Chapter 6
As soon as he came through the office door, Charlie veered to the shelf were his small stereo sat, jerked the headphones out of it. It was midnight, and he was cranking this baby up. He sorted quickly through the CDs, picked one. He picked up the remote and carried it to the desk, and settled in at his lap top.
He couldn't wait to get back to numbers. He loved numbers. Numbers were predictable. Numbers did what they were supposed to do. Numbers meant what they meant, and nothing else.
By the end of Led Zepplin he had finished the final, e-mailed it to the department secretary so that she could get it copied Monday morning. He walked to the stereo to change the CD, then back to his desk. By the end of CCR, he had methodically cleaned off the top, finishing reports, reading over two thesis proposals by graduate students determined to get a jump on the next semester, throwing away sticky notes about lunches eaten two months ago. He thought about tackling the drawers, but his mind was starting to wander away from numbers, so he changed the music again and hit the whiteboard. AC/DC took him into cognitive emergence, and his dry erase marker flew. He alternated between the board and the lap top, transposing what he worked out on the board into his existing data. He didn't even notice when the music ended, when the sun began to shine through the window. Didn't remember stopping, just knew suddenly that he was sitting at his desk, remembering something slightly vanilla on Amita's lips, and the numbers were gone. .
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She was afraid to answer the door. She had almost hidden her car on another block, so it would look like she wasn't home, but she hadn't wanted to leave the safety of the apartment.
How could a woman who had won prestigious awards for the paper she had written in pursuit of her first doctorate, a woman who was even then going after a second doctorate, a woman whose entire life had revolved around knowledge and expanding her mind as far as she could, how could that woman be huddled on the floor in the corner of her living room, unable to think about anything but what an idiot she was?
And for at least the last five minutes, someone had been knocking at the door.
"I know that you're in there. Probably sitting on the floor, squeezed into that little corner."
She heard Charlie's voice, buried her face in her hands.
"You can answer the door. Or I can scream this all on the porch."
He wouldn't.
"Amita." There was something indescribably sad about the way he said her name.
"Okay. About the kiss, yesterday…"
She hurtled herself out of the corner and sped across the room. Yanked the door open. He stopped talking. They stared at each other, and she felt herself blush.
"I am so sorry. I am such an idiot." She started to cry. Now she was even a bigger idiot.
He didn't come in, just stood there on the porch. But at least he lowered his voice.
"You're not an idiot. You're the most intelligent person I've ever known. You make every conversation more interesting, broader.…Amy…Amy…there is no Amy, anymore."
She looked at him.
"You were right, I didn't really know her. Not the way I know you."
She whispered. "Then come inside."
He shook his head. "You need to know that I would have gone on, with her. Amy left me, I didn't have anything to do with it. And…And…the one thing I would never survive would be seeing you question that, someday. Eventually, you would wonder if the only reason I was with you, was because it didn't work out with her."
She tilted her head, thought. "Most of us are with the people we're with because somewhere, something didn't work out. The romantic notion is that the first relationship didn't work because the second one was destined to be experienced, but I don't really believe that. You're a man in your early 30s, Charlie, I would hope that something didn't work out, somewhere…"
He was silent.
She was insistent. "We tried dating a few months ago. It didn't work out, then. That's why you were with Amy, isn't it?"
"That's too simple."
"Love is never simple, Charlie."
He actually took a step back at the word. "I wish I could not know anything that I've learned in the last two months. I wish I could not know anything."
She felt guilty. Had she helped reduce one of the world's greatest thinkers into someone who didn't want to think? No.
"It's not that you don't want to think, Charlie. You don't want to feel."
He stared at her, then took more than a step backward. He pivoted on the porch, limped quickly to his car, and drove away.
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Alan looked up from his book at the sound of Charlie's car in the driveway. He looked at his watch. Six o'clock. He hadn't seen him, hadn't even heard from him, since they'd all gone out to lunch yesterday. It was a fine line he trod, living with an adult son. It was none of his business what Charlie chose to do, or who he chose to do it with, but he worried. He thought he would worry even if he were not related to his "roommate". At what point do you report someone missing? It was only common courtesy he asked for.
He stood as he heard the kitchen door open and started talking on the way.
"Charlie, I thought we agreed to show each other a little respect. I don't want to dictate your life, I'd just like to know you're all right. Is it too much to ask for a simple phone…" He stopped as the kitchen door swung open and he saw his son. It didn't look like he's been enthralled in a reunion with Amy for the last day-and-a-half.
"What's wrong?"
Charlie unceremoniously dropped his backpack on the floor of the dining room, crossed to the stairs and started toward his room. "Tired."
Alan watched him. "Have you been working all this time?"
"No. Mostly. Going to bed."
Not speaking in full sentences. That was never good. Alan called up the stairs.
"Do you want something to eat, first? I could heat something up while you take a shower…"
Charlie's bedroom door clicked shut before he was even finished. .
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The eyes were back, but it was different, this time. Carolyn Trimble's body wasn't on the floor, anymore, she was leaning against a wall, watching him…she must be watching him, even though her eyes were still vacant, never blinked…but she was keeping up a running commentary.
"You really should have just come with me," she said.
He was standing in a box, and Amita and Amy stood at the only open side. He couldn't find a way out without pushing one of them out of the way.
"I didn't want to," he answered.
"You've done everything wrong anyway," Carolyn said. "You could come, now."
He risked looking at Amy. She didn't have any ears, so he couldn't make her hear him. She looked sad. All she did was shake her head at him, the red hair making his scar tickle even though it was nowhere near his leg.
"I just want out of this box," he said. "I don't want to go with you."
"Yes you do," she whispered.
"No!" he cried, and looked at Amita. She looked sad, too, although he didn't really know how he knew that, since she had no eyes.
"What happened?", he asked everyone.
Carolyn was the only one who answered. She began to slide across the floor toward him without moving her legs.
"I think you need to come with me."
He started to panic. "No, I don't want to. No!" He felt her touch him on the shoulder, even though she wasn't moving her arms, either.
"Come on, Charlie."
He tried to pull back. "No! I said No!"
The shaking increased. "Charlie…Charlie…come on, wake up. It's Dad. Wake up."
All the women shattered, and Charlie screamed. .
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Alan was just going to bed himself when he heard the all-too-familiar sounds of a nightmare coming from Charlie's room. He opened the door cautiously, heard a strangled "No! I said No!"
He approached the bed, sat on the edge and tried to wake his son up.
"Come on, son, wake up. It's Dad."
Charlie scared the life out of him when he screamed, bolted upright in the bed. He stared at his father, breathing ragged.
Alan took his hand off Charlie's shoulder and used it to brush back a curl. "You awake now, son?"
Charlie closed his eyes, took a shuddering breath, nodded.
Alan took his hand away and leaned in, carefully folded Charlie into his arms.
"It's all right, now," he soothed quietly, "just relax…"
He felt Charlie lean into him, felt the shudders continue.
Alan closed his own eyes, and held on.