A Need So Beautiful

by Suzanne Young

  My lips part and I want to pull my hand out of his, oddly afraid of his words. But as I meet his eyes, his glow goes out and my vision returns. I see his chest rising and falling slower. He’s almost gone and I still don’t know why I’m here.

  “Your mother?” I ask. “Do you want me to call her?”

  He closes his eyes and then shakes his head. “No, she passed away a few months ago. She talked to me though. Apologized.”

  I exhale, feeling relieved. I thought that maybe I was here to help him reconcile with his family, to heal some of that hurt. But it seems that already happened.

  “Then why am I here, Warren?” I don’t even mean to ask it out loud. But he looks at me so sadly that I feel my entire body shudder from the sorrow.

  “Because I don’t want to die alone.”

  Tears begin to stream from my eyes, hot on my cheeks. I put my other hand on Warren’s and squeeze it tight. I am filled with love for him, love that’s beyond me. He sniffles and tilts his head to the side. Suddenly his eyes get wide and I straighten, afraid he’s passing away. But instead he reaches out with his free hand to touch my cheek, rubbing his thumb across it.

  His expression changes to reverence. Amazement.

  “It’s beautiful,” he says, staring at me. “It’s so beautiful.”

  I’m gasping, both horrified and overcome with my own emotions. The Need fades, leaving me weak, but I hold on to Warren’s arm. He starts to cry, then laughs, almost rejoicing at the sight of me.

  I don’t know what to do, so I just stay with him. I stay there until he gets quiet and his breathing slows. And then it stops—his eyes still locked on mine. I wait, hoping he’ll take in another breath, but when he doesn’t, I drop my head. And weep.

  Chapter 22

  I close the door to apartment 715 with a quiet click and pause in the hallway. Hospice will be here within minutes, so I don’t call the cops. But it was hard to leave. I’ve never seen someone die before, but I’m glad I was here. I’m glad Warren wasn’t alone. Before I left, I went to his closet and borrowed a hoodie. I flipped up the hood of the red sweatshirt to hide my face. I tried not to look in the mirror, but eventually I couldn’t help it. And the scene wasn’t good.

  My skin is gone, rubbed away. My face is golden, like my back and my arm. Like my shoulder. I no longer look human. I’m not sure what I look like.

  I make my way out to the lobby just as the front door opens with the same woman from earlier, a black bag in her hand.

  Careful to not be noticed, I turn toward the mailboxes and take out my phone pretending to talk. I wait until she’s in the elevator and gone before I leave. When I get outside I realize that I can’t just walk around like this. My face is gold. I don’t have a face.

  There is only one person I can tell. I text Monroe: I need help. No skin. 1850 W Mission.

  Within seconds I get a response. On my way. Stay out of sight.

  I step back to lean against the brick wall of the building and put my hands over my face. I don’t know what to do now. I have nowhere to go. Minutes later an ambulance arrives and I move out of the EMTs’ line of vision. I’m hidden in the shadows of the alley when they roll Warren out on a gurney, a sheet over his head. I hate that they’ve covered him like that. He said he wanted to see the sunshine. It takes a considerable effort for me not to run over and yank the sheet from his body. Of all my Needs, he’s the only one who saw me. The me underneath.

  There’s a quick beep of a horn and I glance up to see Monroe’s car idling at the curb. For a second, I’m even happy to see him, even though the last time we talked I think I told him off. I walk up to the car and yank open the passenger door before climbing in. Once inside, I turn to him, my head down.

  “Let me see,” he says.

  I’m not sure I want him to anymore. I feel like a freak. But I slowly raise my chin and his mouth falls open before it pulls it into a smile.

  “My God, Charlotte,” he says. “It’s beautiful.”

  I look away quickly and pull the hood around my face. “I wish you would stop saying that. It wouldn’t seem so beautiful if it was your face.”

  Monroe pulls his car out into the street but doesn’t respond. We drive quietly until I look sideways at him.

  “I spoke to Onika,” I say simply.

