Yesterday's Gone: Season One Part 50

As Mrs. Timmons carried Brianna out of the locker room, Callie realized how badly she'd hurt Brianna. The girl's face was covered in blood as if she'd been attacked by a dog or something. And as the door closed and Callie sat transfixed by the moment, she realized everyone in the locker room was staring at her. Staring at her with a mix of fear and something else, which Callie would soon recognize as respect.

At first, Callie was afraid she'd hurt Brianna so badly that the girl might die. When she didn't die, Callie was worried that Brianna was so embarra.s.sed by the event that she'd spend months plotting revenge, which would lead to an ever-escalating war that would end up with someone dead. However, that didn't happen, either. Brianna had to be on her best behavior as her parents were busy trying to sue the school and even Callie's mom, painting Brianna as the golden child who was roughed up by a thug. There were even accusations that it was a hate crime, with Callie being the perpetrator. But too many girls had come forward and told what Brianna had written on Callie's locker.

Nothing came of the threats, thankfully. And Brianna's dad got a new job, so the family moved at the end of the school year.

That was the last time anyone had f.u.c.ked with her like that. Sure, some petty s.h.i.t happened, but no outright bullying.

Once Callie heard Bob go back to his "thinking room," she grabbed another spiral notebook from Charlie's bag, and settled into the bed. This spiral was black, no drawings on the outside, and in neater condition than the others. She opened it and her eyes widened at what she'd found - Charlie's diary.

She closed it at first, her gut telling her not to read what she had no business reading. However, curiosity led to an inner debate over whether any real harm could come from sneaking a peek. Perhaps, she reasoned, she might gain a better understanding of him, which might help her find him. That seemed like a good reason to read, she decided.

She wasn't being nosy, just caring.

She found herself back in the pages which were dated a year ago.

Dear Dad, I don't know how much longer I can take this.

Nothing is the same.

If you could see mom now, you wouldn't even recognize her. She used to be so vibrant and happy. She liked to do things. She liked to do things with me. But now, Bob sucks up her time and energy like some sort of black hole.

He's a freaking vampire, sucking joy and happiness instead of blood. It's like the lives we lived before he came along don't exist. It's like YOU never existed.

Sometimes, I'll mention you at the table, and mom will get all uncomfortable like it bothers Bob, so I ought not to do it.

What the h.e.l.l? She's betraying you for BOB?!

G.o.d, dad, if you could see him, you would just laugh. He's nothing like you. If someone looked up the antonym of you in a thesaurus, they'd see this smiling cancer of a human.

I don't know why mom had to marry him.

I mean, I could maybe understand if he had lots of money or something.

I like to think sometimes you can read these letters I write to you. That sometimes you can see our lives from wherever you are. But times like this, I think it's better that you can't see us. You can't see what's become of mom.

Or how I've let it happen.

Love, Charlie Callie's eyes filled with tears.

She stared at the window, drapes drawn tight, and wondered where Charlie was. Even though she barely got a chance to know him, she found herself missing him more as she poured through his thoughts on the pages.

She fell asleep thinking about him, and how she had to get away from Bob as soon as possible, monsters be d.a.m.ned.

October 19 Morning Pensacola, Florida She woke in the morning, Bob knocking on her door and barging right in. Confused, she looked up at him, realizing too late that she'd left Charlie's diary open on the bed. If Bob noticed, he didn't say anything. Instead, he was looking out her window. She slid the spiral under the blanket seconds before he turned back to her.

"Pack your s.h.i.t; we're getting out of here."

"What?" she asked, surprised.

"I'm not waiting around for those f.u.c.king things to come back. I saw two more last night, and I'm thinking we need to find somewhere new to go before more show up."

"But what about Charlie? What if he comes back? How will he find us?"

"f.u.c.k Charlie," Bob said. "He made his coffin; let him lie in it."

"But he's your stepson; you can't just leave him out there to die!"

