Chapter 28 STUMBLING INTO THE ABYSS
Chapter 28
S TUMBLING INTO THE A BYSS
While on the train, Charli tries to move her Sunday flight earlier, but there is nothing available. She gets back to her hotel in London around ten p.m. Checking into a new room, she showers and then lies on the bed in her robe and berates herself for treating Noah so poorly, let alone for failing her mission.
The minibar is too tempting. She pours herself a glass of wine. It goes down so well that she takes another and goes numb.
When she tries to remember why she’s here, she can’t. Not for a while. Something about trying to help her family, help herself. Well, she’s not solving any murders from 1881, that’s for sure. Frances would say that the truth is still waiting. What’s the truth going to do anyway?
Like everything else she does, she wants to give up. Even thinking about the idea of going back home and returning to Tiny and her tiny life gives her peace. She texts the dog sitter and asks how he’s doing, asks for more pictures. She gets some back pretty quickly and lies back on the bed with her alcohol buzz and stares at Tiny, missing him so much.
Three more days and she’ll be home.
It takes her until the morning to realize she is experiencing something unfamiliar. She’s worked her whole life to protect herself from this particular emotion.
Heartache.
It’s a hole so empty that she could cave in at any moment. She’s barely eating, getting down only enough to keep her stomach from hurting.
In the bathroom, Charli’s afraid to look in the mirror. She never likes what she sees. But something forces her to take inventory of her appearance, and she rests her hands on the counter and looks at herself. Her hair is all over the place, her skin pale. Her Costa Rica tan is a distant memory. And her eyes.
Her eyes.
The eyes of her mother.
Charli turns away but then goes back to them, stares into them, the irises opening up to show her soul. She feels so weak and empty, but there’s something else in her too. The remnants of a fire, that small cinder burning, the one that’s been burning even brighter since the constellation. What else can she do for her father? That’s what’s on her mind now. What an epic waste of money and time this trip has been. And now she’s returning to exactly the same issues: her father, who is giving up; her mother, who is lost; and her own life, which is hopeless.
But she got so far ... she proved that she was capable of far more than she ever thought. She tracked down so many clues and tasted what it was like to be hopeful. Maybe the money was worth it. And is she right in leaving? She can’t take another week off, can’t afford it even if Marvin was okay with it. And even if she did, she’s out of ideas.
Deciding that she needs to pull it together either way, Charli dresses in her running gear and goes out the door. It’s eight in the morning, and people rush by on their way to work. She runs past them without any destination, just trying to shake loose the demons clawing at her.
Up ahead she sees Hyde Park and goes that way. A late-winter mist conjures up memories of all the Jack the Ripper books during her true-crime phase a few years ago. That’s all she’d read for months. Though it isn’t exactly warm outside, the park is crowded with people exercising, groups practicing yoga and Pilates, others running sprints. Police officers ride by on horseback, their eyes sliding left and right. Couples hold hands.
A girl catches Charli’s eye.
The girl looks like Charli did when she was that age, maybe seven. It’s not only that they share the same features—the skinny frame and dark-brown hair with eyes a shade lighter—she also exhibits a look of being alone, of being afraid and alone and lost.
The girl sits cross-legged in the grass. Her straight hair was recently brushed. She wears a fleece sweatshirt and blue jeans.
“Are you okay?” Charli asks.
The little girl looks up with teary eyes; she doesn’t say anything.
“Where are your parents?” Charli asks sweetly, looking around, not seeing anyone directly in the vicinity.
“I lost them.” A front tooth is missing, causing a lisp.
Charli’s protective instincts take over. “Oh no. Can I help you find them?”
The girl nods sadly.
Charli offers her hand and helps her up. “I’m sure they’re right around here. Where did you last see them?”
“I was chasing those ducks, and when I turned around, they were gone.” Her missing tooth makes it hard for her to say so many words.
Charli looks through the mist that is slowly burning off the park. A raft of ducks drifts out toward the center of the lake. She’s not exactly sure what to do. She doesn’t want to walk too far and leave this place. Where is that pair of cops on horseback she saw earlier?
Recalling exactly what it felt like to be lost, Charli decides that comforting the girl is the most important thing she can do. The rest will take care of itself.
Charli takes a knee. “You stick with me, and we’ll find them, okay? Worst case, we’ll find the police, but I think we’re going to get lucky. How does that sound?”
“Good,” the girl responds in short.
They start to circle the pond. “What’s your name?”
“Lucy.”
“Hi, Lucy, I’m Charli. I’m from Boston. Do you know where that is?”
She nods. “Near New York?”
“That’s right. Are you from London?”
“Norwich.”
“Oh, gotcha. So you’re just visiting?”
The girl nods and her shoulders droop.
“I remember being your age,” Charli says, surprised at the buoyancy of her tone. “You know what I liked more than annnnnything else ...”
“Lucy!”
Charli whips her head around to see Lucy’s mother running for her. She wears a leather jacket, and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, revealing all of her worried face. Mother and daughter embrace, and Charli witnesses something so different from what she knew growing up. She sees a mother loving her daughter more than it seems even possible to love someone. The mother sheds tears, and she lifts Lucy up high and squeezes her so tight, so beautifully and lovingly tight.
