Charlotte
After I’d depleted myself into a limp noodle, Grams led me to her guest room, the same one I’d slept in as a child when we stayed with her, and tucked me into bed. Grams explained that while we didn’t need sleep on the other side, she believed ‘closing my eyes for a pause’ would do me some good. I didn’t really care if I needed sleep…I wanted it, especially after my meltdown. Even in life, sleeping was my quiet time, a place in the calm and dark where I could reset. It was my safe haven from the souls that always stole my peace. For the last few months of my life, I hadn’t been able to find that solitude, not really, and I yearned for it, but even on the other side of living, it still eluded me.
As soon as I closed my eyes, I heard ticking. A clock…maybe a watch? The ticking grew louder as I followed the sound until I found the source. Lying open on the ground was a tarnished antique gold pocket watch. Bending down, I picked it up and watched the second hand move to the same rhythm as the sound. I snapped it closed as I stood, and the ticking halted.
“What the…” I muttered in confusion and opened it again. The ticking resumed. I closed it, and the ticking stopped. I repeated the cycle several more times with the same results. Finally I left it closed, choosing silence over the ticking.
So much for a peaceful sleep.
A shriek sounded in the distance, causing me to whip my head around in search of where the dreadful sound came from. My stomach knotted as I realized it was Click, even though I couldn’t see her. She was shrieking—terrible wails like she’d made when I took her beloved music away. Tears burned my eyes, and I covered my ears, hoping to block the sound. When it grew quiet again, I dropped my hands as the hairs on the back of my neck stood.
I wasn’t alone.
I froze, holding my breath, opening myself up so I could figure out where I was sensing this person.
“Charlotte.”
Hidden amidst the pitch-black recess of my subconscious, a female voice called to me. Where was she? I didn’t move even a fraction of an inch, afraid she’d find me if I made any sound.
“Charlotte,” she called again. Her voice echoed, the reverberations pinging my mind each time, increasing my anxiety. Who was this? She had an accent—British. I didn’t know anyone British. At that moment I realized I’d never actually helped a soul that was British, either. That was odd. Though I was unsure, my curiosity got the better of me. Something in me reached back for her, like when someone stands on their tiptoes, hoping to see better without success. I instantly regretted it the moment I moved and something hooked me. My body jarred and I lost my footing. Unable to recover, I lunged in the opposite direction and used all of my strength to crawl, clawing at the ground, fighting whatever was trying to take me.
“Charlotte,” she called again as whatever had hold of me pulled harder.
I grunted and moved faster, but it wasn’t helping. I was losing ground, despite all my effort. Just when I thought I was going to be jerked into the unknown, something else grabbed my arm and I was released, my body crashing forward, my face burning from rubbing against the carpet.
“Charlotte!” Grams squawked. I jolted up, my hair a tangled mess across my face, panic coursing through my veins. Grams stood above me, her expression concerned and unsure as she stared down at me. I gulped in air, still exhausted from the tug of war I’d just played over my body with some unknown opponent. I was back in Grams’s guest bedroom, on the floor. I must’ve fallen out of the bed when I was released in my dream.
I licked my lips and brushed the hair from my face. I had no idea what had just happened, or how to even explain it. Maybe it had only been a dream—an incredibly vivid one—but it had felt horrifically real. “Sorry, Grams,” I rasped. “I fell off the bed.”
“I saw that,” she replied as she bent down and helped right my mop of hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but you were thrashing about. Were you dreaming?” Her tone held a hint of bewilderment, as if the idea was surprising to her. I knew sleep wasn’t needed here on this side, but when someone did sleep, was dreaming not common?
Unsure of how to answer her, I used the bed to pull myself up.
“Where on earth did this come from?” she said, perplexed.
I flopped on the bed and pulled the covers back over me before I looked at what she was holding. It was the pocket watch—the one in my dream. “Is it yours?” I asked, completely bewildered.
“No, but it does look like the one your grandfather had. It belonged to his grandfather. He loved it.”
Taking it from her, I opened it. It wasn’t ticking. I remembered seeing it a few times when I was a child.
“Are you okay, dear?” Grams asked, her concerned gaze matching the frown on her face.
I blinked a few times. Was I? I was in one piece, and I was already dead so what worse thing could there be? “I think so.”
“You sounded like you were in a struggle.”
“Yeah, I guess I was dreaming,” I replied absently. “Just have a lot on my mind.”
“Would you like to talk about it?” she asked gently.
“I left…something unfinished. Click,” I said as a reminder. She nodded in understanding and I continued, “She was in my dream…crying.”
“You did your best to help her, Charlotte. You have to find some peace with that.”
I looked away from her. I knew she was right, but I couldn’t shake the guilt I felt. Click was alone. I knew what it was like to be alone. Click was trapped in a dark room…I’d been trapped in darkness of a different kind. What were the chances someone else like me would come along and help her cross over?
