Somehow, I did it. I have to figure out how to do it again. He tried to force his mind to recapture the feeling he’d had when the warp had taken him, but his tired mind rebelled.
“This is hopeless,” he said aloud to the empty kitchen. “I can’t do it!”
“Sure you can!” Charlie’s voice answered. He whirled, knocking his chair over. Charlie was leaning in the kitchen doorway, smiling cheekily. “What is it we’re talking about, exactly?”
“What are you doing here?” Brendan demanded. “How did you get in?”
“You left the door unlocked.” She walked over to the table and pinched a lasagna noodle between her fingers and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm. Tasty.”
Brendan snarled and snatched the plate away from her. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“But I am.” Charlie shrugged. “What will you do about it?”
Brendan carried his plate to the counter. He plunked it down and turned to snap an angry retort at Charlie, but she wasn’t there. He looked around in confusion and then saw that the basement door stood open.
“No way!” Anger flushed through him. “That’s my dad’s place.” He stomped across the floor, fists clenched, and headed down into the cellar.
When he got down to his dad’s music studio he found Charlie playing a song on his father’s electric guitar. The original 1952 Gibson Les Paul was his dad’s pride and joy; he’d found it at a flea market and had lovingly restored it. Brendan would never have dared to touch the instrument for fear of damaging it in some way, but here was Charlie, uninvited, handling his father’s prized possession. She sat on a stool with her back to him, her attention focused on the guitar. Her dark hair, he noticed, was set differently today. Normally, it was teased up into a rooster’s comb, held in place by glamours or more mundane hair products. Now it hung in a curtain around her pale face as she concentrated on her fingers. Brendan was on the verge of yelling at her for coming down here and handling his dad’s stuff, intruding on his family’s space. But just as he opened his mouth, she began to sing and his anger was forgotten.
At first, he couldn’t understand the words. They were just sounds, surprisingly rich and plaintive. Brendan had always thought of her as a young girl, a teenager like himself. Now, listening to the emotion in her voice, he realized she was old, centuries old, and she’d seen a great deal of joy and sadness in that long span of time. She sang in French. Brendan had never been any good at languages, but as he listened the meaning began to come clear to him. The song was melancholy and reached into his heart, touching something inside him.
This world is not for me.
I am just biding my time.
One day I’ll be set free.
And my spirit will climb.
There’s a place I need to go.
But I don’t know the way there.
Someday I’ll find the road.
It may take a while but I don’t care.
I belong in the stars.
I belong in the sky.
Won’t be long ’til I’m up there.
Won’t be long ’tilI fly.
And I’m gonna find you.
And I’m gonna hold you again.
And I’m gonna tell you.
All of my tears at an end.
And I’m gonna find you.
I’m gonna hold you again.
And I’m gonna tell you.
All of your tears are at an end.
Charlie’s voice trailed off. She played a last lonely note that hung in the musty air of the basement. Brendan felt he could almost hear her breathing, the beat of her heart. As she turned her head, he saw that her cheeks were wet with tears.
“Oh! Allo,” she said softly, wiping her face with her sleeve. “Have you been standing there long?”
Brendan shook his head. He couldn’t trust his voice not to crack. Finally, he said, “You’re a good singer.” He felt like an idiot saying that, but he couldn’t think of anything else. He was undone by her sadness.
“You were crying… ”
“Just the song. It made me sad,” she said evasively.
She placed the guitar on the stand and arched her back like a cat, stretching her arms above her head. She looked perfectly at home with herself, perfectly beautiful. Brendan longed to be like her. She saw him looking at her and smiled again. “What?”
“How? How can you play the guitar? Don’t the strings burn your fingers?”
“They are copper wound. The harder part is not blowing out the amplifier. It takes concentration. Really, you shouldn’t worry about me. Worry about yourself.” She looked at him directly. Brendan saw her eyes were swimming with tears again.
“What’s wrong?” Brendan said with alarm. She’d always been so annoyingly confident. He’d never seen such weakness in her before.
She turned her face away, wiping at her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said softly. She ran a finger over the strings of the guitar, releasing a ghost of a sound that whispered through the room. “Just feeling a little lonely, I suppose.”
“Lonely?”
“You’re lucky,” she said, wandering around the studio, letting her fingers trail over the instruments on the wall and the unfinished artwork. “You have a family. You have a place you belong. I wish I could say the same.”
Brendan was about to protest that he was as much of an outsider as she was, but he realized that was wrong. His Human family loved him… even Delia in her own weird way. He could count on their support. He tried to imagine Charlie, young and without full knowledge of who she was, being forced to leave the only family she’d ever known and sail to a world of strangers.
“I wish I knew my real family. Who they were and why they left me. Was I such a disappointment? Was I so repulsive to them?”
“Charlie, I’m sure that they had their reasons… ”
“And why did they never come for me? All these years? All these centuries? Why did they leave me alone?” She sat on a stool and began to sob, her face in her hands.
Brendan froze. He didn’t know what to do. This was such a turnaround. He was the weak one, the emotional one. He was the confused little boy. Seeing her like this dissolved something inside him. He took a step closer and gingerly wrapped his arms around her. She leaned into his chest and wept some more. Brendan, not knowing what to do with his hands, gently stroked her hair. He didn’t know how long he held her like that: minutes, hours. Finally her sobs lessened and she regained control. She tried to push him away.
“You shouldn’t be so kind to me,” she said fiercely. “I don’t deserve this from you.”
“Why not? Everybody needs help sometimes. I know I do.”
She stood and looked into his face, her eyes red and her cheeks streaked with tears. “Oh, mon cher.” She wrapped her arms around him. At first he stiffened but she didn’t let go. She kept on holding him and he relaxed. “You have a good heart. I was sent to help you, but you are the one comforting me. Forgive me.”
“It’s okay.” Brendan shrugged.
“Oh, Brendan. Whatever happens, remember I never wished you harm,” Charlie whispered softly in his ear.
“Why do you say that?” Brendan asked.
She was silent for a moment. “I just don’t want you to misunderstand me in the time to come. You have such difficult days ahead. So much for one heart to bear. It’s not fair, is it?” Her breath on his neck was soft and warm. She pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Be true to that good heart. Promise me!” She held him so that she could stare into his eyes. Her face was deadly earnest.
“Relax, Charlie… ”
“No! Promise me!”
“Okay! Okay! I promise!”
“Good. And you aren’t alone.” She smiled and leaned forward, kissing him softly on the cheek, gentle as a feather fall. “You have a lot of good friends.”