new self to you. If you do this exercise without fail, this book will document your journey in great detail. When you feel lost, you can always reread this to remind yourself that the confusion and gaps of your physical and emotional state are part of this very journey."
Stephanie gave up on holding the pricking tears at the corner of her eyes when some fresh tears rolled down Mark's cheeks. He turned his head down, trying to silence the weak chokes as his thumbs swiped away the insistent waterwork. After a beat passed, Stephanie gently stroked his shoulder, saying nothing. The room, the mid-afternoon sunlight, the stale air, and the journal saw two humans sharing a moment of understanding.
She witnessed firsthand how dehumanising law had snatched precious time of Mark to regain his footing in civilisation. On the face of it, Mark was always a sinner and he had served his time to atone a mistake of his youth. But to live that long without knowing what happened outside the bars until recent years? Didn't know how a smartphone and its apps work?
Part of her conscience clawed her heart and forced a twinge of regret out. She was part of the problem, by riding on the progress of technology to make a profit, by running too fast. She had worked in that industry, a new wave of the digital revolution that was estimated to bring thousands of new jobs.
Since any revolution was bound to take lives, Mark was one of its inevitable victims. He had lost twenty years of catching up, even at too fast of a speed sometimes. He was one out of many whom vehicles of history had left.
After lending a hand to help Mark unpack his few belongings, Stephanie took her leave. It was five pm and she needed to catch the bus soon.
Mark was still closing the windows and blinds when he asked, "What time am I expected to sleep?"
She stopped in her tracks, blinking slowly, but then mentally slapped herself for being a fool. Mark must have been conditioned to obey a strict schedule ruling his daily life. She couldn't help but sympathise and gently answer.
"Anytime you wish. You're a free man now."
There would be no officer switching off and on the light. Mark could enjoy his first night at the hotel with dreamless sleep, she thought. But deep down she knew, hence the book she gave, that the pathway to freedom was not just a flick of a switch. It was a journey for Mark to walk alone.
~*~
Stephanie's mind was actually occupied with Lila before she had any spare time to think about Mark. For example, she remembered what transpired on their first session.
She could still remember the bus trip to Lila's place, with the workers chatting away about life. Like a drop of pond water observed underneath the microscope, the crawling cells might not represent the entire species living in that pond, only a subset of it. The bustling remaining members of society were a subset of the whole picture.
Then, the apartment tower that made her think that when one's income allowed them to afford better living conditions, they could distance themselves from those questionable neighbourhoods and rent a place at one of the towers. Several condo corps providing minimalist furniture design for their flagship high-risers—she could not keep track of whether those companies still existed in this era— soon sent them catalogues to pick from.
Lila definitely came from this society, one person inhabiting one unit out of hundreds in this compound where the rest had been vacant due to the massive death.
How did it feel to live in the only unit alive on this floor in this tower? She felt the uneasiness creeping in her spine by the end of the session.
She could still hear the creaking sound of Lila's door hinges when opened. Stephanie thought whether the factory that distributed WD-40 still opened.
And her jog down memory lane brought her to the healthy face of a woman greeting her, the start of her downfall in the Companionship career. Looking around forty, her hair was put in an updo with a claw. Stephanie acknowledged physical features only partially because she believed in understanding the emotional and mental state of the clients held precedence over everything else.
Stephanie never met someone as genuinely bewildered as Lila was when she arrived for the first time. The session presented a new enigma. A protective instinct, surged from the base of her skull, flooded her being. Her heart itched to leave the first session with Lila feeling better, for whatever her current problem was.
They shook hands. Lila wouldn't need to worry about Stephanie might transmit the virus because the Companions were Immune people. Also, with the careful and stringent mobilisation grid in place, the transmission rate dropped profusely. Albeit had been late for like, a year.
Lila's green lounge dress rustled as she made a beeline to the kitchen after settling Stephanie into her seat. One laptop opened at the desk near the corner of the living room, generous sunlight provided ample freshness to the surrounding.
Stephanie let her mind wander to imagine what night might have felt like there, quiet and calm, with the tapping sound of fingers on the keyboard tethering her to reality. Oh, how she always wanted to have a bronze standing lamp to match her aesthetics at home.
How stupid she was to even assume that what a slim chance to be in contact with one of them of the ivory tower. It still made a bit sense since her clients consisted of people who could afford an extra courtesy in their life, but this was new. She always threw a blanket assumption that nobody in the Council actually favoured her cause.
