Free Charlotte by Stuart Keane Page A

turned on or something. Amy was talking to…well, never mind."
    "You're not making a lot of sense, Mrs. Brunswick."
    "Amy was talking to her imaginary friend, Charlotte."
    "Imaginary friend?"
    "Yes."
    "Amy is nine. I'm not a doctor, but isn't she too old for an imaginary friend?"
    "That’s what we thought; it's why we took her to Dr. Barden. Apparently, it's normal. Kids of all ages—and adults too—have them."
    "Okay. Amy inflicted the wounds on her father. Why didn’t you bring her with you?"
    "I was concerned for my husband's welfare. I didn’t think to do so; I just put him in the car and drove. How did I know the police would be waiting here to pick him up? Besides, I didn’t want her seeing the damage she'd done. It wasn't as bad when it happened. Once the blood started dripping, the skin tore…" Patricia paused and gagged slightly.
    D.S Moore sighed and looked down at his notes. He looked at D.S Ledger and nodded. "That will be all for now, Mrs Brunswick. Am I right in thinking you're sticking around for a bit?"
    "I'll be at my husband's bedside. What happens next?"
    "Well, we might have some more questions. We're waiting for forensics from the crime scene before we do anything further. Your husband has to stay here for now, I'm afraid."
    "Okay. He didn’t do it, Detective, I know my husband…despite the evidence, he's a level-headed fellow. He isn't capable of murder."
    You never know after tonight. You didn’t know he was a drunk either.
    Silence filled the room. D.S Moore nodded, stood up and walked out of the room, followed by his silent partner. Patricia stood up too and fell in line, taking her cue. As she walked through the doorway, Moore turned back to her. "Is Amy in good hands? With her babysitter, I mean. Do we need to send anyone to collect her?"
    Patricia remembered the look on her daughter's face. Those yellow eyes floating in the air, supported by nothing. She shivered. "She'll be fine."
     
    Amy was squatting in front of the fire, reading a book. Sandy was resting by her side, taking a nap. Every now and then, Amy's hand wandered away from the book and stroked Sandy's soft head. The puppy would nuzzle in, enjoying the attention. Amy looked at the Christmas tree, all decorated and sparkly. She'd turned the multi-coloured lights on, which cast a rainbow effect on the room. Light reflected from the variety of baubles on the branches, spraying light around the room. Amy smiled, happy, oblivious to the day's events.  It really felt like Christmas. 
    She glanced to her left. "No, the mice are blind. That's what makes the story so funny."
    Seems lame to me , came the whisper in her ear.
    "Fine, Charlotte, we can read something else if you want?"
    Those red leather-bound books look interesting.
    Amy stared at the tall bookcase. The red books were the centrepiece, a rare collector's item. "I'm not reading my mum's Dennis Wheatley books. She told me they're scary as hell. Anyway, she'll smack me if she finds out."
    She never has to. Anyway, if anyone tries to smack you again, I'll rip their throat out.
    " You will not! Gross! Promise me you won't do that?"
    I can't promise. Charlotte never promises.
    "Besides, I don’t want to read a boring , adult book. I have a whole load upstairs." Amy straightened up, the burn of fire on her left side. She shuffled around, moving her right side into view of the fake fireplace. The electric, metal flames began to warm her. She took off her gloves and coat, tossing them on the sofa.
    Amy reached for the TV remote and pushed the on switch. Nothing happened. She remembered her parents turned the TV off at the wall. Sighing loudly, she walked over to the outlet behind the TV. She flicked the switch and the red light popped on, signalling standby mode. Amy grinned. Sandy rolled over on the floor near the fire and grunted, in a dream. Amy looked from the puppy to Charlotte, who was simply a haze in the air. "How comes Sandy doesn’t react to you?"
    How do you