The Things We Bury - Part 1: In Anticipation of the End of the World [Completed]

Chapter 7: The Ring of Fire (Part 5 of 8)

The moon barely escaped the rooftops.  It hovered just over one red tiled peak looking more like a security light than a celestial body.  It watched over the sleepy bedroom streets spreading its cold rays across the dark windows.

The only noise that could be heard was the hum from the hot tub next door.  Jamie zipped up his sweater, hoping to insulate himself from the rapidly cooling air.  The cold leached into his body, even though the temperature would have seemed balmy back in Oakland.  After the swelter of the day, the night felt autumnal.  A  yawn escaped him, and despite being alone, he shielded his mouth with the back of his hand.

Jamie had never been much of a drinker and the wine was making him drowsy.  That night, one glass had turned into two, then three.  With each one, it went down a little easier and a little faster, until he had finished a whole bottle by himself.  Even before he had emptied the last of it, he could feel the pull of his bed.  But he forced himself to stay up and watch the moon.  It would provide no atonement but he felt the need to do this small amount of penance.

At that very moment, Amy was going through hell.  She was being ripped apart and taken over by the beast, while Jamie's co-workers looked on and gawked.  It crushed him that there was nothing he could do to help her.  There was nothing he could do to stop her misery from being a source of scientific fascination.  His powerlessness made him feel thin like a ghost—an ephemeral being wandering through life, touching nothing.

Jamie's hands were pained from the perceived chill.  He lifted the left one in front of his face and clasped it with his other.  Amy had done this.  At the time he didn't understand her reason.  It appeared to just be some bizarre manifestation of her distress. 

He held them there and examined the shape they made.  Memories of touch drifted up from the netherworld of his mind, summoned by his self-pity and the spell of the Syrah.

He could feel Glen's hand in his as they sat on the train watching the dazzling scenery pass by.  They left the conference in Geneva behind to spend a night in Gruyeres for a break from the dry shoptalk in the hotel bar about pleiotropy and zygotes.  And so Glen wouldn't have to spend another evening trying to hide his infinite boredom.  There was a stern elderly couple in the seats opposite them.  The man's dress shirt looked as though it had been ironed while he was wearing it.  The woman's face could have been made of wax.  Jamie had shyly positioned his jacket over their clasped hands.  Under its warmth, Glen's thumb stroked the webbing beneath Jamie's index finger.

That caress morphed into his mother's fingers on his palm.  They danced lightly over the lines and creases, tracing elaborate patterns.  Jamie lay in bed with his eyes shut.  The world shrunk to contain only the movement on his palm, sleep trying desperately to drag him away from it.

The fingers slipped away and he caught them, only to find his sister's small hands in his.  Bright afternoon sun filled the courtyard.  He spun around with Nadia laughing, giddy with dizziness.  They twirled and twirled until they both collapsed on the ground giggling and gasping.

But all that was the past.  Now his hands were cold and held only each other.

The clump of fingers and knuckles blocked the moon from view.  Amy had been telling him something important with this gesture—something he was too distracted to see at the time.

I miss it too, he thought, pretending to speak to her over the boundaries of time and space.  This simplest form of affection was taken for granted until it was gone.  Touch wasn't just one of the five senses; it was the sense of connection and belonging.

Earlier he had gone into the OC before the shift change and relieved Paulson from monitoring duties.  The man had expressed suspicion through his caustic comment, "Don't go thinking that I owe you anything."  But he was only too eager to leave.