Charlotte (5 page)

Dr. Barden watched them leave. Amy turned and shot a final glance at the doctor, smiled, and walked through the door. Dr. Barden shivered, rubbing his arms.

"So, Doc, everything okay?"

Dr. Barden continued watching the door. He said nothing.

"Doc?"

He woke from his wordless reverie and smiled half-heartedly. "Yes?"

"How is she?"

"She…she's fine. Charlotte is still there…but she's going…she'll be gone soon. Why didn’t you tell me you bought her a puppy?"

The smile vanished from Bruce's face. "That’s none of your business."

"If it affects our dynamic, which it did, then I need to know. She thinks you're trying to replace Charlotte."

"We are." Bruce folded his arms smugly.

"Even though I told you not to?"

"All you told us was a load of doctor bollocks that means shit to no one. That's our daughter and I won’t be responsible for raising a
retard
in my own fucking home."

The receptionist glanced up, concerned at the raised voices. She lifted the phone for security. "Everything okay, Dr. Barden?"

"Things are fine, Carol."

She put the phone back in its cradle. Dr. Barden turned to her. "Carol, why don’t you head off? I can take it from here. Have a good evening, okay?"

Carol nodded and removed her coat from her chair. After a slight pause, the receptionist walked out of the office.

Both men had their privacy.

"Whatever you did, bringing that dog into your house has changed something. I'm not sure what yet, but…" Dr. Barden thought back to the room, the threats, and the darkness in that child's eyes. "Charlotte is here to stay."

"We'll see about that, won't we?" Bruce staggered, losing his balance for a split second. He leaned on the fireplace beside him, regaining his balance.

Dr. Barden sniffed the air. He took a quick glance at Bruce, leaned in, sniffed again, and cringed. "Have you been drinking?"

"So what if I have?"

"It's lunchtime. Didn’t you drive here?"

"No," Bruce lied. "The wife did."

Dr. Barden regarded his patient and sighed, breathing out heavily. "Mr. Brunswick, if you continue to push this with her, this Charlotte thing, I can't be her doctor anymore. You won't heed my advice so I can't continue to advise you. Sorry."

"So be it." Bruce took a wad of cash from his pocket, peeled off several notes and tossed them at the doctor. They slapped him on the end of the nose. He didn’t flinch. "Thanks for nothing." Bruce turned and stumbled away, leaving Dr. Barden alone. The door closed behind Amy's father.

Dr. Barden sighed and returned to his office. He ambled over to his large screen window and looked down at the parking lot. Three cars were present. His silver BMW was in a red outlined space. Carol was climbing into her Volkswagen as he glanced down.

The Brunswicks were milling around their vehicle, waiting for Bruce. He emerged shortly after, allowing Carol to pass him, before walking over to his car.

However, Dr. Barden's attention wasn't on the family, or on Bruce who waved the car keys in the air, exposing his lie, or even Amy who was staring up at him, grinning.

His eyes were on a patch of concrete next to Amy.

He rubbed his eyes, unsure what he was seeing. He squinted, lifted his glasses, wiped them, and replaced them, checking it wasn’t his imagination. It could have been a mirage or a smear on his window, or even a figment of his imagination due to the conversation that just occurred.

But it wasn’t. It was strikingly clear.

"You've got to be shitting me."

A shimmering shape stood beside Amy.

The shape of a young girl.

Patricia shifted around in the passenger seat, the leather groaning beneath her tight rump, and glanced at her daughter. In the rear window, the Lake Whisper Medical Facility shrank as the vehicle pulled away. The car veered around a corner. All that remained in view was a long, straight dual carriageway. Her eyes fell to Amy.

The girl was gazing off to the side, staring at the empty seat beside her. A chill ran up Patricia's spine. She ignored it and, after a moment, Amy turned to face her mother. She beamed. "Yes, Mummy?"

"How did it go? With the nice doctor man?"

"It was okay. He talks a lot."

"That's his job, sweetie. What did you talk about?"

"Nothing much. You, Dad, Sandy. And Charlotte."

A pause. Patricia swallowed silently, averted her gaze to her husband, who didn’t notice, and flicked her eyes back to Amy. "Uh huh…like what?"

"Mum, I'm tired. Can we chat about this later?"

"Sure thing, hon. Sure thing." Patricia faced front, stealing a glance at Bruce. His face was tired but vehement; a concealed anger was coursing through his veins. She glimpsed a dishevelled face, brought on by lack of sleep and, unknown to her, recent alcohol abuse. Patricia noticed his hands on the steering wheel. The knuckles were white with the vice-like grip. He flexed his arms, the wheel squeaking beneath his tight palms. One hand slid from the wheel and scratched his face, rasping against the coarse stubble.

He snapped out of his daydream and looked in the rear view mirror.

Amy was talking, silently, under her breath, thinking her parents weren’t paying attention. She'd shifted left in her seat, facing the empty space beside her once again. She chuckled silently. Had he not viewed the episode, the noise would have gone unnoticed beneath the roar of the engine. Bruce scowled as his distorted anger reached breaking point.

