He ignored her, continued thinking about Harper. About her happy face, yet the deep sadness it caused him. That her conscious control would be going little by little. It made him treasure it even more, but—It’s a rapid palsy, the doctor said. She won’t die yet, but she’ll become more dependent upon you. On machines. Maybe twenty-five to thirty years? He wished the mindset of disabilities in Australia were as progressive as the psychology was.
Harper came back full tilt, barrelling into the bathroom. Charlie took his razor and hid it, and took her up in his arms in one smooth motion. Sat her on the tub edge, by Sarah, began talking Harper through his routine. Next he would put his coat on, now that he was all sharp and neat. He dabbed a few drops of aftershave in his hand. Gave her a sniff of it. She wrinkled her nose and waved a hand back and forth, her crutches clattering against the tub.
Charlie forgot about the razor in his pocket as he took his daughter to the kitchen. Eve eating her own breakfast, reading the newspaper ads for a job. They’d figured out they could afford daycare if she had a part-time job to go with the benefits of his job with the firm. So she was looking for something that wouldn’t destroy her soul too much. Harper played with him and he managed to get her to eat spoonfuls of porridge. They finished up and then all were ready for the day. He waved Eve and Harper out the door as they walked to school, it was Harper’s insistence. Then he took the car keys and locked the house, made sure the spare was under the pot, started the car and tuned into any station with a traffic report. He put his hand on the passenger seat head rest and turned to reverse out. Sarah smiling at him.
All clear on my side, she said.
Thanks sis, he replied. He backed out onto the road, tooted at Eve and Harper as he passed them.
So beautiful, she said. He nodded with her, reached over to the glovebox and for the pills. Just a bit longer today? Sarah asked. Please?
Charlie stayed his hand, let go of the glovebox. Okay, he said.
The drive seemed to pass in an instant. He was merging with traffic, then all of a sudden, Charlie was signing in at the entrance, making a few jokes with the guards. The gate opened and they let him through. Been here enough times, knew he wasn’t carrying anything dangerous or sharp.
He walked the painted lines, headed for the main security offices. Sarah still with him. He’d taken the pills out in the carpark. She’d be gone any minute now. Guards unlocking and relocking gates, he wound his way deeper into the prison. Came to the security offices. Signed a second sheet. Sarah at his elbow watching. She made a few jokes about the guards on duty. He smiled. Took his badge from the guard and headed in the direction of the prison hospital. It was a small building separate from the others. It had a wing for psych visits at the rear. Mandatory practice of the prison system, enforced by the state the guards kept telling him, was to have talk therapy before he could sign off on a drug prescription.
He’d signed that prescription not too long ago, he thought.
Another guard unlocked the door for him to enter the fifty metre covered walkway to the hospital. He was locked out on the other side and began the trek through no man’s land.
You know I don’t hurt you or anything, Sarah said.
I know, Charlie replied.
You don’t have to keep taking the pills. I won’t hurt you. I’m here just as a reminder.
I know.
Sarah frowned. You know I’m not a kid anymore, I’m older than you. You should be treating me with some respect.
Charlie smiled, watched her in the corner of his eye. I know, I’m sorry if I’ve been anything otherwise.
Oh no you’re fine Charlie. You’ve always been perfect. Always understanding. Charlie actually looked at her now, his little sister holding his hand as he walked. He swore he could feel it. He really did. The hallucination didn’t even feel like a delusion. It felt real. Except this Charlie, she went on. The Charlie I knew would never do this, you’re breaking my heart.
That’s not fair, you know I always helped you. I, Charlie stopped at the door. The guard on the other side unlocking the door. I helped you, he whispered. I gave you the space you wanted. But now you need to give me mine.
Fine, Sarah said. But I’ll always be here. You can take those pills, but I’ll always be here.
Charlie nodded at the guard, passed through the door and swept his coat out and back in tight. Airing his armpits, he was sweating even in the cold. He came to the interview room where Jesse was waiting. He could see her in there, staring at her tea. Clozapine working fine. He looked back at the door, the guard sitting on his stool, his horse betting magazine out. Sarah stood behind him at the door, her hands pressed against the glass. Tears flowing down her eyes. He entered the interview room.
