Chapter 42
Charlie had only one thought on his mind: how much time before they discovered him missing? He didn’t need a degree in psychiatry or a law enforcement background to speculate that his escape would raise alarms. As far as Walderman was concerned, Charlie was a potentially violent and dangerous escaped mental patient. The police would be looking for him soon enough.
Worse, he didn’t know what he should do now that he was out. Eddie Prescott had spoken to him from the grave. He was the one who had set these events in motion. Charlie was certain of that. But Eddie had offered warnings only. The moves Charlie made now would have to be his alone. Free from Walderman and presumably away from the danger Eddie had warned him about, Charlie felt adrift. It surprised him how quickly he had adapted to the routine of institutionalized life. Freedom took far more effort.
Fortunately, nothing about his appearance would draw attention. His clothes and shoes were his own. At least Walderman didn’t further cement the stigma of commitment by forcing patients to wear hospital clothes or a uniform. But with the police looking for him, he needed a better disguise—a hat and sunglasses, at least. That would take money. Money was something he didn’t have, not to mention a watch, a cell phone, or ID of any sort. Going home for those items would be ill-advised. They would track him there. The same held true for contacting Joe. If he wanted to maintain his freedom, it was imperative that he stay away from his former life.
Charlie strolled down Belmont Avenue. He kept an even pace, certain that he still had hours before anyone would notice him missing. He had a scheduled therapy session later in the afternoon. When he didn’t show for that, the alarms would sound.
His thoughts drifted back to Eddie Prescott’s voice. Eddie’s words remained ingrained in his memory, as though he were reading them written down.
“I will be your guide,” Eddie had said. “Everything can be explained. Nothing is as it seems.”
Charlie burst into laughter. His circumstances were so surreal, laughing felt as justified as crying.
He looked around, grateful that he had not drawn attention to himself. Twenty minutes of walking and Charlie had come to Fresh Pond Circle in Cambridge. The area was a major oasis for the outlier city dwellers of Cambridge. Paths for bikers, walkers, and runners crisscrossed the 150-acre tract of land surrounding the city public water supply. He was near Alewife Station on the Red Line. The subway could take him deep into the heart of Boston or away from the city, into other suburban towns accessible by bus.
The Fresh Pond area always drew an eclectic crowd, and today was no exception. Charlie was grateful for the increase in pedestrian traffic. It would help keep him concealed.
He fell into step with the shoppers walking in and out of stores in the Fresh Pond Mall. Charlie took notice of a group of young people—some teenagers, some older—loitering outside the Staples near the Fresh Pond Mall cinema. Most were dressed in black, tattered clothes, their bodies adorned with pierced jewelry and tattoos. One boy, sitting idle on the curb, caught Charlie’s attention. At first he didn’t believe it possible. Curiosity getting the better of him, Charlie slipped behind a group of women shoppers with their small children in tow to get closer to the youths without being spotted.
The boy sitting on the curb was Maxim, his bunk mate from the night before. Maxim sat with his shoulders hunched forward, his head hung low, and his eyes cast downward. He wore the same skull T-shirt that he’d had on when they were first introduced. His jewelry returned, Maxim glistened in the sunlight like a chain-mailed gothic warrior.
Most of Maxim’s companions were thin like him. They swarmed about the empty parking lot on their skateboards and BMX bikes. The skaters would hit the curb, flipping their boards, and almost without fail miss the landing. Maxim looked up and Charlie jumped. He darted into the Whole Foods Market, praying that Maxim hadn’t noticed him. To blend in with the crowd, he wandered the aisles, carrying a basket and placing a few items inside. As far as store security was concerned Charlie was just another shopper out on a busy afternoon.
A few minutes wandering the aisles was all it took for Charlie to decide he needed to move on. He figured he’d walk into Boston from here. His best chance of staying free was to stay hidden. And the best place for that was in the city. Belmont police would probably take the lead on his recapture. But coordinating with Boston police would add some confusion and delay to the process. Charlie was certain he’d be safer in Boston than anywhere else. At least then he’d have time to plan his next move. Or maybe Eddie Prescott would return and tell him where to go next.
