Beneath the Surface

Chapter 11

The next morning, Lillian sat on the edge of the bed as she put on her shoes, "I have this bad feeling about going to the morgue today."

Jefferson would walk over to her on the bed, "It's okay, we are doing this together, alright? It's just a formality."

"I know, but what if-"

"Don't borrow trouble before it's due, it won't be her." he'd give a reassuring smile, after he cut her off.

She agreed, though the knot in her stomach only tightened.

Meanwhile, in Eric's room, Charlotte sat on the bed, easing her anxious nerves by fiddling with a the edge of the blanket. Eric watched her from his desk chair, concerned on how to proceed.

"Charlotte," he began, wondering if he should even ask, "what happened?"

She met his gaze, but then would shake her head, "I ran away from my foster home." She'd fiddle with the blanket even more, "It was bad there Eric. Really bad."

"Jesus, Charlotte..." Eric uttered, his own history of pain and loss resonating with her words.

"And I have nowhere else to go," she added, shaking her head.

"Look," Eric leaned forward, trying to figure something out, "my parents are heading out for a work trip. Two weeks."

"Two weeks?" she'd tilt her head, gaining hope.

"Yeah. You can stay here, we'll figure something out by then."

"Are you sure? Won't they notice before they leave?"

"Trust me, with all the prep for their big project they've got enough on their plate to be worrying about me, just lay low," Eric explained, thinking about how his dad had enough stress managing the aftermath of the camp incident.

"Thank you, Eric."

"Of course, we are in this together," he would nod.

Despite everything that had happened in the last couple years of her life, Charlotte was finally gaining a sense of hope and security.

The scent of antiseptic was strong as Lillian and Jefferson paced the hallway of the morgue, waiting for the mortician to get things ready.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Jefferson asked, keeping his voice low.

Lillian swallowed, staring at the doors into the morgue, "I have to be," she replied, keeping her voice low as well, "for Victoria."

As they reached the door, the mortician, a man who himself looked dead inside, greeted them with a respectful nod. He led them into the cold room where a sheet covered a body, "Take your time," the mortician said, pulling back the sheet.

Lillian braced herself, expecting the wave of grief to crash over her, but then her eyes met the unfamiliar features of the deceased, "That's not her... It's not Victoria," she exhaled, tearing up from relief.

Jefferson closed his eyes, to bask in relief on the inside, with the tension in his shoulders easing, "Thank God."

They shared a look, a silent agreement that their search wasn't over, but for now, they were spared from one potential heartbreak.

Across town, Regina and Benjamin sat in the living room, discussing how to help Jordan turn his life around.

"Rehab might be the best option," Benjamin started, "He can't continue down this path."

Regina sighed, setting the college brochures for him aside, "It's not just about going sober Ben. Jordan needs to address the underlying issues. Therapy could help him understand why he's spiraling."