Chapter 2: The Girl That Came Back
Over 30 years later, the house was still there. The paint peeling and almost all of the color gone, the wooden boards invested with thorns, the third step caved in, multiple windows broken, but it was still there.
Then, a car pulled up. And two people stepped out.
Charlotte Emily looked at the house with an unpleasant feeling in her chest as she closed the driver's side door to her car. It looked so different, yet exactly the same all at once.
Just like her old house. Just like where-
"You okay?" John asked quietly as he walked around to the driver's side to join Charlie.
Charlie blinked. "Yeah." She looked over to him. "Sorry just, uh…" She looked over to the house again. "…lost in thought."
They stood there in silence for a moment, John glancing at Charlie occasionally, Charlie staring at the house, no sound except for the swaying of the overgrown greenery in the wind. "Thanks for coming with me." Charlie said abruptly, cutting through the silence, still not looking away from the house.
"No problem, I know it…" he pauses for a moment, mulling through several ways to put this in his head. "…brings back unpleasant memories." He said with uncertainty.
Charlie hummed, looking down at the small silver key to the house in her hand. It had been too long since she had come back to Hurricane. She had always pushed any thought of it away, always hid those memories. "Yeah." She looked up at the front door, it used to be a vibrant red, now all the paint was peeling, chipped, or faded, showing the dull wood underneath, riddled with cracks. "But there were pleasant ones too."
She began walking down the driveway.
The house looked better on the inside than it had on the outside. Still bad, but better. There was dust caking virtually every surface, and there was probably a family of rats somewhere, but other than that it seemed fine.
The living room had a couch, blue and lumpy from age and use. There was also a lamp and a photo on the wall. It had a picture of Charlie's family when she was younger. Charlie herself, tiny and overjoyed, laughing as she looked in the general direction of the camera. And Henry, holding her and laughing as well, less jovially but still clearly happy.
Charlie glanced at it then refused to look at it again.
Charlie walked past the picture and up the stairs to her room. Every step was punctuated by a heavy creak from the wooden steps.
As she reached her door, Charlie had a thought. In all her memories, the house had seemed massive, this door towering over her. Now it was just a normal door. No significant notes about it.
She opened the door and stepped inside, taking in the room slowly.
It was a unique room, Charlie had always thought. It had a bed, white sheets with pink flower prints tucked and made neatly. The walls were light pink and had flowers as well. She spotted something on the bed: a small purple rabbit, resembling a stuffed animal. She reached over and picked it up. Its name was Theodore.
She clicked the button on the back, its arm let out a click as it failed to lift up into a wave. A small voice played through its chest, covered by a layer of static from age, most of it corrupted and unrecognizable as words. "I- … -ove y- …. lie."
It was her father's voice. Charlie stared at the toy silently. It used to say 'I love you, Charlie,' but now it was so broken.
"Do you want to be, uh, alone for a bit?" John asked suddenly, caution edging his voice.
Charlie looked over at him, startled. She had completely forgotten he was there. She regained her composure and looked back at the toy. "Yeah, I-…. I'll catch up with you in a minute or two."
John left quietly, or as quiet as he could be with the steps creaking loud enough to wake up a small family.
John walked into the living room and sighed, sitting down on the couch carefully, it creaking under his weight, and combing his hands through his hair. He hoped Charlie was doing okay, and he was happy to support her by coming, but he felt like he didn't… belong. It felt like he was intruding on something private.
He jumped as a soft thump sounded from his left. Looking over, he found a door. It was a pretty normal door, tall, wooden, and it also had a couple cracks like nearly everything else in the house.
Curious, he stood up and took a couple steps towards the door. The soft thump happened repeatedly as he reached for the doorknob, and opened it.
A cat darted out, eliciting a surprised yelp from John as he jumped out of the way.
The cat was gray, muddy, and missing half its fur. It immediately ran into the couch and hissed, then promptly started running around the room, running into random objects. John winced as it knocked over a lamp, causing a loud crash as the long dead lightbulb shattered on the floor, spreading broken shards of glass across the wooden floorboards.
John looked up at the ceiling in a general direction of where Charlie would be. She has most definitely heard the commotion by now. He looked down at the cat as it scampered in what would be called circles but were nowhere near round, knocking random objects over.
Suddenly the cat jumped directly into an already cracked window, which promptly broke as the cat flew through it.
He stood there for a good 4 seconds before he heard creaking come from behind him as Charlie almost stumbled down the stairs as she ran down them. "What happened!?"
