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“Thank you so much for your help! You really are a Godsend. It is so comforting to know there are still good men out there,” their client, a smiley old lady, said graciously with a chuckle. She began to see herself out of the office.
Charles chuckled, dry and hollow. “It’s our pleasure, have a nice afterlife!” He waved after her and turned back to Edwin. He leaned back on the desk corner, more relaxed now that it was just the two of them.
“What is so funny, Charles?” Edwin asked, raising an eyebrow. It must be some pop culture reference he didn’t understand.
“She thinks I’m a good person,” Charles laughed again, almost sarcastic.
“Well, you are? I don’t understand what was comical about that statement,” Edwin asked, confused. Maybe this was some sort of inside joke he forgot about?
“Mate, I am not a good person,” Charles said, shaking his head. He seemed so confident about it, like Edwin was oblivious to some fact of life.
“What nonsense. You may be brash and rather impulsive, but you are still a good person,” Edwin huffed a little bit exasperated. Clearly, Charles just wanted Edwin to compliment him, tell him he did a good job on the case. This wasn’t a serious matter, it was just Charles jokingly being Charles.
Charles’s demeanor broke slightly, “You really think I’m a good person?”
Edwin’s heart skipped a beat. Maybe this wasn’t just another one of Charles’s jokes. This seemed… serious. Like Charles was being serious. That thought tore his heart into little bits. If Charles was being genuine, he needed genuine reassurance. Edwin could do that, Edwin could fix this.
“Charles Rowland, you are by far the best person I have ever known.”
Charles blinked. He allowed himself one mere second of emotion before switching back into his usual playful banter. “You’re just saying that. Like telling people good morning when the morning is clearly terrible, one of those nice things you say that doesn’t mean anything.”
“So there are no good people? You don’t think I’m a good person?” Edwin asked, a bit offended.
“That’s different. Of course you’re a good person Edwin, you’re like the goodest a person could be,” Charles argued, looking annoyed.
“Best Charles, not goodest,” Edwin shook his head. “But you actually believe you’re not a good person?” he probed, hoping he wouldn’t scare off this glimpse into his partner’s soul. He looked into Charles’s eyes, dark and mournful.
“Yes?” Charles said just a bit hesitant.
“Well, you are,” Edwin said matter-of-factly. There wasn’t a debate to be had. Charles is a good person, end of story. He was a bit frustrated that he hadn’t made that clear by this point.
“And what if you’re wrong? Maybe I am a bad person but you just don’t know it?” Charles asked, eyes tearing up. He looked scared, broken. He just stood there with his heart bared, begging for something, anything. Edwin wished he had what he needed.
“Bad people do not worry about being bad people,” Edwin said with compassion. He reached over and put his hand on Charles’s shoulder comfortingly.
“I think they do,” Charles spoke softly. “I think everyone worries they’re not a good person. And a lot of them aren’t.”
Edwin paused at that. How long did he sit in church as a child praying for God to make him a good person? How many times had he sat in Hell thinking he must have deserved it? All the time he spent convincing himself he was a bad person, and it wasn’t all just some cruel, unfortunate twist of fate? That his destiny was to follow this perpetual path of atonement for the sin of being alive?
Edwin took in an unnecessary breath to steady himself. “I know I am a good person because I am like you, Charles. If you are a bad person then so am I.”
Charles hummed in mournful consideration. He put his hand in his pockets and turned for the office door. “I’m going to get some air, yea?”
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Up on the roof, Charles sat on the edge, legs dangling over the side. He used to sit on the roof of his flat like this when he needed to think. Sometimes he stood on the edge, wanting to stop thinking entirely.
Tonight he came up to think. He is not a good person. He knows he isn't. He spent his entire life learning he isn’t. But, Edwin thinks he’s a good person, which has to mean something, right?
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1973
Charles is only a few weeks old. His mother is cradling him in her arms, her silk scarves wrapping him up safe and secure. She smiles down at him warm like the sun. She wishes she could freeze this moment, but nothing good lasts long. The house is too quiet.
The front door slams shut with a deafening thud. Boots stomp towards the kitchen like earthquakes warning before a volcano erupts. His father appears in the doorway and sways slightly, already drunk early in the afternoon.
“You can’t stay a moment away from that thing? The house looks like shit and I wouldn’t be surprised he wakes up a girl with how much you coddle him,” he scoffed in disgust. “Give him to me and do something else for once.” He reached for the baby she had pulled close to herself.
