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A SPIKE OF SADNESS OR A WEIGHT LIFTED
It’s stupid and nonsensical, but Charles always figured that when his father died…he’d know. He’d be able to feel it somehow - a random spike of sadness or maybe a weight lifting from his shoulders. It wasn’t something he actively thought about - actually, it was something he actively tried not to think about at all - but it was something he had only realized about himself when the Night Nurse appeared in their office one day to tell him that his father was dead.
“He’s not someone we’d usually keep track of at the Lost and Found Department.” The Night Nurse said stiffly, holding out Charles’ file to him. He had taken it numbly, barely able to process what he was looking at. Edwin stood at his shoulder behind him. “But given your status as a contractor for the Department, there was a note made in your file.”
It was on a page titled “Living Family”. His mother is listed there - her date of death blurred out until it actually happens - as are a handful of aunts, uncles, and cousins on his father’s side and about double that on his mother’s. They’re the ones living in India, Charles noted in the back of his mind. He’s never met them before.
And there, next to his father’s name, a little sticky note saying “Amend relation to ‘Deceased Associates’ - Paul Rowland: August 28, 1946- April 19, 2024 (stroke)”
And then, a little underneath that, “ Afterlife Assignment: Hell”.
YOU’D LOOK PRETTIER IF YOU DIDN’T SMILE
“Does the sky seem bluer, Niko?” Edwin says brightly as he and Niko walk arm in arm through the park. There’s almost a skip to his step. Lord Peanut, one of the local stray cats who Charles called a “friend of the agency”, gave Edwin a really weird look before running away from them.
Crystal had grabbed Niko before she had even entered the office after coming back from her study group. “You need to get Edwin out of here,” she had hissed. “A couple hours at least, until he can pull himself together or he’s, like, able to be around people again.”
Niko ran through the list she keeps in her head of all the things that could make Edwin spiral like that - the new apothecary sold him bad crab eyes again, he tried to read another Dan Brown book, something’s happened with the Royal Family - and just ended up asking. “Oh, what happened?”
“Charles’ dad died.”
Niko gasped and brought both hands to her chest. “Oh my god, that’s awful. Is Charles okay?”
But Crystal had just waved her off. “You don’t need to do all of that. His dad was a piece of shit who ended up in hell. The Night Nurse showed him the paperwork and everything.”
“Still, is there anything I can do?” Niko’s only experience in dealing with dead fathers was…not ideal. She would hate for Charles to be alone right now. What could possibly be happening with Edwin where Crystal wants for him to be away from Charles while he’s hurting?
“You can get Edwin the fuck out of here until he can behave like a normal person with manners and empathy.” Crystal glares through the door of the office into Edwin’s brain. “I think he’s about to throw a party.”
Which is what brings them here to the park and, oh boy, Niko sure understands what Crystal was talking about.
“I think the sky is bluer today, Niko,” Edwin says in delight. It’s not. “It’s as if the heavens themselves are celebrating.”
She makes some noncommittal noise and lets him continue on about the color of the grass, wave at babies who smile gummily back at him, and pick flowers.
That last one was the final straw for her, but she has no idea where to start. “Um, Edwin?”
“Yes, Niko?” Ordinarily, seeing Edwin’s face so…expressive and unburdened would be great. Getting Edwin to look like that more often is an actual entry in her bucket list, which she’s started keeping since the Incident Where She Died and Came Back to Life. But this is just…”Oh, forgive me, I’ve just been going on and on. What’s happening with you on this fine day?”
“Look, Edwin,” Niko takes a deep breath to steel herself. “I know you’re super jazzed about Charles’ dad dying and going to hell.” Edwin, Niko swears, giggles. “But you need to stop smiling so much. It’s making people uncomfortable.” Me, she wants to say. It’s making me uncomfortable.
“Ah,” Edwin says, the spark of happiness dimming from his eye. Good. “Hmm.”
“I don’t really know all the details,” Niko continues. “I’d rather hear it from Charles himself if he wants. I know that he wasn’t the greatest guy seeing as he’s in hell and everything, but,” she takes a deep breath. “When my dad died-”
“Your father was a good man.” Edwin interrupts.
“He wasn’t perfect.” Niko admits. “My parents divorced for a reason and it wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows. I know it’s not the same. Charles is probably having a lot of feelings right now. He’s probably trying to figure out what he’s feeling and, just, when my dad died, I didn’t handle it…well. You know what.”
Edwin takes her hand.
Niko can feel tears forming behind her eyes. “There were a lot of people, people who loved me, who were telling me that what I was feeling was wrong. That the way that I was dealing with my grief was too much and-” She cuts herself off. “I don’t think any of us want Charles to think that he is supposed to feel a certain way about his dad dying and you’re sending a pretty strong message.”