Bob glared at her, "Listen, sister, I didn't leave him; he left us. He chose to walk out the door. The boy never thinks about anyone but himself. I'm tired of everyone actin' like I'm the f.u.c.king bad guy here and going 'poor Charlie' this and 'poor Charlie' that. f.u.c.k that s.h.i.t. His mom is gone. I don't need to hear that s.h.i.t from another b.i.t.c.h."

"Excuse me?" Callie said, now glaring back at him. She no longer cared to play along with his games. Let the cards fall where they may. "What did you say?"

Bob's eyes met hers, and for a moment, she was certain he'd take a swing at her. But like the bully he was, he shrunk back from a strong response.

Instead, he smiled that bulls.h.i.t smile that seemed to fool so many people for some reason, allowing him to skate through life getting away with s.h.i.t no human should get away with. It was some sort of reptilian charm which seemed to work especially well with women. But not her.

"Hey, I wasn't calling you a b.i.t.c.h, I was just generalizing. Didn't realize you were so d.a.m.ned sensitive. s.h.i.t."

She stared at him, not saying a word, as she tried to think what to do next. She couldn't leave, not while Charlie was still out there. She had to find him.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said. "I'm waiting for Charlie."

"Hah," Bob laughed. "You got a thing for the little geek or something?"

"It's not like that," she said, annoyed.

"I didn't think so, seeing as how he's just a boy. You need a man."

"Like you?" she said with a sneer before she could bite her tongue.

"You didn't seem to mind having my manhood in you."

That was it. She was done playing nice. She got in his face.

"Make no mistakes; you f.u.c.king raped me. And if you think I forgot that little fact, think again, you pig f.u.c.k."

Bob's eyes flashed, anger clouding them, and flushing his face. He was frozen for a second before he swung the back of his hand and hit her square in the jaw. The pain shot through Callie like fire and she fell to the ground.

f.u.c.k, get up.

She rolled over as Bob circled her, "You f.u.c.king c.u.n.t."

She spat at him and missed. He kicked her hard in her left ribcage.

"f.u.c.k!" she screamed out.

"b.i.t.c.h, you ain't even seen rape yet. That was foreplay," he said grabbing his c.o.c.k through his jeans.

He kicked at her again, in the leg, and she balled up, trying to present as small a target as possible until she could get the advantage.

Then he was on her, arms pushing her hands above her head as he used his legs to push hers apart and roll her onto her back.

She screamed out, spitting at his face, this time connecting.

He let go of an arm and smacked her hard across her left cheek. The pain was intense, and she began to feel sick to her stomach like she was going to pa.s.s out.

"It's time I teach you a thing or two, b.i.t.c.h," Bob spat out as he grabbed at her sweatpants and started to rip at them.

Suddenly another voice in the room spoke.

They turned to the doorway to see two strangers standing there. The older of the two men was holding a baseball bat. And he spoke.

"No, I think it's you who'll be doing the learnin' and luckily for you, Boricio is one f.u.c.k of a teacher, Bobby."

Then a third person entered the room... Charlie.

EDWARD KEENAN.

Ed woke in handcuffs, for the second time this week.

He was in a chair, arms bound behind him, staring at his reflection in a streaked mirror. The harsh neon lights mocked every line of his nearly 40 years. Behind him was a gray door, reminding Ed of a police "interview" room. Or, to use a more appropriate name, the interrogation room.

They'd caught him, which meant the world hadn't come to a grinding halt, after all. The powers that be were still in power. And he was still important enough to capture and silence. His head was pounding. The last thing he remembered was staring out the window. And then looking up to see the girls.

s.h.i.t.

Jade! Teagan! Ken! Where are they?

He struggled in his chair, but knew that even if he managed to break free, someone would be in the room in seconds. He was being watched. He could feel eyes on the other side of the mirror.

"Where are they?!" he shouted, flaunting his anger. "What did you do with them?!"

No answer.

He closed his eyes and tried to piece together where he might be. But without knowing how long he'd been out or what time it was, he was lost. All he knew was the place had electricity - and interrogation rooms, which meant either a police station, or perhaps one of the agency's government compounds, one of the secret locales scattered across the country where agents could s.n.a.t.c.h whoever they wanted, then interrogate, or torture them, if necessary, to extract information. He'd been on the other side of the mirror too many times to count. h.e.l.l, he could've been in this very room before and not recognize it now.