Instead of berating her for getting lost, the mother takes a knee, brushes her hair from her face, and showers Lucy with apologies. “I’m so sorry I lost you. I turned around and you were gone.”
“It’s okay, Mommy. It’s not your fault.”
Charli can barely take it, and a memory gently washes over her. She was five or six, sitting on her parents’ balcony in Boston. They had one right outside their bedroom. She remembers hearing them laugh as she stood up on a flowerpot and leaned over the railing to watch a bird. That was right before she tumbled over, screaming as she landed hard on a bush. It couldn’t have been longer than a second before her father came over the railing after her—like a superhero might. He leaped down and swept Charli up into his arms and squeezed her tight, just like this woman was holding Lucy now.
Sometimes, it’s as if she’s forgotten those moments, those exemplary showings of love from her father ... and others. Her mother’s volatility often eclipses the memories she should hold on to, but it’s just a veil—a veil that Charli can remove. A veil she must remove.
The mom looks at Charli. “Thank you for checking on her. Oh my God, I was freaking out.”
“I can only imagine. She’s such a sweetie.”
A man races up wearing Clark Kent glasses. His eyes are darkened with fear but brighten with each step he takes toward his daughter. “Lucy, my God. Are you okay?”
He wraps her up in his arms, and Charli feels his love as if ... as if it were her own father, and Charli was the lost little girl. The dad presses his eyes closed and squeezes his daughter with so much love that it seems to brighten the color of the evergreens beyond them.
Her ribs rattle as the air leaves her lungs. She is loved like that, she realizes.
The mom says to the dad, “This kind young lady found her.”
The dad lifts his gaze. “I’m so grateful.”
“You’ve got a brave girl there.” Charli smiles and waves. “Bye, Lucy.”
The girl looks over her father’s shoulder and peers at Charli with eyes that are so wise that they seem to be the eyes of a sage. “What was it?” she asks with her lisp.
“What was what?”
“The thing that you liked more than anything else.”
“Oh.” Charli falls back through the years and answers with a rush of warmth. “My father holding me like your dad is holding you.” Love fills her heart.
Lucy smiles knowingly. “Bye.”
Charli turns and senses her eyes darting around, trying to put together what has just happened, what has just occurred to her. She looks back over her shoulder and sees the family of three squeezing each other. Instead of feeling like she missed out on that part of her life, Charli realizes what a gift this moment has been.
She’s been given the most perfect glimpse of what has been holding her back all these years. Therapists have told her this, but it never seemed to matter till now. Charli’s twenty-nine years old, but there’s a younger girl inside her that still feels lost and alone and abandoned. She’s been letting that little girl lead the way. She’s been letting that little girl keep her from living and loving the way she is capable.
Maybe she can’t find out who killed Lillian. Maybe she doesn’t want to learn that Miles did it. Maybe she can’t change the luck of her family. But it’s time for her to take some accountability. It’s not the truth of what happened to Lillian that will change her life. It’s Charli and Charli alone. She must seize life and quit feeling sorry for herself. She has to stop letting her mother win.
Georgina’s voice comes alive in Charli’s head, but it’s not as venomous as it once was. It sounds weak and raspy, as if she’s dying. Charli can’t make out what she’s saying. What she knows, though, is that she’s done being a victim to her mother. She’s done allowing that voice to permeate her life.
And she’s not alone anyway. That’s the irony. She has people who love her. Maybe not her mother, but her father sure as hell does. She knows it now more than ever. Viv does. Aunt Kay. And Noah.
Noah.
It might be young love, but love it is, for sure. And she loves him back. She’s been afraid to let herself love him because that little girl inside her keeps getting in the way. But no more. Charli’s going to love with all of her, even if that means opening herself up to be vulnerable. Especially so! All this information is blasting at her like it’s coming from a high-powered fan, but it’s all settling into place.
Charli starts to run, setting free the little girl inside her and taking the freaking reins of her life. Her mom will not get in the way anymore. Tough luck, Charli didn’t get all the face cards in life. She didn’t have a mom and dad who cared like the couple she’d just seen. But no more making excuses. No more beating herself up.
She realizes she’s picked up the pace, and she’s smiling. Because for the first time in her life, she feels free from the wounds of her youth. What is it that’s gotten me here? she wonders. She hasn’t found the total truth, certainly not proved it, so why does it feel like she’s made a difference by coming here?
The constellation springs to mind. She thinks of each person and who they represented, wondering the role—if any—the constellation therapy has played. She’d flown to Costa Rica seeking green lights, and now she feels like she’s finding them. Amid all this chaos, she feels like she’s breaking through.
“It’s Noah,” she whispers as she slows down to consider the possibility. She nods to herself. He’s her green lights. Or at least one of them. A very big one of them. Love came and smacked her on the head, and she’d totally missed it. She spent the last week and a half pretending it was nothing more than a vacation hookup.