Edwin looks stricken.
“I know you don’t mean anything bad by it.” Niko says before he can start to spiral too. “You wouldn’t be acting like this to be cruel. It probably just means that Charles’ dad was a pretty bad guy, just…” She wishes she knew what the right thing to say was. “Maybe tone it down a little?”
NO MOURNERS, NO FUNERALS
Edwin tries his best to tone it down, but it’s difficult to hold such a big feeling inside of him. He goes on a lot of walks with Niko or Crystal or by himself, but most of the time he stays in the office with Charles. Not speaking, but just letting him know that he was there.
Crystal had looked up the funeral on her Internet and found Paul Rowland’s obituary. It listed the date and time for the funeral, gave the address of the Church, and the cemetery where he was to be buried.
The day passes and they don’t go.
And then -
“Come on,” Charles says, holding out his hand. “Let’s go somewhere.”
Edwin lets himself be led through a mirror into a public bathroom and then from the public bathroom to a familiar cemetery.
Edwin doesn’t say anything, just follows Charles through rows and rows of headstones. Some are more well-kept than others, some more ancient and some more new. He looks to see how the memorials seem to go on forever and thinks about how this isn’t even a fraction of all the people who died.
Edwin nods his head at some ghosts who meet his eyes. Charles does not acknowledge them. He has somewhere he needs to be.
They stop at two graves.
Paul Christopher Rowland
Beloved father and husband
Matthew 5:6
1946 - 2024
Charles goes to stand before the other one.
Charles Paul Rowland
Beloved son and friend
Matthew 19:14
1976 - 1989
They are buried side-by-side with a space to Paul Rowland’s right saved for his wife. Even in death, Edwin notes in disgust, will he separate them.
They stand there in silence for a moment. Charles stares unblinkingly down at his own grave, but his posture is relaxed, his hands in his pockets. He has the same look on his face as he does when he looks into the fish pond in the park by their office.
“You can say something,” he says. His eyes dart to Edwin and he gives him a small smile, a mere quirk of his lips really.
“Charles,” Edwin clears his throat. “I wanted to apologize. I know that I did not comport myself appropriately for…this sort of occasion.”
“Thought you were going to start singing at one point, mate.”
“Ah,” If Edwin could blush, he would. “Yes, well.”
“It’s alright,” Charles says and he means it. He really does. “I’m taking it the way you mean it. My dad,” Charles lets out a shuddering breath. “Well, he was a right bastard who hurt me a lot and you love me so you’re glad he’s gone somewhere he can never hurt me again.”
Charles makes him sound so…sane when he puts it like that. Good, because Edwin was beginning to feel slightly delirious in his joy so it’s nice for his feelings to be validated.
Charles rubs at the back of his neck, eyes not drifting for a moment from his headstone. “I still don’t really know what’s going on with me, in my head. Could you just listen and let me talk it out?”
“Whatever you need.” Edwin promises.
LOVE IS EASY. THAT WAS SOMETHING ELSE.
The thing is that it wasn’t all bad. It’s not like Charles’ father had it on a to-do list. When he gets home from work, he’s got to water the garden, take out the trash, kick in Charles’ ribs, and watch telly with the missus.
There were nights, days, weeks that were really bad and then there were times that were just…normal.
Sometimes, Charles would wish that wasn’t the case. That his dad did have a checklist and that belting him in places where bruises could be covered up by his clothes was right at the top.
Because maybe then he would have given up. Trying to get Dad to love him, he means. But no, there were the times that were normal, good even, and Charles spent a lot of time and energy trying to figure out what he could do to get that time back. Trying to figure out what made it so hard to love him.
He thinks he got close to getting it, once, the year he was 14. He got on his school’s cricket team. He was the youngest player, but also the best. He was doing really well academically too. Top 3 in his year. His grades were good enough to get him into St. Hilarion’s.
5 months. He got nearly half a year without his dad getting mad enough to raise his hand to him. Charles still doesn’t know what happened to end the streak, what he had done. Maybe it had nothing to do with him at all, but that’s not something Charles was capable of even considering at the time.
(Edwin doesn’t say this because he promised just to listen.
But he thinks about endless, narrow corridors lit by sickly light. He thinks about endless days trying to figure out the right way, the path that would lead to freedom or, more realistically, the least pain. He thinks about hope being snatched away when he had almost fit his hands around it.
He thinks about Charles’ father being in hell, the porcelain laugh of a child, and he tries not to smile.)
But surely it was something that he had done to ruin it. Why else would he think differently when his dad was always saying it?
Why can’t you just listen? Why do you always have to talk back? Why can’t you just leave things alone? How could you embarrass me like that? You’re always breaking something. Ruining things. Making a fool out of me.
I wouldn’t have to do this if you could just be good.
