Charlotte (11 page)

"Liar." Amy flicked her wide eyes to her mother, and stared into her soul. A stoic smile creased her innocent lips. Patricia groaned as her soul froze over and she felt a tear roll down her blood-soaked cheek. "You've tried to stop me at every turn. Cinema trips, Dr. Barden—oh, we liked him, didn't we, Amy?" Amy nodded her head. The words continued spewing from her lips. "The puppy was a nice touch too…pity. And the boy? Don’t get me started on him."

Patricia looked around the room, at the blood and devastation. Her heart was smashing against her ribcage. "Is this your handiwork?"

"Please. I'm not a physical being; I can't be, unless Amy wants me to be. Do you think I did any of this? True, I put the idea in her head…and she did most of the work, but it was necessary. You had to see this, see what I'm capable of."

"Couldn’t you tearing a hole in my husband suffice?"

"No. You see, Amy is bullied and ignored by a multitude of people. You can blame this on a number of things but it all comes back to your parenting…or lack thereof. Everything that's happened here is
your
fault." Amy stopped looking at her mother and began pouring more tea. She stared at her daughter, who quickly conversed—in silence—with her dolls. Amy looked up and grinned at her mother, the bright white teeth stark against the drying blood on her skin. Patricia lowered her head. "This is a little extreme, don’t you think?"

"It's been overdue
."

"You…"

"No, listen. The minute you found out about me, you've been trying to push me away. Amy has no friends, but the thought of having one—albeit imaginary—scared the hell out of you. You were all like 'oh, I can't have a kid who's speaking to thin air; they'll think I raised a stupid child. A retard. That won't reflect well on me as a parent at all'. You should have embraced it. Instead, you fought it. Amy realised—and look where we are now."

Patricia's eyes widened. "This is all Amy's doing?"

"Every bit. I can only exist if Amy lets me. Every time you neglect her, or someone pushes her, or she feels useless, or bullied, anything like that—it all goes into me. I manifest and we take out the anger on people who deserve it. The school bully, the boy next door, his mother…"

His mother?
Patricia frowned. "What did his mother do?"

"She had to pay, just like everyone else. Her hair really gave a finishing touch to the presents."

Patricia groaned, looking behind Amy. The presents disgusted her. "This is sick and wrong. My daughter is innocent, a
child
! How can you fucking do this to her?"

"Oh, but you did this. Have you not been listening?" Amy stood up, her eyes back on her mother. She pushed the table sideways, tipping it over, spilling cups and saucers all over the carpet. Gecko toppled over, crushed by the table. Molly, weighed down by the puppy skin, slumped to the floor. Patricia backed up. Amy faced her mother. "While you and Bruce were focusing on your careers, Amy was crying herself to sleep. She didn’t have help with homework, any bedtime stories, anything. She was all alone. You wonder why I came about…well, that's your answer."

"
I didn’t neglect my child!
"

"Yes, but you didn’t mollycoddle her either, you stupid bitch."

Amy's blackened lips stretched over her teeth into an evil sneer. Her eyes narrowed and she cackled, a demonic, guttural laugh. Patricia felt urine spraying down her thigh. She shot a look behind Amy and Charlotte was gone.

"Shit."

"Mummyyyyy…all I wanted was a little attention, a little love. Is that so much for a daughter to ask?" Amy held her hands up, her fingers pointed, clawing the air.

"I'm sorry, baby, I really am. I didn’t…I didn’t realise."

"Too late now."

Patricia wiped the tears from her eyes. Backing towards the dining room, she cringed as her feet slipped on the bloody floor.
You can't reason with it
, she thought.
Try a different tactic.
"I want to speak to my daughter."

"Now? You left it long enough."

"I realised my mistake. I deserve a second chance. Let me speak to Amy."

"You only get one chance in life. So no, you can't speak to her."

"I know I fucked up, I can change…"

"Amy has changed. Too much. There's no going back."

"Be reasonable."

"If a shrink could see you now. Asking an imaginary friend, who you refused to acknowledge, to be reasonable. They'd lock you up and toss the key in the river."

Patricia's rump knocked against the dining room chair. Amy kept coming, the eyes black in the low light, the sneer still stretched across her innocent, young face. A clawed hand shot out at her mother, who flinched. She moved sideways, along the table, towards the front door. "Amy, if you can hear me…"

"It won't work."

"Amy,
Amy!
If you can hear me, Mummy is sorry, okay?"

"I told you it
won't work
."

"Fuck you, Charlotte."

"Really? We're going to do this. You can't fight us, Mother. You can't win."

Patricia edged past the dining room table. "I'm not your mother, Charlotte." Patricia looked at her daughter and noticed life in those eyes, only briefly.

