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It was deliberate. Charlie knew it almost as soon as she fell.
But she couldn’t let on to her mother, who adored Uncle Charlie.
So, she waited until it was dark to investigate, wanting to be sure.
Even after all her suspicions, even after he’d practically confirmed it, Charlie still couldn’t quite believe it all.
Uncle Charlie a murderer of three widows!
And then … Uncle Charlie making an attempt on her own life.
It hurt. She was his niece, his favourite. No matter what she might know, she hadn’t spilled the beans to the detectives, and she’d never thought he’d truly harm her.
“When are you leaving, Uncle Charlie?” she asked cooly.
“Oh, come now, Charlie,” he said, sounding lighter than he had in days, “that other business, it's all over. I'd like to forget it. We're all happy here.”
“When are you leaving?” she repeated.
“I'm not going, you see. Not yet, I'm not going. I want to settle down. Live in a place where people know me. Have some money in the bank, some sort of a business. Be a part of this family.”
“I see.”
She didn’t, not really. This whole thing was like a horrible nightmare she wished she could wake up from. She wished she could go back in time, to a moment when he was only her beloved, charming, handsome uncle, and not a serial killer whose crimes were splashed across the papers.
“The most sensible thing for you to do is to be friends with me. I can do a lot for you, Charlie, for all of you.”
She thought of the money he’d deposited in the bank. It could do a lot for them.
Her parents were proud of her grades in high school, but they’d never dream of letting her pursue a further education. And while they were comfortable, there wasn’t much spare money available. With Uncle Charlie’s help, there might be travel in her future, a chance to learn something from other cities and states, perhaps even see the great cities of Europe.
Charlie wanted that, more than she would ever admit to her parents. Uncle Charlie could give it to her.
But what would the cost be?
“No, not you,” she told him firmly, “we don't want anything from you. I wish I'd told my mother about you, I wish I had.”
Instead, she’d been a mess, confusing her whole family, making them think she was ill while she tried to figure out the truth.
“Oh, I know what you've been thinking. How do you think your mother would have felt? What would it do to her now? How about your father? His job at the bank? What would become of all of you if everything came out?”
Did he believe she hadn’t already considered that? It was one of the reasons she’d resolved to get him out of town before the detectives made a scene where everyone could see it. It why she’d never told them what she knew when they believed the real killer had died and they left town. The gossip would be vicious but, even worse, Charlie knew the truth would break her mother’s heart.
“I know,” she sighed, “you needn't be afraid. I can't tell them.”
“But I'm not afraid, Charlie,” he said softly, with a hint of paternal condescension, “what would you tell? Who'd believe you? A waltz runs through your head. You don't like the initials on a ring and you connect it all up with a newspaper clipping. And now, you haven't even got the ring. I don't know what became of it.”
She hated it, the way he spoke to her now, like she was a silly child who’d just got muddled and confused.
And she knew he was lying about the ring.
“You have it.”
“I? I gave it to you.”
She wouldn’t be taken in by him, tricked into doubting her own memory. He had the ring somewhere, she knew it.
“I don't want you here, Uncle Charlie. I don't want you to touch my mother. So go away, I'm warning you. Go away, or I'll kill you myself. See? That's the way I feel about you.”
For a moment, he seemed stunned by her vitriol, but then his expression relaxed into a smile.
“Oh, Charlie, you know you don’t mean that.”
“Of course I do,” she said it fiercely, trying to make it true, “you tried to kill me!”
“What’s a little murder attempt between family, Charlie? I’ll admit I panicked and acted rashly, and I’m sorry for it. You know how dearly I love you.”
Charlie's a fine girl, she recalled him saying to Jack, she's the thing I love most in the world.
“It was a little more than panic, Uncle Charlie. I might well have died.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” he stepped forward, agitated, and put his hand on her face, thumb brushing her cheek gently, “it was a momentary lapse. I swear I’ll not do it again, Charlie. I was only wound up, you see, after speaking with that detective, the one you seemed so fond of.”
“Jack?”
Her uncle scowled at her, “it’s not right, to come on official business and try and mislead a young lady into betraying her family.”
He sounded jealous, she realised, and she wasn’t entirely proud of how a thrill ran through her at the realisation.
“You killed those poor women, Uncle Charlie,” she reminded him, “you tried to kill me.”
“Oh, those sad old ladies don’t matter, Charlie,” he said, suddenly pulling her into a tight hug, “it’s you that’s important. I don’t know what I would have done with myself if you’d truly been hurt. It’s only, my temper gets the better of me sometimes, Charlie.”
He seemed genuinely sorry, his lips pressing kisses to the crown of her head, his solid warmth a comfort that made her relax despite her anxiety.
He ought to face justice for what he’d done, she knew that, but the thought of the electric chair was just too awful, especially when she imagined how devastated her mother would be.
He released her from his embrace after a moment, although he reached for her hands, squeezing them gently.
“If I could only be sure you wouldn’t do it again, Uncle Charlie,” she sighed.
“For you, I could be a good man, Charlie,” his eyes were bright and excited, “you make the noise in my head quiet down, you know, and help me shake off the sense of restlessness that puts such terrible schemes into my mind. I know I could be good, Charlie, with you.”
It was foolish in the extreme to believe him, given what she knew he’d done, but the truth was that Charlie wanted to believe her beloved uncle could reform, in the same way she had wanted to believe those detectives were absolutely wrong with their suspicions.
She was always his favourite, and he was always hers. She’d long believed they were twin souls, in a way.
“I … I don’t want us to fight, Uncle Charlie.”
“Neither do I, Charlie, my darling.”
He kissed her suddenly, not the chaste kiss that an uncle ought to give a niece, but one that belonged between lovers, hungry and fervent and heated.
There were so many things Charlie ought to have done. Screamed for her father and her mother, for one. Instead, she melted into the kiss.
Because she wanted it as much as he did. Theirs had always been a special relationship, and this somehow felt like the next step, natural despite how everyone else would call it unnatural.
Charlie loved her parents and her siblings and her friends, but this town was so dreadfully dull that she often felt like she could lie on her bed forever and she wouldn’t have missed anything of consequence.
“Charlie, my darling Charlie,” her uncle whispered when they broke apart, his gaze heated in a way that made her blush, “you’ll stay with me, won’t you? That’s how it ought to be.”
“Yes, Uncle Charlie,” she clung to him, still a little dazed from the kiss.
“I’ll take you everywhere, my darling. We’ll go to Rome and Paris and London and plenty more places besides. No one there will know us, and we can be husband and wife, like we ought to be.”
“Yes,” she nodded, “yes.”
It was insanity. It was fantasy.
It was exactly what Charlie wanted.