The Orphans (Orphans Trilogy Book 1) (2 page)

Charlie’s heart fluttered as his anxiety claimed victory. He knew it was unlike Walter to let his mailbox fill up, let alone leave a single message unheard. Charlie chewed on the corner of his mouth while he attempted to answer the questions swirling through his mind. Why hadn’t Walter picked up? Where could he be? Did something happen to him?

Charlie sent Walter a text message asking him where he was and if he was all right. He stared at his phone for a minute. It had never taken Walter more than thirty seconds to respond to one of his messages.

Another minute passed. No reply came.

CHAPTER THREE

The sun had
set by the time Charlie and his grandfather returned to the Kim residence. While it would be considered nice by most anyone’s standards, the three-story Victorian was decidedly outdated compared to the rest of the affluent community, which had undergone a full architectural face-lift over the past decade. Almost all of the old Victorians that had previously dominated the area had been leveled and replaced by Tuscan villas, French chateaus, and the occasional concrete compound.

The Jameses across the street had opted for the latter, sparing no expense on their 15,000-square-foot compound, which even sported a rooftop pool and tennis court. Charlie had encouraged his parents to do the same with their property, but it wasn’t in Alan and Mary’s
dna
. They preferred the charm of their home and had never concerned themselves with keeping up with the Joneses or the Jameses, anyway.

As Grandpa Kim pulled their car into the Kim’s driveway, Charlie found relief not only in the fact that he was finally home and could get started on his work but that Walter’s sedan was parked just ahead of them. Before the car had even come to a complete stop, Charlie threw open his door, leapt from the car, and dashed for the house.

Charlie fruitlessly scoured the downstairs before finding Walter passed out on the back patio, his scrawny body sprawled across a lounge chair. An empty six-pack of beer bottles rested on the adjacent side table; however, Walter gave the appearance of someone who had polished off at least twice as much. His face was flush and his hair was wildly unkempt, even by the low standards he had established for himself.

Walter had frequently insisted to Charlie, or to anyone who would listen, that the average human, over the course of their lifetime, wasted approximately one hundred days fixing their hair. By cutting out the comb, Walter reasoned that he afforded himself more time than everyone else to do the things that he enjoyed, like working on any of his and Alan’s projects. Walter also had a similar theory about sleep, which made finding him in such a deep slumber that much more surprising to Charlie.

Charlie gave Walter a nudge.

Walter jolted awake, nearly falling out of his chair before catching himself. “You trying to start a fight, tough guy,” he said as he slowly gathered his bearings. He had called Charlie “tough guy” ever since Charlie was a little kid. Charlie did the same. A friendly joke between two decidedly not tough guys.

“Maybe,” Charlie said. “Were you here the whole time?”

“Yeah,” Walter said, momentarily averting his eyes. “I’m sorry I skipped out on everything. I just couldn’t stand to see your dad and mom like that.”

“You wouldn’t have seen them, anyway. They kept the caskets closed the whole time.”

“Even still. I’m not good with that kind of stuff.”

It wasn’t just the pain of seeing his friends being buried that had kept Walter away.; he also had no desire to see the other attendees. Everywhere Walter went, everyone asked for his take on the rumors. Just the day before, he had come close to fighting a former colleague outside of a coffee shop for suggesting that Alan had intentionally crashed his car.

“Listen,” Walter said gently, “there’s a chance you might hear some stuff about your parents. But I just want you to know that none of it’s true.”

“What kind of stuff?” Charlie asked.

“You’ll know when you hear it.”

“Well, Terry Heins said—”

Before Charlie could finish, Walter snapped, “Don’t believe one damn word he has to say!”

It was the first time Charlie had ever seen Walter fly completely off the rails, or even get rattled at all. Charlie was so taken aback by Walter’s sudden display of emotion that every muscle in his body reflexively tightened, and for a split second, he actually forgot where he was.

Walter took a moment to calm himself. He apologized for his outburst and then asked what Terry had to say.

Charlie told Walter what Terry had said about Alan being the next Nikola Tesla. Walter agreed with the assessment. Charlie also mentioned the investment Terry had made in their company.

