by Jarica James
Sunday
Morning
Charlie
The next day Sophia wakes me up early so we can drive down to Starbrooke. Knowing I’ll just be getting dirty, I put on some of my older clothes, which honestly seems so weird. The girl who wore these feels like a whole different person. Though I can’t resist my fingerless gloves that match my leather jacket, it’s too cold and that stuff will be too dusty not to wear something on my hands.
As soon as we climb in the car, I pull out my phone and send a good morning text to the group before explaining I’m out with Sophia today. Nobody responds since all of them are probably still passed out. I was going to wait before texting them, but I don’t know how I’ll be feeling later, mentally.
The drive is two hours long, and it gives me way too many opportunities to send my anxiety into dangerous levels. The memories keep flashing back throughout the drive, but the worst is the Starbrooke sign. As soon as I see it, my heart starts racing, my hands shake, and my vision tunnels. The only thing keeping me from slipping completely under is Sophia's warm hand that wraps around mine.
“You can do this, Charlie. You won’t be staying here, and it’s just stuff. Their belongings are not them,” she reassures me in a firm voice, the emotion behind it strong enough to ground me. The words help bring my anxiety down by a small amount, at least enough so I can take in a normal breath. That is, until we pull up outside of the storage unit.
Trying to keep my emotions in check, I tug the key out of my pocket and slip out of the car. Maybe if I move fast enough, I’ll outrun my panic.
My pulse picks up again as I unlock the double wide unit and raise the large door. The smell hits me almost immediately. It’s under a layer of stale air, but the familiar smell of lavender and vanilla that my mom somehow infused into our entire lives hit me like a moving truck.
Fuck, I can’t do this.
“We’ve got this, honey,” Sophia whispers, putting her hand on my shoulder and giving me a gentle squeeze. I nod and take a deep breath before walking farther in. The unit is illuminated by two single bulbs, hanging low and looking more like a fire hazard than anything, but they give off enough light that I can just make out the remnants of my former life.
A tear makes its way down my cheek as I take in the familiar furniture and pictures. I refused to go through them at the time, so everything that wasn’t covered in blood got moved in here. I plan on fully going through it all once I move out on my own, and my trust has enough to cover the expense until then.
I wade through the stacks of boxes and odds and ends. Instead of searching through it all, I decide to pull out anything that says 'office' on it. I bring them to the front of the unit to look at the contents in better lighting once I’m done.
After we pull out at least six boxes of papers and books, we reach the end of the office boxes. Deciding that's a good start, I close my eyes and let a wave of grief roll over me, nearly making me breathless. But that’s all I allow myself before I go out to inspect what we found.
Removing the first lid, I start sorting through them one by one. It's tedious work, but I'm determined to find anything that will point to the reason behind this. Because I know damn well it wasn’t a random act, it was purposeful and premeditated, despite what the police would believe.
Why believe your only witness when you can write her off as the broken fifteen-year-old who won’t speak anymore.
After an hour of shuffling through the boxes, I finally find something, which makes all the lingering pain worthwhile.
Excited, I hurry over to Sophia who is elbow deep in another box, tapping her shoulder to get her attention. Her eyes go wide as she scans over the document I point out. It's a printout of an email that was tucked into one of Dad’s old planners. It's from him to another coworker, stating the founder of his research company was channeling funds from their donations into another account. He didn’t think it was innocent and it's definitely something that could have gotten Dad into trouble if they found out. He must have printed it so they had evidence, just in case.
There has to be more, though. There's no way they would kill my family over transfers. Right?
“Oh my,” she whispers as she reads over it again. She pulls out her cell phone and makes a call. “I need to speak to Detective Flynn, please.” She pauses, waiting. “Hi, this is Sophia. Charlotte found some information that we think may be important to the case. Can you send someone over to the storage units to pick it up?” Listing off the address, she ends the call, her face twisted in what is supposed to be a reassuring smile but looks more like a worried grimace.
Not wanting to simply sit and think, I figure I may as well keep looking until they arrive. In the next box, I find one of his favorite old books. The pages are worn and the cover is frayed at the edges, but we’d read it so many times together. Smiling through my tear-filled eyes, I pick it up and crack it open. The tears stop as another paper flutters out.
This one isn’t an email, but an account print off of the transfers he talked about. It mentions the transfer being linked to something called SHRP. I don’t remember Dad ever mentioning anything like that when he talked about his work, but then again this could have been what him and Mom were arguing about a few days before their murder. It was a memory I’d forgotten, but I heard them arguing as I tried to fall asleep, and it was such an odd thing that it stuck out. The next day they acted like everything was fine, but we could feel the tension.
His company worked on medical research for conditions that could be improved with cell regeneration and other pharmaceuticals. They hoped to find a way to improve the body’s natural regeneration to essentially help cure itself and help the medicines along. Something like that would take years to achieve, but my dad was hopeful and proud of his work. He just wanted to contribute to the healing process even if it was only in a small way. His mom had died of cancer and he hated that he couldn’t save her, despite all of his knowledge and research.
