Chapter Text
Charlie Stone considers himself unflappable. His girlfriend, June, might say uncrushable, on account of his cockeyed optimism. But he plans to teach junior high, once he finishes earning degrees, and that requires resilience and raw nerve which honestly can’t be faked.
So nothing much fazes him, is the point; until, that is, he gets home from a paintball tournament--which he joined only to help out Moose and Rocco, after Biedemeyer twisted his ankle playing mini-golf—and finds the light blinking on his answering machine.
He crosses to the kitchen while messages play, locating a Red Bull and chugging it. His mother wants to know if he and June are on for Sunday dinner. His friend Tina needs the notes from Early Childhood Development class, ostensibly because she had the flu (but more likely due to her crush). Then a third message begins with heavy breathing, and Charlie reconsiders his fortitude.
Because it’s a sound he hasn’t heard since he was five, when his mother chased the breather from their home, armed only with a frying pan and mace, while he hid beneath the couch and cried. And this incident resulted, less than twenty-four hours later, in them moving to Santa Barbara, leaving their whole life behind.
It’s the sound Aaron Echolls, sperm donor, makes, when he’s about to lose control; and to say Charlie finds it unsettling would be the understatement of the decade.
“You little shit,” the waste of flesh says, his voice pitched low, more of a growl. “I know you know who this is. I know you know I can end you, just as easily as I began you. And after the stunt you just pulled…”
Aaron pauses, breath labored, and Charlie’s stomach knots. “You’d better think up a reason quick why I shouldn’t go nuclear. And it had better be good. REALLY good.”
The message stops, and Charlie sinks slowly to the floor, Red Bull spilling over his wrist. It forms a puddle like blood on the cheap rental’s tile, as the next message, also from Aaron, plays.
“Oh, and you can kiss those monthly payments goodbye.” The guy sounds smug now--like punishing people lights him up inside. “Good luck climbing out of the ghetto where you were born, without me and my cash to lend a hand.”
There’s a loud crack on the tape, as if the handset was smashed down, and Charlie’s head thunks back against the fridge. It’s not like the Aaron’s Kidz money matters to him—the only person who’s touched it is his mother. He’s a good student, with scholarships and Pell Grants, and a gig tutoring kids on weekends. Besides, he’d rather quit school and wash dishes to support his loved ones than live off that asshole’s largesse.
But since that terrifying night Echolls smacked his mom around, while he did nothing to stop it, he’s taken pains to steer clear of the man. Only the neighbor arriving with a shotgun, 911 on the line, sent the monster fleeing into the dark. And the way the cop just shook his head, when Charlie’s sobbing mom tried to press charges, remains vivid in his memory still.
His ultimate goal, vis-à-vis his father, is to never interact with the guy again. To not acknowledge his existence, or that of the other, fancier family. To avoid rocking the boat.
And the thing is, he HAS avoided it. Not once, in all the years since age five, has he tried to connect with Aaron. There’s no trace of Echolls’ existence in his life, beyond certain markers in his DNA. He doesn’t even know where the guy lives.
So how can he possibly fix things, and keep himself, his mother, and God, even June safe, when that bastard knows his unlisted number? When he carries an unexplained, but clearly violent, grudge?
How can Charlie learn what pissed the lunatic off, and somehow make amends?