Charlie was in the bread aisle, returning one of the items he had placed in his basket, when Eddie spoke to him.
“You have to get to the Seacoast Motel. The answers are there,” Eddie whispered.
Charlie whirled around. Six people were in the aisle. A plus-size black woman with a cart crammed with enough food to feed a family of twelve stood across from two elderly women who were examining the ingredients of some baking product. On the same side of the aisle as Charlie but some twenty feet away was an elderly man who walked with a cane. He wore a dark blue baseball cap. A shock of white hair spilled out from underneath it. Across from him was a mother, shopping with her two-year-old wedged safely in the shopping cart seat.
Charlie was looking directly at the old man when Eddie spoke again.
“The Seacoast Motel in Revere. All the answers are there. Room two-twenty-four. Go there and everything will become clear.”
The old man and the woman didn’t react to Eddie’s voice at all.
They can’t hear him, Charlie thought. I’m the only one who can.
Charlie looked over at the black woman, who was still filling her cart with food.
“You are running out of time,” Eddie warned.
The black woman didn’t flinch. The older women kept examining different ingredients, unfazed. Eddie was speaking to him alone, guiding the way.
Charlie couldn’t help but laugh. Unlike Eddie’s voice, his laugh was heard by both the black woman and the elderly shoppers. They turned and looked at Charlie. He held up a box of crackers.
“Can you believe these prices?” he said.
“Best quality, but they sure make you pay for it,” the black woman agreed.
“They sure do,” Charlie said.
“The Seacoast Motel in Revere. Room two-twenty-four. Go now …,” Eddie hissed.
Charlie had nowhere else to go. Nothing was left to hold him back. He had no home, no job, no family to turn to. The police would be looking for him, and ghosts were talking to him. He put the crackers back and carried his basket toward the exit.
Eddie had spoken, and Charlie was ready to obey. The only thing he needed now was money. And if there was one thing Charles Giles was good at, it was getting cash.
Chapter 43
Stepping outside the Whole Foods Market, Charlie scanned the parking lot for Maxim. It didn’t take long for him to spot the same gang of Goths, clustered together in a circle at the far end of the mall parking lot. As Charlie approached, he could see that they had gathered around a fellow Goth, a thin, muscular boy who was demonstrating his talent for gravity-defying stunts on a BMX bike. Sitting on the curb, smoking a cigarette and seemingly disinterested in the exhibition taken place, was Maxim. His lanky frame, jet-black hair, ripped jeans, and thin arms adorned with spiked bracelets, made him a perfect fit for this crowd.
As Charlie approached, Maxim turned, saw him, and then stood. The expression on Maxim’s face was an awkward combination of fear and surprise.
“Dude … what the … dude,” he said, pointing to Charlie. The encounter had understandably caught the boy off guard. It was not surprising that Charlie’s sudden appearance, like a mirage shimmering from desert sands, had left him speechless. His friends now took notice. The agitation in Maxim’s voice was enough to turn their attention away from the stunt rider and toward Charlie.
“Who is that?” a woman said to Maxim. She
had a shock of short pink hair, perhaps a dozen piercings in her nose and ears, as well as a snaking barbed-wire tattoo that ran up the length of her neck.
The fact that Maxim could identify Charlie to the authorities didn’t concern him much. This crew didn’t seem the type to embrace any sort of police involvement.
“I don’t know,” Maxim said. “I’ve never seen him before.”
Spotting the opening to make his attack, Charlie’s eyes sparkled.
He didn’t tell them where he spent the night, Charlie thought. That’s good.
“Well, he’s coming to talk to you,” she said.
Maxim took a step forward. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” he said. Maxim stood up and gave Charlie the most menacing look he could muster. “Back away, freak, or you’ll regret it,” he said.
