by B. N. Toler
I licked my lips and brushed the hair from my face. I had no idea what had just happened, or how to even explain it. Maybe it had only been a dream—an incredibly vivid one—but it had felt horrifically real. “Sorry, Grams,” I rasped. “I fell off the bed.”
“I saw that,” she replied as she bent down and helped right my mop of hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but you were thrashing about. Were you dreaming?” Her tone held a hint of bewilderment, as if the idea was surprising to her. I knew sleep wasn’t needed here on this side, but when someone did sleep, was dreaming not common?
Unsure of how to answer her, I used the bed to pull myself up.
“Where on earth did this come from?” she said, perplexed.
I flopped on the bed and pulled the covers back over me before I looked at what she was holding. It was the pocket watch—the one in my dream. “Is it yours?” I asked, completely bewildered.
“No, but it does look like the one your grandfather had. It belonged to his grandfather. He loved it.”
Taking it from her, I opened it. It wasn’t ticking. I remembered seeing it a few times when I was a child.
“Are you okay, dear?” Grams asked, her concerned gaze matching the frown on her face.
I blinked a few times. Was I? I was in one piece, and I was already dead so what worse thing could there be? “I think so.”
“You sounded like you were in a struggle.”
“Yeah, I guess I was dreaming,” I replied absently. “Just have a lot on my mind.”
“Would you like to talk about it?” she asked gently.
“I left…something unfinished. Click,” I said as a reminder. She nodded in understanding and I continued, “She was in my dream…crying.”
“You did your best to help her, Charlotte. You have to find some peace with that.”
I looked away from her. I knew she was right, but I couldn’t shake the guilt I felt. Click was alone. I knew what it was like to be alone. Click was trapped in a dark room…I’d been trapped in darkness of a different kind. What were the chances someone else like me would come along and help her cross over?
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I hope I will be,” I told her honestly.
She scanned my face, her mouth tight. She didn’t know what to say, I could see it in her eyes, but after a few seconds she pushed it away and took a deep breath.
“Well, we must forge forward.” She patted my leg. “It’s time to rise and shine,” she chirped as she ripped the bedroom curtains open and flooded the room with an unholy amount of bright light. I hissed, partially blinded as I pulled the blanket over my head.
“Grams,” I moaned dramatically.
The blanket was yanked back as Grams sat on the bed, looking down at me. I peeked up at her through squinted eyes. “You can’t sleep away your eternity, Charlotte Anne.”
Taking her hand, I pulled it to me and held it like it was a teddy bear. “I’m so happy to see you, Grams.”
“Me too, sug.” She pulled her hand away and stroked my head, brushing my hair back, something she’d done when I was a kid. I closed my eyes and basked in the nostalgia of it. I’d missed her warmth every day since she’d left, even though she’d continued to exist in my mind and heart. Her voice was always whispering to me, guiding me. “I can’t deny I’m sad you and your brother’s lives ended so early, but it feels good to have you both here,” she went on.
“Grams, why’d you pick this house to live in on this side? I mean, you could’ve had any kind of house, something bigger with all new furniture. Why did you want to still live here?”
Her eyes softened as she scanned the room. “I lived a wonderful life, Charlotte. Your grandfather and I built our beautiful family in this house. It’s not big or fancy, but it always felt safe, and there was always so much love. I don’t want to have nice things, so much as I want to feel nice things.”
I adored her. “You’re one of a kind, you know that, Grams?”
“I do,” she chuckled. “Who do you think you get your good looks and amazing personality from?”
I laughed. “This I know.”
“Now it’s time to get up. I have someone I want you to meet.”
I narrowed my gaze at her. “You do?” I don’t know why, but my mind immediately landed on the idea that Grams’s someone might be a special someone. Grandpa probably wouldn’t be too thrilled about this.
