Charlotte (4 page)

No answer.

No one was home.

He looked slowly from side to side. The spacious hallway before him stretched to the end of the house, a carpeted stairway halfway down aimed upwards, and a small, cosy passageway beside it took you to the kitchen. To his left was a bright living room, his right the dining room turned office, which ran the length of the house and combined with the kitchen. The dining room was the largest room in the house, and it was where the family spent most of their time. Just beyond the dining room table was a small seating area with a TV, two small sofas, and a games console. Bruce spent a lot of his home time there.

The thought of the leather on his aching muscles was heavenly.

In due course
, he thought.

For confirmation, he spoke once more.

"Hello?"

Again, no answer.  

Bruce smiled, unwrapped his scarf from his neck, placed it on the hook beside him, and walked into the living room. The Christmas tree sat in the corner, its scent was wonderful. He dropped to his knees and flicked the switch on the wall. Red and blue lights lit up the tree as he adjusted one or two baubles. Bruce smiled, the festive mood really taking him. Backing up, he emerged in the hallway again.

He listened. No sound emitted from the house. No creaking floorboards like yesterday. The silence of isolation was evident in the air.

He was definitely home alone.

Excellent
.

Returning to the hallway, he gripped the box, lifted it, and took it to the dining room table. He placed the box on the surface and opened the lid. He glanced down at the contents.

Bruce smiled.

An hour later, the front door opened. The sound of heavy rain filled the quiet house. As the door closed, it gradually ceased before a muted thump welcomed silence once more.

"C'mon, Amy, quick. Jesus, it's coming down out there."

Patricia ushered Amy into the house, urging her out of the cramped, cold porch. Bruce, sitting in his leather armchair with a newspaper in his lap, glanced through the window. The familiar, but comforting, sound of the rain pattered against the pane. It brought a smile to his lips. After a moment, he dropped the paper on the floor and stood up. "Hey, guys."

"Hey, honey." Patricia smiled beneath the removal of her sodden clothing whilst shuffling to the dining room. Her arms folded, clutching sleeves, buttons, and bag straps. She shifted to the side, shook her arms, and dropped her soggy garments. Her damp coat and scarf slapped the back of the nearest dining room chair. Her umbrella, glistening with raindrops, clattered to the laminate flooring, spilling droplets of water on its surface. She lowered her arms and sighed loudly.

Turning around, she helped Amy remove her coat. The girl kicked off her wellington boots, both of which slid along the floor and hit the wall. Patricia groaned. "Bloody weather."

"Raining out?" Bruce perched on the edge of the armchair.

"What do you think?" Patricia said, sarcastically.

"It's due to snow anytime. I hope we get some this year, a white Christmas is rare."

"It would be beautiful," Patricia said, wiping her face on a towel.

Amy jumped into the hallway. "Mummy, can I go play with Charlotte?" Patricia hesitated, shivering at the mention of the name. "Sure…"

Bruce climbed to his feet. "Amy, darling…I have a present for you. You can play with Charlotte in a minute, okay?"

Amy bit her lip, pouting. "Okaaay." Her tone was slightly dejected, disappointed at not being able to play with her friend, but curious about an unknown present. She ambled into the living room and slumped on the end of the sofa. She flopped her hands into her lap, legs swinging back and forth, thudding against her seat.

Patricia walked into the living room, brushing her unkempt, wet hair from her face. Her cheeks were rosy with chilled air and rain. A relieved smile spread across her face as her eyes settled on her husband. "Hey."

Bruce smiled and nodded. He turned to Amy. "Now, Amy. How was school?"

"Alright. Same as always." Amy didn’t make eye contact; instead, she gazed around the room. Bruce shot a curious glance at his wife, who sat back on the sofa. The look she returned said—
over to you; see if you can get a response out of her
. Her eyes warily watched her daughter.

Bruce smirked, winking at his wife. "Did you have fun?"

"School isn't fun, Dad. It's like prison for kids." Her eyes locked onto her father's. He sat back. They were emotionless, empty and stoic. A shiver crawled up his spine. He forced a smile. Amy responded with one of her own, which gave her a coy, but menacing look. "Can I go play yet?"

Bruce shuffled in his seat and stood up. "Not yet, darling. Soon."

Amy sat back and sighed. "Why?"

Bruce, his back turned to his family, closed his eyes and grimaced.
Fucking Charlotte has a lot to answer for
, he thought. He breathed out, smiled and turned to his daughter. "I have a present for you."

"It's not my birthday and it's not Christmas until next week…so what is it?"