“He’s just about to be put down for his nap, it will only be a moment,” she said gently and returned to rocking Charles in her arms.
His father grabbed the kitchen towel off the railing and threw it at her face. “I said give him to me, he can put himself to sleep. Now.”
She pulled the towel off herself and rose to place Charles in his bassinet. She only took a few steps before the child was grabbed from her and she was pushed out of the way.
“What are you looking at? Get on with it. I said I’d take care of the boy,” his father shouted, words laced with venom and a threat. His mother knew all too well the consequences of disobeying him and moved to clear up the table. At all the noise and sudden movement, Charles began to whimper. The hands holding him were too rough and he was all but dropped into the bassinet.
His head hid the crib hard and he burst out into tears. His mother heard the wailing and turned back against her better judgment.
“He needs to be rocked, I’ll just talk him back to sleep.”
“What he needs is to learn how to take care of himself. Let the little shit cry himself dead if he wants.” The man glared at the crying baby like he had passed a rotting corpse on the sidewalk. He leaned in so the child could hear him loud and clear.
“You are a terrible excuse for a son. Learn to shut up or I’ll make you.”
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1978
Charles is five. He helps carry in the groceries from the market. His mother unloads the paper bags onto the shelves of their little pantry.
“You are such a good boy, so sweet and helpful,” one of his aunties croons.
“I wish my sons were so good to me,” another auntie agrees and laughs.
“Go on beta , you should get back to your books before your father gets home,” his mother urges. “Don’t forget to practice your spelling list, you don’t want to lose another point like last week,” she reminds him.
“So studious too, he’s going to be a doctor,” one of his aunties predicts. “My sons are excellent in A levels, but your son will be smart enough to teach them instead.”
Charles didn’t hear the sound of the door over his aunties’ predictions for his rich and successful life. God, he wished he heard the door. He wished he ran to the table faster.
“Decided to become a sissy instead of studying, did you?” his father scorned. “You won’t get any smarter listening to their useless chatter. You’re not good enough to earn As so you’re not good enough to take breaks,” his eyes focused on his son, who was staring at the table in a feeble attempt to avoid eye contact. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” Charles said shakily.
“I said, did you hear me?” his fathers eyes darkened with rage. Charles tensed up, he knew how this would end. It didn’t matter that his aunties were only a room away. He could be quiet, it would be worse if he wasn’t.
“You. Are. Not. Good. Enough,” his father spoke pointedly, punctuating each word with a sharp blow to the back of his head. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Charles replied, biting back tears.
“Good, now get back to work.” And with that, his father walked off as if it was a regular Saturday. It was a regular Saturday. Charles would spend time with his mother while his father was away. He made sure to be hard at work when he returned. But he had always done something wrong and he always showed up to school with more bruises than the week before.
He just had to do better. He knew his father wouldn’t be so mad if he did better in school. He just had to study more. He could be good.
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1980
Charles is ten. He took up cricket because his father said men play sports. He spends every moment he has practicing. His coach says he’s good, but his father disagrees.
Charles is gathering his things at the end of the game. He gulps down water like he lives in a desert. Maybe he was overworking and overtraining, but he had to. His father was only angry because he knew Charles could be better. If he did better, then his father wouldn’t be so angry all the time.
A few boys from the other team were walking past towards their parents.
“Good game, yea?” he said cheerfully. The other team had played well, even though he beat them in the end.
“Yeah, good game mate!” one of them replied.
His coach said he was a good teamplayer, whatever that meant. Good sportsmanship seemed like common sense really. All you have to do is not get angry. Charles was good at not getting angry.
“What kind of pansy are you? Congratulating the other team is almost as pathetic as getting an award for losing,” his father scolded as he walked over.
“Coach said it makes you a good sportsman,” Charles regretted it the second it left his mouth. He was still slipping up, that was his fault. He knew better than to talk back to his father.
“Good sportsman? You’re good if you win. Which you were not, when you let them get that point. You were almost terrible enough to lose the game for your entire team. Lucky for you, Coach took you out before you could be a total embarrassment,” his father spit in disgust.
His coach had taken Charles out because he was panicking so badly he couldn’t focus on the game. He hadn’t practiced enough and he made a silly mistake and it was his fault really that his dad was yelling at him now.