“Yes, so get up.” She stood, and with a quick snap of her fingers I was on my feet, dressed in a pair of cutoffs and a soft white t-shirt. I chuckled, impressed she’d selected an outfit I would actually want to wear—Grams knew me well. I tucked the pocket watch in my pocket so I could inspect it later, not ready to dismiss the significance of it showing up right after my dream. A moment later, the familiar guest bedroom was gone and we were on her back porch. I liked that we could just snap our fingers and change everything. It definitely made things convenient. Axel was seated at the wicker patio table, a mountain of waffles on his plate. Apparently his appetite hadn’t changed on this side; he’d always eaten like a horse when he was alive. He was taking a swig of orange juice when we appeared and mumbled around the food in his mouth, “Hey there.”
“Morning,” I rasped, my voice still hoarse from sleep. Looking at the sky, I twisted my mouth in thought. “Is it morning?”
Axel shrugged. “It’s whatever you want it to be.” It was difficult to let go of the concept of time. In life everything revolved around time—when to sleep, when to eat; when to work, when to play—but none of that mattered here. I shook my head at the dichotomy of the two sides, still completely baffled by it all.
“Have some coffee,” Grams encouraged, pulling a chair out from the table for me. I plopped in the seat, the familiar aroma of her French press coffee percolating my senses. I’d barely touched the cushion when I heard squawking.
“Oh, Rudy,” Grams huffed as she scurried off the porch toward a chicken coop where a rooster was strutting around and upsetting a bunch of hens. The coop hadn’t been in her yard when she was alive, so I didn’t recognize it. I did, however, remember the name Rudy.
My eyes widened as I pointed and let out a laugh. “That’s Rudy?” I asked Axel.
Axel glowered at the massive rooster as Grams whipped her hands, shooing him away from the hens. “Meanest freaking bird ever.”
“What’s with the chickens?” I jumped at the sound of Ike’s voice. When I spun in my chair to look at him, his hands were in his pockets, and he was wearing a fitted black t-shirt that showcased his muscular body. Even though he was a few feet away from me, I could still smell him. Ivory soap and mint—he smelled absolutely delicious. It took everything in me not to stand and embrace him.
“Hi,” I chirped, before clearing my throat, my cheeks heating in embarrassment at the unnatural pitch of my voice.
“Hi,” he beamed, my cheeks heating even more as our gazes locked.
“Oh, isn’t this just precious,” Axel mocked, and I rolled my eyes.
“Grams like fresh eggs or something?” Ike asked, glossing over Axel’s remark so as not to encourage him.
“She lived on a farm as a kid,” I explained, following Ike’s lead. “They had a lot of chickens. That rooster right there,” I pointed, “is Rudy. He was her favorite.”
Axel and I had never met Rudy, but Grams had told us tons of stories about him. “Grams found him hurt when he was just a chick. She’d brought him home and nursed him back to health. After that, Rudy and Grams were thick as thieves,” I said, emphasizing the phrase the way Grams always had when she told us about him. “Her brothers, bored farm boys with nothing to do, realized Rudy was her favorite and made it their mission to torture the rooster to get a rise out of their sister, which resulted in Rudy developing a bit of an attitude problem. Grams said she was the only one he’d let near him. Anyone else faced his wrath.”
“Damn thing ended up paralyzed after one of her brothers ran over him with his bike. Grams refused
to let her father kill him, so she fed the poor bastard by hand and would lay him under a shady tree every day, moving him as the shade of the tree moved,” Axel explained, picking up the story. “She got caught up at church one Sunday and was late getting home, and he ended up dying from heat stroke.”
I don’t know why, but whenever Grams had told us stories about her childhood, I had been captivated. I’d felt like I knew Rudy, the-meanest-bastard-of-a-rooster-that-ever-existed, just because Grams had told so many stories about him. Taking Ike’s hand, I pulled him off the porch with me. “Let’s go see him.”
Grams had managed to calm down the clucking hens, and Rudy was standing at her feet like a guard dog. As soon as I bent down and reached my hand out, Rudy lunged at me, causing me to jerk back and fall on my ass. Ike stepped in front of me to block the bird while I shuffled to my feet. I don’t know what I’d expected, but part of me had honestly thought Rudy would like me, if for no other reason than because I shared the same DNA as Grams.
Nope.
“I told you,” Axel called from the porch around a mouth full of waffle. “He’s a dick.”