Silence filled the room. Bruce crouched down and moved a brown box into view. He flipped the lid and pushed his hands into the box gently. Patricia—knowing what it was—smiled and watched her daughter for a reaction. Amy was confused, bemused even, by her father's methodical pace. "Hurry up, Dad…"

Bruce Brunswick stood up holding a golden Labrador puppy. Its innocent, imploring eyes instantly melted Patricia's heart as it glanced around, taking in its new home. A slippery pink tongue was bobbing from its mouth. Its soft, golden ears flopped over Bruce's hands as he lowered and placed the puppy on the ground. The puppy remained inert, looking at the ground. It pushed a wet nose to the floor and started sniffing.

Amy dropped to the ground beside it. "For me?"

Bruce nodded. "Yes. A puppy, just how you always wanted."

"It's like the ones from the toilet paper advert."

"From the Andrex adverts, yes. A golden Lab." Bruce folded his arms and smiled, a smug smile, one of pure satisfaction. He gazed over at Patricia, who was smiling. She was leaning back on the sofa, running her fingers through her wet, knotty hair.
I love you
, she mouthed, smiling. She continued watching her daughter.

"Does it have a name?" Amy scooted closer, watching the pet. The dog looked up and moved in closer, sniffing the small girl. Its youthful claws skittered on the laminate flooring.

"Nope. You can name it whatever you want."

"Sandy. I want to call it Sandy. Like the beach colour."

"That’s good, honey."

Both parents watched Amy play with the puppy, in slight awe. For the first time in weeks, Amy was playing with something other than Charlotte and their emotions. They glanced at one another and smiled. Bruce patted Amy on the head. "Right, I need to get dinner ready. You and your mum play with Sandy, get her acquainted with the house. Okay?"

Amy scrambled to her feet and sprinted over to her father. She slammed into his waist and tried to wrap her tiny arms around him. He placed a hand on her back, accepting the hug. "Thank you so much, Daddy. It's perfect." She squeezed and turned back to Sandy, who was yapping and chasing her across the floor. Amy dropped to her knees and stroked the dog.

Bruce walked out of the room, heading towards the kitchen.
Charlotte can kiss my fucking arse after this
, he thought. He passed the stairs and entered the kitchen, flicking the light switch as he went.

He was unaware of the shadowy figure at the top of the stairs.

He stopped moving his fingers and slid the pen into the binds of the pad.

Amy, her head lowered towards the ground, wasn't moving. Her hands sat beside her, palms down on the cool leather. On closer inspection, her head was stirring from side to side, minimally, Dr. Barden hardly noticed it. Her legs were inert, not touching the floor below.

After one more minute, Dr. Barden coughed. Amy looked up.

For a fleeting second, he saw a vehemence in those bright, innocent eyes. As if interrupting her was a major inconvenience. He shook his head and grinned.

"Amy, I'm Dr. Barden. You can call me Sam."

"Hello." Amy half-smiled. Her eyes wandered, looking at the furniture in the room. "Your office is really tidy. Neat. I tidied my room recently. I do prefer it to be tidy, don’t you?"

Dr. Barden nodded. He scribbled a note on his pad.

"Do you always tidy your room?"

"Not always. Mum normally does it for me. I just…well, I like my toys and my stuff. Its better when I know where everything is."

"I agree. A tidy mind is an organised one."

Amy looked up and frowned.

Dr. Barden held her stare for a second. He smiled back, warming to the girl. "How many toys do you have?"

Amy poked her tongue out, thinking of the answer. Her hands clasped together, fingers tapping against one another. Dr. Barden narrowed his eyes. Amy returned her gaze to the doctor. "I don’t know, too many. Lots. I don’t
count
my toys, that's stupid."

"That's okay. I wouldn’t count my books, it would take me forever."

Amy looked at the huge mahogany bookcase to the left of the couch. The shelves climbed to the ceiling. All kinds of books—varied in colour and size—adorned the shelves. Amy craned her neck to look up at the top shelf. "Wow."

Dr. Barden smiled. "Now, Amy. Do you know why you're here?"

Amy pulled her eyes away from the bookcase. "No."

"Your parents didn’t tell you?"

"No."

Great play, folks
, he thought. He kept the smile on his face and folded his arms. "Tell me about school…"

"You as well?"

"Huh?"

"It's all everyone asks me these days. How's school? Lessons going okay? Adults are dumb. As I said to Dad the other day, it's like a prison for kids. I hate it. Put that on your bloody pad, okay? I'm sick of saying it."

