03. weird, world.
When she took the keys from the man at the rental service, she tried to smile naturally. Just a young woman on holiday. Nothing to attract attention or stir alarm. Hardly memorable in a long line of tourists and businessmen. She kept her pace relaxed as she wound through the press of bodies and found the car-a basic four-door sedan-in the parking lot. Checked her mirrors. Adjusted her seat. Took a second to admire how capable she was on auto-pilot, how composed she could be under an avalanche of terror and panic.
It wouldn’t last. Couldn’t. The façade was going to break, and probably soon. The full enormity would sweep over her eventually, the strain on her gift would make her buckle and fall, and she’d collapse into a useless tangle of limbs and tears.
But not yet. Not until she reached her destination, the first stop on this unfamiliar road.
She knew she couldn’t carry this burden alone.
The clock had just blinked to 5:04 when Charlie’s phone began to vibrate. It skittered across the table, bumping into the emptied bottle of Jack Daniels with a loud ping. She swept it up with a sigh, knowing who was on the other end before she even hit the ‘accept call’ button.
“Hello, Benji.”
“Why haven’t you called?” he demanded without preamble.
“You said six-”
“I’m not talking about the Skype date, Charlotte! I know something’s wrong! I’ve felt it all day.”
“…Of course you have. Robbie had a vision this morning. …Of his dad being murdered.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. He’s been trying to process it all day. Called Tilda around noon-it was a short conversation. Obviously awkward on both sides.” She paused to chew the edge of her lip. “Ben, I don’t know what to do.”
“…Just be there for him, I guess. I mean, what else can you do?”
“Fly overseas, track down the murderers, and whoop their asses?”
“Yeah, no. That’s a definite no.”
“I’m not a total idiot, Benjamin.”
“Do you want us to come out there? Liv’s got a ton of sick days-”
“No. Well, not unless Rob wants you to.”
“Is he not there?”
“Not at the mo. Just went down the street to the liquor store.”
“Charlie, booze is not the answer to all of life’s problems.”
“It is when you’re at a complete and utter loss and thinking hurts too much. And don’t play Mother Hen and tell me to keep an eye on him, because that’s exactly what I’m fucking doing. Since it seems to be the one thing I can do. I’ll make sure he doesn’t over do it or pass out or hurt himself. Give me a little credit.”
Charlie huffed out a breath that crackled through the receiver before dropping heavily onto the couch. The springs squeaked shrilly from the abuse. She stared up at the popcorn ceiling, fighting the dull ache that was building at her temples. “Benji, tell me how to fix this.”
She heard him sigh, then the rustling of movement. Could see him sitting in the red chair Olivia had found at a thrift store, wearing faded jeans and an old Beatles t-shirt. There was a faint clatter in the distance, a childish giggle, and she knew Scout and Amari were playing in the next room, a single door between them and her brother. The urge to be there was sudden, sharp, and visceral-Charlie wanted to scoop them up and hug them fiercely; wanted to hear Scout’s questions, solemnly phrased in language far beyond what a typical three-year-old would manage, and see Robbie sitting with Amari, the two deep in a silent conversation that was carried on with glances. She wanted her family, all of it, together again. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea, having them come here-or even going to them-if it would help ground Robbie and get his head straight again.
“We can be there in a matter of hours,” Ben said, as if reading her mind. And he probably was, the bastard. “Or in the morning. But… I’m sorry, Sis. I don’t have any answers for you. I can’t give you a plan of action to follow. I know how it rubs at you, having to sit still without any definite target to aim for. But just being there, ready to listen and talk and support-that’s what Rob needs right now. It might not seem like a lot, but it is.”
“Why isn’t there a goddamned guidebook-”
“There are actually several books written about-”
“About how to cope with the murder of a father who abandoned you almost two decades ago and never tried to reconnect?”
“…Most of the self help section was never written with people like us in mind.”
“Hey, that’s a thought. You should fill that void. I’m sure it’s an emerging market. So You Were Attacked By A Monster?: How To Move On After Supernatural Fuckery, by Benjamin Harry Hawthorne. It could be the next runaway bestseller.”