Of course the ivory tower housed the Council members first!
An all-out government with bells and whistles were deemed nonessential. Only brilliant and functional people—totally not the likes of Stephanie— could be listed in the service. Each of them did multitasking anyway. In Jakarta, the number of departments was downsized significantly to only the basic necessities. With the unified global government in Den Haag, every remaining country big enough to maintain the Council of their own rather racked their collective mind power to sustain themselves than complain about sovereignty.
She cursed her stupidity for being slow inwardly, while continuing the pleasantries outwardly.
"Is he in the Communication department? I'm sorry but I'm not well-versed in who is in charge of which now," she replied sheepishly. When in doubt, throw a random guess. People would love to prove her wrong.
"Yes, managing the internet and all. I'm not even sure myself what he's doing but I know he's a contributing member."
That she called a lucky guess. "He's a hero, indeed. Many of the current business practices rely solely on the internet connection."
"Including the black choppers."
Stephanie for one wasn't sure whether the black drones or choppers had jurisdiction limitation of what it could or could not do. Or whether it was from the regional or the country's Council.
She fell silent. This was a dangerous walk. In the sessions with other clients, none of them ever uttered even the vaguest sentiment towards the monitoring tools of the functioning government, especially the birds. They didn't discuss the shootings, the recordings, or the constant surveillance. No one said anything about it.
Neither did Stephanie, because she believed in every means necessary to sustain lives and suppress the civil unrest so that the economy could keep going. Wasn't that the purpose of having institutions to regulate how they lived? To ensure the backbone system could still run and mouths can still be fed.
Sensing her wariness, Lila shifted in her seat and added, "The Immune are heroes. So are you, since you help people by becoming a Companion."
For once, her client made her nervous. Was this a test so Lila could find any spots on her and report this Companion to the people who controlled black choppers?
She remarked her best response, "Not that. Because everyone—"
"Has their own place in society? What good am I now staying at home doing the bare minimum? I can't work because I used to be a manager at a supermarket. When this took us by storm, of course, I was laid off. Only husband can go out and I'm no more than just complementary furniture in this place."
This was exactly what the mental health experts warned her and other Companions about the collective depression tendency that swept across many countries. Depression was a silent killer. It was not the first time she encountered such a bottled-up toxic self-image projected by her clients. She knew this yearning for acceptance could not just be soothed by video calls with a ladies' friend group or merely chats with the Protected therapists.
"I will not say I understand because we're sailing in different predicaments. But your feelings, your thoughts, you, are valid."
Perhaps, it was due to her trying to be empathetic, or her soothing voice, but when confronted with the validity statement, not only did the clients calm down after acknowledging the acceptance, but they also would get to open up more. The reticence flew away like migrating geese.
"May I see your ID?" Lila enquired.
Stephanie produced hers out of her wallet and intended to hold it up for Lila to see. But a second thought flashed by, so she ended up clamping her ID card in the space between her thumbs and index fingers. A gesture that became rare, almost lost, within just over months due to not many people relying on having face-to-face meetings anymore. No more business cards were exchanged, so the respectful gesture—often accompanied by slightly bowing down the head—flew away from human culture.
Lila accepted it reverently. She held it up almost in the same hands' position as Stephanie's, but now it was in her eye level to observe.
"So this is it, I never touched a real card other than his. The prized possession. How do you feel about having it? Empowered?" Stephanie could detect the sting in Lila's words.
Her memory shattered when the soft ringtone of her phone went off.
Mark Zuhair.
Why was he calling her? Did he find any problems?
"Hey, sorry, I was . . . um . . ."
"I don't have any books," he quickly concluded his stuttering.
Books?
"Us the prisoners usually borrowed books from the library, but I, sorry. I think it's ridiculous, I shouldn't have called you."
Stephanie felt warmth spreading through her chest. She had plenty, it wasn't a problem at all if she wanted to lend some to Mark.
"I'll bring you some tomorrow."
Mark hmm-ed, but then he continued asking, "May I still talk to you? Or you talk to me?"
Stephanie chuckled, "Sure. I'm free. I'm on my way home actually."
"Where do you live?"
Stephanie mentioned the tower's name. Suddenly, she had an idea. "May I share with you my experience with my client earlier this week?"