Dr. Barden hesitated. Amy was staring at him; the blue brightness in her eyes had dulled slightly. He scribbled on the pad and put his pen down. "Your parents asked you this already?"

"Yes. It's annoying." Amy folded her arms and breathed out.

"What else have they asked you?" Dr. Barden felt a warm dread rising in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed.
Please tell me they haven't…

"They keep asking if I want to do stuff. Like, the last week, Mum took me to the cinema. She never does that, Dad does. They keep trying to get me out of the house. I don’t know why, but all I want to do is stay in and play with my friends."

Dr. Barden scribbled a few notes. "Friends. You mean Mike, right?"

A fractional wave of anger passed over Amy's face. Dr. Barden sensed a tremor of fear seize him. Beneath his pink shirt, his hairs bristled on his forearms. Amy glanced at him, her eyes darkened, as if the sky blue in them had clouded over. "How do you know about Mike?"

"Your Mum told me about him. Your neighbour and friend, right?"

"He's a cunt."

Dr. Barden dropped his pen onto the carpet. His breath shot out of him, making him gasp. He quickly covered his mouth, but it was too late. Amy smiled. "What? Don’t you like that word?"

"Where did you learn such language?"

"From my parents."

"How? Did you hear…"

"…them fucking, yeah. Dad calls Mum it sometimes."

Dr. Barden stroked his brow, looking away from the girl. He'd seen a lot in his time as a psychologist but a nine-year old girl dropping the C bomb so calmly was not one of them. He felt a cold sweat breaking out on his skin.

Something wasn't quite right here.

He stood up and walked to the mini fridge behind his desk. He took out a bottle of water, paused, and then removed a juice box too. Smiling, he took the drinks back to Amy and sat back down, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "Like orange juice?"

Amy nodded, smiling.

He handed the drink to the girl. She put it on the table before her, untouched. Dr. Barden lowered into his chair, took a huge gulp from the bottle and sighed. Composed, he looked at the girl again. "Why did you call Mike a…what's wrong with Mike? Your mother told me he's a family friend."

"He grew up. He goes to a private school with a bunch of teenage snobs who think their shit don’t stink. Then, he came home and picked on me for being normal. I told him to go away. We haven’t spoken since."

Dr. Barden scribbled, ignoring the word shit.
After all, she said cunt. It can't get much worse,
he thought
.

"Where did Mike go after you spoke?"

"To the football field."

"Did he ask you to go with him?"

"Why would he?"

"Friends do that sometimes."

"Yes, yes, he did."

A silence settled over them. Amy pierced the juice box and took a sip, replacing it back on the table soon after. Her hands returned to her lap.

"Okay. Do you have any other friends?"

Amy said nothing. Suddenly, her eyes darted left and she leaned in slightly, as if someone was whispering in her ear. Dr. Barden caught his breath and froze. Before the girl looked back at him, he'd put on a smile.
Keep it cool,
he thought
. It's a nine-year old girl, for fuck's sake
.

After thirty seconds, her eyes returned to him. "No."

"None?"

"None. I go to school, people bully me, I come home, and I play with my dolls and toys. That's all. Sometimes I hang out with my parents."

Dr. Barden said nothing.

"I do have a puppy, does that count?"

"A puppy?" The doctor felt his eyebrows arching.

"Yes, it's called Sandy. Daddy bought it for me the other day…two days ago."

"Really? What kind of puppy?"

"One of the ones out of the toilet adverts."

Connecting the dots, he smiled. "The Andrex adverts?"

"Yes, the one where it runs down the stairs. I tried it once, knocking the toilet roll down the stairs. My mum wasn't happy."

Dr. Barden chuckled. "I can imagine why."

"Does it count?"

"What…oh, the puppy? No. It's a pet, not a friend."

"Oh. In that case, no, no more friends."

Dr. Barden gulped. He hoped it hadn't come to this, he was hoping to get the information directly from Amy, at her leisure.
You gotta ask, otherwise you might not get anywhere
. He twiddled his thumbs and breathed in.
Now or never
. "What about Charlotte?"

Amy moved back slightly. Her eyes darkened and mouth tightened as her wrists crossed in her lap. Dr. Barden could have sworn the temperature in the room dropped a degree or two. He placed his hands on his knee, crossed too, mimicking the young girl. He didn’t smile, but simply observed and watched.

After a moment, Amy spoke. "What about Charlotte?"

"She's your friend, right?"

Amy nodded, not saying a word.

"So why don’t you tell me about her?"

"Charlotte is a private person."

Dr. Barden scribbled gently, the etching on the paper sounded extremely loud in the silent office. He shivered, looking at the word:
person
. Not girl, or friend, or even woman.

