P. Parrish - An Unquiet Grave

Charlie didn’t move until Dalum unlocked the cell. Then he shuffled backward deeper into the shadows. Louis went in the cell and Dalum closed the door. He hesitated a minute in the corridor, then walked away.

“Hello, Charlie,” Louis said. “Do you remember me?”

Charlie nodded, his body now pressed against the wall.

Louis held out the book Alice had given him, A Midsummer Night’s Dream , making sure Charlie saw the cover. Louis had read enough of the book to know that special flowers were placed on the sleeping eyes of men and women. The juice from the flowers would leak into the eyes and when the person awoke, he or she would fall in love with the first face seen. Oberon was some kind of king who was trying to get his queen Titania to give him her baby so he could use the child as his page. But Titania had been a victim of the flowers and was in love with a man who wore the head of a donkey.

Charlie was staring at the book. “That’s Rebecca’s,” he whispered.

Louis nodded. “I know. Will you talk to me about it?”

Charlie didn’t move. Louis held out a hand, hoping to draw him back to the bunk, but Charlie stayed against the wall.

“Can you tell me what this book is about, Charlie?”

Charlie’s pale eyes clouded with confusion.

“Can you tell me about the flowers you put on Rebecca’s eyes?”

“Where are the flowers?” Charlie asked.

“The chief has them,” Louis said. “They’re safe.”

Charlie’s hand came out slowly, palm up. “Can I have that?”

Louis hesitated, then gave him the book. Charlie stayed against the wall and opened it.

“‘You spotted snakes with double tongue, thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen,’” Charlie said. “‘Newts, and blind-worms, do not wrong. Come not near our fairy queen.’”

Charlie looked up at Louis, then back at the book. “‘To bring in-God shield us! — a lion among ladies, is a most dreadful thing, for there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living!’”

“Charlie. .”

Charlie looked up at Louis, his eyes wide. “‘I have a reasonable good ear in music!’” he said. “‘Let us have the tongs and the bones!’”

It took Louis a second to realize Charlie wasn’t reading from the book but merely repeating words and phrases he remembered. It wasn’t making any sense and Louis let him go on until he started to turn a page; then he interrupted him.

“Charlie, I need to ask you a question.”

Charlie looked up. “‘I am slow of study. . I’ll speak in a monstrous little voice.’”

Louis wasn’t sure how to go about this, then decided straightforward was the best. “Did you love Rebecca?” he asked.

Charlie’s eyes went back to the book in his hands. “‘This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad-’”

“Charlie, stop reading for a minute.”

The pale eyes came up to focus on Louis.

“Let’s put the book away for now, okay?”

Charlie nodded and closed the book.

“Charlie,” Louis said quietly, “did you love Rebecca?”

“Yes,” Charlie whispered.

“Did you ever tell her you loved her?”

Charlie held the book to his chest and his eyes squeezed closed. Louis suspected Charlie was about to tell him that yes, he had professed his love to Rebecca, but that Rebecca had rebuffed him.

“I was a changeling child,” Charlie said.

“A what?”

“I was Rebecca’s changeling child. She said I was left for her a long time ago because I was sick.”

Louis stifled a sigh. “Left at the hospital?”

“Yes,” Charlie said. “I was left because I was sick.”

“Who left you there?”

“The fairies.”

Louis moved to the bunk, sitting down.

Charlie took a step toward him. “You don’t believe me.”

Louis looked at him quickly. He was surprised Charlie had picked up on his frustration. He hadn’t thought him capable of that kind of perception.

“Tell me again how you heard Rebecca crying,” Louis said.

“That night she cried and the graves cried back to her.”

“Have the graves cried before?”

“Sometimes.”

“When did they cry before?”

Charlie came closer, the book still against his chest, but the frightened look in his eyes was gone. “A midsummer’s night before.”

“How long is that?”

“A long time. It was warm.”

“Last summer?”

Charlie’s face blanked and Louis knew he had no conception of how long ago he heard anything. “Were you a child or a man when they cried before?”

“I am a changeling child.”

“I know that,” Louis said. “But when did the graves cry before?”

Charlie stared at him for a minute, then slowly came closer. To Louis’s surprise, he sat next to Louis on the bunk, their shoulders touching. Louis wasn’t sure where else to go with this. He could ask him about the bones, but he didn’t know how to approach it in a way Charlie would understand.

“Charlie,” Louis began, “did you ever see anyone else sleeping like Rebecca was sleeping?”

Charlie’s eyes widened, and Louis thought he even blushed.

“With no clothes on?” he asked.

“Yes,” Louis said.

His answer was whispered. “No.”

“Did you ever try to put flowers on anyone’s eyes before Rebecca?”

“No.”

Louis knew he needed to ask something else. “Charlie, do you know what sex is?”

Charlie’s gaze swung to the concrete floor and his breathing quickened. Louis didn’t make him answer. It was pretty clear he knew what it was, in some form or another.

“Did you and Rebecca have sex?”

Charlie said something, but Louis didn’t hear it. He leaned closer. “Have you?”

“‘I must go seek some dew drops here and hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear,’” Charlie whispered.

Louis touched his arm. “Charlie. .”

“‘So we grew together, like to a double cherry, seeming parted, but yet a union in partition. . two lovely berries molded on one stem-’”

“Charlie, answer my question, please. Did you have sex with Rebecca?”

When Charlie’s eyes came up, they were filled with tears. “No. That would be bad.”

Louis let it go, trying to figure out what else to ask, but nothing was coming. Maybe he would talk to Dalum about letting Alice question him. Maybe Charlie’s ramblings would make more sense to her. Or maybe they needed a psychiatrist.

Louis started to get up, but Charlie’s hand came down on his forearm. Louis almost pulled away, but he didn’t.

Charlie was staring at him, his eyes moist with a need that seemed to swell up from somewhere deep inside. In the drifting darkness of the cell, Charlie looked as sad and empty as Louis had ever seen any human being look. And in that sadness there was a speck of normalcy that told him Charlie understood he was not the same as everyone else and never would be.

Suddenly, Louis could not imagine this man putting his hands around anyone’s neck and crushing it.

“Will you read to me?” Charlie asked.

“Read?”

Charlie held out the book.

Louis hesitated, then took the paperback, opening it to the middle.

“‘I may never believe these antic fables, nor these fairy toys,’” Louis read out loud. “‘Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, such shaping fantasies that apprehend more than cool reason ever comprehends-’”

Charlie interrupted. “‘The lunatic, the lover, the poet, are of imagination all compact. One sees more devils than vast hell can hold.’”

Dalum was pouring another shot when Louis walked back into his office. He held the bottle up to ask if Louis wanted one, but Louis shook his head. He was tired. All he wanted to do was go home and sleep.