Even now as he remembered it, and when he recounted it to the prosecutors and investigators, it’s still as he hoped it was. That it’s him talking to Jesse for four hours as they have a breakthrough. That he helps a woman finally see her clarity. Breaks free of her neurosis and paranoia, understands her mind and it’s failings. Because that’s how it is. How it truly was. But it also wasn’t.
He also sat for four hours talking to Sarah. Begging her to stop, because she was right. She had never hurt him, and because of that he had to trust her, had to trust that she was back here with him for a reason. That he was seeing her because their journey wasn’t finished. The talk had flustered him and made him nervous. He’d taken his coat off. And as it came to its climax, and Sarah said the same thing as she’d said twenty years earlier, he did exactly as she wanted. He gave her space. A part of him knew that the space he was giving was for the ending. That some part in his mind remembered the razor was there, that Jesse or Sarah had felt it when they embraced. Which, he was continuously reminded of after, should never have happened.
The space he’d reluctantly given though, was opportunity. The footage was never reviewed straight away. It was only reviewed when necessary. So if nothing had happened, they never would’ve seen him emerge from the toilets, having just vomited up his breakfast. That in his mind he’d been in the interview room with Sarah and not Jesse. But Sarah was gone. Only Jesse sat there now. Having returned into the room, her face was one of deep appreciation and happiness. She was happy about the breakthrough, wasn’t she? She was excited to begin her life and end the old, no? That’s what he told himself as he left the prison, as he unlocked his car and started it, as he drove down the road hoping to see Sarah behind him in the back. Or next to him in the front. But it wasn’t the case. He knew it as he pulled into his driveway. As he ate dinner with his wife and daughter. As he sat awake drinking a beer, then lay awake in bed watching the black mass in the ceiling form, the tar dripping slowly onto him. He knew that he’d not given his razor to Sarah for her to get some space. That he’d given it to Jesse. For her to give herself space.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In the days leading up to Sarah’s death Ethan had become more erratic. Not that Charlie could’ve put this together at the time, he was oblivious to any connection of it. He assumed that Ethan had been coming to the house secretly to see Sarah. Neither of them ever admitted anything though, Charlie never asked either, but he could always sense it on them. That Sarah had calmed slightly, that Ethan had become more practiced in the layout of their house and yard. Charlie through it all had become good friends with Ethan. His parents thought it was good of him, his friends thought he was a weirdo for it, but neither opinions phased him. He enjoyed Ethan’s company because of his oddity. He didn’t care about the friends he’d lost because Ethan had great ideas and things for them to do. Charlie assumed it was because he was still at the orphanage.
Ethan was nearing the age where he could legally leave by himself. His change hadn’t gone unnoticed by Charlie. An exterior built up around him, an anger and swiftness of tongue. A fist to follow if necessary. But Charlie thought it was part of growing up. Ethan’s vows of escaping Pastor Phillips were one of a rebellious teen. But if Charlie had ever tried pres
sing Ethan for more information in this, he was shut down. Ethan hadn’t given him anymore information about any of that since the day with the worm. That had been forgotten as quickly as it had taken for Charlie to fill in the hole.
But after Sarah’s death, Charlie did think a lot about Ethan. It was all related. Events he thought were nothing much, turned to be more detailed than he’d realised. A few months back at school, a boy in the year above had made the mistake of picking on the Burke boy. Ethan sat there the whole bus ride taking the criticism and bullying, listening as the boy told him how his parents had deserved to die, that it was good that no one had ever found out who killed them. If only he’d been included in it. Charlie sat next to him fuming, wishing he was brave enough to stand up for his own sister, but he didn’t have the size to match the boy making fun. Charlie had played with soldiers as make-believe, knowing full well he wasn’t one to throw up fists. So he watched Ethan and waited for him to say something, but he never did. He rode the bus, and when Charlie’s stop came up, where he normally got off as well, he stayed put. Charlie stood there a few awkward seconds waiting for him, but when he realised his friend wasn’t getting off with him, he descended alone. He watched the bus ride away and Ethan’s staring face as the boy continued his verbal assault.