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I hope I will be,” I told her honestly.
She scanned my face, her mouth tight. She didn’t know what to say, I could see it in her eyes, but after a few seconds she pushed it away and took a deep breath.
“Well, we must forge forward.” She patted my leg. “It’s time to rise and shine,” she chirped as she ripped the bedroom curtains open and flooded the room with an unholy amount of bright light. I hissed, partially blinded as I pulled the blanket over my head.
“Grams,” I moaned dramatically.
The blanket was yanked back as Grams sat on the bed, looking down at me. I peeked up at her through squinted eyes. “You can’t sleep away your eternity, Charlotte Anne.”
Taking her hand, I pulled it to me and held it like it was a teddy bear. “I’m so happy to see you, Grams.”
“Me too, sug.” She pulled her hand away and stroked my head, brushing my hair back, something she’d done when I was a kid. I closed my eyes and basked in the nostalgia of it. I’d missed her warmth every day since she’d left, even though she’d continued to exist in my mind and heart. Her voice was always whispering to me, guiding me. “I can’t deny I’m sad you and your brother’s lives ended so early, but it feels good to have you both here,” she went on.
“Grams, why’d you pick this house to live in on this side? I mean, you could’ve had any kind of house, something bigger with all new furniture. Why did you want to still live here?”
Her eyes softened as she scanned the room. “I lived a wonderful life, Charlotte. Your grandfather and I built our beautiful family in this house. It’s not big or fancy, but it always felt safe, and there was always so much love. I don’t want to have nice things, so much as I want to feel nice things.”
I adored her. “You’re one of a kind, you know that, Grams?”
“I do,” she chuckled. “Who do you think you get your good looks and amazing personality from?”
I laughed. “This I know.”
“Now it’s time to get up. I have someone I want you to meet.”
I narrowed my gaze at her. “You do?” I don’t know why, but my mind immediately landed on the idea that Grams’s someone might be a special someone. Grandpa probably wouldn’t be too thrilled about this.
“Yes, so get up.” She stood, and with a quick snap of her fingers I was on my feet, dressed in a pair of cutoffs and a soft white t-shirt. I chuckled, impressed she’d selected an outfit I would actually want to wear—Grams knew me well. I tucked the pocket watch in my pocket so I could inspect it later, not ready to dismiss the significance of it showing up right after my dream. A moment later, the familiar guest bedroom was gone and we were on her back porch. I liked that we could just snap our fingers and change everything. It definitely made things convenient. Axel was seated at the wicker patio table, a mountain of waffles on his plate. Apparently his appetite hadn’t changed on this side; he’d always eaten like a horse when he was alive. He was taking a swig of orange juice when we appeared and mumbled around the food in his mouth, “Hey there.”
“Morning,” I rasped, my voice still hoarse from sleep. Looking at the sky, I twisted my mouth in thought. “Is it morning?”
Axel shrugged. “It’s whatever you want it to be.” It was difficult to let go of the concept of time. In life everything revolved around time—when to sleep, when to eat; when to work, when to play—but none of that mattered here. I shook my head at the dichotomy of the two sides, still completely baffled by it all.
“Have some coffee,” Grams encouraged, pulling a chair out from the table for me. I plopped in the seat, the familiar aroma of her French press coffee percolating my senses. I’d barely touched the cushion when I heard squawking.
“Oh, Rudy,” Grams huffed as she scurried off the porch toward a chicken coop where a rooster was strutting around and upsetting a bunch of hens. The coop hadn’t been in her yard when she was alive, so I didn’t recognize it. I did, however, remember the name Rudy.
My eyes widened as I pointed and let out a laugh. “That’s Rudy?” I asked Axel.
Axel glowered at the massive rooster as Grams whipped her hands, shooing him away from the hens. “Meanest freaking bird ever.”
“What’s with the chickens?” I jumped at the sound of Ike’s voice. When I spun in my chair to look at him, his hands were in his pockets, and he was wearing a fitted black t-shirt that showcased his muscular body. Even though he was a few feet away from me, I could still smell him. Ivory soap and mint—he smelled absolutely delicious. It took everything in me not to stand and embrace him.
“Hi,” I chirped, before clearing my throat, my cheeks heating in embarrassment at the unnatural pitch of my voice.
“Hi,” he beamed, my cheeks heating even more as our gazes locked.
“Oh, isn’t this just precious,” Axel mocked, and I rolled my eyes.
“Grams like fresh eggs or something?” Ike asked, glossing over Axel’s remark so as not to encourage him.
“She lived on a farm as a kid,” I explained, following Ike’s lead. “They had a lot of chickens. That rooster right there,” I pointed, “is Rudy. He was her favorite.”
