by Cross, Amy
"But Charlotte, how -"
"Got to go," she said again, before disconnecting the call. It sounded as if Ruth and Tony were arguing in the kitchen, and Charlotte couldn't help thinking that even though her sister was suffering, she seemed to be taking her pain out on everyone around her. Then again, Charlotte had to acknowledge that she didn't really understand how it felt to be a mother. This was the one area where Ruth was the expert, and Charlotte recognized that she couldn't really compete. She'd never been more aware of the fact that she lacked experience regarding children. Not only had she never had any of her own, but she barely even remembered being one.
***
"They're going to find her," Tony was saying as Charlotte arrived at the kitchen door a few minutes later. Leaning over his wife, who was sitting slumped at the kitchen table, he seemed fraught and tired, as if most of the strings holding him up had already been cut. "The hardest part is to hang onto hope," he continued, running a hand over Ruth's back. "The really hard part -"
"Do you want to know the hardest part?" Ruth replied suddenly, looking up at her husband with tear-filled, scornful eyes. "The hardest part is carrying a child for nine months, giving birth to her, raising her for eight years and then having her vanish one day like she never even -"
Before she could finish, Ruth spotted Charlotte and fell silent.
"Any news?" Charlotte asked after a moment.
"What do you think?" Ruth asked, wiping tears from her cheeks. "Of course there's no fucking news, except that the lack of news is kind of the worst news there could be, isn't it?"
"Does anyone want a cup of tea?" Charlotte asked, making her way to the kettle.
"Thanks," Tony muttered.
"No!" Ruth said firmly. "Don't touch anything!"
Charlotte turned to her.
"This isn't your house," Ruth continued. "That's not your kettle or your tea, so why the hell do you presume to start offering things to people?"
"I just wanted to help," Charlotte said quietly.
"If you can't help me find my daughter," Ruth continued, with pure hatred in her voice, "then what's the fucking point of you?"
"Sweetheart -" Tony started to say.
"No!" Ruth shouted, pushing him aside before getting to her feet and advancing upon Charlotte. "What are you, anyway?" she continued. "A sister? You've never been a proper sister, not since your little year away. You're just some barren, sarcastic whore who keeps turning up in my life to make fun of me!" With tears in her eyes, Ruth paused for a moment, breathless after her outburst. "I hate you," she said finally, with sudden calm in her voice. "I've lost my daughter, who I love more than anything or anyone in the world, and yet my bitch of a sister is still here. I'd give anything to change that. Anything."
Charlotte opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. There were simply no words that could possibly respond to such an attack, and she was overcome by the need to get the hell away from the house.
"Maybe you should have a rest," Tony said, putting an arm on Ruth's shoulder.
"Not while this bitch is in my house," Ruth sneered.
"It's okay," Charlotte said, "I'm going." With that, she turned and hurried through to the hallway, filled with the need to get as far away from the house, and from Ruth, as possible.
"She's just upset," Tony said, coming through to watch as she put her shoes on and grabbed her coat.
"I'm sure Sophie'll come back soon," Charlotte replied, hoping that by not looking directly at her brother-in-law she might be able to hide the tears in her eyes. She just wanted to get to her car and get the hell away from everyone. "If the police need anything," she continued, opening the door, "just give them my details and tell them to get in touch. I don't think there's anything else I can do here."
"Wait," Tony said, hurrying over and giving her an unexpected hug. "Please don't leave," he whispered, his lips close to her ear. "I need someone else sane in the house."
Charlotte shook her head.
"Please," Tony continued, still holding her in the hug, as if he was trying to prevent her from leaving. "I think it's going to be last it was with you, and I don't know how Ruth and I are going to handle that?"
"What do you mean?" Charlotte asked, waiting for him to release her.
"It might be a year before she comes back," Tony replied.
Charlotte closed her eyes. In that split second, she realized two things. First, that Tony had given up hope of Sophie suddenly turning up, and second, that he'd begun to cling to the idea that somehow the miracle of twenty years earlier would be repeated. Charlotte wanted to tell him that he was wrong, to explain that he was making a mistake, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words.
"She's just scared," Tony said, releasing Charlotte from the hug. There were tears in his eyes now, and he looked deathly pale, even sick. "She doesn't mean the things she says."
"If I thought staying would help find Sophie," Charlotte replied, "I'd do it. But..." She paused. "I'll just go back to London for a few days, sort some things out and..." She took a deep breath. She knew she was being a bad sister by leaving, but at the same time, she couldn't stand to be around Ruth's venomous bile. "I'll be back," she said finally, even though she'd been planning to stay away. "I promise. I'll be back to help out, but I need to go and sort some things out. Okay?"
Tony paused. "Okay," he said finally, although it was clear that he didn't really believe her.
"I promise," Charlotte lied. "I'll be back in a few days." With that, she turned and walked out the door, and although she didn't look back, she knew that Tony was watching her leave. She was tempted to turn back, to ease her brother-in-law's burden by agreeing to stay, but she'd already made a decision that required her to leave. Rattling around the house, arguing incessantly with her sister, wouldn't bring Sophie back. But she had an idea that might.