The next day Charlie chose to ride to school, he didn’t want to risk another bus ride like the day before. But when he didn’t see Ethan in the first lesson he was slightly concerned. First he hadn’t gotten off at their stop, now he was away from school. It turned out that Scotty Pullman, the boy bullying him, also hadn’t come to school. He was in hospital. His jaw had been broken and tongue cut in two by a masked attacker the night before when he went to get groceries for his mum. He was found screaming, a note pinned to his chest through his shirt.
Charlie became very nervous when he heard this at the school assembly. He’d never thought Ethan would do something like this, he couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t. But as the Principal implored for anyone to step forward if they knew anything, he couldn’t help but doubt his friend. Maybe the staring eyes at him in the hall had something to do with it.
But later that afternoon Ethan came to school. Relaxed and casual. Charlie filled him in on the recent news and he wasn’t surprised. In fact, as they trudged from their science class to the oval for sport, Charlie would’ve sworn that he saw a smile. All Ethan did was shake his head, trying in vain to repress the smile that kept appearing. Finally telling Charlie that he’d been to see his dad last night, Michael Stephens. A period of recklessness often followed, Charlie had always remembered.
After the event, as the months passed and Sarah calmed while Ethan became more careless, Charlie should’ve seen the changes happening. But he was clouded by his own emotions. His happiness at his sister talking. That she laughed one afternoon at a joke he said to their mother. His mother as ever was her usual self, but a change had been on the coming. His father’s drinking was worse, his frustration at his daughter deeper, but still the same for Charlie. Always giving him a pat on the shoulder, telling him he had a chance for the top squad in this summer’s cricket team. Did he wanna help him with the FJ?
So when his sister rushed into his room in a panic and couldn’t stop talking, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. It had gone from nothing to everything and he wasn’t sure how to take it. Sarah recounting her days of horror, her insistence to not tell him who her attackers were, then she moved on and told him how much she’d appreciated him. That she understood how frustrating it must’ve always been for him to stay home with her. That he was missing out on growing up. But she reassured him, everything would change soon. That he would get his life back. He just had to give her some space first. An afternoon to herself.
He was happy, yet reserved. She hadn’t been alone in two years. Neither had he really. But she produced a small bag of coins for him, her life savings. She wanted him to go get them as many lollies as possible. That they would celebrate when he came home. That from now on, everything would be different. No more problems.
Charlie frowned, he didn’t like it, he told her. More because it was new to him, he’d become used to his sister and her needs. He didn’t see it as a burden. She thanked him and smiled. He could never deny her smile, she knew always got him. Then she begged for him to give her just a little space. Just a little bit of time. An hour tops.
So Charlie took the money and went off, walking the long way to town. Stopping by the deli and getting as many lollies as possible, as promised. He decided on heading back along the river. He hung around under the gums for a bit, watching the fish jump and catch flies. He wondered if Ethan wanted to come and have some lollies. He’d been suspecting them seeing each other. Probably there now. He went red when he remembered what Jim’s older brother had told what would happen if the brown curlies came in. He felt very defensive all of a sudden. Very embarrassed. Didn’t realise how hot the day was. He’d head back early, it was time to. Sarah wouldn’t mind. He had lollies for them, they were celebrating.
He cut through the wheat field separating the river and the main road, onto the main drag and behind the supermarket. Avoided the school and made it to their street. As he jogged down the sidewalk, the bag of lollies jangling at his side, he could’ve swore he saw Ethan sprinting at the end of their street. He came to a halt and watched the boy jump awkwardly over the barbed wire fence and continuing on through Jenning’s Field. It was a shortcut to the orphanage, if it was Ethan. But he didn’t think so, he was too out of breath himself.
