Free The Returned by Seth Patrick

nodded, then thought of something. ‘Jérôme? What if you brought some of your things here? For Camille’s sake?’
    Jérôme raised an eyebrow. ‘What would Pierre think?’ She shook her head, scolding:
There was no need for that.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘You’re right. I’ll see you later. And really, don’t worry about Léna.’
    ‘I’ll try,’ she said. She saw his eyes flick upwards to Camille’s room, but she stopped herself commenting on it. He was still clearly uneasy in Camille’s presence,
but he had to get past his concerns, for all their sakes. She didn’t even think he’d held his daughter since her return; he might not even have touched her. How could Léna accept
Camille, if Jérôme didn’t?
    It would happen, though, Claire knew. She could tell they had no doubts about who Camille was, not really; Jérôme’s wariness and Léna’s denial were symptoms of
their unwillingness to accept the miracle they’d been given, this second chance. Soon, they would see it for what it was: a gift from God.
    She called Pierre and asked him to come round. She hugged him when he arrived but there was a formality to it, a symbol of how their relationship had to be, at least for the
time being. They sat and she told him of the unease in the house, and of Léna going off somewhere.
    ‘I called her several times,’ she said. ‘She won’t pick up.’
    Pierre smiled at her. ‘Doesn’t she often do that? There’s no need to worry about her, or Jérôme. They’ll accept her, Claire. Soon enough. Has Camille said
much? Has she . . .’ He paused, as if he was having trouble finding the right words. ‘Has she any memory of the time between the crash and now?’
    ‘No,’ said Claire. Pierre looked disappointed. ‘She remembers everything before the accident. Her life, all her friends . . .’ Claire looked away, thinking of
Camille’s face when she’d learned that most of those friends were dead. ‘Have you happened to speak with any of the other parents?’
    He nodded. ‘Some. Of course, I’ve not said anything about Camille, but I thought, perhaps . . .’
    ‘That maybe others had come back? So did I.’ She looked at him, expectant.
    He shook his head. ‘It seems not,’ he said.
    A voice came from the stairs, a combative edge to it. ‘Hello, doctor. Still no bag?’ It was Camille, looking at Pierre with suspicion.
    ‘Did you manage to sleep?’ asked Claire.
    ‘No, not for a second.’ She turned to Pierre. ‘What’s your explanation for that?’
    ‘Everything has an explanation,’ he said.
    Camille sighed. ‘Great.’ She went to the front door and grabbed a coat.
    Claire stood, immediately tense. ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘Out. I’m suffocating here.’
    Claire looked to Pierre for support. He stood and went over to Camille. ‘That isn’t a good idea,’ he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
    She brushed the hand away. ‘What do you know? Who are you anyway?’
    ‘Pierre is a good friend,’ said Claire. ‘He’s here to help. You can trust him.’
    Camille didn’t look at all convinced. ‘So tell me,
Pierre
. Am I some kind of zombie?’
    He shook his head slowly, smiling. ‘No, you’re not some kind of zombie.’
    ‘That’s not what Léna thinks,’ said Camille. ‘She said I was an impostor, but she doesn’t think that, not for a second. She knows who I am, and it scares
her.’
    ‘Léna missed you so much,’ said Claire. ‘It’s difficult for her to accept that this is real.’
    ‘So if I’m not a zombie, what am I?’
    Pierre smiled. ‘You’re a miracle.’
    ‘I don’t believe in miracles,’ said Camille, her voice flat.
    ‘It’s the truth,’ said Pierre. ‘I went to your funeral. I saw you in your coffin. And here you are. You’ve been granted a new life, a new existence.’
    ‘But why me? There were forty people on the coach. Why was I saved?’
    Pierre shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘We don’t have all the