***
"Are you sure about this?" Dr. Gould said hesitantly.
Charlotte took a deep breath. She'd driven a half-mile from her sister's home before parking up at the side of the road and making the phone call she'd never, ever thought she'd make.
"I'm sure," she said, her voice tense and tearless.
"Is this because of your niece?"
"Yes."
"And you're aware that no matter what progress we might make in your case, there's no -"
"I know," she said, cutting him off. "It probably won't help Sophie, but it might. And even if there's only a one in a million chance, and even if it opens up a whole lot of bad memories for me, I want to do it. Do you think it's possible?"
Dr. Gould paused for a moment. "I've always felt that the memories are buried deep within your subconscious mind," he said eventually, "but that with patient work, we might be able to retrieve at least some of them." He paused again. "There are no guarantees, Charlotte, but I think we should be able to get somewhere."
"I'll be back in London by tonight," she replied, "so when can you fit me in?"
"We'll start tomorrow," he replied calmly. "I'll schedule you for an extra session at five, is that okay?"
"Five," Charlotte said, staring straight ahead. "I'll be there."
"And Charlotte," he continued, "please try to... retain some perspective. It's a good thing, in my opinion, that you're willing to take this step in your own life, but I highly doubt that it's going to resolve anything in terms of whatever fate has befallen your niece."
"I know," she replied, as tears welled up in her eyes again, "but I have to try."
"I'll see you tomorrow at five," Dr. Gould replied.
Charlotte opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. Instead, she was suddenly hit by an uncontrollable wave of grief that crashed through her body and reduced her to a sobbing, bawling wreck. Letting her head drop to her chest, she closed her eyes and tried in vain to pull herself together, but eventually all that came out were a series of loud sobs.
"Charlotte?" Dr. Gould said after a moment. "Are you okay?"
She cut the
call off and dropped the phone onto the passenger seat before leaning forward and resting her head on the steering wheel. Waves of fear and pain swept through her, and for several minutes she could do nothing but sob uncontrollably until, finally, she felt that she was going to throw up. She lost track of time for a while, but eventually the sobbing started to subside and she opened her eyes and looked out the window.
She sat in silence for a moment, as the last tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Where are you?" she whispered, staring out at the miles of rolling fields and forest that surrounded the house. "Where the hell are you?"
Twenty years ago
Sitting up with a jolt, Charlotte realized she must have passed out for a moment. She reached around frantically, terrified that she might have slipped further into the darkness, but finally she figured that it didn't really matter anyway.
She leaned back against the rock-face. Before she passed out, she was feeling weak; now, it was as if all the energy in her body had been drained out. She tried to keep her eyes open, but from time to time they seemed to close automatically, as if they had a will of their own. After a while, she began to lost track of how much time passed between each moment of thought; she was fairly sure that every time she closed her eyes, minutes or hours went past. She barely had the energy to think anymore, and she certainly couldn't shout for help.
So she waited. All around her, the cave walls were continuing to drip, and occasionally a splash of cold water landed on her skin. At first she flinched when she felt each drop, but gradually she lost the will for even that small act of life. She let her head droop down, her chin pressing against her chest, and something else began to change: whereas before she'd been mostly awake, now she was only occasionally opening her eyes, each time just for a few seconds before drowsiness carried her away again.
Slowly but surely, the gaps between consciousness were getting longer and longer, until finally she stopped waking up entirely and sank, instead, into permanent darkness.
One year later
Part Three
Drowning
Today
At first it was just a faint sound in the middle of the night, a kind of scratching noise, as if a tree branch was rubbing against the window. It was enough to disturb Charlotte's sleep, causing her to roll onto her side, but she remained asleep. For a few minutes, the sound seemed to abate, before coming back with renewed vigor, scratching incessantly on the glass until Charlotte's eyes flicked open. She was still half-asleep, but she was beginning to become aware that something was wrong.
The room was pitch black, with just the faintest hint of moonlight picking out the edges of the window. Charlotte remained perfectly still, her tired eyes watching the darkness and listening as the scratching sound faded away for a few minutes. Just as she was about to try going back to sleep, however, Charlotte realized she could hear it again, and this time it seemed less like a tree branch and more like... She couldn't help but imagine small fingers, their nails scratching against the outside of the window frame, and this immediately brought Charlotte all the way out of her slumber. She stared into the darkness and listened as the scratching became more of a rubbing sound, and finally she realized that for her own peace of mind, she'd have to go and check that nothing was wrong.
Pushing the duvet aside, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat in silence for a moment, watching the window. Her mind raced as she tried to work out whether there were any trees in the little alley that ran along the side of her apartment, but she was fairly sure that there was nothing out there that should be making such a noise. Getting to her feet, she tried to tell herself that the culprit must be a mouse, or perhaps a bird with a twig in its mouth. As she picked her way across the dark room, her bare feet brushing against piles of discarded clothing, she came up with dozens of increasingly outlandish explanations for the noise: she imagined a variety of birds, rodents, squirrels, foxes, badgers, hedgehogs... pretty much any kind of animal native to the British Isles, she considered might be out on the window ledge, making the noise.
