by B. N. Toler
“After I dropped that letter in the mail, I kept driving. I had no idea what I was doing, or where I was going. I had no money, and I realized how lonely I was. My life had become nothing but helping the dead. I hadn’t even tried to settle anywhere. I mean, my own family didn’t believe me, so why would anyone else?” I inhale slowly before moving on to the next part. It’s not easy to admit how weak I was—and still am. “My truck ran out of gas by Anioch Bridge, and I made the decision I was going to end it. I didn’t want to live anymore, not the way I was anyway. So I climbed onto the railing of the bridge, and I was going to jump in and let the river drag me under and away.”
My father stands and gasps, “Charlotte,” but immediately sits when Sniper steps toward him. “Honey, you should have come home. I know you think we’re awful, that we treated you wrong, but we love you, Charlotte.” I don’t meet his eyes. I can’t. It’s still the same man that thinks I’m crazy . . . that I’m delusional.
“Why didn’t you do it?” George asks, and everyone snaps their heads up and eyes him. His arms are crossed and he’s looking at me like he doesn’t trust me—like the way I’ve feared he’d look at me when he found out about everything.
Swallowing hard, I feel a firm hand squeeze my shoulder. Looking back, I find Sniper’s warm eyes and he nods once. “Someone stopped me,” I admit as my gaze moves to Ike.
“I’m so glad I was there,” he tells me, closing his eyes, as if the thought of if he hadn’t been there pains him.
“It was Ike,” I say, quietly, and everyone except my father gasps in unison. Before anyone can speak, I continue to explain what Ike said, and how he led me to town and told me who to talk to and where to go.
“We made a deal,” I explain. “He’d help me find a job and a place to stay, and I’d help him with his unfinished business.”
“And what was his unfinished business?” George snarls.
The room is uncomfortably quiet; everyone’s eagerly awaiting Charlotte’s answer to George’s question. With eyes shimmering with tears, she meets his hard, unforgiving gaze. Her lips tremble when she tells him, “You, George. You’re his unfinished business.” My brother’s arms fall to his side and his expression becomes stoic. He has no idea what to think or say, so he goes blank. “You know you were in bad shape,” she tells him, but doesn’t elaborate on the drugs. She doesn’t want to out him in front of our family. “He can’t leave until he knows you’re okay. He’s been here the entire time, watching you—all of you.” She stares nervously across the room. My father stands and moves to sit near my mother, taking her shaky hand in his. Oh, Mom.
“I know you’re all thinking this is crazy and impossible. That’s what I thought at first, too,” Sniper steps in to defend her. “But she told me things only Ike would know . . . things we joked about or did in the army. She’s telling the truth. She can communicate with Ike. He’s here, right now.”
“You knew she was . . .” George stops. He wants to say ‘crazy,’ but thinks better of it.
“That night you got beat up,” Sniper tells him. “That’s when I found out.”
“You got beat up?” my mother squawks as she turns to look at George. “Honey, you said you fell down the stairs.” I never wanted my mother to find out how bad things had become for George.
“So you’re telling me you can speak with Ike? Right here, right now?” Cameron jumps in, and I think he believes her. Or at least he wants to. He’s always been open-minded, and at this moment, I couldn’t be more grateful for that.
“Tell Cameron I hid my porno magazines in my closet. There’s a little cutout over the shelf. Tell him to go get them,” I say, with a nervous chuckle. And she repeats it to him, but not before she gives me a pointed look that says, Really? Cameron jumps up and dashes up the stairs, eager to either prove Charlotte is the real deal, or to retrieve the porn for later. I’m not sure which he’s more excited about.
Wanting the others to believe in Charlotte as well, I proceed to tell her things to share with my family in hopes they’re as receptive as my little brother.
“Henry, you talk to him. Especially when you’re fly-fishing alone because it was something the two of you did a lot. He says you tell him it was a privilege to be his father, and how you wish you’d taken more time off and done more with him. He wants you to know you are the best father ever. He couldn’t have picked anyone better than you.” The sob that breaks free from my father is my undoing, and hot tears fall down my face. Jesus, Pop . . . He and my mother hold each other close, working through the raw pain that my memory brings.
