a songstress in the making : camilla st. john

[cajun_songbird]

<center>i want it now, i want you now
give me your heart and your soul
i'm breaking down, i'm breaking out
i just want to lose control

<img src=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v39/rpstuff/music.jpg></center>
----

Tape Transcript
Session 08
January 18th -- 2:37 p.m.


"Session 8, recording started. State your name for the record, please."

"You got Alzheimers or somethin', Doc?" You could hear the grin in her voice.

"Please, Ms. St. John. It's just for the records."

"Jesus, Doc. Get a sense of humor. Camilla Violet St. John, reporting for duty, sir."

A pause from the doctor. "... thank you. Our last visit, we were starting to break through to the trauma relating to your brother and his death. Shall we go from there?"

"I'm payin' you to tell me. But sure, let's go from there."

"Ms. St. John.." A faint warning lacing his tone.

"Dr. Barthlomew," returned easily.

A sigh. "You mentioned that Samuel was involved with some gang related activities, and that's what led up to his death. Care to elaborate more on that?"

"Not really, mainly because I don't know too much. Just recently found out there's a reason some of the guys are here after me and Bren. Somethin' about a chemical called ricin--"

"--Ricin? Ms. St. Jo--"

They were taking turns interrupting each other. "Just call me Cam. The Ms. thing is gettin' on my nerves."

".... fine. Cam. Do you know how dangerous ricin is? You should turn it into the authorities as fast as you're able.."

"Listen Doc Bart..." Annoyed noise from across the room. "I know the shit's dangerous, alright? Hence why three guys burst into Bren's place like they owned the fucker. HENCE why all three guys are now dead. Get me?"

"... I'll pretend like I didn't hear most of that."

"If it makes ya happy, go for it."

".. yes. Anyway. Have you turned it over to the proper authorities?"

"I gave it to somebody better than the authorities. Don't sweat it, just move on to the next topic. I've got forty minutes left, and this shit ain't cheap."

"Please refrain from foul langua--"

"As much as I'm payin' you, I should be able to climb the rafters and sing a Fuck You song at the top of my lungs while topless. We gonna move on, or do I hafta leave?"

"Fine. You mentioned the gentlemen being dead, but yet you seem to not feel any remorse or regret towards their... demise."

"Didn't know 'em, don't care. Should I?"

"Do you dream, Ms. St. J-- Cam?"

"Sometimes. Why?"

"With your ability to sever yourself emotionally from certain situations, I was beginning to worry you might be sociopathic."

"Sociopathic? Doc, it ain't like I'm out there slaughterin' innocent virgins and kidnappin' kids. What the hell are you insinuatin'?"

"Have you ever been in love, Cam?"

A long pause.

"What kinda fucked up question is that?"

Another sigh, this one exasperated. "It pertains to your emotional state. As you said, you're paying me for this, so let me do my job."

"My, aren't we gettin' testy. No, I have never been in love."

"Why is that?"

"Never had time."

"You don't <u>make time</u> for love, Camilla.."

"Oooh, the extended version of the name. Am I in trouble or somethin' because I haven't spent most of my time fawnin' after some guy that only wants one thing?"

"I'm not your father, so no. You're not in trouble. You seem jaded about love."

"No, if you were my father, you'd be drunk in a corner somewhere. And I don't know about jaded, I'm just basin' this off of the one and only experience I ever had, and love had nothin' to do with it."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"Not really, but this is my dime. I already told you about leavin' home at fifteen and all that. There was this guy Gavin at one of the joints I sang at. Sweet words, gifts, devotion.. came at me with all that, but when I decided that maybe I wanted to be with him, he decides to go out and fuck everythin' in the world because I didn't <u>satisfy</u> him enough. So I seem jaded? Maybe because I am."

"There seems to be a little bitterness as well. Why, do you think, you were unable to satisfy him, as you said, the way he needed?"

"My music came first. Everythin' else was just background noise."

"Music came before love, that's what you're saying?"

"In those exact words. Love comes and goes, music's with you until you lose the ability to hear a tune or duplicate it. Music comes from the soul. It's real, it's true, it's a part of you."

