Skeletons in the Closet

Chapter 26

Things with Charlie hadn't quite been the same since my attack. Then again, nothing had really been the same since my attack. That's kind of how things go in situations like this, right?

Still, he seemed...off. Which sounds vague, I know, but it's one of those situations where you can't point to anything in specific, yet you just know something is wrong. It comes from knowing someone for a long time, being able to pick up on subtle cues and body language that someone else might not be able to pick up on.

And yet even still, it's one of those situations where you can't really ask what's going on. Because sometimes people are wrong and there might not actually be anything going on with him. Then that starts a whole thing.

In any event, he'd been nice enough to continue letting me stay there while I ran my own investigation, though I hadn't been there a whole lot since he'd agreed to let me stay. That was partially by choice: after the last time we spoke, things ended a little awkwardly and I may have been a little short with him.

He'd conveniently had numerous things come up since then -- then again, so have I -- but it's pretty obvious that he's at least partially avoiding me. Given the abnormal situation I find myself in, I get not wanting to deal with me right now. I'm not exactly myself these days.

So when I walked through the door, the note from the Butcher that I received at the diner fresh in my mind, I'd almost forgotten that it was Charlie's place. Seeing him as I walked in startled me, though I felt completely stupid a moment later for feeling that way.

He looked up, offering a faint smile. He returned back to sifting through mail, apparently going through his bills for the month. I couldn't muster up an audible response, choosing a small nod in return instead. Things weren't awkward at all, no sir.

I dropped my laptop and backpack next to the couch and shuffled off to the kitchen. I wasn't hungry, but I'd hoped that I could kill a few minutes and, when I got back, he'd be gone. I felt a sudden pang of guilt for feeling that way. After all, he'd opened his home to me and I was actively avoiding him.

I opened the fridge, not looking for anything at all, but decided on a bottle of water. I glanced out the window at the building across the alley -- his apartment had windows along the far wall directly ahead as you entered, one in the bedroom, one in the kitchen and one in the bathroom that was between the bedroom and kitchen.

The brick walls and empty or curtained windows could only hold my interest for a moment or so before I realized I had to go back into the living room. I quietly muttered to myself, hoping that he'd left or gone to his room.

A soft sigh escaped my lips as I saw him still sitting on the couch. Stop being weird, Della. Just go sit down.

Making my way back across the room, I grabbed my laptop out of the bag and plopped down into the armchair to the right of Charlie. It was this massive charcoal grey monstrosity that looked like it could fit three people. Still, it was like landing in a cloud and I was grateful for his furniture selection. I flipped open the cover and fired it up. I didn't need much of an excuse to keep working on the case, but the stiff silence that permeated the room only provided extra motivation to get back to work.

A few long moments passed, neither of us so much as glancing at the other. Just when I thought that maybe we'd each continue working on our individual tasks and leave the other alone, he looked up at me, lightly clearing his throat.

"So how's --"

"Look, I'm sorry," I said, cutting him off, my guilt over our last conversation bursting out of me.

"Why are you sorry?" He seemed genuinely puzzled.

"Well, the last time we talked I was a little short with you." A long pause as we looked at one another. "Okay, I was a lot short with you. I'm sorry. It was rude of me."