Charlotte tries to rip the Band-Aid off and continues, “Beverly, the lasagna and tiramisu? That’s why I mentioned them. He was there the night we met, and I just repeated what he said.” My mother nods as she places a trembling hand to her lips. “He wants you to know he hears you singing when you’re thinking of him.” The tears run freely down my mother’s face and I feel like I’m choking. As hard as this is for all of us, I have to continue. Charlotte stares at me, her own eyes red with unshed tears. She pauses and listens as I explain what I want her to relay, then she stutters, “Y-y-you are my sunshine. You used to sing that to him when he was little. He hears you sing it now.” My mother keels over and sobs violently.
“Oh, baby boy. I love you so much,” she cries out, and my heart feels like it’s breaking.
“Charlotte Anne!” Her father stands, and this time, he doesn’t let Sniper intimidate him. “That’s enough!”
“Can’t you tell this guy to fuck off?” I growl. She has to finish. They have to know I can hear them. That I know how much pain they’re in.
“No, Ike, I can’t,” she answers in a hushed tone, and everyone freezes.
“He’s speaking to you?” my father asks quietly.
“Yes, sir.”
“W-w-what did he say?” my mother questions.
“He wants me to tell my father to fuck off,” she says, quietly, and then adds, “Sorry.” Her father pinches his lips together; I’m guessing wanting to say something shitty, but won’t do it in front of my folks.
The room goes silent again until we hear heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. A moment later, Cameron stomps in the room with a stack of pornos in his hands. “They were exactly where she said they would be,” he announces.
All eyes move to Charlotte and she looks at me. “Keep going. They believe you,” I tell her, with a small smile. Then we both look to George and realize he doesn’t appear to be quite convinced. She walks toward him and takes his hand in hers.
“The song . . . the bet I won? He’s the one that told me it was your favorite,” she explains, but he refuses to look at her. “He loves you so much, George. He can’t go until he knows you’ll be okay.”
George jerks his hand from hers and barrels out the front door. She chases after him and Sniper follows, too. She catches him just before he hits the front porch steps. “George, please,” she pleads. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but you weren’t ready. You’d barely speak to me at first. I needed to get to know you, and you needed to clean up.”
He rips away from her, his eyes brimming with angry tears. “So it was all bullshit? You faked liking me to do this?” he snarls.
“What?” she gasps. “No. George, I’ve meant everything I said, I l—” She stops. She doesn’t want to admit she loves him . . . and maybe it’s because I’m here, or maybe she isn’t sure how he’ll take it.
“Are you the one that tipped Roger off about me and Misty?” he asks point-blank, and Charlotte’s mouth drops open.
“Oh, shit,” I breathe.
Charlotte remains quiet, eyes wide, until he asks again, “Did you? Misty told me someone wrote an anonymous letter. It was you, wasn’t it?”
Charlotte looks to Sniper whose brows would be touching his hairline, if he had one. “I know that probably seems bad, but—” Before she can finish, he’s halfway down the steps.
“Go after him! Make him understand,”
I insist, and she leaps over all four steps to the bottom to catch him, but loses her footing and trips, landing hard on her knee.
“Bloody hell,” Sniper curses and follows after them.
“Are you okay, Charlotte?” I ask, but she ignores me.
George turns and rolls his eyes as he shakes his head in frustration. He yanks her up, steadying her on her feet. The way she can’t stop staring at George tells me how much she loves him and how destroyed she feels by the look in his eyes. At least he cares enough not to just leave her. But as soon as she’s steady, he whips around and storms off.
“George,” she yells as she begins stumbling, the pain in her knee obvious. She limps quickly after him, but he doesn’t stop. “She was giving you drugs! I had to get you clean so I could tell you the truth. I had to save you,” she cries. She stumbles again, but catches herself and continues to limp after him.
“Goddamn it, George!” Sniper yells. “Stop!”