"Amy Elizabeth Brunswick, you stop that
right now
."

Amy flinched and jolted back to her seat. Her eyes roamed the vehicle, before settling on the rearview mirror.
Caught
. Amy smiled sheepishly. She knew she was in trouble when her father said her full name. "Stop what…"

"…you know what, you little shit," Bruce interrupted, "This Charlotte bullshit has got to stop. You hear me?"

Patricia frowned at her husband. "Bruce, language."

Amy shook her head, fighting back the combined warmth of anger and fear in her stomach. Whenever her father raised his voice, it scared Amy like nothing else. Even Ted's bullying wasn’t as petrifying as her father's temper. "But…Charlotte…she's my friend. I was telling the doctor this…"

"The doctor is a fool. Whatever he told you, ignore it, okay? He gave you some bad advice and I won't have my child subjected to it."

"I don’t understand."

"Charlotte isn't real. She never was and never will be and the sooner you fucking accept that, the better. I'm not raising a
fucking retard
…"

Patricia gasped in the seat beside him. "
Bruce.
"

"…no, she needs to hear this. I won't raise a retard in my home. Charlotte
isn't
real. Do you want to grow up in a world where people think you're crazy or mentally retarded? Huh? They will, if you carry on with this
bullshit.
"

Amy felt the prickling of tears behind her eyes, the warmth that preceded them was familiar. She sniffed, expecting the tears to flow at any second. "She's my friend," the girl said, with no confidence or conviction, deflated by her father's outburst. "My only friend."

"
She's not real
," Bruce shouted.

The anger broke the dam in Amy's mind. The tears started to roll down her cheeks. She folded her arms, seeking warmth from her pink bunny coat. She pushed herself back into the seat.

"Bruce, don’t do this. Remember what the doctor told us? We shouldn’t be trying to cut Charlotte…"

"The doctor's a fraud. She doesn’t need medical help; she needs an injection of common sense and discipline. Something you don’t seem to give her."

"How dare you? You're never home! Don’t you
dare
question my parenting!"

"Excuse me? Look at her, the snivelling shit. No discipline and no common sense. Just because I'm not around to keep you in line."

Bruce braked and steered the car into their driveway. He put the car in neutral, removed the keys from the ignition with a rattle, and opened the door. Crisp, chilled air billowed into the car. He slammed the door, shaking the car violently.

Patricia turned to her daughter. Before she could say anything, Bruce yanked open the rear door and grabbed his daughter by the arm. "Come on, you little shit. We're going to end this once and for all." He pulled his daughter's arm, her body pulled taut, and she screamed, still restrained by her seat belt. "
Ow…Daddy…daddy, don’t
…"

"
Bruce
, you're hurting her…"

He leant in and unbuckled the seat belt, throwing it aside. The clip swung and nearly hit Patricia in the face. She backed off, unbuckled her own belt, and climbed from the car. Bruce grabbed Amy by both arms and lifted her from the vehicle. He put her on the ground. He bent down to one knee and stared his daughter in the face.

"Where is she?"

The stench on her father's breath made Amy gag. She coughed and sniffled. "Who?"

"You know who, Charlotte. Where is she?"

Amy sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her gloved hand. Her bottom lip trembled and she turned towards the car. Her left hand raised, curled into a point, and aimed at the back seat. "She's…there. She came with us."

Bruce rotated, stared at the empty back seat, and turned back. His head lowered and a grin spread across his face. A laugh escaped his lips. 

"Really?"

His hand shot out and smacked Amy across the face. The girl toppled to the cold, snow-coated concrete with a thump. She began crying loudly. Tears streamed down her blazing, welting cheek. Patricia appeared beside her daughter and looked at her husband, aghast. "What did you do?"

"This kid is soft, she needs some fucking discipline."

"So you fucking hit her? What is
wrong
with you?"

"Nothing. I'm seeing clearly. She needs to learn to tell the truth and not lie."

Bruce ambled forward and grabbed Amy by the back of her coat, lifting her to her feet with one hand. She stood, trembling, scared of her father. She raised her hands to her face, fearing another strike. Huge sobs racked her tiny frame. Once again, he kneeled down and looked his daughter in the eye. "I'll ask you again. Where is she?"

Amy's eyes were sodden with tears; her skin was starting to puff up. She sniffed, a spool of snot hung from her nose. Amy wiped her face and smeared the transparent goo across her face. Bruce sneered, disgusted. "Where is she?"

"I…I…told you."

"The seat is empty, Amy."

Patricia stepped forward. "Bruce, it's an imaginary friend…you're not supposed to see it. Children have them all the time."

"Fuck off, woman. She's lying. There is no Charlotte. She's doing it for attention. If she can show me Charlotte, we don’t have a problem. But I highly doubt she will."

"You're fucking sick. She's a
child!
Our child!"

