December 31st, 1984
Tomorrow will be a new year. I got to visit Harper yesterday; Aunt Virginia took Wade and me up to the hospital to see her and see how she's doing. Her progress was...I don't want to say disappointing, but what else is there to say? That place isn't helping her, it's just keeping her away from the outside world. Like she's some insane criminal that needs to be locked up for the sake of others' safety.
I'm counting down the minutes until 1985 while the partygoers dance downstairs. There's always a party here, isn't there? Like life's just a fancy event to attend, taking nothing seriously and ignoring all responsibilities. But I can't do that - Thornton Industries Group is constantly on my mind, so is Harper.
Another minute goes by. This year is slowly chipping away; I want to grab onto it and never let it go. A year ago today, I was dancing with my friends in the ballroom downstairs. At midnight I let a boy from our high school kiss me. It was my first kiss. I remember my friends swarming me right after, giggling and joking. I was so joyous and carefree back then. They left when the party was over at around two, then Clara, Wade, and I snuck out to the cemetery with a bottle of expensive cognac. We were barely fifteen, hiding behind the mausoleum, drinking because it made us feel immortal and invincible.
After Wade had returned to the guest house for the night - he and his mother always stayed with us over winter break - and Clara had collapsed in her bed, I'd slipped into Harper's room. She was awake, of course, slouched over some book by a lamp. I'd snuggled up next to her, wished her a happy new year, then had fallen asleep. It was one of the best nights of my life.
This new year will be empty. No Mother or Father, no friends, no Harper. Clara has become increasingly distant - her new boyfriend, Austin, is whom she excuses all of her time to. But I know she's upset with me for favoring Harper still, for endlessly hoping she'll return to us here at the Hall. Even though she's hurt Clara several times, she's still my sister. I'll never forget that.
The people below chant as one, counting down the final seconds of this year. I close my eyes and try to mute their voices, try to will this year to begin anew. Another shot at 1984. But when I open my eyes, see the confetti flying into the sky, hear the happy screams downstairs, I know my wish did not come true.
January 1st, 1985
I go back inside the Hall from the balcony where I wasted a full hour of the new year watching happy people light fireworks and sing drunk ballads. The balcony doors slam from my force as I stalk into the mansion. I can't take it anymore, being around all these people who have no problem lying to everyone, including themselves, about the truth.
There are tears falling from my eyes: one for my Mother, who would comfort me if she was here; one for my Father, who would offer advice no matter what the situation; one for Harper, who made nights like these worth it; one for the unfortunate past year we've all had; and one more for me, Charlotte Ann Thornton, the girl who died the day she was born. Doomed to a life she has no control over, losing family and friends every day. I wipe these tears from my eyes and I storm silently through the upstairs hallways, run up to the widow's peak, and brace myself against the partial railing.
The cool wind bites at my exposed skin. It's not cold, but not warm. It's like there's no weather at all this time of year - it, like me, is void. I close my eyes and shut out the sparking and popping sounds of celebration, I let the darkness consume me. I want to get closer to it, to feel in touch with something so similar to what I'm feeling in my heart. Still with my eyes shut, I swing my legs up onto the edge of the railing. My fingers are still clinging to the edge, so I'm in sort of a squatting position. I adjust, moving slowly with my arms spread out for balance, and teeter on top of the metal rod. I hold my arms out parallel to the rod and I feel like a bird, like if I step off I'll just fly away and never have to come back here again.
I open my eyes slowly and look off of the edge of the widow's peak. I know if I fall I'll be fine, because Clara landed in the rose bushes and she's fine. But what if I jumped? What if I aimed for the concrete pathway, where I know nothing could break my fall? Another gust of wind rushes by, flapping the skirt of my dress around me, as if it's telling me to do it. To go ahead and jump. I close my eyes again, listening to the beckoning call of the endless possibilities that stretch out before me.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." A guy's voice, calm and clear, speaking from behind me. My eyes snap open and I suddenly realize where I am and how high up I am and how much I don't want to die. This abrupt comprehension is almost enough to make me fall off the roof. I sway and scream a little.
"Hey! Charlotte!" The guy says again, closer to me this time. I don't dare to look back to see who it is; I'm focused purely on my balance. "Shit, Charlotte, what are you doing up here? Actually, don't answer that. I'm right behind you, okay? You can fall backwards and I'll catch you, alright?"
He asks so many questions my mind is getting dizzy, like last year at around this time while I was drunk and thought I saw ghosts in the cemetery. But I think I get the gist of what he's saying, so I listen, because falling onto the widow's peak is better than falling onto the ground three stories below me. "Okay…" I respond tentatively, still unsure of everything, and I let all my weight fall behind me. I collapse into a pair of outstretched arms; my heart is beating so goddamn fast.
The boy helps me stand steady, asking "Are you alright?" about a dozen times. When I'm sure I can think straight, I turn to him and answer, "Yes, yes I'm fine." He's about my age, it seems, with dark hair and light eyes. He's taller than me by a good five inches or so but his suit fits oddly on him. He must be here for the party, I quickly assume, but there's something about him that's very familiar. Also handsome, if I must admit.
I squint my eyes at him, piecing together who he is. "Henry?"
He offers a shy smile and nods a little. "I didn't think you'd recognize me. We've hardly ever spoken…"
Henry is the son of the ferryman; he's been there almost every day his father takes us to the mainland for school. Henry's a year older than me, so he's right - we haven't talked much. I was always slightly intimidated by him because he was older, but now I feel like I could hug him I'm so grateful.
"What are you doing up here?"
"Oh, you know, getting away from the crowds of drunken Thorntons - er, no offense. Also saving damsels in distress, apparently," he adds with a more confident grin than before.
"I am no damsel! I would've been just fine without you," I counter.
He just chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm sure you would've. See you around, Charlotte."
And just like that, my midnight savior is gone as mysteriously as he appeared.
