Chapter III
The Slaying
"Charlotte? Charlotte! Wake up!" Her world was dark. "Charlotte, wake *up*!" Slowly her hazel eyes drifted open. Her
grandfather was in front of her, shaking her shoulders. Charlotte moaned and closed her eyes.
"Go 'way," she muttered, trying to pull the blanket up over her head. The quilt was given a sharp tug and went flying from her
hand. O'Farland glared at her.
"Charlotte Lucinda O'Farland, march yourself inside this very moment!" Uh oh. He'd used her middle name. Charlotte *hated* her
middle name, and her grandfather only used it when he was either very angry or very scared. She opened her eyes carefully.
Well, considering his face was a mix of purple and red, there was a very slim chance that he was scared. Without another word,
she stood and slipped back into the house, only vaguely realizing that she'd fallen asleep outside.
The door closed behind her with a bang.
"What in the name of all that is good and holy do you think you're doing?" Charlotte bit her lip, trying to figure out what, exactly,
she'd done wrong. She sat down to think better, but Vincent barked, "Don't sit!" She jumped up. "Answer the question."
"W-what did I do?"
"You fell asleep out on the front porch, that's what! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?!"
"Yes, Grandpa, but I--"
"No buts!" He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly all the anger was drained from his face, leaving a very frightened old
man. O'Farland sank into a chair, running a hand through his mane of white hair, and sighed softly. "I'm sorry, Lottie. I shouldn't
have gotten angry." Charlotte stayed standing, afraid any sudden movements would set him off again.
"It's...all right, Grandpa. But why--" She stopped herself. Asking her grandfather why he'd become a raging volcano before her
very eyes might not be such a good idea. Answering the question for her, Vincent reached for the newspaper that sat on the
table.
"Read this." Frowning slightly, Charlotte took the paper. For a moment, her blood ran cold. Across the top of the newspaper, in
big black letters, read 'LOCAL FAMILY KILLED, POLICE BAFFLED'. She swallowed hard, hoping with all her might that it
wasn't the Millers. Sure enough, the house surrounded by police tape in the picture was the one right down the street. She was
torn between reading the rest and burning the paper when O'Farland engulfed her in a tight hug, making her drop it.
"Oh, Lottie, I was so afraid. What if that--that psycho had come to our house and seen you on the front porch? You could've
been..." Charlotte's eyes widened. Her grandfather was crying. Her grandfather never cried, and here he was sobbing on her
shoulder. She embraced him for a while before Vincent finally pulled away and hobbled towards the kitchen. "I'm sorry. I
shouldn't be--" He looked up, raking the back of his hand across his eyes and trying a weak grin. "Is bacon all right for
breakfast?"
Charlotte munched quietly on her strip of bacon. Vincent opened the refrigerator.
"Lottie, you want orange juice, right?" His hand reached absently for the jug of juice, but there was none in the fridge. "Oh,
bejeepers," he muttered, closing the door. "We're all out. I'll go on out to Smuck's and pick up a couple bottles." He headed out
through the garage, calling back, "Keep the doors locked." Charlotte nodded as the engine sounded.
"Bye, Grandpa." As soon as the garage door closed, she grabbed the newspaper. She really didn't know if she wanted to read
it, but her eyes were drawn to the article. So, reluctantly, she did.
*Police were shocked at what they found on 23 Wisteria Lane late Friday night. They received a call from a concerned neighbor,
who said screams and loud noises could be heard from the house of the Millers. Resorted to breaking down the door, Police
Chief Harold Shaft was met with a gruesome sight. George Miller, his wife, Sharon, and their two-year-old son, Francis had
been decapitated--*
Charlotte threw the paper across the table with a cry. She didn't think it would be like that. *Stupid,* she reminded
herself. *How else would a Headless Horseman kill people?* Then she shook her head. *Even more stupid. There is no Headless
Horseman.* She stood, heading for her grandfather's study. It was the only place that she could really think. Charlotte slipped
into the office quickly, shutting the door. Then, with a cry of surprise, she opened it again.
