They were talking about her. Every pair of eyes was fixated on her dishabille state. Every whisper and suppressed smirks were targeted towards her. Every sigh of pity was directed towards her. In the centre of this scene was Cece, fallen on the floor like a discarded rag, trying to hide her tears.
She wouldn't cry. She told herself many times, she wouldn't cry in public. Her resolve and conviction held the wall for long enough; even though the hurt and humiliation were spreading through every pore of her skin like fire, she didn't let the tear slowly accumulate in her eyes. She shut her eyes tight, allowing herself a momentary respite from the insult.
There was a mild exclamation tearing through the murmurs of the crowd. It sounded like a young woman who said, or maybe thought aloud, "Isn't she the writer's daughter? She killed both her parents, remember?"
The crowd suddenly started chattering excitedly. There was a thrill to dig out dirt from another's life. The people around her had started relishing that thrill.
"I remember that story. She shot them," said someone.
"She looks harmless though," said a male voice.
"That's probably her get-out-of-jail card. How shameless can a girl be?" a woman asked others.
"I mean seriously, look at her face. She is so pale." said an elderly woman.
"Do you think she's okay?"
"What the hell was she thinking, leaving the house wearing that?"
"I don't know, she looks sus!"
"Or maybe she was just a victim?" someone else said. That thin sound was immediately drowned by another drone of mixed reactions and theories. The drone around her continued to rise like a tidal wave, gradually advancing towards her in order to take her down with it.
And of course, there was a massive drop in temperature. She was sweating profusely, which made her dress flimsier, but she could feel how chilled the interior of the building was. Goosebumps covered her skin. Cece felt darkness hitting her senses.
The heat came unexpectedly. There was a gentle touch followed by heat, mild like one of the sweaters knitted by her mother. She could feel her body being lifted in the air. Strong arms held her close to a warm body. She opened her eyes with apprehension. Someone had lifted her body and started walking. For an instant, she thought of Oliver.
What would he say if he had seen her like this? Would he lift her like this? Would he hide her from the rest of the world? Would he—
This was not Oliver.
"Stop fidgeting," Gavin hissed as he stepped inside the elevator. He commanded someone to take them to the penthouse.
Keeping her eyes closed Cece started to count. One, two, three, four… she continued counting for some time until new thoughts invaded her senses. Gavin was so close to her that she could feel his heart beating. His heart was beating erratically like he was battling something within himself.
Cece would flatter herself with the beautiful thought that Gavin was not enjoying this a bit more than she herself was, but as she tried to recollect everything in her head she noted how stupid it was.
With a metallic ding the elevator stopped. It made Cece feel lightheaded. She was not very certain whether she wanted to know what was in the penthouse waiting for her. It was too late, she knew well enough that now she could not go back.
All this, for writing something based on a real story. A ghost of a smile touched her lips briefly, before Gavin could notice it and make another snide comment it faded away.
Gavin carefully put her down on a couch and left her alone. He walked inside a room and shut the door behind him. Cece leaned her head back keeping her eyes closed. She didn't want to open them or see what was around her.l
But it was just wishful thinking. At some point, she did open her eyes to find herself half-laid on a couch, in a room that screamed money. There was no special feature— no expensive and exotic furniture and carpets, no oil paintings or such objects adorning the walls, no jaw-dropping chandeliers hanging from the roof.
Yet, it was one of the most auspicious rooms she had ever seen.
There were designs made of geometric shapes painted on the walls like a unique pattern. The room was filled with gadgets. As she stepped down the couch, a small white circle hit her feet gently like a cub. She almost screamed and then found the robotic vacuum cleaner nudging to her feet like a puppy.
There were two-three rectangular patches on the walls around her, the digital screens displaying numbers on them. One side of the wall was covered with another rectangular digital screen that displayed more numbers–quite similar to the reports from the stock markets– without any sound. The furniture, even though they played a very minimalistic look, Cece recognised the specimens of the world-renowned brands.
She tiptoed into the room, rubbing her hands to her sides to wipe away the insult and traces of dirt. The room didn't seem too cold. She looked at the walls closely to find the air conditioners and failed. She found a window, a floor-to-ceiling one. She took hesitant steps towards the window and stared at the cityscape outside.
"Looks like you've recovered pretty fast!"
Cece wanted to say something harsh. Her muscles didn't move according to her wish. She had been through much worse. When she stepped out of the police van three years back, that was something she'd never recover from. Today was bad, terrible, and even though she could still feel the tremors in her chest, she would recover from this.
"Come on in, let us meet Ruby." Gavin extended his right hand.
"Gavin, I— " Cece mumbled. She didn't dare to complete her sentence. After all this, she could not just say that she was not ready. Gavin ignored her words anyway. He took a deep breath and walked to the opposite side of the room, where a door was almost hidden to their eyes. This door, made of dark glass, was protected by another set of digital locks. He punched in a password of six characters.
"Don't scream or shout or make any dramatic reaction. She cannot stand loud noises."
There was a click indicating the door was unlocked now. Gavin slid the door and gestured Cece to walk in. She wrapped the jacket around herself tightly and stepped inside the room. In a second, she felt as though she had entered a completely different world.
In the mild light, the first thing she spotted was the plants. Countless indoor plants were placed strategically in the spacious room to create a lavish indoor garden, which makes the room look more like a greenhouse. She could see the entire city because of the wall which was made of glass. There was very little furniture–two tables, a desk, two chairs, and in a distance a queen size bed where Cece assumed Ruby was lying.
"Is she asleep?" she asked, whispering.
Gavin nodded. He ushered Cece closer to the bed. She could see the outline of a female body, very thin and frail, lying still on the bed. Her long hair was undone, falling from the bed towards the floor. She might have come a little too close to the edge in her sleep. Gavin walked closer and adjusted her in the centre of the bed, tucking her under a blanket. He tucked her hair carefully and looked at Cece.
"Maybe we should come when she is not sleeping?"
"Nowadays she sleeps most of the time. It doesn't matter when we come, you will probably not get to talk to her ever," he said in a quiet voice. If mourning could be put into words, it would sound like Gavin now. "You have to come closer," he said, without looking at Cece.
"What is wrong with her?" she asked and bit her tongue. She could have asked it in a more sensible way, couldn't she? It was not Ruby's fault that Cece was going through hell. She felt guilty. She was going to disturb this frail, evidently sick woman for no good reason.
"She is fading away. At first, we thought it was some disease. Every day she showed signs of weakness. We went to the doctors, tests were conducted, and at last, when we realised what was wrong with her, it was too late. She was being wiped away from the face of earth. Do you want to know why?"
Cece frowned. She didn't want to know the answers, she thought. Yet, she asked, "What do you mean fading away?" her eyes stopped at the bed where Ruby's legs should be. There was nothing under the blanket. The surface was flat, unbothered by any presence that could create wrinkles. Her eyes moved north. Ruby's body seemed too tiny to her in comparison to the body of a grown woman.
"How old is she?"
Gavin had stopped talking. He was watching Cece intently, observing every move she made. She felt uncomfortable. Something was not right. Something was very wrong.
She followed the instruction silently and peered through the dim light of the room. As she started to catch the outline of her face, she gasped loudly.
"What the hell?"
On the bed, under the wraps of the blanket, was lying a woman of her age. She had a small heart-shaped face, pale skin, small nose, and chin. Her eyes were obviously closed, but Cece could tell they were dark brown. Just like hers.
On the bed was lying a woman who had her face. Her features, each one of them, with every perfection and imperfection, with all the blemishes and lines, with all the beauty and innocence, and with all the worries and anxiety–Cece stared at the face that was hers.