Charlotte

by Keane, Stuart

  Then she remembered.

  “It’s over.”

  Patricia shivered and realised she was cold. Her skin prickled beneath the dry blood and slick sweat. She climbed to her feet and spun around.

  She groaned.

  The front door was open. Snow had cascaded into the hallway, sticking to the gallons of blood that coated the floor. Cold, bitter wind whistled as it poured through the front door.

  It hadn’t been like that when she’d collapsed.

  A stab of fear clutched at her stomach. “No, no, no, no.” She spun around and looked down at the floor behind her. The blood distorted into wavy lines and splashes. The entire floor was coated in the red bodily fluid.

  Patricia broke down and cried, a broken woman.

  Amy was gone.

  “We have reports of a small girl driving an unidentified stolen vehicle through the town of Lake Whisper. Several people were injured and it is believed that the girl is still at…”

  Bruce turned off the news. He dropped the remote on the bed beside him and sighed. He lifted his injured hand into view and peeled back the bandage. Wincing, he gazed at the ragged lines of flesh on the back of his hand. A few strings of bloody mucus hung from the skin to the back of the bandage.

  The edges were frayed, slick muscle shone through several uneven edges. The glue had done the job. The doctor had warned him to take it easy for a few weeks. Let the skin heal itself. Bruce placed the bandage back and smiled. “I ain’t going nowhere, doc.”

  “I ain’t a doctor, Mr Brunswick.” D.S Moore appeared at the bedside. Bruce groaned. “What can I do for you, Sergeant?”

  “Nothing. Just came by to say hi. Oh, and you’re free to go.”

  “Really.” Bruce sat up, leaning on his pillow. “How come?”

  “Well, we discovered that Dr. Barden killed himself. Took a bit of hacking but he slit his own throat good and proper. We found the murder weapon under the body with his prints all over it. Must have fallen on it. Poor bastard.”

  Bruce sighed. Poor bastard indeed. “Guy must have been pretty strong to do that.”

  “Apparently, he was. We checked his documents. He went to the gym daily. He had a good physique on him. We spoke to the gym manager and he could deadlift two hundred pounds or so…impressive. I guess we’ll never know what drove him to do it.”

  Bruce remained silent. He could think of a few things.

  “Anyway, we’re outta here. Sorry for keeping you back. We’ll need you to sign some paperwork to close the investigation.”

  “You have my card, mail them to me.”

  Moore held a hand up and walked out of the door, scooting around the Nurse’s reception.

  Bruce smiled. A free man, yes, but I still need to stay put. The wife will wake up soon. I thought she might catch some shuteye. Expected. Hopefully she calmed Amy…

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  Bruce jumped and looked up at the TV, which was still off. His skin froze and he glanced to the right, towards the door.

  Amy was standing by his bed.

  Her eyes were yellow with black webs, which seemed to be moving and growing. Her ashen lips pulled back into a sneer and exposed her yellow, aged teeth. Her skin was pulsating, moving and rippling. She cocked her head to the side and she chuckled, a deep demonic chuckle that made Bruce piss his pants and shriek like a girl. Only, no sound came, it was a hoarse croak in his throat. He reached for the call button but found his hands pinned down. His head was forced backwards into his pillow. He tried calling out but no sound came.

  “Time to go, Daddy.”

  The second pillow slipped from beneath his head and twirled in the air. He felt the back of his skull sink into the bed a little more. For long, agonising seconds, it hovered above his face, taunting him.

  Bruce heard the commotion behind Amy.

  “What is that? Someone call security, we have a code red!”

  “That’s the girl on the news.”

  A series of alarms sounded, all lost in a blur to Bruce who was facing his imminent death. His eyes flicked over to Amy, who wasn’t his Amy anymore. He knew she was lost. The yellow, evil eyes watched him. The lips moved slightly, full of scorn.

  Charlotte had won.

  “You bitch.”