He tried. He tried so hard, but Charles just didn’t know how to be good if what he was doing wasn’t it.
“Charles-”
“I know it’s not true,” Charles interrupts. He turns to Edwin then, holds out a hand for Edwin to take, which he takes reverently. Presses his lips to Charles’ wrist. “I know because you taught me. You and Crystal and Niko.”
Charles turns away from his grave and leans into Edwin, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. He shuts his eyes and lets the tears he’s been holding back fall. “So, thank you. Thank you for loving me enough to be happy that he’s gone when I can’t be.”
“Oh, Charles,” Edwin’s hand comes up to card though Charles’ hair. The other arm pulls him in closer, always closer. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
HAUNTED HOUSES
Charles takes Edwin to his childhood home. He’s never taken him here before for fear of his father being there.
But his father’s dead now, not even a ghost. He can no longer haunt this house.
(“Jeeze,” Crystal had muttered when she thought he couldn’t hear her. “His son was murdered 35 years ago and he doesn’t have any unfinished business?”)
At any rate, his parents had moved out of that house ages ago and some time between then and now, the place had been completely renovated.
He still takes Edwin through the house, but everything’s changed completely. There’s new bathrooms and they somehow put the kitchen in a completely different place. His parent’s bedroom is a home office, his dad’s office is a child’s bedroom, and Charles’ basement is still a basement, but this family seems to use it mostly for storage, not fit for habitation (not that it ever was.)
Charles has been having a lot of emotions today so for a moment he thought he was going to be having another one, but all he feels is light. This is even better than he probably would have felt if they had found this house demolished or burned to the ground.
The family that lives here now seems happy. The mother sings while she’s making dinner and the father happily listens to his children try to explain how to play their video game.
There are no ghosts haunting them.
“One last place and then we can go back home.” Charles says, leading Edwin through the mirror again to a place he’s seen but never visited.
Charles’ mother isn’t in the living room but the lights are on and so is the TV. There are groceries on the kitchen counter, not put away yet, and Charles can’t read the language on the bags, but he recognizes the shape of them from the letters his mother used to get from her sister in India.
He can’t help it. He peeks inside the bags and sees vegetables and spices that he hasn’t seen her cook with since he was a child.
They used to eat his mum’s homemade Indian food all the time when he was a kid. He remembers his father liking it. She always made enough food for what seemed like 10 people and his father ate enough for 8.
Then, one year, his father came back from the doctor’s office with instructions on how to manage problems with his heart.
“The men in my family,” He had spat out as he threw out all his mother’s carefully labeled spices. “Never had problems with their fucking hearts. My dad, my brothers, all fit as a fiddle eating good English food. Wonder who might be the problem then!”
Charles thinks about his father in Hell. He doesn’t smile at the thought like Edwin does, but it doesn’t make him sad either. Maybe the two feelings cancel each other out so what he feels is actually nothing, but that’s not right either.
“Charles,” Edwin calls out.
Charles follows his voice and finds his mother in the attic staring at a box. She’s dressed for the night in one of her sleeping gowns and a soft sweater. Her feet are bare. Her hair is still long, the braid of it goes down past her waist and there’s a lot more grey than he remembers. Her fingers are thin and knobby and when she picks up the box, she stumbles a bit to try and lift it.
He goes to the other side of the box and takes some of the weight for her and he can see her become more sure about whatever it is she was doing.
They go down the stairs, Edwin lingering for a bit in the attic before following behind them.
They place the box on the coffee table and she opens it with shaking hands.
It’s full of random junk, but he recognizes it all.
His favorite albums that he managed to squirrel away from his father. His battered copy of The Outsiders. His lucky scarf.
His report card from the year he was 14. A plaque he got for being the most valuable player on his cricket team.
And then there’s some stuff he doesn’t recognize. Tiny shoes and mittens. A baby album that she flips through that has a lock of his hair. His birth certificate.
All of Charles’s life, hidden away in a single box.
She flips to the back of the baby album, opens a little pocket in the back cover, and slips out a photograph that she holds so, so gently. It’s a little crumpled and the top corner of it is ripped off, but it’s whole.
She holds it close to her heart and takes a picture frame off of the wall. It held a picture of his parents in some foreign country. He doesn’t recognize it and his parents look older, so it must be a trip they had taken after he had died.
His mother removes the picture of her and her husband and replaces it with the picture she had secreted away in the baby book. She puts it back up on the wall and stares at it with such love and tenderness and grief that Charles has to look away.
So it’s Edwin who sees the way her face crumples as she looks at the smiling face of her beloved son peering out from the only photo of him she has left.
She puts her face into her hands and she screams.
My boy, my boy, my beautiful boy.
I’m sorry I could not grieve you until he was gone.