Chapter 42

Charlie had only one thought on his mind: how much time before they discovered him missing? He didn’t need a degree in psychiatry or a law enforcement background to speculate that his escape would raise alarms. As far as Walderman was concerned, Charlie was a potentially violent and dangerous escaped mental patient. The police would be looking for him soon enough.

Worse, he didn’t know what he should do now that he was out. Eddie Prescott had spoken to him from the grave. He was the one who had set these events in motion. Charlie was certain of that. But Eddie had offered warnings only. The moves Charlie made now would have to be his alone. Free from Walderman and presumably away from the danger Eddie had warned him about, Charlie felt adrift. It surprised him how quickly he had adapted to the routine of institutionalized life. Freedom took far more effort.

Fortunately, nothing about his appearance would draw attention. His clothes and shoes were his own. At least Walderman didn’t further cement the stigma of commitment by forcing patients to wear hospital clothes or a uniform. But with the police looking for him, he needed a better disguise—a hat and sunglasses, at least. That would take money. Money was something he didn’t have, not to mention a watch, a cell phone, or ID of any sort. Going home for those items would be ill-advised. They would track him there. The same held true for contacting Joe. If he wanted to maintain his freedom, it was imperative that he stay away from his former life.

Charlie strolled down Belmont Avenue. He kept an even pace, certain that he still had hours before anyone would notice him missing. He had a scheduled therapy session later in the afternoon. When he didn’t show for that, the alarms would sound.

His thoughts drifted back to Eddie Prescott’s voice. Eddie’s words remained ingrained in his memory, as though he were reading them written down.

“I will be your guide,” Eddie had said. “Everything can be explained. Nothing is as it seems.”

Charlie burst into laughter. His circumstances were so surreal, laughing felt as justified as crying.

He looked around, grateful that he had not drawn attention to himself. Twenty minutes of walking and Charlie had come to Fresh Pond Circle in Cambridge. The area was a major oasis for the outlier city dwellers of Cambridge. Paths for bikers, walkers, and runners crisscrossed the 150-acre tract of land surrounding the city public water supply. He was near Alewife Station on the Red Line. The subway could take him deep into the heart of Boston or away from the city, into other suburban towns accessible by bus.

The Fresh Pond area always drew an eclectic crowd, and today was no exception. Charlie was grateful for the increase in pedestrian traffic. It would help keep him concealed.

He fell into step with the shoppers walking in and out of stores in the Fresh Pond Mall. Charlie took notice of a group of young people—some teenagers, some older—loitering outside the Staples near the Fresh Pond Mall cinema. Most were dressed in black, tattered clothes, their bodies adorned with pierced jewelry and tattoos. One boy, sitting idle on the curb, caught Charlie’s attention. At first he didn’t believe it possible. Curiosity getting the better of him, Charlie slipped behind a group of women shoppers with their small children in tow to get closer to the youths without being spotted.

The boy sitting on the curb was Maxim, his bunk mate from the night before. Maxim sat with his shoulders hunched forward, his head hung low, and his eyes cast downward. He wore the same skull T-shirt that he’d had on when they were first introduced. His jewelry returned, Maxim glistened in the sunlight like a chain-mailed gothic warrior.

Most of Maxim’s companions were thin like him. They swarmed about the empty parking lot on their skateboards and BMX bikes. The skaters would hit the curb, flipping their boards, and almost without fail miss the landing. Maxim looked up and Charlie jumped. He darted into the Whole Foods Market, praying that Maxim hadn’t noticed him. To blend in with the crowd, he wandered the aisles, carrying a basket and placing a few items inside. As far as store security was concerned Charlie was just another shopper out on a busy afternoon.

A few minutes wandering the aisles was all it took for Charlie to decide he needed to move on. He figured he’d walk into Boston from here. His best chance of staying free was to stay hidden. And the best place for that was in the city. Belmont police would probably take the lead on his recapture. But coordinating with Boston police would add some confusion and delay to the process. Charlie was certain he’d be safer in Boston than anywhere else. At least then he’d have time to plan his next move. Or maybe Eddie Prescott would return and tell him where to go next.

Charlie was in the bread aisle, returning one of the items he had placed in his basket, when Eddie spoke to him.

“You have to get to the Seacoast Motel. The answers are there,” Eddie whispered.

Charlie whirled around. Six people were in the aisle. A plus-size black woman with a cart crammed with enough food to feed a family of twelve stood across from two elderly women who were examining the ingredients of some baking product. On the same side of the aisle as Charlie but some twenty feet away was an elderly man who walked with a cane. He wore a dark blue baseball cap. A shock of white hair spilled out from underneath it. Across from him was a mother, shopping with her two-year-old wedged safely in the shopping cart seat.

Charlie was looking directly at the old man when Eddie spoke again.

“The Seacoast Motel in Revere. All the answers are there. Room two-twenty-four. Go there and everything will become clear.”

The old man and the woman didn’t react to Eddie’s voice at all.

They can’t hear him, Charlie thought. I’m the only one who can.

Charlie looked over at the black woman, who was still filling her cart with food.

“You are running out of time,” Eddie warned.

The black woman didn’t flinch. The older women kept examining different ingredients, unfazed. Eddie was speaking to him alone, guiding the way.

Charlie couldn’t help but laugh. Unlike Eddie’s voice, his laugh was heard by both the black woman and the elderly shoppers. They turned and looked at Charlie. He held up a box of crackers.

“Can you believe these prices?” he said.

“Best quality, but they sure make you pay for it,” the black woman agreed.

“They sure do,” Charlie said.

“The Seacoast Motel in Revere. Room two-twenty-four. Go now …,” Eddie hissed.

Charlie had nowhere else to go. Nothing was left to hold him back. He had no home, no job, no family to turn to. The police would be looking for him, and ghosts were talking to him. He put the crackers back and carried his basket toward the exit.

Eddie had spoken, and Charlie was ready to obey. The only thing he needed now was money. And if there was one thing Charles Giles was good at, it was getting cash.