I'm not surprised that he was investigating this, honestly. He hated shady business and their company was run on donations, which he took very seriously. Growing up, we had to attend banquets and fundraising events every year. If he stumbled upon something like this, he would have made sure that nothing would jeopardize their work, even if that meant ruining someone’s reputation and calling in authorities.
Knowing it could help, I set it on the top of the boxes with the other papers I found and continue to go through any other books to look for clues. The fact he tucked them away in books he knew we’d pick up, was eye opening.
The only other one I find is a handwritten note that has 'SHRP' at the top and lists a few names with question marks. I guess Dad suspected a few people were involved in the shady dealings. Of course, nothing I find says what those dealings were. But I know now that the investigation is open again, we might have a chance at uncovering more. The detectives know what to look for, far better than I do, at least.
The only thing they ever found missing was his work laptop, so they called it a burglary gone wrong. Now it makes more sense why they had taken it in the first place. The email must have been flagged by whoever was responsible for the funds and they sent someone to clean it up.
Though it’s never as easy as one person laundering money, they’re usually working with someone else. Dad probably only found the tip of the iceberg. Maybe now the police might actually investigate their bosses and work network thoroughly.
Not long after finding that list, the crunch of tires on gravel sounds out in the space. I gather up the few papers I found and pull the key off my ring as I wait for Detective Flynn to get out of his car.
My heart pounds in my chest as he walks closer. Flashbacks try to push to the surface, and it takes everything in me to not lose it right here and now. Squeezing my eyes shut, I take a few deep breaths to shove the images back into the recesses of my mind where they came from. Sophia must notice I’m on the edge of my control, because she steps up and takes my hand
in hers. When I open my eyes to meet his, Flynn gives me a sympathetic smile.
“Probably not happy to see me," he says in a light voice. I give a shrug and a small smile. Instead of wasting time, I hand over the papers and pull out my phone.
‘I found these in between books he loved, we have all of the office boxes we found set aside for you. I have an extra key to the storage unit for you, just please be careful, this stuff is all I have left of them,’ I type out, before handing it over to Flynn to read over. He gives me an impressed look before handing it back and shuffling through the papers.
“Thanks, kid. I will personally see to any searches of the unit. These papers are a huge step. I’ve never even heard of this SHRP, and I promise I will put everything I have into closing this case for you this time,” he promises, meeting my gaze with a determined one of his own. Knowing he means it, I give him a thankful smile before looking at Sophia for comfort. She pulls me in for a hug that nearly breaks down the rest of my walls before leading me back to the car with a quick thanks to Flynn.
Needing to see it one last time, I take a final glance around at the furniture and personal items filling the unit from wall to wall.
Memories flood me as I give in to the emotions I’ve been fighting. I can just imagine Dad sitting in his favorite chair, reading the morning paper. He’d always give these little play by plays as he read. At the time I found them annoying, but now I’d give anything to hear them again. He smelled like coffee and ink any time he'd kiss my forehead before heading to work.
My brother's old hockey sticks are resting against the wall. We all loved going to his games and cheering so loudly he’d pretend to be embarrassed, but deep down he loved it. He always did these ridiculous renditions of his best moves at the celebratory dinners we had afterward which were over the top and hilarious. He would tease me, but he also loved me and protected me.
Mom's vanity is across the room, the mirror covered in so much dust you can’t see the reflection anymore, but it was beautiful before this. I can still picture Mom doing her makeup there. I'd curl up on her bed and watch, thinking she was the prettiest mom in the world, hoping I'd someday be that pretty too.
The old, worn rug catches my eye. We had family game nights on that rug, usually choosing to sit on the floor instead of spreading the game out on our small dining room table. Mom would make a ridiculous number of snacks, and we'd all tease each other and fight over the best pieces in monopoly.
Wave after wave of sadness and nostalgia hit me until I can’t take it anymore. Needing a break, I wipe away the tears and turn away from it all. It’s hard to comprehend how a lifetime of love and happiness can be reduced to stacks of furniture, personal effects, and one broken girl.
Sophia gives me a reassuring hug when I finally walk back to her and leads me to the car. We pull away from the unit, and I try to fight the numbness threatening to overtake me again. Just when I think I’m moving past the grief, the world reminds me why I closed myself off and don’t dare speak, even if I could.
They died and I didn't, leaving me alone in this world.
If I hadn't found my misfits and Sophia, I don't know where I'd be.
“Let’s go home, Charlie. It’s in their hands now,” Sophia says, not even bothering to offer hollow words. She doesn't talk to me the rest of the drive, letting me have my time to grieve again. I lose myself in my memories as she drives us home to Arcadia Hills.
Monday
Afternoon
Charlie
When I walk to the lunchroom today, it feels so empty. Our school has field trips to the capital all week, which they apparently do once a year. Instead of splitting by grades, they divided us up into three groups. Which means over a third of our student population is missing.
Today it's just me and Trent for once. He's waiting with his feet kicked up on the table, his usual lazy grin in place. He has one of those smiles that I can't help but return. I'm actually excited to get to spend some alone time with him, something we don't get to do very often. Everything we all do is as a group.