Was she getting through to her?

"Amy, this is your mother,
listen to me! Please!
"

"You lost the right to call me your daughter when you watched Dad hit me."

"I didn’t…please…"

"Let's see how you like it."

A thunderous slap shattered the conversation and Patricia collapsed to the side, spilling onto the side table by the front door. Her hair trailed in her wake. The objects on the table fell to the shining, wet floor with soft splats. A white bolt of pain erupted through her face. Another slap thrust Patricia against the door, her legs gave way and she fell on her rump. She felt the spilled blood seeping through her trousers and into her underwear.

"How do you like it, huh?" Amy turned and stared at her mother. She thrust her chin in the air, a defiant act.

Patricia felt two invisible hands in her hair, ripping it from her scalp; slight tearing noises rattled around in her ears. She yelled in agony as they yanked her away, launching her through the air. She crashed against the wall in a winded, beaten heap. Patricia groaned and sat up, looking for Charlotte, but only seeing her daughter. Amy was methodically stalking her, her eyes fixated on her mother, darkness swelling around them.

"Amy, stop this. I'm your mother, I never did anything…"

"Wrong," Amy said, without emotion.

Patricia's nose snapped under an invisible punch and blood squirted out of her nostril. A sickening crack erupted and Patricia cried out. A second punch smacked her in the gut, doubling her over, the wind escaping her lungs. A kick sent Patricia flying up in the air and she crashed into the wall once again, falling to the floor for a second time. A picture frame toppled and shattered on her back, spraying her with glass.

"Amy…"

"Yes, Mother."

"Stop this…"

"No. How does it feel to be ignored, Mother? Huh? I know how it feels to come second in priority to a career…third if you count fucking your husband."

"That's your father…you're…" Patricia spat a wad of blood on the floor and looked up.

"I don’t have parents. Not anymore."

Patricia felt herself hoisted into the air; three tufts of hair flew off to the side where Charlotte was getting its grip. Patricia's scalp screamed in pain as she was levered to a standing position by her bedraggled hair. Amy stepped up to her mother.

"You know the worst thing?"

Patricia groaned. Blood was spilling from her nose and mouth, her scalp was on fire and her legs were like jelly, flopping below her. Her body was running out of adrenaline. "Wha…t."

"You're the worst one. Dad may have hit me, but you didn’t stop him. You suggested Dr. Barden, you suggested the cinema and the goddamn puppy. You're getting what you deserve."

Amy's fingers moved to Patricia's face. She slid a finger along her mother's cheek and tickled the side of her eye. She moved the finger inwards, beneath the eyeball. The soft orb slipped a little on her finger. Then, she retracted the finger. "See how easy that is, Mummy?"

Patricia spat blood to the side. Her mind, on some primitive instinct for survival, kicked into gear. It was life or death and she knew she would die easily. Her daughter's life was on the line and she, as a mother, had to do something drastic.

It was them or Charlotte.

Amy moved both hands to her mother's face, a finger sliding under each eyeball. Patricia braced herself. Amy smiled and tensed, ready to push the fingers in.

"Any last words?" Charlotte asked through Amy's mouth.

"Nope."

Patricia pulled a hand away from her scalp and smacked Amy on the right side of the head. Hard. The sound reverberated around the house. Amy cried out as she toppled to the floor. The grip loosened on Patricia's hair.

Now's your chance.

Patricia swung back and forth, loosening the grip. Hair ripped from her scalp, but she didn’t care. Amy came for her, but she kicked out, lashing Amy in the face, sending her sprawling to the ground.

The grip loosened a little more.

Patricia struggled and felt her hair give. She slumped forward, free from Charlotte's invisible grasp. Immediately, she charged forward, towards Amy who was climbing to her feet. Amy turned to face her mother, who slapped her in the chest with the palm of her hand. Amy staggered and grunted, gasping for breath. "You can't do this…"

"I just did, Amy."

Patricia slapped her daughter in the chest again. She groaned, slipped onto her rump and passed out on the wet floor.

"Thank God." Patricia slipped to a crouch beside her daughter.

The room fell silent.

Patricia glanced around for any signs of Charlotte. None remained. She forced a smile, looking down at her fallen daughter, whose eyes were closed. Patricia placed a hand on her daughter and sighed in huge relief.

She lay on the floor, resting her head, exhausted.
It's over
, she thought.
It's all over.

Patricia closed her eyes, groaning in pain, and let the blood-stained darkness consume her.

As Patricia died, Charlotte solidified as a girl and stepped up to her. Patricia cried and tried to scream but her tongue fell out of her mouth. It slapped the floor and rolled over twice before dying.