"You stupid, stupid cat!" She picked up Albert and nearly punted him from the room. He landed on all fours heavily, letting out
an irritated meow. Albert turned to go back in, but ran into the closed door. He sat back, stunned, then turned and walked with
unmistakable arrogance. His tail swished angrily back and forth, saying 'I didn't want to go in there anyway.'
Charlotte paced the study nervously, hands clasped behind her back. Somehow, with the sheer silence of the room
and knowing her only witnesses were books, her thoughts were clearer and more concise. She went over the events in her
mind like facts in a homework assignment. First, the man appeared. Then he warned her. After that came the dream. Next,
that creepy guy was outside her house. Then the Millers got killed. She frowned. That didn't help her at all. She plopped into a
chair behind her grandfather's great cedar desk, scanning the bookshelves idly. Vincent O'Farland owned over 250 books in this
room alone. However, they didn't help Charlotte in any way. The titles were all works of science--nothing about a possible
specter who might be killing people. Her eyes drifted over a human skull sitting on the shelf and she shivered, turning away.
That was about the last thing she wanted to see right now.
There was a soft tapping on the French doors behind her. Charlotte whirled. There stood the strange man again. She
jumped up, hand hovering near the phone that sat on the polished desk. His face tightened and he shook his head urgently.
The man mouthed slowly,
"Please open the door." She shook her head. He frowned slightly. "Please." They stared each other down for several minutes
before Charlotte buckled and turned the brass lock. The door swung open and he stepped in. "Thank you." He straightened his
coat. "It was getting rather cold out there."
"I imagine," Charlotte muttered, closing the door. When she turned, the man was carefully inspecting the books on the shelf. He
pulled one down and began flipping through it.
"Amazing," he breathed, peering at a picture of the human digestion system. "These pictures are so precise! Every detail--"
Charlotte came up behind him.
"What do you think you're doing?! You just show up and start looking at my grandpa's stuff?" Irritable, she snatched the book
from his hands. The man looked offended, about to reach for the book. Then he clasped his hands neatly.
"Forgive me, Lady O'Farland."
"Yeah, no problem," she muttered, sliding the tome back into the shelves. Then Charlotte turned to him. "What are
you doing here?" He stared longingly at the books as he spoke in a clear, flat voice.
"I'm checking up on you, Lady O'Farland. I fear I cannot leave you alone for a mere set of the sun before you get into trouble."
"What do you mean 'get into trouble'?" Charlotte scowled, putting her hands on her hips. The man chuckled wryly, ambling over
towards another book-covered shelf.
"I do believe that I told you what would happen. If I remember correctly, I told you exactly what would happen. You didn't seem
to believe me." He ran a slender finger over the spines of the books, then slid one out. "Do you believe now?"
"What do you--hey, put that down!" She reached towards his hands to take the text, but he held it above his head.
"I'm *reading* this," the man grumbled, trying to see the words on the page and still keep it out of Charlotte's grasp.
"That's my grandpa's," she complained, jumping and snatching wildly for the book. "Put it down!"
"No," he said bluntly, then turned and hunched over, reading quickly. Charlotte dodged rapidly around him, grabbing the book,
and slid back to the desk. The man made a sound of indignance. She held the book in front of her as a shield, then said slowly,
"I'll give it back under one condition. Tell me your name." He frowned lightly, still staring the book in her hands. His eyes flicked
over the cover, then he seemed to brighten.
"Isaac."
"Isaac?"
"Yes," Isaac darted forward and seized the book from her. "Now I am permitted to read it, I believe?"
Charlotte scowled, slipping into the chair behind the cedar desk again.
"Go on." Isaac began flipping pages eagerly, studying every word with rapt attention. She watched him, briefly seeing the title of
the book--Laws of Gravity. She sat back and sighed irately. "Are you done yet?"
"No, I'm not. Let me finish."
"Fine, fine." Charlotte grumbled. He pursed his lips and set the book down on the desktop.
"I suppose I should be helping you now," She quirked a brow.
"You think?" Isaac slid to the window, folding his hands behind his back and staring through the frosted glass.