His father was right, he was not a good player. He is not good.
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1988
Charles is 15. When he isn’t studying or practicing cricket, he hangs out with his mates at St. Hilarion. His mates are not good people. They do lots of things that Charles knows are wrong. But that doesn’t mean he stops them.
His mates have decided to terrorize a few 10th year boys in the locker rooms. They had already chased them off the rugby field, and now they were holed up in the lockers.
“We just wanted to play a bit of rugby with you!” one of his mates, Liam yelled into the door, laughing.
“You think those fairies could hold a rugby ball?” another scoffed. “Might as well give ‘em pom poms so they could cheer for us on the sidelines.”
“Let us in, we just need to shower,” Liam taunted them in a sing-songy voice.
“You do know the door is unlocked, right?” Charles pointed out. He has to say something every once and a while on these little adventures or they start volunteering him to do the real stupid shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have said something so helpful.
“Charlie boy, this is why we keep you around!” one of the boys whooped and the others joined in. They began pushing each other around and playfully punching Charles’s sore arms in anticipation of harassing the now cornered 10th years.
“Time to give them a warm welcome to St. Hil’s!” Liam shouted as he threw the door open and they rushed inside. The poor boys were huddled in a corner of one of the tiled shower stalls.
It was kind of their fault they were getting picked on, Charles thought. They didn’t put enough effort into fitting in. They would learn like he did.
“Hey blondie, you’re looking kind of dirty. Let me help you clean off, yea?” Liam said, pulling a boy to his feet. Another one of the older boys pinned the kid’s arms behind his back and pushed him into the shower stall.
Liam turned on the water to hot, boiling really. “This will clean you up real nice.” He held the boy’s head up into the water and he started choking as the water went straight down his throat. It left ugly red marks as it dripped down his skin. The boy shook and tried to kick them off, stuck between sobs, screams, and coughs.
Charles couldn’t just sit there and watch them torture this poor boy. He didn’t want to be next though, did he?
“Shit dude, I have a tutoring session, my dad is going to kill me if I’m late,” Charles lied, trying to sound as annoyed as he could.
“Your dad is the worst! I’d never tolerate that kind of bullshit from my dad. You’ll be at practice tonight though?” one of the older kids asked.
“Have you ever seen me miss practice?” Charles said with a cocky smile.
“See you a bit, mate,” another boy said, completely unbothered at the boy they were almost drowning.
“Welcome to St. Hil’s freshies!” Charles mocked, shooting finger guns at the cowering boys in the corner as he ran out of the building.
He bolted straight for the administrator’s office and almost knocked over a maintenance worker on the field.
“Oi, I’m sorry. Wasn’t looking where I was going, “ he apologized.
“You seem in an awful rush, everything alright in the locker rooms? Big spider?” the man asked him, chuckling.
“No, actually someone is going to die I think, but I really need to go I can’t be here,” Charles said quickly, already inching away.
“Is it the 10th years that were on the field a little bit ago?” the man asked, concerned.
Charles nodded frantically.
“I’ll take care of those entitled assholes,” the man said, reaching for his shovel. “You get out of here, you’re a good kid.” Then he ran off towards the locker rooms and said something heated into his radio.
You’re a good kid. No, a good kid would have stopped them. A good kid never would have pointed out the door was unlocked. A good kid wouldn’t lie to save his ass and bolt. Charles was not a good kid and he was definitely not a good person.
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He was snapped back to the present by Edwin taking a seat on the ledge. He wasn’t very close, it seemed he was trying to put a respectful distance between them. Charles kind of wished he was closer. When he was upset his mum used to hold him as he cried, soothing him in hindi. God he missed her right now.
“Charles, it seems I may have upset you and I am terribly sorry. It was not my intention. I was not aware that it was an uncomfortable subject to broach,” Edwin spoke formally, very clearly avoiding Charles’s eyes.
“The concept of good may have changed since my time, but I do truly believe you are a good person. You may not believe it but I just need you to know I do. I will leave you be now.” Edwin went to stand.
“No, Edwin. Can you stay?” Charles looked up at him with brown eyes full of tears.
Edwin nodded and sat down, closer to him this time. “Very well.”
Edwin didn’t have much experience comforting others. Neither of them really got upset, and if they did they just let it fizzle out. He wanted to help, to tell him everything was going to be okay but he didn’t even know where to start. How do you tell an angel they are made of light?
