author's note. Well, I suppose this one was inevitable. As much as I love writing about mothers and sons, you had to know I'd have something to say about 'Mosley Lane.' I somehow didn't see this episode until it was in syndication, but it immediately became my all-time favorite. I was sweating bullets for a while regarding the fate of Aimee Lynch - my youngest child is named Amy - but she got a happy ending. Charlie's, though, is a little more ambiguous.
"I'm not a stranger. I'm your brother." - Charlie Hillridge
He knows not to believe his eyes. No matter how real it may seem, it's an illusion. Charlie has dreamed of escape a thousand different times, only to wake up within the same earthen walls of his prison. Waking up, he wanted to cry, but didn't - he knew better than to be caught crying.
This time the dream is so real he can feel the heat of the flames on his face.
Aimee is too drugged to take notice, but Mae and Charlie stare at the fire like they've been hypnotized. The Mother is humming to herself. It doesn't take Charlie long to figure it out - where the others have gone, what she is planning to do with them. He's gone along with their rules as long as it kept them alive, but this is too far. This is murder.
"What are we doing here?" Mae asks him. "What's happening?"
"Put her in there," The Mother orders. "I said put her in there!" When Charlie doesn't move she lunges at him, but half-heartedly. He stares at her a long moment, but he obeys, placing Aimee gently in the cardboard coffin. Startled awake, she looks up at him with an expression of pure trusting. Other children have looked at him that way, and they are gone. He isn't going to let another one down.
"No," Mae whimpers. "No, no, no, no..." If they had planned for this, he would have told Mae to do exactly what she does. Crying, scrabbling away on the concrete floor, she creates a distraction. It's only a few seconds but it gives him the opportunity he's been seeking for eight years.
The gun.
He's so used to speaking in mumbles that his own voice surprises him. "Let her go!" Charlie's hand is remarkably steady. He isn't nervous in the least, because none if this is real.
The Mother just laughs. The child thinks he is threatening her. Ridiculous.
It's completely escaped her notice that he isn't a child anymore.
"Come on, you've gotta be kidding m-"
For one split second, a look of disbelief crosses her face, and then she's down. A pool of blood spreads rapidly beneath her garish vintage dress and pearls. He's expecting her to rise from the floor, chase him around the room, but she is oddly still.
The furnace roars, and Charlie breathes heavily. He drops the gun.
And then, he thinks, he's got to get them out of there. The keys are still in her purse; they need to get away before The Father can come looking for them. He's not sure where to take them or if they'll even be believed. He lifts Aimee from her would-be coffin like a fairytale princess. They look down at the apparently lifeless body, if only to reassure themselves. It's impossible to believe, after all they've been through, that this is the end.
Mae always has a knack for stating the obvious. "She won't hurt us no more."
The girls cling to him. For one final moment he is their big brother, their protector, their slayer of dragons. But before the little family can reach the door it bursts open. Two figures in black, guns drawn. Startled, squinting in the unaccustomed sunlight, Charlie isn't at all convinced that help has come.
It's too bad JJ isn't here, Emily thinks. She's the one who's good with kids.
Derek realizes with horror that he's got his weapon pointed at a bunch of children, and quickly holsters his piece. He drops to a knee and feels the faintest of pulses in Anita Roycewood's neck. "She's still alive," he informs Emily.
Agent Prentiss reaches for her cell phone. "Do you want me to call an ambulance?"
Agent Morgan shrugs. "No hurry," he says mildly. He looks up at the boy, the obvious leader of the scraggly little group. "What's your name, son?"
Charlie hasn't heard anything beyond "she's still alive" and Derek has to repeat the question. "David," the boy says, startled into giving the wrong answer. "No, wait. It's Charlie."
"Are you Charlie Hillridge?" Derek prompts. The kid nods, apparently numbed by shock. "And the girls. The younger one is Aimee Lynch, right?"
"Aimee and..." Charlie is flipping through the photographs in his mind, but the only faces he can see are the dead ones.
"Mae," she speaks up. "I'm Mae. What are you gonna do to us?"
Emily pushes the hair back from the girl's dirt-streaked face. It doesn't escape her attention that Mae flinches at her touch. "Sweetie," she begins as gently as possible, "we're going to take you back to see your mom and dad."