“Axel!” Grams scolded, having heard him even though she was a good distance away.
“Sorry, Grams,” my brother frowned. “I meant cock. Rudy’s a cock.”
Ike’s face turned red as he fought to keep from laughing while Grams cut Axel a warning look, very much aware of Axel’s clever play on words and not even a little bit amused by it. My heart was still pounding a bit from Rudy’s sudden charge. I agreed wholeheartedly with my brother: Rudy was, in fact, a gigantic dick. I just had enough brains to keep it to myself. Grams’s stories about him had seemed so cute and entertaining when I was a kid, but up close, Rudy was a little asshole.
“Hey, buddy,” Ike said as he bent down in front of the rooster. He didn’t reach out or make any sudden movements; he just waited for Rudy to make the next move. After a few moments, Rudy cocked his head to the side as if examining Ike, then took a few reluctant steps toward him.
“Well I’ll be…” There was no missing the shock in Grams’s voice. “I think he likes you, Ike.”
I pouted, disappointed the infamous Rudy I’d grown up hearing so many tales about liked Ike, but not me. While Grams and Ike were looking down at Rudy, I swear the bird shot me a glare. I stuck my tongue out at him.
“I’m going to get some coffee,” I muttered in defeat. Grams and Ike followed behind me, Grams going on and on about how amazed she was with Rudy taking to Ike. I grabbed the coffee pot and started filling mugs as they sat down before I doled out waffles, fruit, and bacon on their plates.
“Charlotte,” Ike said, an amused grin on his face. “You don’t have to serve us.”
I snorted a laugh. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. “I guess I’m just used to serving at the restaurant. Old habits die hard,” I shrugged and sat down, trying not to let my expression reveal I was suddenly wondering who was looking after the restaurant. My heart fisted at the thought of George trying to keep it going at the same time he was mourning me. Please let him be okay. Please. Please. Please. Sniper would do his best to keep George going, the same way he had after Ike died. I knew everyone would be there for my husband, no doubt his parents would be all over him, but at some point, George would need a good kick in his ass, and Sniper was the only one that would do it. My heart squeezed again. Damn—I’d miss that perverted Scottish idiot. I would miss him and Anna. The last time I’d seen or spoken to Anna, we’d bickered. Or rather, she bickered because she was upset with me. I hated for that to be her last memory of me. Under the table, I balled my hand into a fist, digging my nails into my palm, hoping the discomfort would distract me from the despair choking me. I didn’t want to cry or get emotional, or bring everyone down, especially after my meltdown the previous night.
Ike clapped his hands and rubbed them together in such a way I was pretty sure I hadn’t hid my thoughts as well as I’d thought. “This looks amazing,” he told Grams eagerly. He glanced at me before he started sawing into his waffles. “How is the restaurant doing, Charlotte? Is Sniper still working there?”
“Sniper?” Grams questioned.
Ike grinned, showcasing his dimples. “Sniper was my best buddy. We met while I was in the military, and we hit it off. He’s a gigantic teddy bear with nipple rings who says bad words and speaks inappropriately to women.”
I barked out a laugh, barely managing not to choke, at Ike’s too-accurate description. Ike’s stare met mine, the corners of his mouth lifted as he fought laughing, too.
“Well he sounds…interesting,” Grams said, her expression skeptical.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Ike chuckled before shoveling a fork full of waffle in his mouth.
George
The battered hardwood floors creaked as Marlena paced the room where Click resided. She’d asked me to bring her to the Hell House so she could see Click for herself. When we’d arrived, and I showed her to Click’s bedroom, she did exactly as Charlotte had when she’d first found the soul of the young girl and she tried to speak to her. She shouted, stomped, yelled.
“That won’t work,” I finally told her. I’d watched my wife practically perform Olympic backflips to get Click’s attention until I pulled her away.