"Forgive me, Lady O'Farland. I'd forgotten my intention of coming here." Charlotte stood, watching with him.
"Why did you come here, Mr. Isaac?"
"Just Isaac." He watched the brittle trees sway with the wind. "I came to tell you that the Horseman will strike again."
"What?" She pulled his shoulder so he faced her. "He's going to... I mean, more people are going to die?" Isaac nodded
absently, not really looking at her.
"Yes."
"*Who?*" He sighed softly.
"I don't know for certain, Lady O'Farland. Someone nearby." Charlotte's breathing was heavy again.
"Oh, no...no..." Isaac noted her distress and placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
"I want to help," he said quietly. His words were soft, but they were strained as well, as if it hurt him to talk. "and I will help in
any way I know how. But right now, Lady O'Farland, *I don't know what to do.*"
Charlotte blinked.
"You *what?*" Isaac's fingers drummed her shoulder, then he pulled his hand back.
"I don't know precisely what to do at this point in time--"
"You *what?*" Charlotte shrieked, swatting his chest. "You come here and screw around, playing your little mind games and
riddles and then you tell me you *don't know what to do?!*"
"Lady O'Farland, control yourself!" Isaac began inching away, but she followed him, randomly jabbing his chest and shoving
him backwards.
"You *idiot!* You have a *plan* before you take the role of the knight in shining armor, you big lump!" Charlotte gave him another
push.
"Lady O'Farland--!" Isaac stumbled back towards a bookshelf.
"Don't you come in here all snooty and self-righteous like you've got a big, elaborate plot and then say you don't know what to
do! It's *insane!*"
"Charlotte--!" With one more large shove, he lost his footing and went tumbling. His back hit the wooden shelf and several
books came crashing down on his head. Isaac blinked, then landed hard on his bottom, causing one last thing to plunge down
into his lap--the skull. He stared at it with wide dark eyes, bewildered. Charlotte's eyes were large and unblinking as well.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry--" Isaac took his baffled gaze from the skull to her.
"It all happened so quickly..." After a moment, Charlotte burst into a fit of laughter.
The Slaying
"Charlotte? Charlotte! Wake up!" Her world was dark. "Charlotte, wake *up*!" Slowly her hazel eyes drifted open. Her
grandfather was in front of her, shaking her shoulders. Charlotte moaned and closed her eyes.
"Go 'way," she muttered, trying to pull the blanket up over her head. The quilt was given a sharp tug and went flying from her
hand. O'Farland glared at her.
"Charlotte Lucinda O'Farland, march yourself inside this very moment!" Uh oh. He'd used her middle name. Charlotte *hated* her
middle name, and her grandfather only used it when he was either very angry or very scared. She opened her eyes carefully.
Well, considering his face was a mix of purple and red, there was a very slim chance that he was scared. Without another word,
she stood and slipped back into the house, only vaguely realizing that she'd fallen asleep outside.
The door closed behind her with a bang.
"What in the name of all that is good and holy do you think you're doing?" Charlotte bit her lip, trying to figure out what, exactly,
she'd done wrong. She sat down to think better, but Vincent barked, "Don't sit!" She jumped up. "Answer the question."
"W-what did I do?"
"You fell asleep out on the front porch, that's what! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?!"
"Yes, Grandpa, but I--"
"No buts!" He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly all the anger was drained from his face, leaving a very frightened old
man. O'Farland sank into a chair, running a hand through his mane of white hair, and sighed softly. "I'm sorry, Lottie. I shouldn't
have gotten angry." Charlotte stayed standing, afraid any sudden movements would set him off again.
"It's...all right, Grandpa. But why--" She stopped herself. Asking her grandfather why he'd become a raging volcano before her
very eyes might not be such a good idea. Answering the question for her, Vincent reached for the newspaper that sat on the
table.
"Read this." Frowning slightly, Charlotte took the paper. For a moment, her blood ran cold. Across the top of the newspaper, in
big black letters, read 'LOCAL FAMILY KILLED, POLICE BAFFLED'. She swallowed hard, hoping with all her might that it
wasn't the Millers. Sure enough, the house surrounded by police tape in the picture was the one right down the street. She was
torn between reading the rest and burning the paper when O'Farland engulfed her in a tight hug, making her drop it.