"I think you lied to me, Cam."

"Eh?"

"You've been in love. You're in love right now. With your music. Do you think there'll ever be anyone good enough to move up to the top of the list and put the music second?"

Another long pause.

"... maybe."

"What does 'maybe' mean?"

"It means just that. Maybe."

A pause, this time from the doctor.

"What's his name?"

The sound of leather squeaking could be heard as she shifted position.

".. Oliver McHale."

"What does Mr. McHale do for a livin'?"

"No clue. But he plays the guitar and sings sometimes."

"So he's a fellow music lover then."

"Yep."

"How doe--"

"Time's up, Doc. See ya in about two weeks."

The doctor clicked the tape recorder off and watched the woman walk out of his office. "I don't get paid enough for this shit," muttered before he slumped in his chair, fingers shoving through his hair.

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 19, 2005 01:27 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>don't grow up too fast.
and don't embrace the past.
this life's too good to last
and too young to care.



----</center>

Session 09
( untaped )
January 23rd -- 3:14 p.m.

"This won't be a normal session today, Ms. St. John. All I want for you to do is to take this sheet of paper and fill it out accordingly."

"... I thought I paid you to listen while I rattled on about my feelings or lack thereof."

"Just take the paper -- here's a pen -- and fill the sheet out."

With that, he left her sitting on the opposite side of his desk while he went out to grab a coffee. Picking up the sheet of paper, she eyed it for a moment, before reaching into her pocket and bringing out her glasses.

"... this is bullshit," muttered under her breath. Picking up the pen, the paper was placed to the desk so that she could proceed.

----

List five things that are true about yourself.

List five things that people think about you, that is a lie.

List five negative things about yourself.

List five positive things about yourself.

In five words, describe yourself.

----

List five things that are true about yourself.
- 1. I'm a natural brunette.
- 2. I sing.
- 3. I don't eat meat.
- 4. I think most doctors are full of shit.
- 5. I'm keeping this pen.

List five things that people think about you, that is a lie.
- 1. I'm strong.
- 2. I don't let things get to me.
- 3. I'm easy.
- 4. I give good advice.
- 5. I know what I'm doing.

List five negative things about yourself.
- 1. I can't deny shoes.
- 2. I can't commit.
- 3. I can't tap dance. Damnit.
- 4. I don't take things seriously.
- 5. I let my mouth override my brain.

List five positive things about yourself.
- 1. My fashion sense is unparallel.
- 2. I play the piano, quite well.
- 3. I can drink any guy under a table.
- 4. I try to keep a good attitude, for the most part.
- 5. I look good in this skirt.

In five words, describe yourself.
(1)Tired (2)of (3)taking (4)people's (5)shit.

----

With that, the paper was left on the desk as she gathered up her purse and exited the room. Hopefully, within the next two visits, she could drive the shrink insane. That was her goal, anyway.

[cajun_songbird]

<center>when you cried, i wiped away all of your tears.
when you screamed, i'd fight away all of your fears.
i held your hand through all of these years.
and you still have all of me.



----</center>

Tape Transcript
Session 10
January 24th -- 4:32 p.m.


"Session ten recording started. Ms. St. John, would you care to explain why you barged into my office when we don't have a session scheduled until next week?"

Eyes shifted to the woman sitting across the desk from him, noting the way her fingers were clasped together tightly in her lap.

"I can't do it anymore. I can't take sittin' and waitin' for these people.. it's drivin' me crazy.."

"Slow down, Ms. St. John. Let's start from the beginning. What people are you speaking of?"

"Remember the ricin? Me tellin' you about it? The people that ordered it... they want it, and they're threatenin' to hurt everybody..."

"Everybody as in? Are you grouped into this as well?"

"Everybody! Bren mainly, and yeah, I'm grouped in but that ain't the point.."

"Why isn't it?"

"I can take it, for the most part. I don't want her hurt.."

Without asking, a cigarette was produced and lit, the smoke blown ( thoughtfully ) to the side so as not to waft in full force towards the Doc. Instead of telling her this was a no smoking area, he simply let her go.

