It’s from The Lazarus Project, that quote. When I read it, it hit me. I realized--it’s me. And it torments me, because I want to live all the lives, know and be all the people. I want the whole huge world to be mine. That striving, that is why it had to come to this. This time, all the people . . . pushing each other around--it pushed me too far.
And then, there’s the betrayal. I’ve been betrayed: my heart was bludgeoned with a bat or popped with a pin or sliced with a machete. It’s what happens when you bite off more than you can chew. It gets you back, doesn’t it? I don’t know how you and Dad do it, continue like you do--with Dad one person when he’s in Paris and someone completely different when he’s at “work.” When he’s traveling, is it really work? Or is his work just a cover for all the other lives he’s trying to lead? How do you survive it? There’s something I’ve been thinking a lot about, Mom, since I read that quote. If you try to live many lives and it gets out of control, can you destroy just one of them and let the others survive? Would that simplify everything? It’s dense. Tense. There’s another thing Hemon said: “Home is where somebody notices when you are no longer there.” Did you know he said that? All the places I’ve lived, I’ve never known which to call home. Will you notice when I am gone, when I was never much there in the first place?
We’ll find out soon enough--I just need a little more time. I wrote this early, before I’ve set everything in motion. Why? Because I wanted to write it at the moment of my decision when I can be the most honest. But death, it takes a long time to orchestrate. Today, on May 20th, I made my decision. I’m sorry to put you through this. Death is like that pair of empty shoes at 8:18. It gives me hope. That’s why I chose 8:18. That’s when everything will be complete.
Love, Charlie
14
Aubrey
Lena speaks first. I have to give her credit for that. I can barely stand, from the shock of what she’s told me coupled with the fear I’m feeling.
Charlie killed himself.
My brain rejects it. If it’s true, she’s right that I’m partially to blame. So why, if she’s known about this note all along, does she still want to believe he’s alive? And yet everything about this trip has been surreal. None of it is anything I could have expected. Like this six-foot formidable giant waving a gory fillet knife at us. The image of my bed back in Western Springs fills my head: its white, curlicued frame; its yellow bedspread and fluffy, flower-patterned pillows. Ralph, our rescue mutt, curled on a sage green throw at the foot. I want to go back there and stay there forever. It was predictable. Comforting. Safe.
Nothing since the day I met Charlie has felt comforting, predictable, or safe. I used to love that surge of adrenaline—it was like nothing I’d felt before. Only now I’m stopping to wonder if it’s healthy. It’s taken a trip around the world and a stranger with a knife to give me pause. Certain psychotherapists would have a field day with this; I’d laugh if I weren’t so scared.
“How do you know Charlie?” Lena demands, and at first I’m impressed. Her voice sounds confident and (to the untrained ear) diplomatic; and she’s turned the conversation around, putting Anand on the defensive. “Let’s all relax, shall we? There’s no reason to get worked up before we even know if we’re talking about the same Charlie.” As she speaks, she takes a small step toward me and reaches for my hand. My first instinct is to recoil, but then she slips something inside my palm and carefully wraps my fingers around it. It’s small and oblong and metal. A pocketknife. My eyes drag to hers, but she doesn’t return my look. Anand is blocking the entrance to the bedroom—our only escape.
“No, I recognize you now.” Anand’s voice is low, each word coiled. “We’ve got the same Charlie, all right. I knew there was something familiar about you two. He had pictures of you both. Called you his girlfriend. ‘Girlfriend,’ singular, as though you look anything alike. Said he had this amazing girlfriend, this one girlfriend he loved, showed me pictures of two. Thought the guy had gone off the deep end at first, but I figured he’d just smoked a little too much hash. Charlie was my best customer.” Anand lets out a guttural laugh.
“At least he only showed two pictures,” Lena whispers out of the side of her mouth. “That’s nice.” I can tell she’s trying to put me at ease, but I can’t crack a smile.
“So where is he?” Anand demands, taking a step toward us. It forces us farther into the room. “Why are you here? You messing with me? You here to rob me like that little prick did? Or did you come to pay off his debts?”
“We don’t know anything about his debts,” Lena says slowly. “We came, actually, to ask you a few questions about Charlie.”
“I got nothing to say unless you have money,” Anand tells us. “Why don’t you just ask him whatever the hell you want to know?”