No, he repeated. No it doesn’t make me remember anything.
But there was one other thing he did remember. One thing that hadn’t been obvious all those years he was growing up and seeing a therapist, studying in university and monitoring himself. It was the jumping boy. The boy climbing over the fence and getting away. The boy that only now that he was older, and that the memory had revisited in all it’s age and clarity, that he knew it to be Ethan Burke. That’s why he was thinking about him. Because to think about his sister, was to think about Ethan.
Charlie?
Charlie came back from his reverie. Percy had a form out, something that looked like he wanted him to read.
I uh, well normally it’s not policy, but you know just cause of everything. I want you to know, the new medication you’re gonna be on is strong. It’s to help with the episodes. Cause, even though Doctor Smith believes all your belongings help, the-the other doctors believe that maybe it’s hindering you. Maybe it’s causing you distress and actually stopping you from healing.
But isn’t it my legs? Charlie asked. I mean, I know my legs aren’t getting better, but won’t I be able to leave soon? Won’t my memory come back just as I live?
That’s possible, but, see the thing is Charlie, you, you can’t actually leave. Your memory is pretty bad. Actually. The doctors say that if you were let out that you might hurt yourself.
Or hurt someone else, Charlie said. He knew the lingo, he’d written similar letters years ago when a patient was unfit to leave their stay. But now Charlie was having difficulty with his words. I’ve only been here a year, he said. Less, haven’t I. It’s a bit early to say I can’t leave.
Percy gave the letter to Charlie. Just look at that. I can look after your stuff for the next period, ya know while they hit you with the good stuff. And when it’s time, I can give it back. Percy was stuttering nervously.
But that wasn’t how Charlie took it. Those weren’t the words he heard. The anger in him surged, the black tar racing around his veins. Who the fuck do you think you are? he asked. Who the f-fuck are you? I’m not signing my stuff over to you. Some, some—but he couldn’t say it. Not that curse word. Suddenly he was twelve years old. I don’t even know you, he spat. Where’re my parents? What’s this place?
Charlie, it’s okay, Percy said. Don’t worry.
Trying to steal my s-shit. My possessions.
Charlie you gotta calm down. Remember you’re in—
Oh I’ll remember, Charlie said. The b-bastard trying to steal my belongings. I’ll tell my parents. Wait till they find out. I’ll tell on you. I’ll-
Charlie just breath, okay? I need you to breath. Percy drifted over to the call button by the wall, he pressed it.
What’re you doing? Charlie asked. What is this place? Where are my parents?
The panic in Charlie tripling. The face of Ethan Burke clashing with his sister flashing across his mind. The boy jumping the fence. He couldn’t get them out of his head. Is this what his parents had done to him? Because he spent all that time in his room, feeling the tar in his flesh? Was this what his sister felt? Is this why she killed herself?
Okay Charlie some people are gonna come into the—
Nooo! Charlie lunged at Percy, falling from the bed as his legs remained dead. You coon! he screamed, writhing towards him on the ground. You c-coon. You’ve killed my legs.
Percy fell on Charlie, hugging and restraining him. It’s okay, he kept repeating. It’s alright Charlie. It’s all good.
But Charlie screamed and raged. Tried to free himself from the strong man holding him down. There was too much pressure. He couldn’t breath. His chest was tight. Where was his parents? Where was Sarah? She was back wasn’t she? Where was she?
The door to the room opened and two nurses entered followed by another two orderlies. Big men like Percy that had weight on them and used it. Percy stayed their movements though. Charlie had begun to cry now. Wailing from the depths of his lungs. Calling his sister’s name, asking why she was dead, that there was so much blood. He couldn’t get the visions from his head. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.