"She's a grown woman, just as you ar--"

"You're not understandin', Doc. It don't matter how old she is. How old any of my friends are, if they're gonna be hurt, I take it fuckin' personally.."

"You can't save the world, Camilla."

"Good thing I ain't worried about the world. Just them. Mainly her."

"It sounds like the two of you have a good, strong friendship."

"Somethin' like that.."

"Continue on with what you were saying, please."

"I was out the other night at this place we usually all hang out at.. Got a phone call, tellin' me to 'sleep well' then they hung up. They're fuckin' watchin' and waitin'..."

The tip of the cigarette shook faintly as it was lifted for another draw. Her eyes were having a hard time staying fixated on one thing.

Doctor Bartholomew watched her carefully, lips pressed into a thin line. She was different. Their other sessions, she rarely exhibited any sort of emotion, other than sarcasm, and now she seemed ready to break down. He leaned forward, elbows settling to the top of his desk.

"Your best bet is to either go to the authorities, or-- please don't interrupt. Let me finish speaking." A pause. "Or, go to someone you trust inexplicably and do your best to stay safe. And to keep Ms. McCullogh safe."

A short nod was given to his advice.

"Y-yeah.. I know. I just.." Deep breath taken as the cigarette was tossed into his coffee cup. "It's gettin' hard keepin' it together in front of everybody. They expect me to be in control, but... I can't anymore."

Hands lifted in a gesture of defeat. He nodded briefly before jotting something down into the notebook in front of him. Tearing the piece of paper out, it was handed to her.

"This is my home phone number. If you feel the need to talk, give me a ring at any time."

Nodding again, the paper was tucked into her pocket before she stood and walked out of the door. Clicking the tape recorder off, a neutral gaze was kept on her until she disappeared. Once the door shut, he reached over to grab the phone, a few numbers punched in.

"She's running scared. It's almost time. Just make sure once this is over, my way out of here is clear."

With that, he hung up and settled back in his chair, a smile curving to life.

[cajun_songbird]

<center>you're so cold, keep your hand in mine.
wise men wonder while strong men die.
show me how we end this, alright?
show me how defenseless you really are.
satisfied and empty inside.
that's alright, let's give this another try.



----</center>

It was the first time she'd been back to her apartment in two weeks or better. Pushing open the door, it felt a little surreal to come back to the place. Keys shoved into her pocket, an anxious step was taken inside, eyes shifting from left to right, then back left. The morning sunlight was playing hell with her eyes, but she couldn't help but look at the window. When no bullet crashed through, nerve was strengthened.

Shoulders squaring, the door was kicked shut behind her as a path was cut towards the phone, eyes slanting to the answering machine and it's blinking light. For some reason, she didn't want to know who had called and left a message. Gut instinct was telling her it wasn't a social call.

Deep breath taken, a finger pressed the play back button, and she stared down to the black contraption, as if seeing through it. The sudden sound of her voice saying leave a message made her jump, but what played next made her blood run cold.

"You think runnin' off and tryin' to hide is gonna stop anything, you stupid bitch? All yer doin' is pissin' me off more, and that's just gonna make it worse for you. S'been floatin' around the grapevine that somebody else has my shit. You know what? Either you come up with a way to get it back, or I'll use yer fuckin' body as a wall coverin' in my den. Two weeks. That's all ya got. Two. Fuckin'. Weeks. After that, Mario's gonna come have a chat with ya, just like he did with your two timin' brother. You ain't nothin' but some silly, empty skirt that's gonna end up with a breathin' impairment. Two weeks, chickie. Hell, I might even come down for a personal visit. Keep that in mind."

The line died suddenly and all that could be heard was the tape stopping and rewinding itself. It all faded to a dull roar in her ears, the only thing permeating through was the sound of the man's voice "Just like he did with your two timin' brother..." That repeated over and over again until it felt like she was about to start screaming.