  Monroe’s knuckles turn white from his grip on the steering wheel. His mouth opens like he’s going to talk, but he closes it again. He’s silent.

  “Don’t you want to know what she said?” I ask, irritated that he didn’t ask. It was kind of a big deal.

  Monroe clenches his teeth. “I’m sure it was a bunch of lies, whatever it was.”

  “She said you were just trying to get rid of me so that you could live your life. Is it true? Am I your last Forgotten?”

  “She’s trying to get you away from the last person who cares about you, Charlotte. She’s trying to turn you against me.”

  I nearly punch him. “Care about me? You’ve been studying me like a science experiment with that stupid journal of yours.” I pull out the book and toss it at him. “You kept me close so that you could watch me. All so that you can be free of your curse. You never would have helped me. You’d have pushed me off the damn bridge if you could have.”

  He turns to me abruptly. “Yes. You are my last Forgotten, but it doesn’t mean this is easy for me. You have no idea what I’m going through.”

  “What you’re going through?” I laugh. “What about what I’m going through? What about everything I’ve lost?”

  Monroe stares out the windshield, his eyes blinking quickly as if holding back tears. “I know what you’re losing, Charlotte. But you have to listen to me. Don’t believe anything that beast tells you. She’s trying to tempt you away. She’s trying to destroy you.”

  “You afraid I’m going bad, Monroe? All rotten flesh and evil impulses?”

  “I’m not kidding!”

  “Do you think I am?” I snap, pulling back my hood. “Look at me! Look what’s happening to me!” And all at once the world crashes down on me in a heavy wave. I’ve lost everything. Lost Harlin. Lost my face. And soon, I’ll lose my life.

  I’m shaking with sobs as I curl up in the passenger seat. Monroe gently touches my hair. When he speaks, his voice is soft.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you,” he says. “I wish I could have prepared you better, prepared you for the loss. But I thought trying to keep you hidden was right. I thought it’d keep the Shadows away long enough for you to cross over.”

  There’s a lump in my throat and I swallow it down. “Nothing could have prepared me for this,” I murmur into the fabric of the seat.

  “It was never just about the Forgotten,” he says. “You know I’m going to miss you madly, don’t you? You’re the only person who tells me off on a daily basis.”

  I sit up, looking at him. He’s crying, his eyes darting between me and the road. Despite our fighting, Monroe means a lot to me. He’s like family. He is family.

  “You’re all I have,” he says with a quiet whisper. “And despite what you may think, I’m proud of you for being so brave, for doing these things when they’re so hard. But I always knew you were a good girl. That’s why it’s you. That’s why the light is in you.”

  I close my eyes, tears streaming down, and let his words comfort me. “What will happen when I jump?”

  “The light will burst out. People will feel a second of love, peace. Everyone will be touched. You will give them a reason to go on.”

  “And after me?” I ask.

  “There will be another Forgotten. And another. Until all the Shadows are gone.” He looks over at me.

  I nod, wiping at my nose with the back of my glove. “You’ll make a sucky father someday,” I tell him. “I feel sorry for the kid that doesn’t get to burst into light to get out of your house.”

  He chokes out a laugh. “Is it my sarcasm?”

  “No, but I’m guessing you’ll expect a complete angel.” I grin.


  “I suppose I would.”

  “Plus your accent is totally obnoxious.”

  “I’ll try to remedy that.”

  I pause, my smile fading as we watch each other silently. “I’ll miss you too,” I murmur. And then Monroe nods and turns back to the road.

  “I have some things at the office,” he says. “Some ways to disguise the transformation—latex and makeup. But it’s not completely foolproof. Harlin and Mercy might be able to tell the difference if—” He stops.

  “If they can even remember me?”

  He nods.

  “A rubber face,” I say to myself. “Can’t I just burst now or whatever it is that I’m supposed to do?” I might as well since I’ll never see Harlin again. The thought hurts like a punch, so I push it away. I won’t think about him again. I can’t.

  Monroe shakes his head. “It’s not your time yet,” he says.

