Grave Matters || Savannah & Camille
TIMING: Recent PARTIES: @savannah-lim and @carrionxcamille SUMMARY: Savannah talks to Camille about their findings at her grave site, and makes a promise she might come to regret.
The grave had been empty, and while she’d been desperate to know, now that she had the answer, Savannah didn’t know what the answer meant. Regan had saved her the task of explaining it to Camille, but that didn’t mean the discussion was over. Savannah didn’t know what Camille’s drink of choice was, or even if Camille drank, but she’d opened a bottle of wine just in case. She’d be here any minute, so Savannah poured herself a glass, curled up on the couch with the cat, and waited. It was about ten minutes before the doorbell went off and Savannah rose to answer. “Hi Camille. Please, come in.” Her awkwardness at most social encounters was definitely not improved by this situation. “Drink?”
Camille was certain that she was who she thought, but when she found out Savannah and Regan were going to dig up her grave a cool dread settled over her, the same as had been there when Regan had tested her DNA. She wasn’t entirely willing to discount the possibility that she was a mad woman with a mistaken identity, because the alternative explanations were even more absurd. It would be easier- and far less depressing- to be wrong. But she wasn’t, and confirmation that her remains had been dug up and dragged all the way to White Crest made her feel violated all over again, like even though she was using it her body no longer belonged to her.
Frankly she had no idea what they were supposed to do now, but Savannah seemed eager to keep the ball rolling so Camille went over after work. The house was much cosier than Regan’s had been, Cam even managed a wobbly smile as she walked in. “Hi. Yes, a drink would be great.” She nodded at the glass in Savannah’s hand while she shrugged off her jacket, “whatever you’re drinking. I’m not fussy with wine.” Well, she had been, but it seemed silly these days. She sat down and petted the cat, saying a quiet thankyou when Savannah returned with a glass for her. “So... No body.” Camille took a sip of her drink and pressed her thumb over the pulse point in her wrist, soothed by the steady beat. “Well, not in the grave anyway.” “That answers one question but also brings up a hell of a lot more.”
Savannah wasn't the best with emotions. Most awkwardness went over her head because to her, it was just normal. This time though, it was impossible not to feel the palpable tension in the air. Savannah wasn't sure if she was more or less upset than she'd been before, but she knew this was an impossible situation regardless of what they'd found. "What's your poison?" she asked, quickly regretting her words. "Um, I mean, what's your preferred drink?"
She could at least be somewhat relieved Camille seemed to be getting along well with Dexter. She'd heard that petting animals was good for calming nerves. Since Camille wasn't picky about her drink, she got them each a Jack Daniels and Diet Coke, returning to the living room to hand it to her. "No, no body. So..." she shrugged, exhaling heavily. "The DNA matched. You have your memories. You're not in the grave. So, it doesn't rule out that you're the same Camille, though Regan is still not fully convinced, I don't think."
Every time she tried to talk about this Camille was thoroughly exhausted by it, whether or not she came to any kind of useful conclusions. Perhaps it was the emotional strain. Discussing your own murder was… Odd, and made her feel a bit like this was all some strange dream flashing before her eyes before her life truly ended. “I knew who I was before I knew I was meant to be dead.” Cam shares, fishing for any information that might say something. She didn’t have a scientific mind by any stretch, and most theories she’d batted around for herself were rooted in foolish fairy tales. Things that made her feel more like a hard done by princess than some experiment gone awry.
She sips her drink and sighs, nervously twisting a strand of hair around her fingers. “When I woke up I was confused, but my last memories were of the moments before I… Before Jace…” Camille waved a hand in the air, “you know. I found out what the date was and I thought I must have been drugged and kidnapped or something, but when I looked up my name…” She tried to relax back into the chair, frowning. “I’ve been wracking my brain but I can’t come up with any plausible theories. Regan thought I’d stolen her identity at first. Maybe it’s because I’m not a scientist or a cop, but my DNA matches! I’m not in the grave. Isn’t that enough?”
Savannah had put it conservatively. She was sure Regan still doubted Camille. She was desperate for another explanation, some sort of mistaken identity. Savannah was convinced otherwise. They were like two sides of the same coin. Perhaps it was good she and Camille were alone. “You might be dead, but… that doesn’t mean you’re meant to be dead,” she answered. “I’m sorry. This must be very difficult.” She hated talking like this. She felt like she sounded stilted, like she was talking to a witness and trying to get them on her side.