Person
. He underlined it.

"That's fine, we don’t need to know about Charlotte, if she's a private person, that’s fine."

Although it would help if you gave us some information,
he thought.

"How is she your friend? How long has she been your friend?"

"Do we really need to talk about this?"

"I think so. I think it's important. Remember, I just want to help."

Shit—wrong choice of words. She might…

"Help. Help with what?" The glow disappeared from Amy's face.

Fuck.

Dr. Barden panicked. "Wrong choice of words, darling…"

Oh shit, nice…darling! She isn't your kid…

"My name is Amy. Help me how?"

Amy shuffled off the sofa, landing on her feet. The movement took Dr. Barden by surprise and he flinched, dropping his notepad. He cowered in his chair, licking his sweating top lip. Amy took a step forward and glared at the doctor.

A shadowy vehemence coated her eyes. Her skin was…
was it trembling?

"Help me how?"

The voice wasn’t Amy anymore. It was deep, guttural, and husky. Like a woman's with a sexy, smoker's voice, but it sounded anything but sexy, more alien and terrifying coming from a nine-year old girl. He groaned as it reverberated around his skull, making his temples throb. Gooseflesh erupted all over Dr. Barden, tightening his scalp and pinching his sphincter. "Amy, calm…calm down, I didn’t mean help…the word help…"

Amy said nothing. Then, she smiled and backed off. She returned to the couch and picked up her juice box. Dr. Barden, unsure if he'd imagined the whole thing, breathed out and returned to his normal position.

Her eyes were blue, normal. The room wasn't dark or menacing. Everything was fine.

Maybe I had something dodgy for lunch.
He rubbed his stomach, uneasy.

You know what that was. You didn’t imagine shit.

Let's get her out of here. There's nothing you can do.

"You asked how Charlotte helps me."

He looked at the girl, only vaguely interested now. His heart was crashing against his ribcage. He wiped his brow with his sleeves and reached for his water. He gulped half a bottle down in one go, shook his head, breathed out, and looked at Amy.

"Yes."

No smile came. The effort seemed astronomical.

"Charlotte is my one true friend. She doesn’t judge, she doesn’t pick on me, and she doesn’t ignore me. She advises me, she guides me. She makes my days a little less miserable. I go to school and I'm no one. I go home and I'm second fiddle to two careers and now, a fucking puppy. Charlotte is the only reason I get some attention at home and now, happy and content with a friend who finally gets me, my parents are trying to cut her out of my life. They're trying to replace her with trips to the cinema and shopping and a dog. It's mean. It's uncalled for."

The revelation smacked Dr. Barden in the face.
Why didn’t I see that? Replacing Charlotte…the one thing I told them not to do
. He closed his fist, digging his fingernails into his palm.
The one thing I told them not to do and they bloody do it!

A tear rolled down Amy's soft cheek and plinked on her blue collar. Sadness and loss overwhelmed her. She rubbed her face hurriedly and took a long, hard sip from her juice box. "Charlotte is the one good thing in my life and my parents, now feeling guilty about neglecting me, have started to try and cut her out. I don’t think it's fair."

Dr. Barden leaned forward, placing the pad and pen on the table. "I don’t think that's what your parents are trying to do," he lied. "They're just worried about you is all. It may seem stupid to you but they're your parents, they just want what's best for you. Understand?"

Amy nodded. "Charlotte is my friend. She isn't going anywhere."

Dr. Barden strained a smile. "I know."

Amy stood up. She walked over to Dr. Barden. "You tell my parents that Charlotte is gone, okay?"

"Why would I lie to your parents?"

"Because they lied to you."

"So?"

"I'll put it another way. If you don’t tell them Charlotte is gone, I'll tell them you touched me and that you put your dirty paedo fingers in me, in the privacy of your office, where no one could see. I'll tell them you tried to fuck me. I can cry and they'll put you in prison. They'll believe me."

Dr. Barden felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Amy's eyes were calm, collected, a little red from the tears. She knew exactly what she was saying, watching the doctor for his reaction. She smiled. "Deal?"

"How is she?"

"Nothing a little chat couldn’t sort out." Dr. Barden emerged from his office and let Amy walk by him. His legs were like jelly. Patricia and Bruce stood up from their couch in the waiting area. Patricia sighed and tossed a women's magazine onto the side table. Bruce was holding a plastic coffee cup in his hand. Grey stubble adorned his tired face. Amy passed her mother and headed for the exit. Patricia followed, nodding at Bruce.