Jarring back to reality with a start, the flat of her palm was used to wipe over her eyes, ridding tears she didn't even know she shed. "Alright, mother fucker," empty words, flat in tone, given to the room, "you wanna play, we'll play."

All she had to do now was bide her time and wait for someone to show up. Someone always showed up, and when they did... it was her turn.

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 29, 2005 03:25 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>i gave my word, i made a promise
and i'm gonna keep it 'til the end
look what i'd do if i lost it
there's nothing better what we have

---

</center>


Tape Transcript
Session 11
January 26th -- 6:14 p.m.


"Recording has begun. Please state your name for the record, please."

"Camilla St. John."

The flat tone of her voice caught him offguard and eyed her over the rim of his glases.

"Alright, Camilla. You called yet another emergency session and judging from the way you sound, things haven't gotten any better. Over the past few weeks, we've made some progress on your emotional state. What's causing this, for lack of a better word, relapse?"

The sound of leather creaking was the only answer for a long moment.

"They're callin' me all the time now. Watchin'. Waitin'... I can't.. It's.. I just can't...."

The sob caught him offguard, yet again, and a handkerchief was extended her way.

"Why don't you go to the police, Camilla. Tell them what's going on, that someone is stalking you-- harassing yo--"

"I can't go to the police with this. What am I gonna tell 'em? 'Scuse me officer, but I have access to a narcotic that can wipe out a city block and oh yeah. The mob's after me. They'll laugh me out of the buildin', if not lock me up and throw away the fuckin' key."

"If your life is in dang--"

"It's not just MY life. How many fuckin' times do I have to say that? Does it look like I give a good goddamn if my life is in danger? Some fruit cake is out there, pretty much endangering my goddamn friends and family..."

The sound of something heavy being hit jolted the doctor.

"Ms. St. John, please refrain from trying to damage my desk. Why is it that you think telling me is going to help?"

Flat silence.

"Ms. St. John, did you hear the question?"

.......

"Yeah, I heard the question. It ain't 'cause I think you can help, I just don't have anyone else to talk to. I try talkin' about it to the others, and they start feelin' sorry for me, or wantin' to protect me..."

"And you don't want anyone to worry about or protect you?"

"No."

"Why not, exactly?"

"Because. I've spent the past eight years fendin' for m'self, and now everybody and their mama wants to hide me away and make sure nothin' bad happens. Fuck that."

"They just don't want to see you hurt. Most people like having someone concerned about their welfare."

"I don't want people to get attatched to me if I might die."

"Do you think you're going to die?"

More flat silence.

"Well? Do you?"

.......

"Yeah, yeah I do expect to die."

It was the doctor's turn to go silent.

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"Not too much."

"Why not? Do you want to die?"

"Fuck no, I don't want to die, but if it happens, it happens. Bein' scared of it does no good."

"That's a pretty morbid outlook."

"Doc. The fuckin' mob is after me. Does it look like I have a choice of bein' happy or sad about bein' offed? It's the mob. As in Mafia."

"But you ca--"

"Look, I'm sorry for wastin' your time. Thanks for listenin'. Bill me."

With that, the sound of a chair being pushed back was heard, and then the door slamming shut as she exited. With a sigh, he leaned forward and pushed the stop button on the tape recorder.

After a moment of silent contemplation, he reached for the phone, punching in the now familiar number. After the third ring, the other line was picked up with something resembling a grunt-- their version of hello.

"She just showed again."

"Yeah?"

"It's almost time. You gave her two weeks, but I think by next week."

"Y'sure?"

"Yes. Remember the deal."

With that, the line was disconnected.

<font color="#ad865d"><font size="1">[ January 26, 2005 11:54 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font></font>

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 29, 2005 03:27 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>i stand alone, feel that you're slinked down inside me
i'm not dying for it
i stand alone, everything that i believe is fading
i stand alone, inside

----

</center>

The moment her phone started ringing, Cam began to shake. Running off of three hours of sleep, dealing with the message she got this morning, and then almost having a mental collapse after leaving the shrink's office, the last she wanted was to answer that fucking phone and have someone else tell her that she was in trouble.

By now, she had figured that part out.

