Lights Will Guide You Home

Claire

I hurried into the reception to find a woman sitting there, staring blankly at the marble floor. I glanced at Maria who was seated at the reception desk, filling in for Ana while she was away for lunch. Maria nodded in the woman's direction, signalling she was the one who had come to meet me.

The woman didn't notice my presence until I was right in front of her. When she looked up at me, still kind of dazed, I saw what Maria had meant by "shady". She was dressed in a shimmery fitted, full-sleeved bottle green top, skinny black jeans and cheap golden stilettos. Her face was done up in garish make up and her jet black hair was piled up on her head. But what struck me moist about her, and would have in fact drawn anyone's attention, were her eyes. Framed by her heavy mascara, they stood out bright, clear green, further highlighted by the colour of her top. They were remarkably beautiful eyes just as they were, but they would have been simply unforgettable if they had not borne such a vacant look. It wasn't just their beauty however, that struck me. Those eyes were distinctly familiar, but I just couldn't place where I'd seen them before.

She stood up to greet me, clutching her handbag nervously.

"Miss Watson?" she asked apprehensively.

"Mhmm," I smiled at her, ushering her into my office. "Please sit down, "I said, taking a seat across her.

She sat down, glancing around nervously. I waited for her to say something. It took her a few moments before she finally mustered up enough courage.

"Miss Watson...my name is Samantha Peters," she said, her fingers witching nervously as she fingered her bag. She seemed so self-conscious.

"Would you like something to drink, Miss Peters?" I asked, smiling warmly, trying to put her at ease. There was something about her that seemed familiar...I just couldn't place what.

She shook her head vigorously, reminding me of a schoolgirl. "No no, thank you," she mumbled, her eyes on her handbag.

"How can I help you, Miss Peters?" I asked her, patiently.

It took her a while to collect her thoughts. "Miss Watson, I came here because they said...they said he's here...at your orphanage. My son," she looked up at me, making eye contact for the first time during the conversation. "Michael."

I looked into her eyes and then it hit me –Michael. Michael Peters. And he had the exact same clear green eyes.

I was shocked. "Yes...Michael's here," I managed to say.

All of a sudden, her nervousness gave way and she burst into tears. I sat there, not knowing what to do, as I watched the poor woman cry her heart out. I patted her hand awkwardly, waiting for her to finish. My mind was in a whirl – Michael's mother was alive? I stared at the woman crying before me, her cheap mascara mingling with her tears as they streamed down her face.

Her sobs subsided after sometime. She sniffed and mumbled, "I probably look hideous right now." I assured her she didn't and offered her tissues to clean up her makeup smeared face. She pulled out a compact mirror from her bag and dabbed her face clean. Without the makeup she looked so much older – her cheeks hollow, her skin pale and dry. She apologised for crying but I waved it away – it was okay.

"Miss Watson – "she began, once she was settled.

"Call me Claire, please," I said, smiling at her kindly.

Her lips twitched into a half smile and she mumbled, "everyone calls me Sam."

"Sam," I said, hoping this meant we were making progress, "if you're worried about Michael – "