her emotions too ragged to cry. Instead, she studied everything—Charlie, the bottle of pills on the table, the scratched mirror and chalky residue. Two and two equaled four.
“Looks like he…he overdosed,” one of the young men declared.
“No he didn’t!” she struggled free. She refused to believe he was dead. “Charlie!” she turned him over, his face long and contorted. She didn’t care, pressing her lips and blowing, trying to breathe some life into him. More hands, firm and determined, pulled her away, but not before she snatched something from Charlie’s hand. A notepad, something scribbled in ink. The last message from Charlie.
The guys escorted her out of the room while one of them called 911, though Kate already heard sirens. Finally, she felt tears, and blinked one of them on the piece of paper she’d gotten from Charlie. She couldn’t decipher the message right away. Then, when she did, her heart skipped. Right before he’d died, Charlie had reached for a pen and scratched out the symbol:
#
3.
“He was so young.”
“And so talented. Why do all the good ones die so young?”
“He OD’d, you know.”
“Shame.”
Kate had to get away from the rumoring voices. To hell with those judgmental assholes. She found solace outside, on the Lincoln Terrace.
“Are you okay, Katie?” Eva stood at the doorway. “You sure you want to be here?”
“I have to be here,” Kate summoned the strength to talk. “It’s Charlie.”
“No you don’t,” Eva got close and wrapped an arm around her. “It’s just a funeral. Charlie hated these things. He wouldn’t mind if you skipped out.”
Kate shivered, though the February morning was warmer than normal. She snatched the Virginia Slim from Eva’s mouth and took a drag. “You don’t believe what people are saying, do you?” she coughed and handed the cigarette back. “About Charlie…about how he died?”
Eva looked surprised, both by Kate’s partaking in tobacco, and by her cryptic question. “What am I supposed to believe? Listen, I’m sorry, but it looks like he really did die of an overdose. It was accidental, I’m sure.”
“It wasn’t an overdose!” Kate raised her voice. People inside The Old North Church stared. “It wasn’t an overdose,” she said, quieter, and turned away from the gawkers, letting her eyes travel along the Santa Monica Mountains. “And it wasn’t an accident.”
“What do you mean?” Eva sounded concerned.
She stayed silent for a long moment
“Kate?”
“It’s real,” she showed Eva the notepad. “I found this in Charlie’s hand.”
“What is this? What’s real?”
“The death number. It’s real.”
Eva stared at the piece of paper with unbelieving eyes. She shook her head and shoved the pad back into Kate’s chest.
“What is this bullshit?”
“It’s not bullshit, it’s the death number, and it’s real,” Kate wouldn’t let her sister go, though it was obvious Eva wanted to leave right then and there. Arms locked, Kate told her sister what Dean and Angelle had said about the number of times a person’s name can be spoken, about all the famous people who’d used their own names and died early. She said Charlie had started acting strangely after he’d learned about the death number, and he’d admitted he’d seen the sign, the number symbol. She even told Eva about the demon and its tiny minions. And, finally, she pointed again to the notepad with the symbol scrawled clearly in black, directly from Charlie’s hand.
She told her sister everything, and as she spoke, she noticed Eva seemed under a dark cloud. Her normal, carefree attitude changed immediately, turning somber and dark. Kate attributed it to the upsetting story, but it soon became obvious Eva was bothered by something else.
“Eva? What is it?”
She only raised her shoulders a little,
“Looks like he…he overdosed,” one of the young men declared.
“No he didn’t!” she struggled free. She refused to believe he was dead. “Charlie!” she turned him over, his face long and contorted. She didn’t care, pressing her lips and blowing, trying to breathe some life into him. More hands, firm and determined, pulled her away, but not before she snatched something from Charlie’s hand. A notepad, something scribbled in ink. The last message from Charlie.
The guys escorted her out of the room while one of them called 911, though Kate already heard sirens. Finally, she felt tears, and blinked one of them on the piece of paper she’d gotten from Charlie. She couldn’t decipher the message right away. Then, when she did, her heart skipped. Right before he’d died, Charlie had reached for a pen and scratched out the symbol:
#
3.
“He was so young.”
“And so talented. Why do all the good ones die so young?”
“He OD’d, you know.”
“Shame.”
Kate had to get away from the rumoring voices. To hell with those judgmental assholes. She found solace outside, on the Lincoln Terrace.
“Are you okay, Katie?” Eva stood at the doorway. “You sure you want to be here?”
“I have to be here,” Kate summoned the strength to talk. “It’s Charlie.”
“No you don’t,” Eva got close and wrapped an arm around her. “It’s just a funeral. Charlie hated these things. He wouldn’t mind if you skipped out.”
Kate shivered, though the February morning was warmer than normal. She snatched the Virginia Slim from Eva’s mouth and took a drag. “You don’t believe what people are saying, do you?” she coughed and handed the cigarette back. “About Charlie…about how he died?”
Eva looked surprised, both by Kate’s partaking in tobacco, and by her cryptic question. “What am I supposed to believe? Listen, I’m sorry, but it looks like he really did die of an overdose. It was accidental, I’m sure.”
“It wasn’t an overdose!” Kate raised her voice. People inside The Old North Church stared. “It wasn’t an overdose,” she said, quieter, and turned away from the gawkers, letting her eyes travel along the Santa Monica Mountains. “And it wasn’t an accident.”
“What do you mean?” Eva sounded concerned.
She stayed silent for a long moment
“Kate?”
“It’s real,” she showed Eva the notepad. “I found this in Charlie’s hand.”
“What is this? What’s real?”
“The death number. It’s real.”
Eva stared at the piece of paper with unbelieving eyes. She shook her head and shoved the pad back into Kate’s chest.
“What is this bullshit?”
“It’s not bullshit, it’s the death number, and it’s real,” Kate wouldn’t let her sister go, though it was obvious Eva wanted to leave right then and there. Arms locked, Kate told her sister what Dean and Angelle had said about the number of times a person’s name can be spoken, about all the famous people who’d used their own names and died early. She said Charlie had started acting strangely after he’d learned about the death number, and he’d admitted he’d seen the sign, the number symbol. She even told Eva about the demon and its tiny minions. And, finally, she pointed again to the notepad with the symbol scrawled clearly in black, directly from Charlie’s hand.
She told her sister everything, and as she spoke, she noticed Eva seemed under a dark cloud. Her normal, carefree attitude changed immediately, turning somber and dark. Kate attributed it to the upsetting story, but it soon became obvious Eva was bothered by something else.
“Eva? What is it?”
She only raised her shoulders a little,
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