Truly Madly Ghostly

Chapter Twenty-five : The Bitter Truth

Charlotte knew she was brave enough to put up a good fight in case of facing danger. She was capable of that. But she was not prone to violence when self-defense was not involved. She would never break things in a fit of anger or anything, at least not her own things in her own damn house.

Still, in front of her, the chair lay on the floor in pieces.

Charlotte blinked. Once, twice.

She looked down at the bruise on her knee and then back to the chair again. She was damn sure she had attacked none of the two. The bottle of pills she had brought back into the room from where it was out on the balcony floor—she hadn't even thrown it out herself. Why would she do it after all and imagine someone else behind the action? Yes, she was convinced she had been hallucinating, but truly, she had not gone this much crazy. 

However, set beliefs and the penchant for clinging to logical explanations regarding every possible issue were like a broken record. 

And so, soon she was in the process of putting into her mouth one of those magic pills—to make all the unfathomable mumbo-jumbo go away, to make her brain get better for a handful of hours. But right at that moment, her heart hammered with a possibility which had been there the whole time—at the back of her mind, muted and ridiculed. It hit her like a bucketful of freezing water along with the bucket; like a break failed car; a flying crow fainted mid-air; a Frisbee all sandy and reeking; a winter boot; a ferocious kick into the back by a bony knee etc. 

It was a terrifying but calming possibility that the idea of her hallucinating being—a lie, and the existence of a man beyond the realms of the living—the truth. 

The place behind her ears heated up and she cupped her cheeks. 

Tension buzzed in her ears painfully.

It was not like she hadn't mulled over it before. She had, probably a billion—trillion times. 

But what was different this time as she contemplated the existence of something beyond all logic? It was the intention to seek evidence. 

Twenty-something minutes later, Charlotte firmly stared at the nervous face of Linda Davis peeking out of the door. 

She was the only person Charlotte could think of from whom she could definitely find some answers. Answers which would be provided to her without any alterations because of selfish reasons—something which Mr. Dias would definitely do and Carlos would follow his lead to not get fired. But the truth could be acquired only if she was successful in coaxing it out of Linda.

Linda was hesitant but invited her in nonetheless. 

Right after knowing that her parents were not home, Charlotte cut to the chase for it was clear that there was no easy way to approach the topic.  

Linda went as still as a stone as soon as Charlotte asked, "What did you see in the corridor that night?"

Charlotte looked at her round eyes and noticed her held breath and stiff posture.

A couple of long seconds later Linda answered rather carefully, words halting every other second because of her usual stuttering problem, "Which night?"

Charlotte shuffled her feet and huffed in impatience. "I guess you know that very well." She sighed. "Look, Linda—" she lifted up the bottle of pills between them which was until now enclosed in her fist. "I've been taking this for a while now, hoping to keep myself sane. I dream of being a psychiatrist someday and here I'm getting treated by one. I'm going out of my mind wondering what I've been experiencing since moving into this bloody apartment was real." She let out a shaky breath. "I'm scared, and I feel so lost and I don't know what to do anymore. And— and—I need to know if it is all in fact real." Her lips quivered as she uttered through her closing-up throat, "If he is real?"