"You've got me. You win. Just tell me where they are and I'll play nice and go sit in a cell and rot."

Still no answer.

They were trying to push him. Let his fear mount, so their leverage would be greater when agents eventually came into the room. They were waiting for him to crack, to show signs of weakness they could exploit. Under normal circ.u.mstances, he wouldn't give in to what they wanted. But they had Jade, Teagan, and Ken. And he was tired of fighting.

He was ready to surrender, to give them whatever they wanted. He considered breaking down and crying, but if they knew him, if they really knew him, they'd know he'd not break that quickly. They'd see it as the ruse it was, and he'd probably be stuck waiting even longer for someone to come.

So he went with reality and stared straight ahead, through the mirror, at whoever stood unseen on the other side.

"I know you're in there," he said with a straight face and even, if somewhat tired, tone. "You caught me. Yes, I ran when the plane went down, but I had nothing to do with the crash. s.h.i.t, I thought you guys engineered it to take me out, or h.e.l.l, even extract me to use as deep cover or something. So, I've got to ask - what do you want from me? Just tell me and it's yours. Want me to go along with your little story, make a public plea that I'm crazy as h.e.l.l, and sure, I'd shoot more people if given a chance? Get a camera and start rolling. Whatever you want, I'll do it, say it, cop to it, whatever. Just please, let my daughter and the other two kids go."

He swallowed, still staring at himself. A long time had pa.s.sed since he saw beyond his appearance in the mirror and was forced to contemplate the man beneath the skin - the father who'd lost so much, if not everything. He closed his eyes to keep self-pity from taking root in his mind.

"Do you have kids?" he asked his invisible captors.

"I've gotta tell you, they can be a real pain in the a.s.s sometimes. My wife and I weren't planning on having any. Well, I wasn't. And she said she wasn't, but who knows what goes on in the deepest parts of a woman's mind? They're hardwired to want kids. So even when they say they don't, there's still some biological part deep inside that says, 'oh yeah you do.' Maybe men are hardwired too; I don't know. I didn't think I wanted a kid, but when Jade came into our lives, I changed my mind."

Eyes still closed, Ed continued.

"Funny thing about kids, you have this idea about who you are. What you want in life. What you want to do, be, and all that hubris. Your plans can be cast in concrete, and you can carry an unshakable belief that you were meant to do one thing and one thing only. But the minute your child looks at you in that way, wide-eyed and full of trust and love and all the things you feel you don't deserve... the minute they look at you like that, you question everything. You begin to think you were meant for something better. To be someone your child can look up to. To make a difference in their world. Some people go their whole lives and never get that message, that call to be something greater than themselves. They never experience that moment. But I did."

He opened his eyes, looking at the mirror again.

"And I went against it. I chose the agency over what my heart was telling me. I did what you wanted me to do. I ignored that call to be a better person, father, and husband. I kept following your instructions because you all said the world would be better, safer, blah-blah-blah. Take a look outside. Tell me, for all the s.h.i.t we've done, all the lives we've taken, all we've sacrificed, did it make us any safer? Is the world any better off? Could we prevent whatever the h.e.l.l happened?"

Ed swallowed hard, glanced at the floor, then returned his gaze to the mirror.

"Was this worth selling your soul?" he asked not just the men behind the mirror, but also himself.

The lights above him flicked off, casting the room into darkness - and a terrible silence.

Ed woke with a jolt to the sound of a chair sc.r.a.ping across the floor.

A man in a blue dress shirt, charcoal slacks, and thin wire-frame gla.s.sed sat in front of him. He wore short cropped brown hair above the fat cheeks of a baby face, despite otherwise appearing in his mid-thirties.

"h.e.l.lo," the man said, his voice low, face professional.

"Who are you?" Ed asked.

"You first," the man said, pulling a pack of Marlboros from his pocket and offering it to Ed. "Want one?"

"No thank you."

"Don't mind if I do?"

"Go ahead," Ed said.

The man flicked open his lighter and lit a cigarette.