In a matter of minutes that memory would seem so irrelevant anyway. It would get covered up by what he found in his home. By the phone call he made to emergency service telling them about his sister in the tub. About the red water. About the blood. That he wanted to say more but his chest was too tight. That he would be found curled up holding onto her by the tub. The memory of the jumping boy did just as he was, he jumped out of Charlie’s head in the same way he’d jumped into the field.
. . .
Charlie was staring at his legs, he knew they didn’t work but he couldn’t remember how. The doctors this morning had told him he was what they deemed in a lucid state. It was good. Whatever it meant. However, they said, they couldn’t be sure how long it would last. So he shouldn’t get his hopes up. He nodded, not really understanding, wondering what this had to do with rehabilitation. Of course his legs not working wasn’t the end of the world, it meant he could leave here sooner, it would just be in a chair.
He remembered the piece of paper too. Differing memories came to him about it. Way back in his childhood. In a time of darkness and repression. He remembered being incredibly depressed after his sister’s death. He spent months in his bed, his father yelling at him, his mother crying and praying for him. They treated him as if he had a disease, that he may have caught the same infection that had killed his sister. But he didn’t understand the connection. His sister didn’t die of a virus, she died of running her father’s razor up her arm. He didn’t get their fears. Only his own.
After six months he’d had enough, he’d just do what his father did and swallow it like harsh medicine. He turned the tar inside him into a ball. He imagined it leaving him and floating up and out of him, up into the roof where it collected as a dripping mass. The thing grew everyday. The guilt, the shame, the sheer weight of this new world. Finally, with the ball rotating and enormous, he felt fine. He didn’t feel so bad anymore. He was proud in a way, considering he’d also lost his best friend a day after his sister.
Charlie hadn’t thought about Ethan Burke in just as many years as his sister, he realised sitting there. Truth be told, he couldn’t recall why he was thinking about him now. He wanted to ask Percy about it when he came in, but Percy seemed in such a sorry state that he didn’t want to burden him with anything else. Percy lay his meal down on the table and came over to him at the bed, grabbed him in the middle without looking, a strong man to lift dead weight like him, and placed him gently into his ch
air. The wafting smell of spaghetti caught Charlie’s nostrils. Lighting a small bulb in his head.
I wrote a review of a spaghetti restaurant once, Charlie said. Couldn’t tell you when. But I did.
Percy smiled, nodding his head. Yeah?
Yeah, Charlie said, slightly unsure of the memory, but certain of it’s happenstance. Guess it was after I was a psychiatrist. Probably in that period I can’t remember. But I remember doing it. Fistful of Spaghetti, or The Big Sauce, something. Dunno. Charlie’s light faded. But yeah.
You think it’s among your things? Percy asked, gesturing at the few boxes in the corner.
Could be? But it’s a bit weird though. I don’t really understand why I’ve got so much here. Is it to do with helping my memory? Did my family bring it?
Percy shrugged his shoulders. Dunno that either mate. But it’s here. What’s left. Someone must’ve taken care of everything after the crash.
Charlie nodded, only then remembering his family had been killed in the crash that took his legs. So someone brought this here?
I wasn’t looking after you then, but someone would’ve brought it yeah. Probably signed off by Doctor Smith, she’s the one that leans towards more holistic approaches. She’s been your major doctor the whole time. She’s good ya know, if the smallest thing can spark a memory, she tries it. Like that bit of paper you got. It’s her that insists you be allowed to keep it. Even if it always creates—but Percy stopped himself. Is it making you remember anything, this time?
This time? The line made Charlie feel that this conversation had happened more than once. This bit of paper had been at the centre of his sister’s kidnapping, as well as all his troubles now. No, he lied. It just is the bit of paper I kept from the incident with my sister years ago.
Charlie didn’t say the part about how the piece of paper had made him see an abandoned building in the dark. Him searching frantically at the earth. The feeling of being too late weighing in his chest. Just the same as when he’s discovered his sister when he was younger. Of course then he hadn’t understood it. Then it had just been that his sister was dying. In the tub. In his arms, floating in water while he screamed. He felt very small and incapable. As if his childhood was over.
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