Cameron opens the front door, smiling a little to the detective sergeant in front of him, "DS Morgan, pleasure seeing you again." He pauses, stepping aside and motioning him in with a tilt of his head, "Just kidding, it isn't a pleasure, but Mum filled me in on you're reason for being here."
"Very good." DS Robert Morgan, once undercover, now working on paperwork and interviews to tie up the case he's spent two years building. The devotion from followers of his undercover persona, going by the name of Silver, became lost to him. All resulting in multiple stab wounds and a head TBI for one Charlotte Wolfe.
"Charlie's upstairs. Second door on the right." He nods, pausing. Cam's nervous expression speaks volumes, "Please, don't upset her. She hasn't had a seizure in about a week's time now. I mean, I'm a doctor and I know what to do to treat her, but...I'd rather not."
"Wouldn't dream of it, mate." Morgan gives the young man a quick nod before climbing the stairs and going to the room he was instructed. The door open, he hears an acoustic guitar playing, causing him to smile gently.
"We're treading water on a river of tears and I don't know what to do. I can take a beating , but I ain't gonna let it happen to you." The young woman sings effortlessly, stopping when she feels like she's being watched. She tosses the guitar onto her bed before slowly turning around in her wheelchair. Charlie glances to the doorway, "Silver, a sight for sore eyes."
"Did you write that?" He enters the room more, motioning to the guitar, "That bit you were just singing, you write that?"
"Oh, I wish. One of Pat Benatar's from the eighties." She smirks a little, motioning to her bed and the accent chair in the corner, next to her desk, "Take a seat?"
Morgan nods, "You sing like a lark, The Wolfe." He decides on the accent chair, taking a seat and watching her adjust her position. He knows her being like this is his fault. She said so herself, but whether she remembers that or not, he'll never know. "Glad to be home?"
Charlie nods slowly, "More than you know." She studies him a moment, "Working out?"
He shrugs, "Back to the regular routine." The youngish man pauses, sitting back in his chair, "How could you tell that, I only just started up again a couple weeks ago."
"I'm an observant person." Charlie smirks toward him, "So, DS Morgan, let's get this show on the road, please. I'm getting a bit tired and I'd like a quick wink in before my parents get home from work and think I've just been sleeping all day." She waits for him to pull out his recording device and start it, "Thank you."
"Very good." Morgan nods, "Are you remembering anything new about...anything?"
She bites the skin off her bottom lip, giving it a moment before she can find the courage to answer, "At the hospital when he...came to me, or whatever you're calling it. He kept telling me I was unclean. That I was a chozen one, held in higher regard to any of the other females there. He said that, because of my stitches and...bruises...injuries, that I was ruined for Silver." Charlie swallows, of course she would remember all of that. She heard it in her sleep, over and over. The only restful night she's had without medication was when her father accidently fell asleep in bed with her, she subconsciously knew he would keep her safe no matter what.
The sergeant nods again, "Did you notice any weapons on his person?"
Charlie pauses, thinking a moment, "Not that I recall."
"What did he threaten you with?"
She swallows, keeping her face virtually emotionless, "He said I should have died." She chuckles bitterly with a huff, "If he only knew how much easier that would have been." Charlie sighs, "Don't tell my family I said that though. I'm not planning to do anything, so...it's not even a..." She finds herself rambling a little. "Sorry."
Morgan shakes his head slowly, "It's okay. You're doing a great job." He notices her give a quick smile from the corner of her mouth. "How long have you had a mental illness?"
"Everyone has some type of mental illness. However, more and more people are starting to confuse being mentally ill and being emotionally injured, which are two different things. So, DS Morgan, that isn't the question you want to ask." Charlie yawns, lifting her elbow to rest on the arm of the chair and her fist against her jaw, just underneath her ear.
"Well, Charlotte, I ask it that way because I noticed your cutting scars on your arms...and legs...underneath the tattoos." He explains, "They're older, but-"
"Bravo, Bobby." She can tell he doesn't like to be called by that nickname from the smirk his lip turns up into after she says it. "Yes...I went from that, to drug use in my late teenage years, up until...a little more than two years ago."