If she’d get out of her own way, she could let it be more than that. God bless Noah for being so patient with her. He’d given her all the space in the world to be who she really was, to make her mistakes, but it still hadn’t been enough. How lucky she is to know such a man. And she loves him.
She loves him so much she’d commit to him, marry him, even have a child with him. Wait, what?
What were those thoughts that just spilled out? She’d marry him? She’d have babies with him? She’s full of surprises today. For a moment, as she crosses a street, she imagines what it would be like to give birth and for Noah to be standing there next to her, holding her hand. She imagines them raising this girl or boy and playing Santa Claus and being there when he or she struggles. Being there when he or she succeeds. Charli wants to be a parent, she does. She wants to prove that she can break the cycle. That she’s capable of all kinds of love.
But what about the curse—or whatever it is? It’s one thing to stop playing victim, to take ownership of a life, but what if that life is bound for a destiny of troubled times? No, no, no. That’s not how it works. Even if her morphic field is wrought with pain and bad fortune and awful events, she can overcome it.
A clarity seems to settle inside her. She has no idea whatsoever how to go forward, how to break free, how to stop the lying and self-sabotaging, but she knows that she has to.
And she knows that it all starts with going back to find Noah.
He may hate her, he may regret knowing her, but she must apologize and express her feelings for him. It’s terrifying, the idea of returning to Winchester. He’s probably told the whole family everything by now. Frances talked about how the truth would set her free. Maybe she’d not ever find the truth of what happened in 1881, but she could at least share her truths. She could go back to Boston knowing she’d left it all on the table.
Not ready to return to the hotel, she runs for what seems like forever, stopping at crosswalks and jogging in place, getting lost in the city. She’s not running away from anything, she’s going toward something. Toward something real. It’s so clear now that she’s been running away from so many of the things in her life that matter, like Noah, and love, and even opening the bookstore. She could have gone through with it. And she still can!
She still can.
Her whole body feels like it’s radiating with awareness. If anyone is watching her, they’re surely considering committing her someplace. She’s going between bouts of crying, laughing, and smiling, and she’s talking to herself too. She’s playing Sherlock again, thinking about the constellation, seeing the people standing around her, wondering if she’d gotten everything right, wondering if there was anything missing.
Forget the woo-woo. Maybe all of this was a way to snap her out of it. Perhaps Frances is a little bit cuckoo, as was this idea of finding the truth. But no matter, because the fire burns inside Charli like never before.
As she takes in her surroundings, she sees she’s made it to the river Thames—its color far darker than that of the Itchen. An empty barge slowly passes under the bridge ahead. To the left, standing tall, is a site she knows. But she’s not sure exactly why or how.
It’s a formidable building, taking up several city blocks. Tall towers rise from it, one of which has an enormous clock that looks like Big Ben.
Wait, is it?
Yes, it is. And this is the Palace of Westminster, the home of Parliament. Where Steven Pemberton attends the House of Lords meetings. Is he there? The ghost of her family’s past brushes by her in the form of the chills.
Could she find him?
A bell rings—it’s Big Ben telling the time. The sound reverberates across the city and throughout her body, and she realizes it’s speaking to her. Well, it feels that way, at least. What other signs does she need to know that she’s doing something right?
With a determination that she’s never known before, she marches toward the building and seeks the entrance, which is on the opposite side from the river. As it’s nine on the nose, people in suits are pouring in. She wonders if Lord Pemberton is among them. If she can find him, she’ll tell him the truth. Isn’t that part of what she’s learned this morning? That she can’t lie anymore.
A police officer rests his hand on the handle of a semi-automatic rifle that’s strapped to his chest. Charli walks up to him with some hesitation. “Sir, may I ask you something?”
He’s in near head-to-toe black. His cap has a polished visor; a black-and-white-checkered band wraps around it. A bulletproof vest covers his trunk.
He’s caught off guard but is nice enough to nod a yes to her question.
Charli tries not to look at the gun. “If I were hoping to get in touch with one of the members of Parliament, how could I do that?”
His threat level appears to lower as he pulls his hand from the gun to point. “You can go right through the doors. No one’s stopping you.”
“I can go inside?”
He eases even more, saying kindly, “Absolutely. And you can ask a visitor assistant at the desk to deliver a note to the peer, notifying him that you’d like to speak with him.”
“Is there a dress code?” she asks, realizing that her sweats aren’t exactly her best foot forward.
“No,” he replies.
“Will he be in there?”
“Who is he?”
“Lord Pemberton. Steven Pemberton.”
The police officer squishes his lips together and gives a subtle headshake. “I can’t know that. They don’t always attend. I’d check the order sheet inside and see what’s on topic in the next few days. If you know what his specialist subjects are, you’ll have a better chance of finding him.”
“His specialist subjects?”
“His interests. The wars he likes to fight. The military, affordable housing, that sort of thing.”
“I did read that he’s into the environment.”
“There you go.”
“Thank you,” Charli says, unable to completely wrap her head around how easy this feels, as if she’s meant to be here. Is this how life is supposed to be, a current moving in the right direction? Would Frances even believe it?
Yeah, she probably would.