"That's right. I'm her father. I'm responsible for her wellbeing and I have a duty as a parent. I will not be raising a crazy kid, got it?" He turned back to Amy. "Now, if you don’t tell me where she is, or that you made this bollocks up, on the count of fucking three, you won't be able to walk for a week, got it? I'll tan your arse so bad you'll think you sat on a volcano."

Amy wailed, eyes closed, tears teeming down her face. A huge, red welt was swelling the skin on the left cheek. She sniffled, opened her eyes and looked at her father. She'd never seen him like this before—it petrified her. She felt a warmth in her trousers as she wet herself. She cowered from her father, trying to get away. He had one firm hand on her arm, preventing her from moving.

"Tell me."

Amy said nothing. She continued to cry, not making eye contact with her father. He shook her violently. Amy groaned in pain.

"
Tell me
."

Amy stopped crying. Bruce didn’t notice the darkness settle over her eyes, which calmed her a little. Suddenly, Amy wasn't scared anymore. Her eyes shifted a fraction of an inch to the left, peering over her father's right shoulder. All the fear and anguish, pain and suffering, disappeared in a flash. A smile sneaked onto her lips, curling them upwards. Her tongue shot out, licking the tears from the side of her face.

"Tell me."

"Fuck you."

Then Amy spat in her father's face.

The projectile was miniscule, but sticky from the McDonalds they'd eaten before visiting the doctor. It sailed through the air and splat against her father's left eyelid. He flinched, fell back on his rump, and wiped his face. Realisation dawned on him, then repulsion and shock in unison. His eyes widened, not believing the audacity and bravado of his, until a minute ago, snivelling brat of a daughter. He wiped his cheek and eye. Patricia stood off to the side, mouth open in horror. She leaned back against the bonnet of the car.

Then the anger surfaced on Bruce's face.

He stood up, smiled, and chuckled. "Oh my…you're going to get it now, you little shit." He walked towards Amy and raised his hand. Patricia, stunned into silence, did nothing to stop him. He brought his hand down towards Amy, who didn’t flinch, only smiled at the incoming palm.

A sound like tearing Velcro erupted into the chilly night air.

"Ow, fuck!"

Bruce stopped his swing and recoiled away from Amy. He spun, slipped on the hard snow, and landed on his face with a crunch. Snow shot up around him, landing on his coat with a plastic patter. He immediately reached for his right hand and grasped it, rolled onto his back and shuffled away from Amy. She tilted her head, looking at her father.

"I told you where Charlotte was,
Bruce.
Why didn’t you believe me?"

Bruce yelped at the sound of his actual name escaping his daughter's lips. Pain surged through his right arm, making his chilled fingers tingle and his blood burn. He hesitantly glanced down at his right hand and moaned.

The skin was broken in four, shredded slashes, from his wrist to his fingertips. In the centre of the grooves, the soft skin on the top of the hand had ripped aside, opening a slippery, rectangular gash, exposing the slick, bloody muscle and sinew beneath. As Bruce moved his hand, he could see the tendons retracting and moving, could hear them sliding in the blood and viscera with a soggy squelch. A flap of skin moved from side to side on the bitter breeze. Blood was gushing down his arm, pattering on the cold snow beneath him, sending small rivulets of steam into the cool, December air.

"Oh my God." Patricia stepped over to her husband. She shot a look at Amy. "Amy…what did you…you weren't even…"

She wasn’t anywhere near her father, her arms were by her side.

"Charlotte did it."

There's no way…she doesn’t, she can't exist in a physical form. No, it can't be.

"He tried hitting me. Charlotte protects me, she won't let any harm come to me."

Patricia froze.
The doctor was right after all.
Her brain tried to comprehend what had just happened.
No, it's physically impossible.

You just witnessed this. Not so impossible, is it?

She looked down at her injured husband and groaned. A fear was bubbling inside of her, a crippling, soul-sucking fear that threatened to topple her, make her faint.

Fight it.

For now.

"Amy, darling, I need to take your father to the hospital. I want you to get in the…" Patricia thought about it. She didn’t normally permit leaving her daughter alone, but there was no other choice. She didn’t want Charlotte anywhere near them. "Amy, I want you to take Charlotte indoors and play, okay? I need to get your dad to the hospital."

"Sure, Mum." Amy smiled and turned. "C'mon, Charlotte."

Patricia wasn't sure if it was the shock or the adrenaline but for an instant, she saw the outline of a girl beside Amy, holding her hand, the face the only defined feature. It was
scowling
at her. And the eyes…they were…bottomless…yellow. She closed her eyes and imagined Charlotte's hand with fresh blood and shredded skin on it, fresh from the attack on her husband.

She breathed and a plume of steam blurred her vision.

Then nothing was there and Amy was heading into the house on her own. 

Patricia slapped herself in the face and howled.

There's no fucking way, no way!

A second later, she removed her scarf and wrapped it around the wound, covering her husband's bloody hand. His face was turning deathly white, becoming clammy. Slinging his good arm around her shoulder, she hoisted him to his feet.