Chapter 3 - Graves

“So how did you feel, after the incident?” The school counselor asks. It’s the same question she always asks. She means well, I think. Her name is Sharon, and she’s in her early fifties, with big eyed glasses and graying blonde hair. She always wears these flowery shirts that feel tacky and out of touch with the youth of today.

“I don’t remember,” Charlie says, and she’s sitting at the far end of the couch, trying really hard not to roll her eyes.

“Are you sure?” Sharon leans forward and intertwines her fingers. One of her drawn-on eyebrows raises. “Perhaps you could be protecting yourself, hiding those memories.”

Perhaps Miss Sharon has been up late watching psychology videos on YouTube again.

“I. Don’t. Know.” Charlie enunciates each word, and it almost sounds like she’s growling. Sharon quickly sits back, clears her throat, and glances over at Anne. She’s playing with the strings of her hoodie, clearly not paying attention.

“What about you, my dear?” Sharon asks, glancing down at her pages. “Last time we talked about hobbies, which are very good for helping us move on.”

“Yes,” Anne half smiles. “I like to read.”

“Oh,” Sharon makes a note on her clipboard. “That’s very good, and what do you like to read?”

Anne smiles, and it’s an unnervingly wide, sinister smile.

“I like monster stuff,” she says.

“Oh,” another note gets scribbled down. “Kind of like Frankenstein, by Mary Shelly?”

“No. Not like Frankenstein.” Her expression is overtly serious. “Like, weird, weird… monster—”

“I like swimming.” I say quickly, shooting Anne a glance. She scrunches her nose at me, amused.

Despite how cute she pretends to be, her interests are rather… odd.

“Swimming, yes, that’s very good,” Miss Sharon nods. “Getting back in the proverbial saddle, as they say. I think it’s good to spend some time on the beach, to help us overcome our fears and trepidations. Small steps can still make a mile.”

Therapy was over before we knew it. Another day, and another half hour of our time lost. Sharon means well, because of course she does. Doesn’t help though. It only seems to make things harder for us.

Charlie’s always in a mood after therapy days. Granted, most of the time she’s just in a mood, but on these days its worse. She’s being forced to talk about things she doesn’t wanna talk about, and it’s funny because the two people who could truly understand her are representative of the problem itself.

You know it’s weird having someone else’s memories. Like I said before, it’s foggy, but it is there.

For example, I remember Charlie’s sixth birthday. Dad brought me a cake with six melting candles, wax rolling down into the frosting. He told me to make a wish. 

I wished mom would come back home.

Or what about my thirteenth birthday. For some reason or another all I wanted was a bike. 

Dad had to work that day. He comes in late after his shift and there in his hands is a new bike, shiny and green. He taught me how to ride beneath the streetlamps in our cul de sac.

And the problem is I love that memory. That night was cool and dark, and moths fluttered around the lamplight, and we had to try and be quiet, because everyone was asleep.

But it’s not mine. It doesn’t belong to me.

And that makes me mad. Because Charlie has something that Anne and I never will. I am envious of her life, and of the ups and downs, and the dad who’s been there through it all. It makes me mad to see her think she can just be upset and throw it all away. To treat me like I should be grateful to live, and have her body, her mind, her beautiful red hair.

But here’s the thing.

I could take her place. If something happened to me or Anne, no one would blink an eye. I could be Charlie Anne McCaffrey. 

I could take her life, and no one would ever know.

Hm. Maybe therapy puts me in a mood too.

***

The bell rings and we make our way down the hall. The flood of students spilling out to meet us.

“We still going to the beach today?” Charlie asks, stopping at her locker.

“You don’t have to come,” I say. “Anne and I can manage, we know the way.”

“I know.” Charlie says. “But still.” She gives me a look, it’s a conflicted look. Like, maybe she still doesn’t trust us. We’re still an enigma, still a mystery.

“Also,” she says, looking at Anne, the edges of her lips quirking up in what might almost be mistaken as a smile. “Never offer me book recommendations.” Then she spins on her heel, and she’s lost in the flood of students.

Anne scrunches her nose and then we both snort in laughter. It’s a good moment. She wipes a small tear from her eye, careful about her makeup, and then gives me a hug.

“Off to class,” Anne says, and she goes on her way.

As Anne weaves through the crowd, I see her wave in greeting to a passerby who’s headed my way. Outside of my sisters, I would like to introduce you to my only friend. Chloe Graves.

Chloe is tall, a head taller than me. Her skin is dark, smooth, and beautiful. Her braided hair goes down to the middle of her back and is dyed a bright pink color. Her clothes are chic, pressed and ironed just right. Her makeup is perfect, she is perfect.

“Mick McCaffrey,” she says, leaning against the lockers. “I know you’re not a morning person, but this is excessive. You look sullen.”

“Do I?” I ask. I don’t feel particularly sullen. Maybe it’s the underlying tension in everything. Whether it’s Jack, or Charlie, or the way the other students look at us. Like they know we aren’t supposed to exist, but we do, and no one knows why. It’s like everyone knows it, but we’re all too afraid to say it.

Chloe’s the only one who doesn’t make me feel that way though. She doesn’t look at me like I’m strange, and she treats me like an individual. Like Mick.

“So, what’s the plan for after school?” she asks, bobbing her dark eyebrows.

“Wanted to go to the beach, get a little sun, maybe do some swimming.” I say, “besides, Sharon thinks it’ll be good for us, will help us overcome our trauma.”

“Mind if I overcome some of my trauma?” Chloe asks, feigning a sad face.