“Probably better than 75% of-hang on.” The phone was pulled away and covered for a muffled exchange. “Hey, Scout wants to say hi.”
“Aunt Charlie! I found a turtle yesterday!”
“Cool beans, babygirl. Is Daddy gonna let you keep him?”
“It’s a her. ‘Mari says so. And Daddy says we can only keep her for a little while, because she’s actually a wild animal. But she had a hole in her shell, so I put a Band-Aid on it, and Mama gave me special paint that washes off so I put flowers around it so she wouldn’t feel ugly. Amari helped. I’m callin’ her Dandelion until we let her go, because she likes to eat dandelions. I go out and get her fresh ones from the backyard.”
“That’s really nice of you. I bet she appreciates it.”
“Are you and Uncle Pooh Bear gonna come for a visit soon?”
“I’m not sure, spitfire. Maybe.”
“Amari wants me to tell you he loves you an’ misses you an’ wants to give you big, big hugs.”
“Tell him ‘right back atcha, strong man’.”
“Aunt Charlie says ‘right back atcha, strong man’,” Scout parroted readily. “Daddy wants the phone back now, but you should just come over and play soon, okay?”
“Okay, spitfire. We’ll do our best. Have a good night. Love you.”
“Good night, Aunt Charlie, love you more.”
“Go and wash your hands,” Ben said firmly. “Both of them, front and back. Mama almost has dinner ready. And don’t touch Dandelion again until after you eat!”
“She’s pretty damn adorable,” Charlie said, smiling. “She’s gonna be a helluva heartbreaker when she grows up.”
“Don’t you dare jinx us,” Ben warned.
“Are you really gonna make her let that turtle go?”
“It all depends if she’s more like you or more like Liv when it comes to remembering to feed it.”
“Touché. Hey, when Rob gets back, before we really settle in with the booze, we can still do the Skype date. I know Amari was looking forward to it-so were we, for that matter.”
“…Charlie, if Rob’s not in a good place right now, I don’t know if Amari should-”
“Oh, fuck, of course. You’re right. After that vision-probably best if we wait for it to dull a bit.” The doorknob rattled. “Hey, Ben, Rob’s home-hang on a mo, I’ll see if he’s up for chatting-”
Robbie had closed the door and flicked the lock home before he noticed Charlie sprawled over the couch, mobile in hand. “That’s Ben, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yup. Knew something was wrong, called to check up on us. Wanna talk to him?” She held the phone out.
“…Yeah, sure.” He dropped the large paper bag onto the table, the bottles inside clinking loudly. “Hey, mate. How’re things with Liv and the kids?”
“We’re good. Nothing too exciting to report. Amari lost his first tooth.”
“Was he excited about the tooth fairy? Or did he know better?”
“The latter. Bummed Liv out a little, but at least Scout still believes in Santa and the Easter Bunny and all that. How are you, Rob?”
“I’m… I’m okay. I really am. I’m not especially sad-it’s hard to grieve over somebody when you never really knew them. But I’m very confused, and I hate that.”
“You and Charlie: People of Action. I’m sorry. On all counts. I told Charlie that we can come out for a few days, if you’d like us to. It’d be no problem; Liv’s got plenty of time off to use, and the kids would love to see you.”
“Thanks, Ben. …How about we get back to you on that? Tomorrow?”
“Take all the time you need. No rush, no pressure.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Maybe a night’s sleep will help with perspective.”
“Hoping so. Tell the littles I said hi.”
“Will do. Good night, Rob. Take it easy.”
“Cheers, Ben.”
He handed the phone back to Charlie, who scrambled to her feet and shoved it into the pocket of her overalls before trailing him into the kitchen. “Want me to heat up the casserole Jane brought over?”
Robbie was silent as he opened the bag and pulled out a bottle of vodka. Turned to the fridge, pulled out the carton of orange juice, reached for the glasses in the cupboard. He poured out two large screwdrivers and handed one to her, face blank and unreadable. “I’m not all that hungry right now.”