Soon a voice broke through to him. Telling him it was alright. The pressure around him began to fade. Then the squeeze he was feeling began to feel good. Safe. He felt loved. His heart rate calming. The voice soothing, bringing him back. But all the while the one face kept staring at him, not Sarah as she lay in the tub. But Ethan Burke, as he stared at Charlie through his window the night of the day his sister died. The night before the day where he, Ethan Burke, was soon to be dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Charlie sat in the room with the girls, listening to them sleep in the dark. Their breaths in sync, the only time Harper ever breathed normally. They’d both dropped off as he told them the story of Hansel and Grettel. Promise you’ll never do that to us, Rachel said. Never, he replied. Never. He watched Rachel now, the streetlight from outside bleeding through the curtains. Even if she looked exactly like his sister, he could never leave her. Love ran deeper than fear.
He watched the light under the doorway go out, knew that Eve was finally heading to bed. He hadn’t wanted to face her after dinner, not after he finally realised the truth. Maybe it was that she knew what he’d really done? It was only her after all, that knew he’d been hallucinating about Sarah. Maybe she guessed at his strangeness when he’d come home that evening. How he didn’t relax or settle down, that he sat in the kitchen, beer in hand, waiting. Even after she’d gone to bed, he sat there. Knowing in his bones what he’d done. Was it self-destruction? Was it deliberate? In his hallucination he’d certainly given Sarah the blade to free herself, to free himself of her. Yet that was the problem with his thinking, he had equated suicide with freedom, and that was a terrible seduction.
He stood from the edge of Harper’s bed, kissed her forehead and retracted slowly from the room. He stood at the door in the darkness and looked upon them. They, those women, were someone’s daughters. They’d been killed as someone’s daughters. Surely there was someone missing them? Surely there was someone out there driving themselves crazy that their loved one was gone. He knew he would. If either of the girls, Eve even, he wouldn’t stop until he found them. It would break him losing any of them, let alone all of them.
He padded slowly to the kitchen, making as little noise as possible. He didn’t feel like talking to Eve much, or going to bed. He didn’t want a repeat of Sunday. He opened the freezer and took out the ice cube tray, went to the glass cabinet and took a lowball, placed two cubes in it. Refilled the empty ice spots and put it back in the freezer. He waited, listening to the quiet of the house. Eve probably knew he was drinking, but he didn’t want to be caught in the act. No one ever wanted to be caught drinking alone. He went to the cabinet above the fridge and took the scotch bottle from the back, poured a high glass then returnedit. He went to the living room.
Charlie sat into his favourite chair, kicked his legs up on the table and was about to switch the tv on but thought better of it. He had to think. The evening and spending time with the girls had distracted him. He had to think about the killer. About Ethan, if it was him. Was he right, it being about revenge? It was a long shot, but with cases like this the truth was always more outlandish than people expected. As he’d said to Detective Davidson, people justify all their actions and the brain believes it’s fine. Even the crazies? he’d asked. Especially the crazies.
But what was there so far? Two bodies had been found, one face not matching either, and five pictures had been sent to five different papers with the letters to spell out his sister’s name on the back. Also one of the women had been dead five years.
Five years, Charlie muttered. Fuck me. Who could do that? he thought. The killing, but then the storage? Had the killer looked upon it often? Returning to the scene of the crime was always the first mistake rookies made, but even seasoned murders enjoyed the thrill. He recalled reading in one of his books of a man on the west coast that ran a lawn mowing
business in a few suburbs. He mowed the lawns of the neighbourhood for years. When the Dawson’s girl had been kidnapped and her remains found two weeks later, he hadn’t even been a suspect, for everyone loved Rod Coleson. He went on to mow the Dawson property for ten years. Every second week for three quarters of the year he went to that grieving family’s home. Not once did they suspect him. In the end what got him caught was trying to do the same thing to another client, except this one had security cameras. The call to do it again had been too much for Rod. Charlie moved the glass around in his hand, the cool like he was sweating.
Anniversaries were important then, to killers and victims. The living and the dead. The only thing he could think of with Jesse Mullins was that he should’ve stayed home that day, he should’ve listened to Eve that morning. He didn’t need to go into the prison, not on the birthday of his sister.