Three rings. Four rings. Five rings. Six rin--

"Hello?"

"Cam, Cam, tell me it ain't real. It's not real, is it? He's dead, he's gone.."

"Bren? What the hell are you sayin'? What's goin' on?"

Panic. Phones were the messengers of evil.

"He called me. He's dead, but he called me and said you were gonna die and I had to let you or bad stuff was gonna happen, and I don't want you to die or me to die or anybody to die..."

"Brenna, what in the fuck are you talkin' about? Sam did not call you. Sam is in Lafayette, in a tomb. They don't get good long distance in those things..."

"He did! Listen.."

Reality shifted as she listened to the recording from Bren's machine. Like being sucked into a downward spiral, and knowing that if you fight it, it'll only make you sink faster.

"Cut it off, that's not him."

Her tone was firm.

"He said it was him. Wha--"

"Bren, don't answer anythin' but your cell phone, and that's only if you recognize the number on the caller ID. Don't answer your house phone, don't check your messages. For that fact, move out of your apartmen-- don't argue with me on this, please?"

It wasn't often that Cam said please, and the single word was borderline begging.

"K," was the only answer she got before Bren disconnected.

Glancing down to the dead phone in her hand, knuckles whitened as her grip tightened. Not only were these bastards threatening people, now they had taken it upon themselves to send death threats to her, via Bren, via a fake Sam. This had gone above cruel and unusual punishment.

"... fine. Fuckin'... fine. They want me dead, let 'em come..."

Speaking to the empty street, jaw clenched as she began moving again, heading back to her apartment.

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 29, 2005 03:33 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center></center>

Dear You,

I don't care about you.

I don't know you.

I don't like you.

If I ever see you, I will probably try to shoot you.

If you want me, come find me.

I think you are a coward.

The thought of you makes me want to vomit.

I hope you rot in hell.

Before you rot in hell, I hope you are tortured.

Preferably with sharp weapons.

Then I hope you live in pain before you die.

Then, after you die, I hope maggots infest your body.

I want you to leave me alone.

I want you to leave my friends alone.

I wish you didn't exist.

I wish you hadn't killed my brother.

I wish my brother would have killed you.

I hope you trip on your shoelaces and shoot yourself in the face.

I hope you get pasta laced with arsenic.

Oh, and I hope to see you soon.

Very soon.

Regards,
Me.

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 29, 2005 03:29 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>



you know you're not a strong (wo)man
and you're just about to cry
hang on it's all right
you worry about the future
the sign said "yoga class for cats"
it's okay

the dynamite is waiting
they bankrupted the sky

you're frustrated by the cracks in the pavement
and every mother's back
once again the carnival closed down
but if this world ever turns around
you'll be there
when everyone is sane you'll be there</center>

( carnival ; our lady peace )

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 29, 2005 03:34 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center></center>

I've been a bad, bad girl. I've been careless with a delicate man. And it's sad, sad world. When a girl will break a boy just because she can.

Things just keep getting hazy. Distorted. Shifted. I open my eyes, blink through the morning sun, and the first thing that pops into my head ... `` here we go again. `` Shouldn't there be thanks for a new day? Happiness that I actually had the opportunity to wake up again? More and more, it's just that same thing. Here we go again. Another day, more phone calls, more stress. Is this the sort of thing suicidal people think before blowing their brains out? I never really understood how that was an answer to anything. If you believe in Heaven or Hell, you know self inflicted death is just going to complicate things that much more.

Don't you tell me to deny it. I've done wrong and I wanna suffer for my sins. I've come to you 'cause I need guidance to be true. And I just don't know where I can begin.

What was important in life-- that was a simple question not so long ago. What was important.. was what I wanted to be important. There was just me, a book of sheet music, and a piano. That's what was important. The music. The words. The chords. The way you feel when you walk up onto a stage in front of a crowd, knowing that they're there.. simply to hear you. A two hour set made an impact that lingered, even after the notes and cigarette smoke faded. Flesh and ivory, mixing into one so that the music flowed effortlessly, like the bourbon being consumed at table four. The spot light was like the beacon to Heaven. The light at the end of the tunnel. Go towards it, stay in it's glow, and you'll never die. Never fade. Infamy by design. Here we go again.