George turns and glares, which gives Charlotte just enough time to catch up to him again. She doesn’t grab, more like slams in to him, and clings for dear life, burying her face in his chest. “Please don’t go. Don’t you see, George,” she pleads. “He saved me so I could save you, which in a way means, you saved me, too.” George’s arms lay limp at his sides as she holds him tightly, his jaw set. He swallows hard, refusing to look at her. But the look in his eyes says it all. He’s hurt. Mentioning me has affected him more than we thought, and I’m terrified he’ll return to his destructive ways.
“Tell him I’m still here,” I tell her. “Tell him to say or ask anything, I’ll hear him.”
Charlotte stands upright and wipes at her face with her soiled hands. “He wants you to know he’s still here and you can ask him anything.”
George shakes his head in disbelief, anger lacing his features. “George, man, she’s telling you the truth,” Sniper says. “This is your chance, brother, to tell Ike something. Don’t miss your chance to say good-bye.”
“You’re a fucking asshole for not telling me how crazy she is,” he spats. “And you,” he adds, and points to Charlotte, who cowers away slightly, “you need to stay away from me.” Spinning on his heel, he bolts and she follows. “Please don’t leave,” she begs, managing to snag him by the arm.
Whipping around, he bends so he can meet her gaze. “Leave me alone!” he growls in her face. “Do not follow me, don’t come and see me, and do not come near me again!”
Sniper pushes him away from her. The rage in his eyes palpable on a scary level. “I hate to say it, mate, but you’re a fucking idiot. Sod off!”
George watches as Sniper cocoons Charlotte in his arms as she cries, “I’m so sorry, Ike. I’m so sorry. I messed it all up.”
I’m seeing red, I’m so angry. “No you didn’t,” I try to comfort her. “He’s an idiot. I’m sorry he did this.”
“George, you better go,” Charlotte’s father suggests before taking Charlotte from Sniper and leading her toward the house. Charlotte, so lost in her pain, doesn’t seem to notice who has her. God, I did this to her. She’s crushed. We both knew George would have a hard time accepting the truth, but he’s acting like a fucking psycho.
Charlotte makes it up the stairs with the help of her father when George shouts, “Charlotte!” She turns and acknowledges him, her face puffy from crying. “I want to know if he got my last email.”
He’s testing her. He wants to see if she’s the real deal. “You’re a real dick for not asking her that first before freaking out on her,” I tell him, even though he can’t hear me. Charlotte’s gaze moves to mine, waiting for me to answer, eager for a chance to prove herself to him.
I glare at George but stop when I see the pain on his face. “Damn it,” I sigh. “He told me he missed me and said he couldn’t wait to have me come home.” She nods and repeats the words and everyone is silent as George stares back at her.
“I’m telling the truth, George. I can see him right now,” she whispers. “You’re both handsome, look a lot alike, but he’s a little bigger. He has amazing brown eyes, very soft, but yours are darker. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.”
George doesn’t respond. A single tear falls down his cheek and after a moment, he turns and heads for his bike. And Charlotte sobs uncontrollably as we all watch him take off.
“Are you all right?” my father asks as he holds me tight. I can’t help the way I lash out at him.
“Do you care? Looks like he believed I’m a nut job, just like you wanted,” I cry.
My father’s arms drop from around me just as Beverly approaches and pulls me back in the living room. “I’m sorry about George’s reaction, dear. This is a little surprising to all of us,” she states softly.
“I believe you, Char,” Cameron pipes in as he thumbs through a Playboy. In a flash, Beverly snaps the magazine from his hands and smacks him upside the head with it. “Jesus, Ma,” Cameron laughs as he scratches his head.
“Ike McDermott, I can’t believe you had these,” she says, and my heart stills. She believes me. She believes he’s here. My eyes dart over to Ike and he smiles softly at me. “Is he here . . . right now, Charlotte?” Beverly asks, and when I meet her gaze, I see hope.
“He is,” I answer in a husky voice.