Her eyes started to close but Charlotte stepped up and patted a bloody, childlike hand on her cheek. "Hello, Mummy." Patricia saw her daughter, Amy, staring back at her. As she screamed, her scalp slipped off her skull…

Patricia sat straight up and screamed. Her throat vibrated and pain shot through her lungs. Glancing down, her blood-soaked clothes were stiff and stagnant. The strong smell of copper assaulted her nostrils. Sweat coated her red, grimy arms and neck. She scratched her irritated flesh, a hundred irritations prickling her skin.

Then she remembered.

"It's over."

Patricia shivered and realised she was cold. Her skin prickled beneath the dry blood and slick sweat. She climbed to her feet and spun around.

She groaned.

The front door was open. Snow had cascaded into the hallway, sticking to the gallons of blood that coated the floor. Cold, bitter wind whistled as it poured through the front door.

It hadn't been like that when she'd collapsed.

A stab of fear clutched at her stomach. "No, no, no, no." She spun around and looked down at the floor behind her. The blood distorted into wavy lines and splashes. The entire floor was coated in the red bodily fluid.

Patricia broke down and cried, a broken woman.

Amy was gone.

"
We have reports of a small girl driving an unidentified stolen vehicle through the town of Lake Whisper. Several people were injured and it is believed that the girl is still at…"

Bruce turned off the news. He dropped the remote on the bed beside him and sighed. He lifted his injured hand into view and peeled back the bandage. Wincing, he gazed at the ragged lines of flesh on the back of his hand. A few strings of bloody mucus hung from the skin to the back of the bandage.

The edges were frayed, slick muscle shone through several uneven edges. The glue had done the job. The doctor had warned him to take it easy for a few weeks. Let the skin heal itself. Bruce placed the bandage back and smiled. "I ain't going nowhere, doc."

"I ain't a doctor, Mr Brunswick." D.S Moore appeared at the bedside. Bruce groaned. "What can I do for you, Sergeant?"

"Nothing. Just came by to say hi. Oh, and you're free to go."

"Really." Bruce sat up, leaning on his pillow. "How come?"

"Well, we discovered that Dr. Barden killed himself. Took a bit of hacking but he slit his own throat good and proper. We found the murder weapon under the body with his prints all over it. Must have fallen on it. Poor bastard."

Bruce sighed.
Poor bastard indeed
. "Guy must have been pretty strong to do that."

"Apparently, he was. We checked his documents. He went to the gym daily. He had a good physique on him. We spoke to the gym manager and he could deadlift two hundred pounds or so…impressive. I guess we'll never know what drove him to do it."

Bruce remained silent. He could think of a few things.

"Anyway, we're outta here. Sorry for keeping you back. We'll need you to sign some paperwork to close the investigation."

"You have my card, mail them to me."

Moore held a hand up and walked out of the door, scooting around the Nurse's reception.

Bruce smiled.
A free man, yes, but I still need to stay put.
The wife will wake up soon. I thought she might catch some shuteye. Expected. Hopefully she calmed Amy…

"Hi, Daddy."

Bruce jumped and looked up at the TV, which was still off. His skin froze and he glanced to the right, towards the door.

Amy was standing by his bed.

Her eyes were yellow with black webs, which seemed to be moving and
growing
. Her ashen lips pulled back into a sneer and exposed her yellow, aged teeth. Her skin was pulsating, moving and rippling. She cocked her head to the side and she chuckled, a deep demonic chuckle that made Bruce piss his pants and shriek like a girl. Only, no sound came, it was a hoarse croak in his throat. He reached for the call button but found his hands pinned down. His head was forced backwards into his pillow. He tried calling out but no sound came.

"Time to go, Daddy."

The second pillow slipped from beneath his head and twirled in the air. He felt the back of his skull sink into the bed a little more. For long, agonising seconds, it hovered above his face, taunting him.

Bruce heard the commotion behind Amy.

"What is that? Someone call security, we have a code red!"

"That's the girl on the news."

A series of alarms sounded, all lost in a blur to Bruce who was facing his imminent death. His eyes flicked over to Amy, who wasn’t his Amy anymore. He knew she was lost. The yellow, evil eyes watched him. The lips moved slightly, full of scorn.

Charlotte had won.

"You bitch."

The pillow thrust down on his face, smothering him. The cotton pushed onto his nose with such force, it snapped. Blood started trickling down his throat. His lips were pushed apart by the material, which also pressed his face down. The air started to burn, coming in short gasps, his body unable to provide any oxygen for his lungs, which soon felt like scorching fire. As his breathing laboured, and his brain slowly died from oxygen starvation, Bruce closed his eyes and remembered his daughter.

The Amy that once was.

"Goodbye, Daddy."