“What happened?” I ask, pouting my lips in mock sympathy. “Did they not fly you in a private jet to school?” I realize it’s some of Charlie’s attitude coming out. It’s kind of a lot for someone that’s only been alive three months.

“Actually,” Chloe snorts, “we don’t own a private jet… we rent one.”

“Wait, actually?” I frown, sometimes forgetting how rich she is. You might assume, and you would be correct in doing so, that someone like Chloe Graves might attend a private school. Alas, January High is the only high school around for miles. Schools in and of themselves aren’t typically the biggest tourist attractions.

“Yes,” Chloe smiles and grabs me by the arm, pulling me along. “Come on, we gotta get to class.”

Classes are exactly what you’d expect. Boring. Dull. I’m bad at math. What more do you want me to say? Chloe and I have all of the same classes together, while I have two with Anne and one with Charlie. Chloe is friendly and nice to each of them, and while maybe we’re better friends just by nature of being around each other more, I think that the other Charlie’s also have an appreciation for the casual behavior.

“Ugh,” Anne huffs, sitting across from me in the cafeteria.

“What happened?” Charlie asks, mouth half full of school pizza.

“Got asked out again.” Anne pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head. “I don’t know why…”

“Oh, come on,” Chloe’s using chopsticks to eat out of a steaming bento box filled with rice and vegetables. “Anne, you are so cute, of course they’re asking you out.”

“Yeah, I am cute,” Anne huffs. 

“But for some reason, they always have to make some snide comment about the twin thing. Like…” she crosses her arms and lifts her chin, speaking in a deep voice. “Once your clothes are off I can just pretend you're any of the sisters. Or maybe I can get all three at once, ha ha ha…”

Charlie freezes as soon as she hears Anne.

“Who was it?” She asks.

“It was Dylan, wait—” Anne is chasing Charlie who’s already standing up. “Hey, stop, it’s fine. He’s stupid and plays football so of course he thinks he can say dumb things.” I see Charlie’s fists are clenched, knuckles white. She’s doing that thing where she acts like she can’t stand us, but she’s protective. Older sister much?

Charlie is coaxed into sitting back down, and the rest of the day goes by, uneventful. Save for one little detail. Dylan may or may not have found three flat tires on his convertible. Funny, that.

***

“Do you have a swimsuit?” Charlie asks. Chloe shrugs, and pulls out her phone.

“I can always call Roberts, he’ll pick one up.” She makes a few taps and puts the phone to her ear. “He can also drive us there, if you want.”

Charlie looks to us for confirmation, Anne shrugs, and I nod. The vote has been cast.

Ten minutes later we’re sitting in the back of a very nice black SUV, on our way to the beach. Mr. Roberts didn’t bring one or two swimsuits, rather, he brought what looked like the entire closet. He also waited around while she tried each and every one of them on.

By the time Chloe finally gets into her swimsuit, Charlie is sitting on a beach towel under an umbrella, Anne is suntanning, (dangerous thing for a ginger) and I am waist deep in the water.

Chloe has a large pair of pink sunglasses over her head and a bag on one shoulder. She peers down one side of the beach, and then the other.

“You guys are seeing what I’m seeing, right?” she asks.

“I think it’s actually what you aren’t seeing,” Charlie muses from her shaded haven.

“There’s nobody on the beach…” Chloe says.

“Bet it’s all the disappearances…” Anne dusts some sand off of her feet. “Dad was saying something about it this morning.” 

She doesn’t look at Charlie, or acknowledge the stern look she receives. “I haven’t heard anything else about it though.”

“I picked up some rumors at school,” Charlie says resting her chin on her knees. “I wasn’t sure they were any more than just rumors though.”

“I don’t know if you guys know this,” Chloe supplies, “but January has a pretty spooky history.”

“Oh, I know all about the spooky history,” Charlie snorts, “they sell it in the gift shops.”

“No, I mean,” Chloe huffs, “I think there’s more to it than that. My family’s lived here a long, long time, and some of the stories I’ve heard… well, let’s just say they don’t sell those in the gift shops.”

“And what do those stories say about people going missing?” I ask, and Charlie shoots me a glare, but I’m being careful. If there’s something to be discovered about where Anne and I came from, I can’t help but feel it’s both in our, and Charlie’s best interest to find out what it is.

Chloe is quiet for a long moment, looking at me. Maybe even studying. She pulls a towel out of her bag and lays it out, before striking a relaxed pose.

“There’s all sorts of underwater caves in the bay.” She explains. “My dad was telling me that this used to be a hotspot for cave divers, but they eventually quit coming. They say the currents in the caves were too hazardous and strong to navigate safely. Lot of divers drowned.”

“Why do I feel like that’s not the full story?” I give her a wry smile and take a small step closer to the safety of land.

“I’m just saying…” Chloe looks over her glasses at me. “Maybe those currents have something to do with the ships, and the disappearances.”

Hmm… I look out over the sea.

The shimmering afternoon waters. I find myself thinking about Charlie, a girl who looks a lot like me, but isn’t me. 

All too sudden, my little daydream takes over, and I can see my thoughts so clearly it’s like I’m watching them on the TV.

I see Charlie riding her bike, it’s raining. She catches a rock, tires screeching as she tries to brake, but she hits the edge and goes flying. She’s not even afraid as she falls, it all happens so fast, and for a moment it’s just so unbelievable.

Then she hits the water, and it hurts. Like crashing through a window.

As she sinks, she’s oddly at peace. It’s quiet, below the waves. The water is calm. Then she feels it. Is it a current? No.

It’s not a current, silly Mick. An ocean current doesn’t have claws.