I spend the next two hours communicating Ike’s words to his family. By the end, we’re all crying again. My father left at some point, which I’m highly grateful for. Henry and Beverly hug me tightly, both thanking me a hundred times over.
“Will he crossover now?” Henry asks; his eyes shiny with fresh tears.
“Soon. If he thinks George is okay . . . then probably very soon.”
Ike decided to stay with George last night to make sure he was okay. If there was a problem, he promised to let me know so I could tell Sniper. We all agreed I needed to let George have some space. My father never came to see me off when I left the McDermotts’ house, and for that, I’m glad. I guess he knew I was a wreck, and pushing me wouldn’t earn him any points. So when there’s a knock at my door the next afternoon, I huff, just knowing it’s him. And even though my father is the last person in the world I want to see right now, when I open my door and see who it is, I wish it was my father.
“Detective,” I say, morosely. A tiny woman is standing next to him, and behind her, a short man with thin hair. I recognize them immediately. They’re Casey’s parents. I saw them the first night I met Casey at the restaurant in Vermont.
“Ahem.” Someone clears their throat and I see Henry is behind them. “Forgive the intrusion, Charlotte. But may we come in?”
I look down at my sweatpants and Axel’s old T-shirt, realizing I look like hell after crying all night, but I open the door, unsure of what else to do, and let them all in. Once we’re all inside my small room, Henry and I sit on the end of the bed while the Purcells take a seat at the two chairs at the small table by the door. Detective Andrews stands rigidly next to them.
“Do you know who these people are?” Henry asks, jutting his chin toward the Purcells.
“Casey Purcell’s parents,” I answer.
“They’ve been in town since they discovered Casey’s body,” Henry explains. “I told them and the detective here, you may know more.” Frantically, my gaze meets his, and I want to feel betrayed, but when I see the sadness in his eyes, I know he only wants to give these people peace like I gave to him and Beverly. “It’s the right thing to do,” he tells me.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and then fix my gaze on Mrs. Purcell. “I met Casey in Vermont. You were having dinner with her sister. She was there . . . you just couldn’t see her. But I could. I have the ability to speak with the dead . . . their souls, that is. They’re caught in limbo with unfinished matters.” The Purcells glance back and forth to one another, and it’s not hard to tell they’re not swallowing the pill I’m giving them.
“Mr. McDermott, you said she had more information. This is absurd,” Detective Andrews intervenes.
“Just wait, Detective Andrews,” Henry insists, holding a hand up to him, before looking back to me and nodding once, telling me to continue.
“She said you guys were falling apart and were all a mess. That you all needed to know she was dead so you could let go of the hope you were clinging on to. I drove here to Virginia because I had to see her body for myself before I could report it. I made an anonymous report. I can see you’re having a hard time believing what I’m telling you, and that’s exactly what I was afraid of.”
“Do you know who killed her?” Mrs. Purcell asks timidly.
“Are you sure you want to know the details?”
The Purcells look to one another again before looking back to me. Mr. Purcell nods once.
“It was a Friday,” I begin, my stomach clenching as I remember Casey’s version of the events that transpired that night. “She was out with her roommate and her roommate’s boyfriend. They’d left her; they were drunk and got caught up in each other. They knew other people there, so they figured she’d be okay if they left. Casey mentioned an older guy asked her to dance. She thought he was cute, so she agreed. They had a few drinks and she started feeling woozy so she told him she was leaving. She was going to try and walk back to her apartment.”
Mr. Purcell shakes his head. “I told her never to walk alone at night.”
“Not now, Leonard,” Mrs. Purcell scolds. “Please, go on, dear,” she encourages.
“She blacked out at some point on the way home and when she came to he was . . .” I can’t say it. Not to them. It’s too horrific to think, let alone say out loud. Casey woke up in the back of a van, her face plastered to the floor as he raped her. Even she couldn’t finish without tearing up when she told me about it. My stomach is in knots but I know must continue. “He was . . . on top of her,” I manage, and the Parcells immediately keel over; crying.
“I should stop,” I say to Henry, who is rubbing circles on my back.