So he wondered what the killer’s important days were. Or who was important to them? What had been important to them to hold onto a body for so long? If it was Ethan, and his reasons were for Sarah, then he’d have to think about the important dates of Sarah and Ethan.
He could think of one.
He wished he’d asked Davidson more questions though, instead of being so afraid.
He finished his glass by the time this thinking finished. Fetched for a second, forgoing the ice this time, and returning to the living room with a lightness in his head. He had a good buzz going, but then realized he was hearing a real buzz. He swiped at his ears for a mosquito, but then hearing that it was intermittent, began searching around the room. He looked under cushions and behind books, until he realised it was coming from the hall. He went to the entrance and heard it coming from the coat stand. His jacket specifically. Something rumbling against the wall from his pocket. He reached in and took out a mobile phone.
He had the dumb thought that he’d taken someone else’s jacket from the office, but then realised he hadn’t taken it off all day. He lightness in him dropped like a stone.
The phone begun vibrating again, ringing. Unknown number on the small screen. He’d never owned a mobile phone, and he could only think of one person that could be responsible for this.
The phone stopped. Started again. He took it into the living room. Downed his drink. Was just getting the nerves to answer it when it stopped.
It rang.
Hello?
Charlie Gardner.
Charlie’s heart came close to stopping, kicking back into gear at the last minute when he breathed by reflex.
I hope my gift isn’t too intrusive? It’s time we keep better contact.
How did you get this into my pocket? Charlie asked. I can’t even think when you could’ve done it.
A chuckle. The majority of society sleepwalks through life, you included. You are blind to your own feet. For a man such as myself, it was easy.
Charlie’s hands were sweating, especially the one holding the phone. He was thinking quickly, trying to remember all the ideas he’d just had to ensnare his caller, but in the moment they disappeared.
First thing’s first Charlie I expect you to keep this phone charged and on you at all times, the killer said. If I call, you will answer. If you miss two calls in a row, there’ll be consequences.
Charlie wanted to say something tough, wanted to project that he wasn’t afraid, but he said nothing. His voice gone.
And if you think I’m kidding, remember that I slipped this phone into your pocket and you never saw a thing. I know how you walk when you’re in a rush, the seat you pick on a bus, I even know the route you take to walk home after it’s rained, and you’ve never even seen me. Charlie couldn’t say anything, he was frightened stiff. Now, how are we Charlie Gardner? I saw that Detective Davidson visited the other day, he’s a good man. Nosey, driven, but good.
He just asked a few questions, Charlie replied.
With your answers that were, I hope, quite enticing. He’s stubborn and uncompromising. A great detective to society but a bad omen to a criminal.
I didn’t tell him about you.
And what does that mean?
W-who you are, Charlie stuttering his threat.
And who is that?
Charlie swallowed, weighing up the insanity in his mind. To say it and admit it would bring his fears into reality, but to say it and admit it would be to bring back the dead.
Go on Charlie, tell me who I am. Really.
Charlie’s chest turned tight, the words constricting in his throat. What if he was wrong? What if he’d only heard what he wanted? After all these years he could get an answer. But what if it wasn’t true? Others probably knew about Sarah—
Say it Charlie. Tell me who I am. I want you to say my name.
You’re, Charlie began. I think, you’re Ethan Burke.
How long has it been then?
You died twenty years ago.
The small chuckle down the line scared him more than receiving the phone. It confirmed his worst fears yet deepest want, to know who took his sister when the Burke’s were murdered and Ethan left alone.
Yes, yes that one was easy. I’ll admit it. How ghosts haunt.
Charlie’s tongue thick, he sat down heavily and wished he’d not finished his drink.
Well how loyal of you regardless. Keeping me safe. Just like the Gardner I expect you to be. So you didn’t tell him my identity, what else?
I, but Charlie stopped. I don’t recall really. But Charlie did. He believed he’d figured it out. That it was revenge the killer was seeking. They were persecuting someone as of yet unknown.