What I need is a good defense 'cause I'm feeling like a criminal. And I need to be redeemed to the one I've sinned against. Because he's all I ever knew of love. Heaven help me for the way I am. Save me from the evil deeds before I get them done. I know tomorrow brings the consequence at hand. But I keep living this day like the next day will never come.

Sometimes I can still hear his voice. Guiding me along, cheering for me even when there wasn't anything worth cheering for. Gangly limbs and unformed features, a voice that warbled like a baby sparrow. `` Don't ever think ya ain't good enough. Yer as good as ya think ya are. `` Words to live by. Words that were lived by. Tucked away in the secret compartment of my heart, to bring out when things looked bleak. Desolate. Here we go again. Not that it ever mattered. Cold hearted, frigid, unfeeling, uncaring, emotionless; the names didn't bother me. The opinions didn't bother me. Money was exchanged for entertainment, and I was lucky enough to be able to perform by singing. Not by spreading my legs or any other sort of degrading act.

Help me but don't tell me to deny it. I gotta cleanse myself of all these thoughts til I'm good enough for him. I got a lot to lose and I'm betting hard so I'm begging you. Before it ends just tell me where to begin. What I need is a good defense 'cause I'm feeling like a criminal. And I need to be redeemed to the one I've sinned against. Because he's all I ever knew of love.

I never really understood love. The other girls would disappear, one by one, to the altar. Turning up two years later with two kids, a house, and an emptiness inside that spread like an abyss. They were nobody. Just a part of an equation that didn't really matter. They did it for love. They asked me why wasn't I settled down with a nice man. Having kids. Here we go again. The same old questions, that had the same old answers. `` That's not what I have planned for my life. `` Love never was that important. I had music. Music had me, completely. Thoroughly. It didn't matter if I was famous, because ... I was. Regardless if it was true or not. I just hope that if the opportunity for real love comes along, I'm not too caught up in something else, or just simply too stupid to grab for it. Things can't stay the same forever, right?

Right.

Let me know the way before there's hell to pay. Give me room to lay the law and let me go. I gotta make play to make my lover stay. So what would an angel say? The devil wants to know.

( criminal ; fiona apple )

[cajun_songbird]

<center>you and me, we used to be together
every day together, always
i really feel that i'm losing my best friend
i can't believe this could the end

it looks as though you're letting go
and if it's real then i don't want to know

don't speak

----


</center>

He made hiding under the kitchen table a game. Camilla always thought that Sam was right, no matter what, so it was done without questioning. "C'mon Cammy, we hide up under here 'til they get done, then I'll take ya down to the creek. Sound like fun?" Wide blue-violets blinked up to her brother, a cheerful smile forming. The cursing and fighting in the background didn't matter. Never did when Sam was there to protect her. "Yup. Reckon there'll be a gator there?" Grinning, he reached over to ruffle her dark hair. "Ya know if ya see a gator, yer gonna pee on yerself." A rather indignant huff followed that. "Nah-uh. I'm brave Sammy, jus'like you." He could help but chuckle at her, even through the wince of Harris yelling at Analee. "Yer gonna be stronger than me, Cam. Jus'remember ain't nobody can hold ya down."

- - - -

All the times you said I was strong, I couldn't help but think.
What would happen if you weren't there to guide me?
And all the times you said I was worth everything, I couldn't help but wonder.
When are you going to cut loose from your past and be free?

Like a butterfly in a jar, your wings were clipped too soon.
The tears shed for you could fill a living sea.
Nobody can say that your life was in vain, even though they try.
Because of you, I've never been afraid to change into what I'm supposed to be.

Love is such a strange emotion, it can be turned into so many things.
True devotion was something that came so quickly to the ones you trusted completely.
Now that you're gone, we've found the will to move on with our lives.
A prelude in the chord of sadness, for you, this is your symphony.

( original work )

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 30, 2005 06:23 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>