“He did a lot more than invest,” Walter replied.

“Like what?” Charlie asked.

“It’s not for you to worry about,” Walter said. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to cause Charlie any concern. The truth was Walter wasn’t quite sure himself.

“Well, he seems like a great guy to me,” Charlie said. “He gave me his business card and told me to call him if I need anything. He even said he’d give me a summer internship.”

“Let me see the business card.”

Charlie went to retrieve the card but stopped, thinking better of it. “No way. You’re just gonna take it.”

“I won’t take it. Just let me see it.”

“Fine,” Charlie said. He reluctantly dug the card from his pocket, gave it one last hard glance, and then handed it over.

Walter grabbed the card, crumpling it as soon as it met his palm. “The last thing you need is help from Terry Heins. You just have to trust me when I say to avoid him. All right?”

“Whatever.” Charlie rolled his eyes. He had better things to do than get lectured. “Anyway, I have a ton of homework to catch up on, so I’m gonna get moving on that.” Charlie started toward the back door.

“Hey!” Walter called out, halting Charlie. “If you ever need anything, you come to me first. Okay? Of course, that’s assuming it doesn’t have anything to do with girls or sports. In which case, you’re on your own.”

Normally, that would have gotten a solid laugh or at the very least a chuckle out of Charlie, but this wasn’t “normally.” Charlie showed no signs of amusement. He just glared at Walter: Is that it?

Charlie didn’t receive the reaction he had wanted, or any reaction at all. Walter’s attention had already shifted to something else. Charlie watched as Walter considered the business card that was still cupped in his palm, the wheels in Walter’s head clearly turning.

After a moment, Walter slipped Terry’s business card into his pocket. “All right, well, I actually need to take care of some work myself. Gotta get the engine running. For your dad.”

Charlie remembered what Terry had said about telling Walter that he could take as much time off as he needed, but Charlie knew that the suggestion wouldn’t be well received and might just lead to more arguing. So, instead of passing the information along, Charlie said nothing.

Walter continued, “But why don’t you and me get dinner tomorrow? That is, unless you already have something planned.” Walter smirked. He liked to give Charlie a hard time about his planning, always in good fun.

“I don’t know,” Charlie said, still putting up his front. “It depends on how much of my homework I get done.”

“How about I just bring something over, then? We gotta eat, right? These massive physiques don’t fuel themselves.” Walter flexed his pipe-cleaner arms for effect.

Charlie’s mouth turned up ever so slightly.

“Come on. Let it out,” Walter urged, knowing that he’d finally broken through Charlie’s façade.

Charlie shook his head, releasing a wide grin in the process. “That works for me. Just put those guns away.”

“Good call. This is California, after all. And I don’t exactly have a permit.” Walter tugged his sleeves to cover his puny biceps and then opened his arms wide. “Now get in here. I can’t head off without a hug.”

Charlie obliged.

“I love you,” Walter said as he held Charlie tight.

Walter’s words washed away the small amount of animosity Charlie was still harboring. After a moment, he replied, “I love you, too. But now I seriously need to get to work.”

“All right, all right.” Walter gave Charlie one last squeeze, and then let him go. He quickly rounded up all of his empty beer bottles.

“Are you okay to drive?” Charlie said as he gestured to the six-pack in Walter’s hand. “You and Dad used to split that.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It took me almost eight hours to finish. Assuming I’m still tipping the scales at a massive 155 pounds”—Walter quickly did the math in his head—“My blood alcohol is about .021. Even if I lost a couple pounds, which my pants would argue otherwise, I’m still looking at .027, tops.”

“Just making sure,” Charlie said. He trusted Walter’s math and his word, but after what had happened to his parents, he was even more sensitive to the risks of driving, not to mention driving while impaired. “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry. I will. And I appreciate you looking out for me.” Walter tousled Charlie’s hair, turning the teen’s black mop into a mess that matched his own. “Hey! Look at that. Now you look like me.”

“Awesome. That should help keep the girls away.”