  “Do you have the itinerary? I seem to have lost mine.”

  “Don’t be a smartass.”

  “It’s what I do, Monroe.”

  We pull into the clinic parking area and I wait as he comes around the car to let me out. “Just keep your head down,” he says. He adjusts my hood and pulls it down to shield my face as much as possible. He puts his arm over my shoulder, turning me toward him as we walk to the front door. It opens with a jingle. He’s moving fast and I nearly stumble.

  “Dr. Swift,” Rhonda calls, standing up from behind her desk. “You had several calls while you were gone. I told them—”

  “Not now, Rhonda,” he answers quickly, ushering me forward and to his office. “I have to work with Charlotte on something.”

  “Who?”

  Monroe and I both stop, but I don’t look up. My heart is frozen.

  “Charlotte Cassidy?” he says slowly.

  “Oh . . .” I hear in her voice that after working together and knowing me for close to ten years, my name is only vaguely familiar to her. I silently say good-bye to Rhonda.

  Monroe shifts on his feet, obviously distraught, and tightens his arm around me. “I don’t want to be disturbed,” he adds.

  “Stop squirming.”

  “It’s cold,” I say, cringing every time he wipes the brush along my face. Monroe has created a smooth, latex-based makeup that will cover the gold. But it’s thick. It makes me look like I’m wearing too much foundation, but it’s better than walking around gold and glowing.

  “There,” he says, stepping back to admire his work. “Of course, this only really works for the face. It’s too complicated to make a batch large enough for the entire body.”

  I shrug. “No one sees my body anymore.” I wonder if, like Rhonda, Harlin has forgotten me already.

  “It’s for the best,” Monroe whispers. I’d told him about the fight with Harlin and how he broke up with me when I wouldn’t tell him the truth. I also explained about the lawyer and how the man who killed Harlin’s father would go to jail. Monroe agreed that I shouldn’t interfere with the Need. That if Harlin knew, he might somehow affect it, and who knows what could happen. He said I did the right thing by leaving Harlin’s. I want to believe him.

  I hang my head as I wait for the makeup to dry, forcing myself not to cry so it won’t be ruined. “What do I do now?” I ask. I look down at my hands in my lap and pull off my gloves. The glow is bright underneath. I realize that I’m resigned to it. It’s just what I am now.

  Monroe watches me with a sad expression. “Remember,” he says quietly, “you’re still you, Charlotte.”

  I lift my eyes to meet his. “Charlotte doesn’t exist,” I say. “No one will ever remember me.” And the statement in my ears is the most horrible thing I’ve ever heard. Because I never existed. There is no such thing as me.

  “You’ve helped a lot of people,” he says. “They may not remember it was you. But you’ve changed their lives. Even the ones who weren’t your Needs. Mercy, Sarah, Harlin—they’ll all remember the love you gave them. That can’t be taken away.”

  “Am I an angel?” I ask, sniffling hard to try to keep away the tears.

  “You’re more than that.” Monroe puts his hand on my shoulder. “And I can promise you one thing: I will never forget you, Charlotte Cassidy.”

  At least there’s that. At least there’s Monroe.

  The phone on his desk buzzes and we both jump. “Dr. Swift?” Rhonda’s voice comes over the intercom. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have an emergency.”

  He looks back at me, and I try to smile. “Go,” I say. “I’ll call you if I burst into light or something.”

  He looks at me thoughtfully. “I’ll talk to you soon,” he assures me, and squeezes my shoulder before leaving his office.

  “Wait, Monroe?” I call as he gets to his door.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think I still have time to say good-bye to Sarah?”

  He seems to think about it for second, and then meets my eyes. “Hurry.”

  Monroe walks out and my heart begins to race. Hurry. Hurry as in five minutes from now or five hours? I have to see her. I have to say good-bye, even if she doesn’t know what the hell I’m talking about.

  I stand quickly and check my reflection in the mirror Monroe had left out on his desk. I don’t look great, but I don’t look awful, either. I figure I can bluff my way through it, blame it on a bad mall makeover or something.

