The Truth Collector by Corey Pemberton Page B

home?” said Malcolm.
    “I was just walking away from him. Crying so hard I could hardly see. But then I found the train tracks. It was nice there – quiet. Until the horn and the lights. My shoe got stuck...” She shivered. “And it was too late. The last thing I saw was the conductor's face. I wonder who looked more horrified – me or that bleary-eyed man with a beard and his arms flying around inside the locomotive.”
    Malcolm opened his mouth and shut it again. There wasn't anything to say.
    Charlotte looked them over and smiled. “It's okay. I'm over the dying part. I mean, it happens to us all so why make sour grapes? It's what happened after the dying that I still feel awful about. That's where I need your help.”
    “The girl,” said Malcolm. “You've probably seen millions of them born, grow up, and die. Why's this one so special?”
    Charlotte took a drag from her cigarette, dumped the stub that remained, and watched it burn itself out on the ground. “Her mother was special to me too. And her mother before that. That girl is John Dixon's great-granddaughter. I don't keep track of the years anymore. Just generations. That family tree is the only thing I have left. And now someone's trying to cut off its last branches.”
    “You had a kid with him?” said Paul. “With John?”
    Charlotte smiled. “I wished. N o, I didn't have a child with him. But his wife did. He didn't even come to my funeral. Can you imagine that? Being stuck in the middle while everyone cried and paid their respects? Everyone but the one man whose grief and sorrow you needed to see to know that at least you mattered. At least he missed you.” She cleared her throat and reached for another cigarette, but the pack in her dress was empty. “But of course that didn't happen. He couldn't go without his wife wondering. People would have asked questions. So he buried his head in a bottle of Scotch while the years ticked on.”
    “You were angry,” said Malcolm.
    Charlotte nodded. “ Furious . For years I watched them. They had the family I wanted but would never have. I blamed her, him, and even myself. Here I was stuck between two worlds… and everyone just moved on.”
    “I'm… sorry,” Paul said. He snapped his mouth shut as soon as he said it. But the words were already out.
    She smiled at him, tears covering her face. “Me too. John was a little mad after I died. I spent the next few years pushing him over the edge.”
    “What do you mean?” said Malcolm.
    Charlotte shrugged. “It was easy enough. I started out visiting him in his dreams. Every night I tormented him – until there was nothing left for him except to drink coffee and pray he'd stay awake. Then I got bolder. Calling his name, revealing myself to him in broad daylight, rearranging his things to remind him of me.
    “I watched him disintegrate. I'd be lying if I said I didn't take joy in it. He rejected my love, and I wanted him to feel the pain I felt. They sent him to an institution – that's all they could think to do in those days. I stopped bothering him after I found out he'd killed one of the orderlies, but by then it was too late. There was too much momentum. Six months later he was dead at his own hand. I saw what happened – what I did to that family for my love gone bad – and I haven't been able to forgive myself ever since.”
    Malcolm felt his face, tapped his toes to make sure he hadn't slipped off into one of those other worlds she talked about. “You wanted to protect the girl. To make up for what you did in some small way.”
    “That's right,” she said. “I know I could never undo what was done, but the least I could do was watch over that family. For generations I watched, pushed children out of the way of cars and dumped pills down sewers when one of them became an addict. I was still stuck, but at least I had a purpose.” She looked up and down the strand. “I failed the girl's mother and father —”
    “Why?” Malcolm said.