"There was a cat!" John explained hurriedly, stepping over to her to be farther away from the shards of glass. "It was in that room and I opened the door and then it started-"
"-freaking out and running around." Charlie finished. She looked around the room, stopping when her eyes landed on the open door. She stared at it, her eyes widening slightly.
"What?" John asked, sounding a bit too worried, still shaken from the cat.
"That's where my father worked." Charlie explained, her eyes not leaving the open door. "It's his workshop."
John was about to say something - though he had no idea what he was going to say - when Charlie started walking towards the door.
John followed, admittedly curious of the room now that Charlie said what it was.
The inside of the room looked like, well, a workshop, which wasn't too surprising. It had a work table, several shelves of tools and supplies, and it was riddled with robot parts.
Charlie began looking through random shelves and boxes, and she could hear John begin doing the same.
She did not find anything interesting, until she opened a cabinet and jumped involuntarily. It was a face. White, porcelain stretched into a smile, rosy cheeks and lipstick, and it looked like it was crying. Like an old theater mask.
Further inspection revealed a body, which was just blending in with the darkness of the cabinet. Black, spindly, and tall enough that its legs were slightly folded at the bottom. It was hung up on a hook, its limp form filling most of the cabinet.
It looked like some kind of mime, or at least that's what she thought it looked like. She didn't recognize it.
John looked into the cabinet after her, and blinked. "That thing is…" He trailed off as he stared at it. "I don't even know how to describe it, honestly."
"What's this?" Charlie said aloud as she reached for something hanging on the hook to the right of the mime-clown-puppet thing. She held it up to show John. It was a green bracelet, small but it seemed to be size adjustable. While John examined it, Charlie spoke aloud. "It says 'safety bracelet.'" She smiled. "It's neat."
"Can I try it on?" John asked. Charlie gave him a quizzical look. "I'm curious on how well the size adjustment works." He shrugged.
Charlie handed it to John and he put it on, holding up his wrist to Charlie.
Charlie was about to make a joke about it being stylish when it suddenly lit up, emitting a green glow, flickering occasionally. They were both staring at it for a moment before John opened his mouth. "Guess I'm 'safe' now."
Charlie gave him a look.
CHARLIE IS LEAVING THE DESIGNATED AREA
The puppet- Charlie seized in the cabinet as she woke up, raising her head slowly. What happened? She felt heavier than normal, like there was a large glob of cotton in her head, it felt like waking up after a bad nap.
She moved out of the cabinet (why was she in a cabinet?) and looked around the workshop. It was in a much worse state than she had seen a minute ago.
She realized groggily that she must have shut off. How long had it been? And how did she get in the cabinet? And-
CHARLIE IS LEAVING THE DESIGNATED AREA
She stumbled, falling onto the desk. How could 'Charlie' be leaving if she was Charlie? She realized she couldn't see the bracelet, and further investigation revealed that it was not there. Someone must have taken it.
Her head swiveled to stare at the open door.
That was fine, she didn't need it, she didn't even want it-
CHARLIE IS LEAVING THE DESIGNATED AREA
She almost fell over, catching herself on the door frame this time. Her long spindly fingers squeezing the door hard enough it cracked. She was moderately angry now, the stupid program was blaring in her head, like a desperate desire that she absolutely needed to do.
She straightened back up, realizing she was aware of a presence that wasn't herself. That must be the bracelet, this must be how it felt when it was on. She realized something slowly.
It was outside the house.
ERROR: DESIGNATED AREA NOT FOUND
Okay, it appeared that the programming was realizing that there was no pizzeria. Maybe that'll make it shut up. Now to find out what year it is-
OPTIMAL ACTION: ENSURE SAFETY MANUALLY
Charlie was suddenly overcome with the urge to follow the bracelet, and that this was the most important thing for her to possibly do. She would groan if she could, holding her face in her hands, rubbing the fabric of her fingers down the porcelain.
It was fine. She just had to go get the bracelet.
Simple.
She moved through the open door and into the living room, from the couple seconds she spent in there, it was in even worse shape than the workshop, and to the front door. She looked through the curtains on the window next to the door.
There was a car. She had an overwhelming feeling that the bracelet was in there. It looked much different from the last car she had seen. What year was it? How long had she been off?
While she was contemplating that, she failed to notice the movement outside for a couple seconds.
When she looked up to see, the car was driving away, moving down the street at an alarmingly fast pace.
…aw poop.