Placing her hand on the latch, she put her face close to the glass for a moment, just to make sure that there wasn't a burglar out there, waiting to pounce.
She took a deep breath before finally opening the lock and pushing the window open. Leaning out, she felt a gust of cold air hit her naked torso as she looked down at the alley below. A nearby streetlight illuminated the scene with an electric orange glow, enough to show that there seemed to be neither man nor beast anywhere nearby. Looking around and then up, Charlotte made doubly sure that there was nothing to see, and only then did she allow herself to consider the possibility that the scratching sound had all been part of a dream that had maybe lingered a few seconds longer than usual. She looked down at her arms and saw that she was getting chicken skin from the cold, so she pulled the window shut and made doubly sure to close the latch so that -
Suddenly a shape loomed toward her from the other side of the window and smashes the glass, showering her with shards as a small arm reached through and grabbed her wrist. Startled, Charlotte stepped back and tried to get free of the child's grip, before a small face appeared from the darkness, staring at her. For a fraction of a second, she thought that it was Sophie, before realizing that it was some other young girl. As the child reached another hand toward her, Charlotte panicked and tried to push the girl away, her hand pressing against the visitor's ice-cold face. Finally, in an act of sheer desperation, she forced the girl down onto the shards of broken glass at the bottom of the window, instantly skewering the girl's neck. As she adjusted her grip, Charlotte realized that cold blood was flowing over her hands from the gash in the girl's flesh, but as she tried to get free, she succeeded only in slicing the girl against the rest of the glass until blood was pouring from the wound.
"Get off!" Charlotte shouted, putting both her hands on the girl's face and pushing with all her strength. There was a loud ripping sound, like some kind of cloth canvas being torn, and the girl's head tilted back, exposing the stump of her neck caught on a sharp piece of glass. Charlotte tried to call out again, but suddenly she felt as if her lungs were full of water. For a moment, the meat of the girl's neck glistened in the faint moonlight, before Charlotte - caught up in a blind panic - pushed one final time and fell from the girl's grasp, landing on her back in bed and rolling over just in time to come face to face with the panicked stare of the guy who had been trying to sleep next to her.
"Charlotte?" he said. "What's wrong?"
She turned and looked back at the window, but the light seemed different now and it was clear that the glass was unbroken. Still trying to catch her breath, Charlotte sat up and looked at her hands, finding that there was no blood. She paused for a moment, before turning to the guy and realizing with sudden clarity that it wasn't just 'some guy' at all. It was John, and he was supposed to be in her bed. In fact, he'd been in her bed every night for the past six months.
"Nightmare?" he asked, looking startled.
Charlotte paused. The experience with the young girl had seemed so real and so vivid, she found it impossible to accept that the whole thing could have been a simple nightmare. Then again, there was no other possible explanation, and so she forced herself to accept that, somehow, it had all been in her mind.
"You okay?" John asked, handing her a glass of water from his bedside table. "Charlotte?"
"I'm fine," she replied, taking a sip. "I warned you I might be a little..." Her voice trailed off as she replayed the image of the girl's face over and over again. It wasn't Sophie, in fact it wasn't anyone she recognized, but those two little dark eyes had stared at her with such intensity, she couldn't get them out of her mind. She could still feel the girl's ice-cold hands on her skin, and she was convinced that at any moment the vision would come back.
"Do you want to talk about it?" John asked.
She turned to him. "No," she said after a few seconds. "I mean, it was just a nightmare, right? It was just
..." She paused. "It was just a dream."
"Sure," John replied, clearly aware that he shouldn't press any further. "Maybe we shouldn't have cheese so close to bed, huh?"
"Maybe," Charlotte replied, trying to force herself to smile. She'd successfully avoided telling John about the worst of her past since they'd first met six months ago. He knew that her niece had gone missing, of course, but other than that she'd been remarkably, skillfully vague. Most people would probably have tied themselves into knots with all the half-truths and omissions she'd been forced to deploy, but Charlotte had always been very good at mental gymnastics, and she salved her conscience by telling herself that it was for his own good that he was kept in the dark. Well, that and whiskey. It helped, too, that she'd had no contact with her sister since the day she left the house almost exactly a year earlier.
"Come here," John said, putting a large, well-toned arm around her.
Charlotte hated herself for being so easy to console, but she had to admit that John's embrace always made her feel better. She'd never taken herself to be the kind of woman who could get all giddy in the arms of a strong man, and in fact she'd laughed at that kind of woman in the past; right now, however, she just wanted John to hold her as she sat and stared at the window, convinced that the little girl's image was going to come back at any moment.
"Sleepy time?" he asked, kissing her shoulder.
Charlotte nodded, but as she settled down and turned her back on John, allowing him to spoon her, she couldn't shake the memory of the girl's face. If it had been Sophie who had appeared in her nightmares, she could almost understand how and why her subconscious mind might be trying to torture her. This girl, however, had been a complete stranger, and it was the lack of recognition that gave Charlotte the most trouble. Given the amount of crap that she'd already been through, why did her mind want to invent new stuff? Closing her eyes, she tried to get some sleep, although she knew deep down that she'd be awake until morning.