"Oh, Lottie, I was so afraid. What if that--that psycho had come to our house and seen you on the front porch? You could've
been..." Charlotte's eyes widened. Her grandfather was crying. Her grandfather never cried, and here he was sobbing on her
shoulder. She embraced him for a while before Vincent finally pulled away and hobbled towards the kitchen. "I'm sorry. I
shouldn't be--" He looked up, raking the back of his hand across his eyes and trying a weak grin. "Is bacon all right for
breakfast?"
Charlotte munched quietly on her strip of bacon. Vincent opened the refrigerator.
"Lottie, you want orange juice, right?" His hand reached absently for the jug of juice, but there was none in the fridge. "Oh,
bejeepers," he muttered, closing the door. "We're all out. I'll go on out to Smuck's and pick up a couple bottles." He headed out
through the garage, calling back, "Keep the doors locked." Charlotte nodded as the engine sounded.
"Bye, Grandpa." As soon as the garage door closed, she grabbed the newspaper. She really didn't know if she wanted to read
it, but her eyes were drawn to the article. So, reluctantly, she did.
*Police were shocked at what they found on 23 Wisteria Lane late Friday night. They received a call from a concerned neighbor,
who said screams and loud noises could be heard from the house of the Millers. Resorted to breaking down the door, Police
Chief Harold Shaft was met with a gruesome sight. George Miller, his wife, Sharon, and their two-year-old son, Francis had
been decapitated--*
Charlotte threw the paper across the table with a cry. She didn't think it would be like that. *Stupid,* she reminded
herself. *How else would a Headless Horseman kill people?* Then she shook her head. *Even more stupid. There is no Headless
Horseman.* She stood, heading for her grandfather's study. It was the only place that she could really think. Charlotte slipped
into the office quickly, shutting the door. Then, with a cry of surprise, she opened it again.
"You stupid, stupid cat!" She picked up Albert and nearly punted him from the room. He landed on all fours heavily, letting out
an irritated meow. Albert turned to go back in, but ran into the closed door. He sat back, stunned, then turned and walked with
unmistakable arrogance. His tail swished angrily back and forth, saying 'I didn't want to go in there anyway.'
Charlotte paced the study nervously, hands clasped behind her back. Somehow, with the sheer silence of the room
and knowing her only witnesses were books, her thoughts were clearer and more concise. She went over the events in her
mind like facts in a homework assignment. First, the man appeared. Then he warned her. After that came the dream. Next,
that creepy guy was outside her house. Then the Millers got killed. She frowned. That didn't help her at all. She plopped into a
chair behind her grandfather's great cedar desk, scanning the bookshelves idly. Vincent O'Farland owned over 250 books in this
room alone. However, they didn't help Charlotte in any way. The titles were all works of science--nothing about a possible
specter who might be killing people. Her eyes drifted over a human skull sitting on the shelf and she shivered, turning away.
That was about the last thing she wanted to see right now.
There was a soft tapping on the French doors behind her. Charlotte whirled. There stood the strange man again. She
jumped up, hand hovering near the phone that sat on the polished desk. His face tightened and he shook his head urgently.
The man mouthed slowly,
"Please open the door." She shook her head. He frowned slightly. "Please." They stared each other down for several minutes
before Charlotte buckled and turned the brass lock. The door swung open and he stepped in. "Thank you." He straightened his
coat. "It was getting rather cold out there."
"I imagine," Charlotte muttered, closing the door. When she turned, the man was carefully inspecting the books on the shelf. He
pulled one down and began flipping through it.
"Amazing," he breathed, peering at a picture of the human digestion system. "These pictures are so precise! Every detail--"
Charlotte came up behind him.
"What do you think you're doing?! You just show up and start looking at my grandpa's stuff?" Irritable, she snatched the book
from his hands. The man looked offended, about to reach for the book. Then he clasped his hands neatly.
"Forgive me, Lady O'Farland."