Charlie stopped about five feet away. “Take it easy, buddy,” he said. “It seems that I’ve locked my keys in the car. I can get them without calling a tow or the police, but I could use an extra set of hands.”
“Well, I’m not it. So bug off, prick,” Maxim said.
“My mistake,” Charlie said. “I misjudged. I took you for the honest, helpful type. So tell me, do any of them know?” Charlie kept smiling.
The pink-haired woman was joined by another boy, perhaps Maxim’s age, but even thinner. A few of the other Goths had inched closer to get a better look at the scene unfolding. Before Walderman, Charlie would have dismissed them all as wastes—no-good punks high on drugs and going nowhere fast. His time in Walderman had changed all that. George had changed that thinking forever. Who knows what lies underneath the surface? Charlie thought. A Goth dressed in black, tattooed, and adorned with spikes could be a brilliant mathematician, while the businessman who drove the nice car, was clean shaven, and wore a suit might murder his family.
Maxim’s eyes narrowed. “Dude, do you need me to show you the way out?” He stood and took a few steps forward. His words sounded forced, as if he was acting the part of the angry young man.
Charlie knew better. He saw fear, not anger, in Maxim’s eyes. Fear that Charlie might share his secret with his friends.
“Look, I just needed some help, that’s all. No worries if you don’t want to help out,” Charlie said.
“And why should he help you?” the pink-haired woman asked. “What’s in it for him?”
Charlie smiled. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I guess he just seemed the type to pitch in. Perhaps I misjudged.”
“Well, trust me. He’s not that type,” she said.
“Oh, really?” Charlie asked. “Why doesn’t he answer for himself?” His smile broadened.
“Because I know him, that’s why,” she said. “He doesn’t have to talk, you jerk-off.”
The bait had been taken. It was time to end the hunt. “Is that so? Well, maybe you don’t know everything there is to know about him. Is that possible?” Charlie watched Maxim’s eyes widen and knew that the subtext was not lost on him.
Stepping forward, Maxim got between the pink-haired woman and Charlie.
“It’s all right, Louisa,” Maxim said. “I’ll help this guy. I’ve been reading about karma lately. If anyone could use some, it’s me.”
Louisa shook her bright pink head in disbelief. “You’re right,” she said to Charlie. “I guess I don’t know everything about him.”
Maxim confronted Charlie as soon as the two were a safe distance away. “Dude, what the fuck are you doing here? Are you nuts?” he asked and then laughed. “Oh, forget about that. You are nuts.”
“And what about you? Where did you spend last night? A Holiday Inn?”
“I’m out because I didn’t need to be there,” Maxim said. “I had one bad showdown at home, and my mom called nine-one-one on me. I was a bit out of control, so they sedated me good and took me to lockup. Lucky for me, I got to be roommates with a real wacko. I told my dad about it, and he had me out of there in an hour. But you really shouldn’t be on the street right now, should you?”
“Perhaps.”
“And let me guess. You need my help.”
“You’re getting warmer.”
“I don’t have any money, dude. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to make some money,” Charlie said.
As they walked down rows of cars, Charlie kept an eye out for a vehicle that wasn’t locked. He stopped by a blue ′96 Buick Century. Either the owner was forgetful or the power door lock actuator was broken. Either way, the car doors were unlocked.
Charlie stood by the driver’s side door, pretending to fiddle with the window. They were still close enough to Maxim’s crew for them to become suspicious.
Maxim, more intrigued than angry, went along. “I could use the money. What do I have to do?”
“How old are you?”
Maxim took a step back. “Dude! I’ve seen guys like you on T V. I ain’t into that shit.”
Charlie shook his head. “No. Are you old enough to drink?”
“Not legally,” Maxim said with a devilish grin.
Charlie had suspected this was the case. He had put Maxim at around nineteen or twenty. He could cruise Harvard Square until he found another partner for this crime, someone who had a bogus ID, but then he would risk exposing himself to a lot more people than he wanted. Maxim would do just fine.
“But you drink?”
“Yeah.”
