Unlike Noah, she looks sad. There is an instant quality to her face that makes me feel inexplicably sad. She has a slender face and her bangs are nearly covering up one of her eyes. It’s the eyes, I then realize—they look so sad.
“This girl here is surprisingly a Mirror,” Katharine says as she thumbs through the info on the file. “We rarely ever see those here.”
“I hear they’re a pretty rare outcome of the virus.”
“Cherie Derry,” Katharine says as she continues to read.
“Cherry Dairy…?” I ask, almost forcing myself to stifle a bit of laughter.
Katharine holds up the paper, over the top the real name has been crossed out and ‘Cherie Derry’ has been written over it. “It seems to be the only name she responds to… she won’t respond to her birth name.”
“What is her real name?”
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Katharine says as she continues, “Someone crossed it out. I remember seeing her evaluation video. She is a twenty six year old, female; obsessed with Paris… she constantly thinks she is in Paris or going to Paris. She used to be an artist… not a very successful one. No living family.”
“Has she ever been to Paris?”
“Nope, she has a half finished painting of the Eiffel Tower in her apartment. So with her memory issues perhaps she thinks that she has been, or is going… anyway, she should be a pretty easy case as well. You’re familiar with a Mirror’s mannerisms, sometimes they will mimic you or repeat what you say, other times they will talk to just like any normal person would, but for the most part she is a very capable Unstable. She’s prone to sitting though for hours just staring out windows. When I first saw the video I thought she was a veg… sorry I mean a…”
“Catatonic…?”
“Yeah,” Katharine says as she shakes her head. “You get around a lot of people who like to use some of the more derogatory terms for these cases. Anyway, comes with the territory… Cherie will be your Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday schedule. She’ll do all her own cooking, just make sure she gets her groceries and try and get her out—you can even take her with you to visit Noah, some interaction might be nice as opposed to staring at the wall… it’s your call though.”
“Got it…” I say as I take the second file and begin to get up, and then realize I have a day unaccounted for. “Who takes care of them on Sundays?”
“That’s when the Calm levels in their blood are at their highest so they pretty much go into kind of like a cross between a coma and hibernation-like state. It helps keep them from going Aggro. Plus, you know… it gives us all a day off.”
“Alright,” I say as I get up, eager to get to work.
“One more thing,” Katharine says as she stops me. “Are you interested in the C-Shapes dating service?”
“What’s that?” I ask, just like the whole Sunday hibernation thing, it was not something covered during training. I know that it is considered very important for the normal people left to have children just in case we never find a cure for the Unstables in order to keep our population up. Also with the threat of large groups going Aggro again someday, who knows how many people will die before this all eventually ends.
“We set you up on dates with people around your age who are also Sitters… you get a profile sent to your phone and a meeting location. If you agree, you go and see how things work out.”
“Sure,” I say shortly. I never gave dating much thought with all the shit going on in the world, but it would be great to have a conversation over a nice dinner or something. “Let’s do that.”
“Got you in,” Katharine says as I walk out the door. “Good luck out there.”
“Thanks.”
I make the drive out of Chicago. It has been a while since I’ve driven so far away from the main part of the city. I can still remember the days when I came here to visit before the virus hit and the traffic was so unmanageable. Now it is just like driving anywhere these days. Not much traffic anywhere. I guess that is what happens when you take half the population off the roads. After a while, I end up in my old neighborhood. A few of the houses I remember have been burned down, leaving behind a crumbled, broken wreckage that through age and neglect look like abstract twisted sculptures. I spot my old house as I round a corner. Nature has reclaimed it. Large vines grow over the house covering the majority of the front. A few crafty vines have managed their way into the windows, slowing breaking through them over time. The grass is high and dragonflies fill the yard fleeting back and forth in their rhythmic dances.
I park my car outside one of the few houses that still look like they’ve been taken care of. A large lemon yellow two-story house with white shutters stands before me, just as I remember it. A set of playground equipment and a matching yellow tree house is visible in the backyard. It brings back a flood of memories, swinging on warm summer days. Chasing fireflies and catching them in jars at night. I remember being older, going on drives and trying to meet girls with my friend—just hanging out and talking. Being here really hits me in a way I did not expect. Why him, and not me? He was talented, he had something to offer—I’ve never been anything but a habitual fuckup. The realization does not give me much comfort that there is some greater meaning to life.
I ring the bell, after a few moments an older woman in a wheelchair answers.
“Mrs. Williams?”
“Are you the new Sitter?” She asks and then pauses. “Ethan Chase, is that you? You’ve grown up.”
“Time seems to have a way of doing that to people,” I say, more amused with myself than she is. “You look exactly the same.”
“Oh bullshit,” Mrs. Williams says as she gestures for me to enter into the house. “Don’t kid an old lady, I own a mirror.”
“How is he doing?”
“He has his good days,” she says pointing down the basement stairs. “He stays down there most of the time, we had a kitchen installed and it’s fully furnished. They say it was for my safety but I’m in this wheelchair… if he goes Aggro someday I’m dead anyway.”
“Well hopefully they’ll find a cure soon.”
“Cure,” she chortles which abruptly turns into painful sounding coughs. “You don’t buy into that cure bullshit do you?”
“Are you the same Mrs. Williams that used to scold us for saying fuck when we’d get angry at a video game?”
“Don’t say fuck, it’s not polite.”
“Got it,” I reply with a laugh. “I’ll just head down.”
“You’re the Sitter, you do what it is you people do,” Mrs. Williams says as I descend the staircase.
As I make my way through the basement hallway I can hear the faint sound of someone talking. I follow it and find Noah Williams sitting in a chair facing a blank television screen. I knock softly on the edge of the doorway to announce my presence.
“What’s that?” He says as he turns and gives me a slightly angry look as his face is squished into a contorted grimace. “You my new Sitter then?”
“Yeah, I’m…” I stammer. It has been so long. I half expected him to remember me somehow, even though I know how stupid that notion was. “I’m Ethan… Ethan Chase.”
“You’re late.”
“Sorry,” I reply, attempting to get back on his good side. “I had to meet with the caseworker and she held me up a bit. I will be here on time from now on. I promise.”
“The news says it is going to rain. Is it raining now?”
“It’s a sunny summer day,” I reply—unsure of how to reply.
“They’re always lying to me, this thing,” Noah says as he gets up and gives the old flat-screen TV a smack with the back of his hand.
“You know it’s not on right?” I say, slightly apprehensive of how he might take this. They always said in training to never argue with an Unstable, but it is hard for me because I know him… or at least I knew him.