"My real mom and dad?" Mae repeats, skeptical. "What are their names?"
Smart girl, Emily thinks. She flips open her phone and speed-dials Garcia. After a moment she turns back to Mae, whose arms are folded defensively. "Hillman," she says. "Tim and Laura Hillman." The smirk fades from the young girl's face. "I promise you, this is all over with."
Almost in unison, the two little girls start to cry. Still clinging to their hands like twin life preservers, Charlie looks like he wants to cry himself.
Emily Prentiss isn't at all happy about the fact that it's the old lady who's rescued first. She is dying to get the children out of there and reunited with their families, but they have to wait for the ambulance first. Fortunately it isn't long in coming, and Emily notes with some satisfaction that the heart monitor is flatlining as it drives away.
Charlie has reluctantly detached himself from his adopted sisters to ask her a question. "Am I going to jail?" he whispers.
He looks so agitated that Emily awkwardly pats his shoulder. She can only guess at how deeply he's been traumatized. "No," she says firmly. "As far as I'm concerned, it was self-defense. You did good, okay?" But her reassuring words seem to pass right through him.
In the cold sun of the parking lot, the nightgowned girls can't be coaxed into the FBI vehicle. They exchange a nervous backward glance at Charlie, who's stationed impassively in the doorway, tugging at a fingernail. "We've got to get them out of here," Derek tells Prentiss, sotto voce. "It's cold, and this place is going to be swarming with news vans in another ten minutes."
"You have to understand," Emily replies, "getting into cars with strangers hasn't exactly ended well for them."
Agent Morgan nods. He leaves Emily with the girls, snapping them into much-too-big FBI jackets. "Hey listen," he says to Charlie, "I've got a problem. We've got to get the girls out of the cold and back to Quantico." The boy leaves off biting his nail and straightens. "Can you help me out, man?"
Charlie keeps staring at the gun on Derek's belt,transfixed. It's only after Morgan and Prentiss unholster their weapons and lock them in the trunk that the kid takes each sister gently by the arm. "Come on, girls, it's time to go."
Charlie/David occupied a unique position in their dysfunctional household, straddling the strict divide between upstairs and downstairs. He cooperated with The Parents, obeyed their rules, let them think that their sick little fantasy of a happy family was reality. They trusted him not to run or talk, but that didn't earn him any more food or any less abuse. Downstairs he acted as warden, keeping the others safe by keeping them in line. It's not that he is kind - kindness is a trait long since beaten out of him - but the others trust him. They know that, however things may look, David is on their side.
"Can we have the window down?" Mae asks once her seatbelt is fastened.
"It's too cold out," Derek responds automatically.
"...But we can put the heat on," Emily finishes for him, and depresses the lever for the power windows. Mae sticks her hand out the window, relishing the cold wind as it whips her hair around her face. If she could she'd ride all the way back to Quantico with her head out the window like a dog. Freedom.
Derek has been talking quietly on the phone; he snaps his cell shut and meets Charlie's eyes in the mirror. "Roger Roycewood is dead," he says.
The name doesn't mean anything to the boy. "Who?"
Morgan and Prentiss share a look. "Never mind."
Charlie leans over and whispers into Mae's frizzy nest of hair. "Pinch me," he says.
Mae has obliged this request a hundred times before. Without preamble she reaches over and pinches the back of his hand. As numb as he is, Charlie isn't really surprised he doesn't feel anything.
It's the elevator that makes him start to suspect that this is real. He's dreamt a lot of things, but nothing as mundane as elevators. He puts a hand out to touch the elevator wall and finds that it is cool and smooth. It's shiny enough that he can see his own reflection. He's gone without seeing himself for so long that the tall, pale boy looking back is a stranger.
Derek Morgan is watching the kid, and he notices when he suddenly goes white and sags against the wall. He catches Charlie by the elbow before he can collapse in a heap in the corner. "You okay, kid?"
Charlie licks his lips. "It's real," he says breathlessly. "Not a dream."
"Not a dream," Morgan agrees. He squeezes the boy's upper arm to reassure him. "Listen, your mom and dad are upstairs. You want to take a minute? You look like you're about to pass out."
"No," Charlie says. "I'll be okay."
Eight years. Half his life.
The elevator doors open.