Morgan raises an eyebrow, "Yeah?"
"I did hard stuff. LSD, cocaine, whatever I could get my hands on." Charlie clears her throat, "Then I stole a prescription pad from my father...and he didn't even notice that I did it. Mum was still serving and I...couldn't find a way to cope. I did my best to hide it and I really don't think he ever knew because I wasn't really at home much."
"Cope with what?"
"Life." She shrugs, "Doesn't really bloody matter. You aren't my therapist."
"No, I'm not." Morgan shakes his head, "Therapists cost money though, so you may as well take the free ear while you have it." He waves his eyebrows a bit, noticing her smirk amusingly. "What made you stop?"
"Stop what?"
"Taking."
Charlie runs a hand through her messy hair, "Our bassist had this really...weird lung cancer and died. She had three kids, a husband, a life...and she was ripped from them because of fucking cancer." She absently rubs her thumb and forefinger on the bottom of her blouse, "She was like family to me, all of them were. The original crew." She pauses, "And a few months later I bought her kids gifts because I bought them whatever they wanted and...her husband wouldn't let me see them. Just...turned me away like I was nothing. Said she put up with me, but he wouldn't." She swallows, eyes growing misty as she gently touches the surgical dressing on her chest. "And it nearly killed me."
Morgan is intrigued now, folding his arms over his chest, "Metaphorically?"
"Literally. I...had all these pills from the script pads I wrote myself and...started downing them one after another." She shakes her head, "My girlfriend at the time came home and saw me totally fucked on the floor. However, I had told her about my parents and where they worked, because my Mum was also back by then, so we weren't about to go to Saint James or Holby City. So she ran me to this urgent care just outside the city...where they pumped my stomach."
"How the hell did you get a teaching job with all that?" He asks, surprised.
"Don't ever have to give a real name at a clinic...or in hospital, which a lot of people don't realize." Charlie smirks a little. "That's when I started getting tattoos. Every time I'd have a really bad craving or...whatever, I'd go and get inked. Three years ago, I only had an elegant and simplistic heather flower near my ankle, means solitude and protection...and it grows in the wild all gorgeous like that." She nods, slightly amused by herself, "I made sure, though, that each tattoo signifies or represents something or someone to me. Each and every one."
"You quit the drugs cold turkey?" Morgan asks, surprised, "That was rather reckless, don't you think?"
"Lots of sweating, lots of pain, lots of screaming in pain." She shakes her head slowly, "I wouldn't recommend it, but that's the only way I could do it."
"Do you worry about taking medication for pain now?"
Charlie tilts her head to the side, "Not really since I know it's actual physical pain and not emotional pain. I mean, they're being controlled by my Mum and her partner...and my assistant while he's here."
Morgan begins to chuckle to himself, "Your brother?"
"Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe." She nods, noticing him turn off the recorder. "How is your daughter?"
"Oh, I told her that I was coming to visit you." He reaches into his jacket pocket, offering her a gently folded picture on black construction paper, drawn in chalk paint. "She said it's-"
"A heather flower...like the one on my ankle." Charlie begins to grin, "I'd always have one in the classroom since they're my favorite. In a vase, they last about two weeks or so, three if you're really lucky. Best part is when they go bad, you just chop a few from the side of the road to replenish. Always free."
"I'll need to remember that for my wife." Morgan slides the recording back into his jacket pocket, "Thanks for telling me about all of that, Charlie. It will help prosecution when we bring these arseholes to the courts. You're one of our main witnesses of his wrongdoing."
"Won't it look bad on you as well?"
"They already have me on desk duty. Desk duty and interviews. I'm not allowed to do much else except tie the loose ends of this case." DS Morgan stands from his seat, glancing around the room as he makes his way to the door, "It's really nice in here."
"I come from a family of consulting surgeons. Fancy way of saying doctors with money." Charlie pushes herself closer to her bed, "What did you expect?" She notices him think about it for a second before he nods toward her as to say goodbye before finally leaving. Charlie carefully opens the black construction paper again, tears forming in her eyes, but she chooses not to acknowledge them. She knows she needs to try finding her way back to her life.