“If you’re serious about polishing off that bottle, and whatever else you’ve got in that bag,” Charlie said meaningfully. “We should pad our stomachs first.”
He hesitated, glass halfway to his lips, eyes fixed on hers. When he moved, it was with an abruptness that made her flinch in surprise: the bottom of the glass was loud against the table, his arm was around her waist, and he was kissing her before she had even fully registered the path of his movements. After an interminably long day of feeling out of her depth, floundering in awkward confusion, she accepted this call to action readily. This, at least, was something she was familiar with. She grabbed his shoulders, fisting the fabric of his shirt between her fingers, and met the forceful pressure of his lips with her own wild energy.
When their lungs were burning for a proper breath he broke away, face flushed and eyes overly bright. “Am I an idiot?” he demanded hoarsely.
“What?”
“I’m gone more than I’m here. I spend more time in my car than I do with you. Put all of myself into helping people I hardly know-”
“Used to be a time when I was one of those people.”
“That was different-you were different. Still are.”
“Exactly. We’re different, Robbie. Normal rules for relationships don’t apply to us. Hell, the normal rules of the world don’t apply to us. I know why you do it. It’s hardly as if you have a choice, half the time. You get the call, you have to answer it. Easy as that.”
“You make it sound simple when it’s anything but. Red, I know what loss is. How much more do I have to lose before I wake up and realize what’s really important?”
“Okay, yeah: you’re a fucking idiot. Christopher Robin Beechum, I love you, but you’re being purposefully dense right here. We are what we are. We can only be true to that. And you’re meant to help people. You can’t ignore that.”
“You don’t believe in destiny.”
“I believe in carpe diem, and I believe in you, jackass. If you start ignoring your visions just to stay home with me, I’ll be so damn disappointed in you. Because how dare you put me ahead of people in need. People who could die if you don’t help them.”
“People die, Charlie. With or without me. Don’t you see-that’s exactly my point. I can’t foresee everything. Can’t prevent everything. And… If something happens to you, and I’m not here-”
“Yeah, and every other person on the planet lives with that possibility. We might be special, Robbie, but we’re still human. You can’t fix everything. …But, conversely, if you ignore things that you can fix, then… That’s as good as evil in my book. With great power comes great responsibility, right?”
“…It’s a little unsettling, when you start to sound like Ben.”
“I know. Now sit your ass down while I make dinner.” She bridged the gap between them and kissed him again before pushing him away with a firm hand against his chest.
The oven was ticking gently as it pre-heated, the saran wrap-covered casserole dish was sitting on the counter-beads of condensation trickling off the plastic to dot the Formica-and the screwdrivers were sitting half-drunk on the kitchen table when the doorbell rang. This was notable because any regular visitors knew better than to ring it; the noise always set off the downstairs neighbors’ yapper dog, which had already begun its hysterics, audible through the heating vents. Knocking was the preferred method, and anyone who would have come to offer condolences would have known this. Exchanging glances, eyebrows raised, Robbie pushed back his chair and went to answer the door.
A girl stood on the stoop, dressed in jeans and a loose white blouse. Near his age, if he was any judge-certainly not older. Her brown hair was pulled back in a bun, leaving her oval face clearly visible in the fading daylight. Pale skin liberally sprinkled with freckles, a mouth shaped in a permanent pout, sharp eyebrows over slanted brown eyes that spoke of an Asian heritage. She stood on the balls of her feet, as if poised to flee, one hand clutched around the strap of her messenger bag. And she was staring at him in such an odd way: eyes widened, brows furrowed with concentration, nostrils flared and lips pressed tightly together in obvious distress. As he stared back, his own confusion and unease clear, she slowly began to relax, the tight lines in her body easing and her face settling into a calmer resignation.
“Yes?” he said. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so,” she said, voice deeper than he had expected. And there was a faint edge of an accent he couldn’t place but assumed was Japanese. “You’re Christopher Robin Beechum.” It was more of a statement than a question, but he nodded an assent.
“I’m sorry, but do I know you?”
“Not yet. My name is Akiko. Akiko Beechum. I’m your sister.”