Charles didn’t know why he asked Edwin to stay. He didn’t have anything to say, and there was no way Edwin would know what to say in this scenario. Maybe he just didn’t want to be alone.
“The ancient Egyptians believed that when they passed to the afterlife, their souls would be weighed against the feather of Maat,” Edwin started. Charles’s head shot up to meet his gaze, clearly surprised he was even speaking. “If their soul weighed even, they would be permitted into their version of Heaven. If it was heavier, it would be devoured by the goddess Ammit and destroyed, causing them to cease to exist.”
They stared at each other for a minute. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that information, mate,” Charles deadpanned, extraordinarily confused. “That’s a bit off putting.”
“I do suppose it is. A feather, magical or not, determining a soul’s worth is ridiculous, in my professional opinion. As we both know, our Afterlife is not terribly adept at determining a soul’s worth either. I went to Hell on a clerical technicality for god’s sake. Far more ridiculous to me, is the fact you believe you can,” Edwin explained, mock irritation lacing his voice.
“Believe I can what? I’m really not following,” Charles said, searching Edwin’s face for answers.
“You, a mere mortal, believe you can decide whether or not a person is good. Even though gods have been trying and failing for millennia. I know your ego is big but this is just getting preposterous,” Edwin scoffed softly.
“My ego is very reasonably sized!” Charles protested.
“If you insist,” Edwin rolled his eyes. This was working, he just needed to knock Charles out of his weird spiral and then everything would go back to how it was supposed to be.
“So a magic feather, eh?” Charles asked. “Can it see your memories? Like if you let your mates almost kill someone? That kind of thing?” He looked away from Edwin towards the London skyline. He kicked his feet absentmindedly, like he could run away from this conversation.
“Kill someone?” Edwin repeated, concerned. He definitely wasn’t judging. Okay, maybe he was judging a little. He was killed by a group of idiotic teenage boys after all. He hoped that didn't find its way into his voice. Charles drew back a little. It definitely did, fuck.
“I didn’t want to and I didn’t do anything, but I didn’t stop them. I ran like a coward and had someone else stop them,” he spoke quickly. “Ironic, they almost drowned him,” Charles laughed. It sounded more like choking, like he was choking up the water that he almost drowned in.
“Charles, you were scared and notified someone else to get help. I hardly see where you are at fault here,” Edwin said gently.
“It's always my fault. It’s my fault they knew the door was unlocked. It’s my fault I was bad at sports. It was my fault I wasn’t good enough in classes. It’s my fault my dad was so angry all the time. Everywhere I go things go wrong and it’s always my fault,” Charles poured out, tears streaming from his eyes. He looked at Edwin like he needed an anchor to stop from washing away.
Edwin only half understood what Charles was saying because he was distracted by the terrible pain of his heart breaking. He moved closer and gently placed his arm around Charles’ shoulders. Charles practically leapt into the embrace and hugged Edwin like his life depended on it.
“You are no more at fault for the cruelties of the world than a speck of sand on the beach. Horrible things have happened around you, Charles, but not because of you. I believe academics say ‘correlation does not equate to causation.’ Did you ever intend to cause harm?” Edwin spoke, as he raised a tentative hand to stroke Charles’s curls.
“I never wanted to hurt anyone but I always did,” Charles made out through muffled sobs.
“You never wanted to hurt anyone. There is no but. You never wanted to hurt anyone,” Edwin reassured and continued to hold his partner tightly.
London’s chatter settled around them like white noise. They stayed like this for a few minutes, the silence comfortable but heavy. Charles was held in Edwin’s caring embrace more broken and terrified than Edwin had ever seen him. Even in death, Charles wasn’t as vulnerable.
“I feel that the concepts of good and bad are rather blown out of proportion,” Edwin said, softly. “In reality, very few things exist on the ends of any spectrum. We all exist somewhere in the middle, in the grey area. We are neither good nor bad. Good people can do bad things, as goes the reverse.
“You and I have checkered pasts, yes, but we do all the good we can with the Agency. Part of me feels like I am reconciling for the sins of my past, and perhaps you feel the same. But really, there is nothing we can do to change it. All we can do now is what we believe is right and look toward our futures. I do believe my future will be alright as long as you are in it,” Edwin looked away on that last bit.
Charles looked up at him with a small smile, “If you’re here, I think I’ll be alright too.”