Marlena, undeterred, started tapping her fingers against the wall exactly the way Charlotte had when she’d tried to explain to me what Click was doing. I crossed my arms impatiently, regretting agreeing to leave Charlotte just to watch Marlena do the exact same things Charlotte had with the same results. I knew deep down helping Click was what Charlotte would’ve wanted, but I also wanted to get back to the hospital. The only reason I hadn’t already left was because Charlotte’s parents were with her, and I knew they wanted time with her without me around. Sniper had agreed to come with us, in case we encountered any unexpected inhabitants or squatters, and now he was providing me emotional support as he gave me a quick pat on the back, his way of telling me to be patient.
“Charlotte thought she’d figured out how to help her,” Marlena explained.
My head jerked up. “You’ve seen something?”
Marlena nodded. “Charlotte figured out she liked piano. Beethoven. She played it for Click.”
“It was on her phone,” I acknowledged, grateful to finally understand why the video had been on her phone. She must have played it for the girl just before she’d fallen unconscious.
Marlena stared off, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “She was close, but…the child doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know how to cross over. Charlotte was upset.” Marlena blinked a few times and slowly stepped across the floor, as if she were retracing Charlotte’s steps. She winced, placing a hand on her head.
“Are you okay?” Sniper asked.
“Her head hurt badly before she reached the steps. She was halfway down the stairs when she lost consciousness.”
My throat was tight as I fought the emotion whirling inside me. My wife had been crying in her last conscious moments. She’d been in pain, and she’d been alone. I rubbed my face with both hands.
“Do you think you can help her?” Sniper asked.
“I don’t know,” Marlena answered honestly.
“Maybe we could play the girl the music,” Sniper suggested.
“No,” Marlena said with authority. “It will only upset her when we stop playing it.”
Turning, I walked to the window, peering down at the dirty street and rundown houses. I imagined Charlotte’s face, staring back up at me, the way she had the day we met Agnus, just before we entered the Hell House. Of course, she’d seen the faces of two young girls in the window, not me. The selfish part of me continued to wish I’d taken Charlotte’s hand and run. Then we wouldn’t be here and she’d be awake. But deep down I knew that was horrible, and I hated myself for feeling it. The little girls had needed to be freed, to find peace. Why did doing the right thing always have to be so fucking hard?
&nb
sp; “You know,” Marlena said from right beside me. Unbeknownst to me she’d moved and was staring out the window as well. “We all have our purpose. Charlotte has this beautiful gift, it’s unique and because of that it’s more obvious, but you have a gift, as well, George.”
I snorted, not bothering to look at her. I definitely did not have a gift.
“You do,” Marlena answered, as if she’d read my mind. “You give her strength, George. You seek nothing from her, only to be her sword and shield.”
I let my gaze drop. “I don’t know about that. I was never able to help her much. How could I when I can’t hear or see the very thing that gave her so much stress?”
Taking my hand, she laced our fingers together. Surprised by the move, I tried to pull away but she tightened her grip, stopping me.
“I know this tension she felt,” Marlena explained. “You feel it in every single muscle of your body. It’s heavy,” her voice was soft with empathy, “so bloody heavy. Some days you wonder how you can take another step carrying it. That’s where you come in, George.”
My head felt funny, and I closed my eyes in an effort to clear it. My body tightened, the muscles in my back and neck hardening as an unease settled in the pit of my stomach. I raised my free hand and gripped the frame of the window to balance myself.
“I don’t feel well,” I explained, embarrassed that I probably appeared like I was about to pass out.
“Do you feel it, George? Can you feel the weight?”
It took me a moment before I realized somehow Marlena was making me feel this way. “How…” I couldn’t finish my question. Was this what Charlotte felt? Did she carry this weight with her every day?
“You’ve sensed it…you knew when she was struggling, and you did whatever you had to do to refuel her.” Marlena went on. “You comforted her.”
Pressure wrapped around my head—like hands wrapped around my brain, squeezing. Through the pain, I saw Charlotte...I saw us. Memories of times we’d shared together, simple but beautiful. Me brushing her hair. Her laughing as we swayed to a song playing on the jukebox at the restaurant. Images of my beautiful wife, naked beneath me, danced through my mind. She cried out when she came and the unease sluiced out of me, my body relaxing again. When we’d finished, she laid her head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine, and her body radiated.