"It's just us today, Charlie," he says cheerfully, sliding the chair out and I take it.
I pull out my notebook and push it between us. He pulls a pen from behind his ear and lays it on the paper.
"So, how is your day with half the school missing? I hate that they split it up into three groups. Do you go next or last?" he asks all at once in his usual word jumble that I find endearing.
'I go in the third group, though I think Adam is just sick today because he said he's going to be in my group, too,' I write, and Trent sighs in frustration.
"Which means I'm going to have to go completely alone tomorrow. Poor me," he whines, batting his eyelashes dramatically. "Don't you feel sorry for me?"
I shake my head no and roll my eyes, before popping a fry in my mouth. He clutches his chest dramatically and sits up in his chair. His demeanor turns from joking to serious in a flash, and I raise an eyebrow at him. Over the months I’ve been here, I’ve somehow grown used to his quick talking, dramatics, and random mood changes.
"You know, it's crazy you've only been here a few months, but it feels like you've been around forever. I'm glad you moved here, though I'm not glad for whatever happened to make you look so haunted all the time. Your smile is beautiful though, and I'll never stop trying to put it on your face over and over again," he vows, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
It’s such a sweet and unexpected declaration I don’t know what to say back, so I just smile and glance down for a second to regain composure before looking back up. When my eyes meet his, I try to convey the emotions I'm feeling. Everything he's saying, I feel too.
We really need to have that talk soon.
They all mean too much to me for me to lose them because I can't control my emotions and broken pieces. Though every time I show a bit of vulnerability, they’re right here waiting for me to
If I didn't have the past I do, would I still want to be with all four of them?
It’s a question I’ve asked myself often, but this time I know the truth. I would. They see me in a way no one ever has, even Elizabeth.
Needing to regain my composure, I pull the notebook closer and think about how I want to word this. I feel like at this point we are all such good friends, they deserve an explanation, they deserve to know what happened to make me this way. The difference between them and everyone else is that I feel like they truly want to understand me, to know me. Everyone else is just curious and wants to gossip.
'I feel the same way. I didn't think I'd have friends again, and now I realize I never really had them to begin with. I promise to tell you all soon, why I am the way I am. It's just not an easy past to relive and after going to the storage unit I realize how badly I’ve handled it all,' I write, and slide it over to him. He reads it over and glances up at me, the empathy clear in his eyes. Like he truly wants to take my pain away. I have a feeling his protective anger is only going to be worse when he finds out the whole truth.
"That's okay. You tell us when you are ready to tell us, if at all. Like we said, it's your past and your choice," he says firmly. The fact that they’d accept me either way is exactly why I want to share.
'I want to, I just have to figure out how,' I answer back, giving him an apologetic shrug.
"Oh look, passing love notes when you're right next to each other. How cute. Oh wait, it's because your little girlfriend here can't handle speaking. I looked into you, you know. It's not hard to just pluck a file out and read it since I help out in the office," Callie's nasally voice interrupts, taking away from our sweet moment.
My blood runs cold at her admission, all color running from my face. Trent's eyes flare at the obvious threat in her words. I stand up and stare at her, trying to express just how bad of a choice that would be. She doesn't even flinch as she chuckles, staring back at me with cold eyes.
"How about you walk away now. Neither of us cares that she doesn't speak. But we both w
ish that you would stop," Trent says, sounding pained. His overly dramatic facial expressions make me quietly chuckle. She huffs and walks away, throwing another glare over her shoulder before leaving the room completely. Hopefully she isn't in mine and Adam's group for the field trip. Lord knows that won't end well.
"You good?" he asks, his eyes still full of anger. I give him a quick nod and smile and he relaxes a bit. Honestly, I didn’t want him to know like that, but I’m not afraid of her in the least. I lean forward to kiss him on the cheek. He grins back at me, obviously relieved from the way his anger melts away. "I almost said sorry, but I'm not."
I can't stop the smile that spreads across my face, trying not to notice the people staring at us for causing a scene. I'm sure we'll all be the topic of conversation before too long anyway. I feel like an awful friend at times, but other times it just feels right. I don't think even if they decide not to date me, that they'd just kick me out of the group. They've proven, more times than I expected, that they're in this for the long term.
The day moves slowly, most of our classes so empty that each teacher opts for educational movies instead, which has my head pounding by the time art class rolls around. You can only listen to so many monotonous, boring voice overs in one day.
We only have a few more days before our performance in the arts, and I try not to freak out about it.
"You're the only one here today," Mr. Hill says cheerfully, when the class splits and I head to the music room. I smile back, though it feels odd without Cole here. Mr. Hill spends the class period helping me improve my technique on a particularly stubborn note of the song. Once he shows me the proper way to move the bow across the strings, it clicks. Each time from then on, I manage to play it seamlessly.
By the time the end of the school hits, I'm so ready to leave that I practically run out of music and down the halls to my locker. Stepping up to it, I put my books away for once, since by some miracle, every one of my teachers didn't assign homework. Warm hands wrap around my eyes, and I smile at the scent of Cole’s cologne.