  Just in case, I take out my phone and smile when I see that I have a text message that was sent a few hours ago. It’s from Sarah.

  Frankie’s for lunch?

  It’s a little late for lunch, but maybe I can catch Sarah before she leaves. I shove the phone back into my pocket and rush out, hoping to have one last time with my best friend. Hoping to have one last chance to feel human.

  Chapter 23

  A s the bus pulls up in front of Frankie’s, I see Sarah walking away with a white takeout bag. I’m so relieved as I run to her, calling out and waving wildly to get her attention.

  Sarah glances over and smiles, then nods at me. “Hi,” she says cautiously.

  She looks better than she did yesterday. Her hair is smooth and her eyes have been made up, but her jacket is long and conservative. It looks like something her father would approve of.

  “Sorry I missed your text,” I say. “I’ve had a crazy morning.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Have you talked to Harlin at all?” I can’t help but hope that he was worried when I left him. Maybe checked in with Sarah.

  “The motorcycle guy?” she asks.

  I pause. “Yeah.”

  She smiles a little. “I always wondered what happened to him after he dropped out of St. Vincent’s. He was nice to look at.” She wiggles her eyebrows like I should agree. “Are you dating him?”

  Devastation washes over me. Her expressions are so unfamiliar to me, so . . . cold. I almost can’t bring myself to ask.

  “Sarah, you know who I am, right?” I ask in a small voice.

  A look of guilt crosses her face. “Of course. We were in the same class, right?” She stops, darting her eyes around the sidewalk as a few people pass us. “I’m not going to St. Vincent’s anymore. My father thought a private tutor was my best chance to get into an Ivy League school next year.”

  My heart sinks. I know damn well that Sarah doesn’t give a crap about Ivy League colleges. This is something she would tell a person she met at a charity ball. Something she would tell a stranger.

  “I’m Charlotte,” I say, feeling my life drain out of me. “I’m your best friend.”

  She steps back and laughs softly, probably trying to discern if I’m joking.

  “Best friends? I think I’d remember that, Charlotte.”

  “We’ve been friends since Ms. Cavanaugh’s seventh-grade gym class,” I say. “You forgot your swimsuit one day and were crying because you didn’t want to sit in detention alone, so I pretended to have lost mine so that I could keep you company.”

  Her eyes widen. “How did
you know about Ms. Cavanaugh’s class?” Her face is pale and I know that I’m scaring her, but I can’t stop. I want to remind her of how much I love her.

  “And then we went to the junior prom in your dad’s BMW while everyone else took limos because you wanted to stand out. Matthew Bower was your date, but you didn’t like him because he was a wet kisser.” I laugh at the memory, remembering how often she recreated the disaster for me on the back of her hand or on her mirror.

  “You’re starting to freak me out,” she says, moving away from me.

  “And I was there at the museum when you drank a bottle of tequila to forget that you never feel good enough for your father. I was so scared for you. Harlin and I took you to the clinic and I needed to know you were okay.”

  “Are you the one that dropped me off at the filthy free clinic? Are you a stalker or something?”

  “No. I’m your only real friend.”

  “Look,” she snaps, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper so as not to attract attention. “I don’t know you, and I don’t know what your deal is.” She looks like she’s about to cry and I’m not sure if it’s the fact that she’s scared or embarrassed that I know about the alcohol poisoning. But it’s not for the same reason I want to cry. I miss her. She’s standing right in front of me, and I’m missing her already. “Now I suggest you get out of here before I call the police,” she finishes, shooting a glance over my shoulder. I turn and see her driver get out and open the back door of the car.

  There’s nothing I can do. There’s not one single word I can say that will make her remember me. So instead, I smile at her, wishing I could hug her one last time, but I don’t. I slowly back down the sidewalk.

  “Take care of yourself, Sarah,” I say. She stares after me. “You’re better and stronger than your dad thinks. I’ve always known that.”

  Her face crumbles a little at the statement, but she turns and hurries into the waiting town car. I watch as she drives away, out of my life.