“Seeing you and talking to you was enough for me,” she answered. “Regan is just… Regan.” Her heart wrenched in her chest at Camille’s story. She really couldn’t relate to how terrible this must all have been, not only going through it the first time, but waking up, reliving it, not having a life to call your own because someone else had taken it, and someone - or something - you didn’t know had given it back. “Regan said she thinks something you’re struggling with is not having a legal identity. Is that true?”
Camille knew it might sound strange, but she really did hope she had died and been brought back. It was the only explanation that meant she was still sane. Yes, it came with a slew of its own problems and questions, but at least it didn’t paint her as an identity thief or someone whose mind had been so twisted up it had eventually snapped entirely. She didn’t want to think Jace had enough power to render her entirely mad.
Beyond all that Camille just… Knew. She knew who she was, and even though she understood why people like Regan and Savannah would want to go out searching for proof it frustrated her no end that there wasn’t just something she could say or do that would put their doubts to rest. She shot Savannah a glare, “I’m not dead.” Cam reminded her, thumb pressing again into the pulse at her wrist. “I’m supposed to be, technically, but I… Of course it’s difficult. I have no idea what the fuck happened, or why, but I’m glad I’m here.” Regardless of the roadblocks and the inconveniences of her new life, Camille couldn’t help but be grateful for it. Not exactly the way she’d planned to get a fresh start but at least it was one.
She sipped her drink, not sure how to feel about the idea that Savannah and Regan are discussing her when she isn’t present. It’s not that surprising in a sense, of course they dug up her grave so they’d discuss theories about what could have happened, but talking about her personal struggles was… Well, Camille certainly hadn’t been expecting Regan to consider them. “I can’t open a bank account, or visit a doctor if I get sick, or get a proper job. I spent years studying for qualifications I can no longer use. Anything that requires an ID or a formal education beyond highschool qualifications which I can get away with lying about as my age is out of my reach. I wouldn’t be able to put my real name to any of that stuff either. It certainly isn’t helpful in my efforts to feel like a real living person.” She laughs, “I thought about asking Regan if she knew anyone who could make me a fake identity, but then I remembered she’d promised to call the police if the DNA test proved I was a criminal.”
Savannah pursed her lips tightly, a brief moment of stiffness. She had been taught to be so deliberate, so matter-of-fact, to use her emotions to empathise with whoever she was interviewing but not to let them rule her. She couldn't help but feel them, though. Empathy and sadness made their way through her chest and wrangled at her heart, making it ache in her chest. "No, you're not dead," Savannah agreed. "You were dead. Still are, legally. But you're here. Standing in front of me."
And therein lay the problem, as Camille was all too well aware. She swallowed, nodding. "No, don't ask Regan about that," she said, sighing. Just because Regan had dug up a grave with her, that didn't mean Regan would be open to so defiantly breaking the law. She paced a little, debating to herself whether there was a way she could pull this off legally. There was the witness protection program, but Camille wasn't a witness to anything other than her husband's crimes, and he was already in prison.
"I can't believe I'm going to say this," she sighed, running her fingers through her hair, pushing its heavy curls away from her face. "What if I can figure out a way to get you those things?"
Camille had not been religious for a great many years. Her parents had often had heated debates about their differing beliefs- though she would admit to admiring that they never let it get in the way of their love- and her mothers’ belief in reincarnation had been a sticking point more than once. It was one of the possibilities she considered but quickly dismissed- as far as she knew though you might remember a past life, you were not supposed to inhabit that life a second time. But this was her life, her body. She was certain of it.
Savannah’s offer made a dangerous hope and excitement bloom in her chest- a chance for a real identity again. Camille had never expected she’d be without it to worry about it, but now it hung over her head every day. She kept telling herself to find a solution, but she didn’t have the first clue how to even start. It wasn’t exactly something you could google.
It would never be easy to rebuild her life, but having the legal means to do things properly would be a hell of an advantage. “I’m sure this is when I’m supposed to tell you not to risk your career like that.” Camille sighed and sipped her drink, “and you really shouldn’t. But if you did, I’d be seriously grateful. Seriously. I don’t know what I could offer you in exchange but if you have something in mind go ahead and name it, I’ll find a way to pay you back.”
A knot tightened in Savannah's stomach, an unpleasant tension in her chest, as if some invisible creature had its fist around her lungs. She knew that look in Camille's eyes. That was hope. She'd put that there, and she should be happy about that, but she was deathly afraid of taking it away again.
Camille was right. She shouldn't be doing this. This wasn't her job. None of it was. Camille coming back to life was strange, but it wasn't a crime. It wasn't something the FBI needed to know about. But she wasn't doing this for the FBI any more. Deep down, Savannah knew that. "I'll do everything I can," she said, her words as good as a promise.