"Yeah, no problem," she muttered, sliding the tome back into the shelves. Then Charlotte turned to him. "What are
you doing here?" He stared longingly at the books as he spoke in a clear, flat voice.
"I'm checking up on you, Lady O'Farland. I fear I cannot leave you alone for a mere set of the sun before you get into trouble."
"What do you mean 'get into trouble'?" Charlotte scowled, putting her hands on her hips. The man chuckled wryly, ambling over
towards another book-covered shelf.
"I do believe that I told you what would happen. If I remember correctly, I told you exactly what would happen. You didn't seem
to believe me." He ran a slender finger over the spines of the books, then slid one out. "Do you believe now?"
"What do you--hey, put that down!" She reached towards his hands to take the text, but he held it above his head.
"I'm *reading* this," the man grumbled, trying to see the words on the page and still keep it out of Charlotte's grasp.
"That's my grandpa's," she complained, jumping and snatching wildly for the book. "Put it down!"
"No," he said bluntly, then turned and hunched over, reading quickly. Charlotte dodged rapidly around him, grabbing the book,
and slid back to the desk. The man made a sound of indignance. She held the book in front of her as a shield, then said slowly,
"I'll give it back under one condition. Tell me your name." He frowned lightly, still staring the book in her hands. His eyes flicked
over the cover, then he seemed to brighten.
"Isaac."
"Isaac?"
"Yes," Isaac darted forward and seized the book from her. "Now I am permitted to read it, I believe?"
Charlotte scowled, slipping into the chair behind the cedar desk again.
"Go on." Isaac began flipping pages eagerly, studying every word with rapt attention. She watched him, briefly seeing the title of
the book--Laws of Gravity. She sat back and sighed irately. "Are you done yet?"
"No, I'm not. Let me finish."
"Fine, fine." Charlotte grumbled. He pursed his lips and set the book down on the desktop.
"I suppose I should be helping you now," She quirked a brow.
"You think?" Isaac slid to the window, folding his hands behind his back and staring through the frosted glass.
"Forgive me, Lady O'Farland. I'd forgotten my intention of coming here." Charlotte stood, watching with him.
"Why did you come here, Mr. Isaac?"
"Just Isaac." He watched the brittle trees sway with the wind. "I came to tell you that the Horseman will strike again."
"What?" She pulled his shoulder so he faced her. "He's going to... I mean, more people are going to die?" Isaac nodded
absently, not really looking at her.
"Yes."
"*Who?*" He sighed softly.
"I don't know for certain, Lady O'Farland. Someone nearby." Charlotte's breathing was heavy again.
"Oh, no...no..." Isaac noted her distress and placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
"I want to help," he said quietly. His words were soft, but they were strained as well, as if it hurt him to talk. "and I will help in
any way I know how. But right now, Lady O'Farland, *I don't know what to do.*"
Charlotte blinked.
"You *what?*" Isaac's fingers drummed her shoulder, then he pulled his hand back.
"I don't know precisely what to do at this point in time--"
"You *what?*" Charlotte shrieked, swatting his chest. "You come here and screw around, playing your little mind games and
riddles and then you tell me you *don't know what to do?!*"
"Lady O'Farland, control yourself!" Isaac began inching away, but she followed him, randomly jabbing his chest and shoving
him backwards.
"You *idiot!* You have a *plan* before you take the role of the knight in shining armor, you big lump!" Charlotte gave him another
push.
"Lady O'Farland--!" Isaac stumbled back towards a bookshelf.
"Don't you come in here all snooty and self-righteous like you've got a big, elaborate plot and then say you don't know what to
do! It's *insane!*"
"Charlotte--!" With one more large shove, he lost his footing and went tumbling. His back hit the wooden shelf and several
books came crashing down on his head. Isaac blinked, then landed hard on his bottom, causing one last thing to plunge down
into his lap--the skull. He stared at it with wide dark eyes, bewildered. Charlotte's eyes were large and unblinking as well.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry--" Isaac took his baffled gaze from the skull to her.
"It all happened so quickly..." After a moment, Charlotte burst into a fit of laughter.