Axel and I had never met Rudy, but Grams had told us tons of stories about him. “Grams found him hurt when he was just a chick. She’d brought him home and nursed him back to health. After that, Rudy and Grams were thick as thieves,” I said, emphasizing the phrase the way Grams always had when she told us about him. “Her brothers, bored farm boys with nothing to do, realized Rudy was her favorite and made it their mission to torture the rooster to get a rise out of their sister, which resulted in Rudy developing a bit of an attitude problem. Grams said she was the only one he’d let near him. Anyone else faced his wrath.”
“Damn thing ended up paralyzed after one of her brothers ran over him with his bike. Grams refused to let her father kill him, so she fed the poor bastard by hand and would lay him under a shady tree every day, moving him as the shade of the tree moved,” Axel explained, picking up the story. “She got caught up at church one Sunday and was late getting home, and he ended up dying from heat stroke.”
I don’t know why, but whenever Grams had told us stories about her childhood, I had been captivated. I’d felt like I knew Rudy, the-meanest-bastard-of-a-rooster-that-ever-existed, just because Grams had told so many stories about him. Taking Ike’s hand, I pulled him off the porch with me. “Let’s go see him.”
Grams had managed to calm down the clucking hens, and Rudy was standing at her feet like a guard dog. As soon as I bent down and reached my hand out, Rudy lunged at me, causing me to jerk back and fall on my ass. Ike stepped in front of me to block the bird while I shuffled to my feet. I don’t know what I’d expected, but part of me had honestly thought Rudy would like me, if for no other reason than because I shared the same DNA as Grams.
Nope.
“I told you,” Axel called from the porch around a mouth full of waffle. “He’s a dick.”
“Axel!” Grams scolded, having heard him even though she was a good distance away.
“Sorry, Grams,” my brother frowned. “I meant cock. Rudy’s a cock.”
Ike’s face turned red as he fought to keep from laughing while Grams cut Axel a warning look, very much aware of Axel’s clever play on words and not even a little bit amused by it. My heart was still pounding a bit from Rudy’s sudden charge. I agreed wholeheartedly with my brother: Rudy was, in fact, a gigantic dick. I just had enough brains to keep it to myself. Grams’s stories about him had seemed so cute and entertaining when I was a kid, but up close, Rudy was a little asshole.
“Hey, buddy,” Ike said as he bent down in front of the rooster. He didn’t reach out or make any sudden movements; he just waited for Rudy to make the next move. After a few moments, Rudy cocked his head to the side as if examining Ike, then took a few reluctant steps toward him.
“Well I’ll be…” There was no missing the shock in Grams’s voice. “I think he likes you, Ike.”
I pouted, disappointed the infamous Rudy I’d grown up hearing so many tales about liked Ike, but not me. While Grams and Ike were looking down at Rudy, I swear the bird shot me a glare. I stuck my tongue out at him.
“I’m going to get some coffee,” I muttered in defeat. Grams and Ike followed behind me, Grams going on and on about how amazed she was with Rudy taking to Ike. I grabbed the coffee pot and started filling mugs as they sat down before I doled out waffles, fruit, and bacon on their plates.
“Charlotte,” Ike said, an amused grin on his face. “You don’t have to serve us.”
I snorted a laugh. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. “I guess I’m just used to serving at the restaurant. Old habits die hard,” I shrugged and sat down, trying not to let my expression reveal I was suddenly wondering who was looking after the restaurant. My heart fisted at the thought of George trying to keep it going at the same time he was mourning me. Please let him be okay. Please. Please. Please. Sniper would do his best to keep George going, the same way he had after Ike died. I knew everyone would be there for my husband, no doubt his parents would be all over him, but at some point, George would need a good kick in his ass, and Sniper was the only one that would do it. My heart squeezed again. Damn—I’d miss that perverted Scottish idiot. I would miss him and Anna. The last time I’d seen or spoken to Anna, we’d bickered. Or rather, she bickered because she was upset with me. I hated for that to be her last memory of me. Under the table, I balled my hand into a fist, digging my nails into my palm, hoping the discomfort would distract me from the despair choking me. I didn’t want to cry or get emotional, or bring everyone down, especially after my meltdown the previous night.
Ike clapped his hands and rubbed them together in such a way I was pretty sure I hadn’t hid my thoughts as well as I’d thought. “This looks amazing,” he told Grams eagerly. He glanced at me before he started sawing into his waffles. “How is the restaurant doing, Charlotte? Is Sniper still working there?”
“Sniper?” Grams questioned.
Ike grinned, showcasing his dimples. “Sniper was my best buddy. We met while I was in the military, and we hit it off. He’s a gigantic teddy bear with nipple rings who says bad words and speaks inappropriately to women.”
I barked out a laugh, barely managing not to choke, at Ike’s too-accurate description. Ike’s stare met mine, the corners of his mouth lifted as he fought laughing, too.
“Well he sounds…interesting,” Grams said, her expression skeptical.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Ike chuckled before shoveling a fork full of waffle in his mouth.