You don’t recall, Ethan said, letting the words hang. Okay then. So he asked questions then left. Nothing you wanted to ask your own questions about?
Plenty, Charlie said. But I guess I just didn’t.
But what a fortunate position you’re in now? I mean you could’ve also lead him towards me? Or as I suspect, away?
Why would I do that?
Because you aren’t silly, Ethan said. I think you’ve figured it out, or at least believe you have. If I did it for Sarah, it leads you to believe it’s revenge. Which then means that I know her captors. And yes, that’s your first gift, there were two.
Charlie tingling, light headed like he might faint. T-there was two?
Were. And yes, two men, Ethan replied. For the first time the condescending confidence was gone. Replaced by sorrow. But we are a long way from you knowing those answers. We have much to—
Daddy!
Charlie sat forward. Harper calling out to him.
Don’t dare move, Ethan said. We are not done.
But my daughter needs—
Don’t move. I know that Harper is wearing a Miss Sunshine pyjama set and Rachel a Spiderwoman one. Harper on the left, Rachel on the right. You don’t dare—
You’re watching me? Charlie asked.
Of course.
Harper continued calling. Probably wanting a glass of water, or if it was the case since he’d started working, had wet the bed. Her calls continued until the light in the hall went on. Eve emerged from their bedroom, her pause at the doorway to hear if he’d gone to her. Then probably looking back towards the kitchen and living room. Her questions were answered when Harper started up again. Dad-yyyy. Charlie heard Eve open the door and answer her, then soft click as she closed the door behind her.
Good doggy, Ethan said.
Charlie felt sick. Vulnerable and if he were naked under a great spotlight.
I control you Charlie. You’ve shown that your own problems tend to create large issues for those around you. But now I will help with that. And I will show you just how society is. You probably wonder, why me? Why did I suffer so much? But in truth everyone is the same. It was just your time in front of the lights. Just as it was Sarah. Just as it was mine. Now is your time to shine the light.
But, I could—
Could what Charlie? What could you do to me, or without me, when you’ve wandered along for so long blind?
Charl
ie felt inadequate in the realisation. What could he do to this unseen ghost? For years he’d imagined his responses to threats, played out scenarios in his head over and over where he beat the bad guys. A person trying to mug him resulted in a broken arm and nose. Someone tried to carjack him and he bashed their head against the door frame until bits of skull and brain littered the roof. But it was all fantasy. He couldn’t do any of it. Punching Gary had hurt like hell, and his hand had been bruised badly all week. He didn’t just feel inadequate, he was inadequate.
The click of the door opening sounded in the hallway. Charlie watched the shadow of Eve emerge, she hesitated, then headed down the hall his way.
Hide the phone Charlie, Ethan hissed.
Charlie began panicking and snuck the phone down the cushion behind him just as Eve’s shadow turned into a person. She came to the doorway and saw him, looked at him sprawled in the seat with the glass in front. She put it together quickly.
While you were passed out your daughter wet the bed. She called for you until I came. Then she cried because she was embarrassed. Rachel woke up and we changed the covers. I hope it was worth it. Eve turned to leave.
Eve wait, Charlie said. She did, but what could he say? That a ghost from his past was back alive? That it broke his heart listening to his daughter call out, yet he had to stay because he had a serial killer on the phone? He said none of it because he knew it was as crazy as it sounded. He knew what she’d immediately think too, what she was probably already thinking, that he was hallucinating again. So in the end he said, Nothing. Don’t worry.
Okay, Eve replied, walking off.
Charlie slumped deeper into the chair, wanting it to swallow him. To pull him down into the depths and suffocate him. It was painful enough sitting there listening to his daughter cry out, now he was a drunk. He remembered the phone stuffed into the seat, pulled it out and heard laughter, then the line died. Charlie was left without anyone to blame and only himself to sit with. He got up and walked into the hallway, needing another drink.
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