  The pillow thrust down on his face, smothering him. The cotton pushed onto his nose with such force, it snapped. Blood started trickling down his throat. His lips were pushed apart by the material, which also pressed his face down. The air started to burn, coming in short gasps, his body unable to provide any oxygen for his lungs, which soon felt like scorching fire. As his breathing laboured, and his brain slowly died from oxygen starvation, Bruce closed his eyes and remembered his daughter.

  The Amy that once was.

  “Goodbye, Daddy.”

  EPILOGUE

  Bromley Care Home

  One Year Later

  Peter Murray walked the halls, whistling as he went. His slightly off tune melody echoed in the dark, foreboding halls, alerting every child to his unwelcome presence. He used it to intimidate the children, show them who was in charge.

  This is my house, he thought. I’m the boss.

  Murray ran his nightstick along the bars of the cage beside him, sending a series of metallic clanks into the air. After three swipes, he stopped and listened. Normally, one kid would be crying by now, maybe two.

  He liked inflicting pain on the kids.

  No one could stop him.

  He ambled into the kitchen. He snatched a red apple from the fruit bowl beside him and opened the fridge. The room was deathly silent around him. He glanced left and right, looking for Susan, the chef. Nowhere to be seen. You can’t fucking miss her; fat bitch has more rolls than Sainsbury’s. Murray chuckled at his own, lame joke. He placed the apple between his teeth and took a pack of ham and two sausages from the fridge.

  He resumed his rounds.

  He slid a sausage in and out of his mouth, pursing his lips to mock fellatio, smiled, and took a bite. It tasted like shit. Murray swallowed it, took one more bite—he needed the energy—and tossed the remainder into the room beside him. It sailed into the darkness and hit something with a gentle thud.

  “Hey!”

  Murray paused at the sound of the strange voice. He took a step back and gazed into the darkness of the room. He saw the sausage on the floor behind one of the children. Their back was to him, supported in the air by a swivel chair. Murray whistled at the child, but got no response. He whistled again but got the same result. He felt a rage rising up inside of him. “Hey.”

  Still no response.

  “Oi.” He slammed his nightstick against the doorframe. “Oi, shit bricks. I’m talking to you.” He rattled the stick against the wooden frame once more.

  Murray stepped into the room. “You know I could have you scrubbing toilets for a week for not obeying an order? Stand to.”

  The child rotated on their chair slowly. The shadow in the room shrouded an innocent face, youthful and female. A young girl, evident when her brown hair fell over her face, covering one of her stark blue eyes.

  “What’s your name?”

  The girl didn’t respond.

  “I said…what’s your name?”

  The girl blinked. “Amy, sir.”

  “Good. Now, Amy, unless you want me to make you my bitch, you’ll cooperate, okay?” Murray took a step forward, past the door. “How long have you been here?”

  “A month.”

  “Uh huh. What are you in for?”

  “I shouldn’t tell you that.”

  “Well, you’re gonna.”

  “I killed some people.”

  “Oooo, big shot are we? Hardcore.” Murray placed his stash of food down outside of the room and stepped back in. “How old are you?”

  “Ten, now. I was nine when I…killed them.”

  Murray licked his lips, reached down and patted his crotch. He adjusted himself beneath his trousers, smirking as he did. He pointed. “Do you know wha
t this is?”

  “Probably less than average.”

  Murray laughed. “You’re a funny girl. I like funny. We’re going to get along just fine.”

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, Amy.”

  “Have you met my friend, Charlotte?”

  “Who? She another kid in here? Is she a naughty girl too?”

  “No, she’s my friend. She doesn’t take kindly to people picking on me or taking advantage of me.”

  “Who’s doing any such activity? We’re simply having a chat.”

  “It doesn’t feel like that,” Amy uttered, weakly.

  “It’s just a chat. Say, why don’t you get Charlotte in here, we can have a group session. If it makes you any more comfortable.”

  “Okay no problem.”

  “What room is she in? I can go and fetch her.”

  “Ah, don’t worry about that, she’s behind you.”

  “Wha…” Murray span around.

  The door slammed.