“Fake ID?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Then that’s all you need. Five hundred dollars sound good to you?”
Maxim’s eyes narrowed. “Dude, you swear you’re not some sort of freak sex fiend? Because I don’t do that shit.”
Charlie laughed aloud. “Sorry, Maxim,” he said. “You’re not my type. No. This is strictly about money. But I can’t promise you it’s entirely on the level. If you want the cash, I can get it for you. Interested?”
“Yeah. I’m interested,” Maxim said.
With that Charlie pulled open the door to the Buick. He looked over at the Goths. At least Louisa had taken notice. Charlie shook Maxim’s hand.
“There is an Internet café on Prospect Street. Do you know it?” Charlie asked.
Maxim nodded.
“Meet me there in an hour.”
Maxim nodded again. “Dude, can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” Charlie said. “What is it?”
“Are you still … still … hearing voices and shit?”
Eddie Prescott’s words flooded Charlie’s thoughts, sending shivers of fear through his body.
“No, man. That was just the drugs they gave me. You know how that place is. I’m good. And I’m going to help you get that cash. Deal?”
They shook hands again as Charlie closed the car door.
“They’re going to wonder why you didn’t drive away.”
“Just tell them I had other errands to run. Make up something.”
“I can do that,” Maxim said.
Charlie turned to leave. He got a few steps away and stopped, turning back toward Maxim.
“Oh, and Maxim? Don’t get cute. This is between us. I’m not held to the same confidentiality standards as Walderman. Got it?”
“Don’t worry. I got it.”
It was a fifteen-minute walk to the Internet café on Prospect. Charlie stepped inside. A girl, perhaps still in high school, was working behind the counter. She smiled at him. The place had a few people working on computers and a couple others drinking coffee.
“Welcome to Cyber Café,” the girl said. “Can I get something for you?”
“Not right now. Thank you. I’m just going to work on the computer for a minute.”
“Great!” she said. “Let me know if I can get you anything to eat or drink.”
“I will,” Charlie said, holding back a smile.
Deviousness, if not the mother, was at least a cousin of invention. Charlie had never desired the prestige super hackers sought and few achieved, b
ut he understood the appeal and knew his fair share of “experts” who regularly plied the craft. His motivation now was desperation and not glory. For the first time in his life, Charlie was about to steal. And he wasn’t the least bit scared about transforming the coffee shop into a bank. The only thing that bothered him about it was that he was actually enjoying the rush.
Chapter 44
Eddie Prescott hadn’t spoken to him since leaving the market. In a way, Charlie missed hearing his voice. With Eddie talking to him from the grave, Charlie was a man on a mission. It was impossible for his logical mind to justify what he was doing and why, but he was willing to suspend his disbelief for something far more powerful than skepticism. Hope. Charlie kept Eddie’s voice alive by obsessing on his dead partner’s mantra.
The Seacoast Motel in Revere. All the answers are there.
What awaited him at that motel, he could only speculate. Perhaps it would explain what he had seen in the bathroom of Rudy Gomes’s apartment. Or who Anne Pedersen was, and why she’d followed him to the hospital. Maybe he’d learn the origin of the kill list, and why the voice of his dead partner filled his head. All that he knew was that he was a man on the run from the police and willing to do almost anything to stop running. Even if that meant stealing.
Internet cafés were a dying breed, but enough people without laptops, willing to pay a per minute usage fee, kept a few still in business. There was a total of four computers in the café. That was the right number. More, and it might take him much longer to get what he needed. Two of the four computers at the café were already in use. Charlie took a seat at one of two available terminals. The chair reminded Charlie of the mangy fixtures that masqueraded as furniture at Walderman. The thought of that place made him shiver.
Charlie clicked the Internet Explorer icon, and the café’s home page loaded. The home page was exactly what he’d expected: a simple Web form with a series of fields for customers to fill out: name, address, credit card number and expiration date, and Card Verification Value Code, the three- or four-digit code on the back of every credit card.
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