“Without a doubt. It’s worked my whole life.”

Charlie and Walter said their goodbyes, and then Walter headed off. The very second that Walter was out of sight, Charlie rushed back inside his house. He snagged a pen that was lying on the kitchen counter, retrieved his Moleskine from his pocket, and quickly scribbled down Terry’s phone number and email address from memory on the front page of the notebook. He turned to the next page, which contained the most recent version of his plan, and added the summer internship to the top of his list.

There was no way Charlie was going to let anyone, or anything, get in the way of his opportunity of a lifetime. That much he knew, or at least he thought he did.

CHAPTER FOUR

With Walter accounted
for and on his way, Charlie was finally able to focus on his homework backlog. Even though Terry had promised him the internship, Charlie knew that it didn’t mean he could just coast. He grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen sink to combat the dehydration that he was no longer able to ignore, and then headed upstairs to get cracking on his assignments.

Charlie’s bedroom was the converted attic on the third floor of the house. Charlie had relocated to the room when Grandpa Kim moved in with the family, but he chose to leave most of his clothes and junk in his old room. All that was in the new room was a bed and nightstand, a desk with his computer, and a throw rug to cover the laminate tile flooring.

The previous owners had failed to properly insulate the room during their partial renovations. As such, it was always warmer or cooler than the rest of the house, and usually the opposite of what one would want it to be. That particular night, it happened to be cooler.

Charlie threw on his Stanford University hoodie and took a seat at his desk. He blew into his hands for extra warmth, and then retrieved his Language Arts folder, having decided it would be best to just get the paper out of the way first. He skimmed over the assignment sheet. His task: Write a four-page essay on the most important moment in his life.

Charlie contemplated his seemingly endless options. He knew better than to go with his first impulse: his conception. Half his class would probably pick their conception or birth, and they all would surely be docked points for their lack of originality. Many would argue that losing his parents was the most important moment in his life, but Charlie had already decided that he wasn’t going to let that affect him.

Charlie turned to the pages of his Moleskine, certain that they held the answer. He ran down his list multiple times but still couldn’t determine which moment was the most important. Arguments could be made for and against each milestone he had planned.

The harder Charlie tried to ascertain the answer to his essay, the further he felt from reaching any resolution, and the more frustrated he became. Before long, he began to sense a dull pain in his forehead. It was as if someone had his frontal lobe in a vise and was slowly cranking the handle.

Charlie knew the feeling well. He had battled stress headaches for much of his childhood. The first one came when he was in the third grade, right before he and his classmates were tested for the Gifted and Talented program. Charlie also knew that unless he did something, the pain would only get worse. So Charlie decided to call it quits on the essay for the time being. Instead, he would just focus on his other assignments and come back to the writing assignment later.

◆
◆
◆

After only a couple of hours in the zone, Charlie had zipped through all of his accumulated math homework. The aching in his head had long since disappeared, and it was time to move on to Biology.

Before cracking his Biology book, Charlie took a quick glance at the clock on his computer screen. It was already 10:16 p.m. While he had been successful in suppressing any thoughts of his parents and focusing on his schoolwork, he couldn’t help but think of them at that moment. It was right around that time of night that his parents would call up to him and encourage him to shut it down and go to bed. They would also wish him goodnight and tell him how much they loved him. “We couldn’t love you more,” they would shout together. It had become their nightly ritual ever since Charlie had moved to his third floor bedroom.

Charlie turned his attention to the stairs that led down to the second floor and the closed door at the bottom of the staircase. A faint light emanated from the crack in the door. He kept his eyes fixed on the entrance for a few moments, just in case, by some miracle, the call might come.

It didn’t.

Charlie sighed and shook his head. He should have known better. Back to work. He flipped to the appropriate chapter in his Biology textbook and determinedly perused the pages.

Charlie was halfway through the second chapter of his required reading when his eyelids started to feel more like sandbags. Hoping to get the blood flowing and milk some more energy from his worn-out body, Charlie stretched his limbs so long that his joints cracked and popped like bubble wrap. A tiny boost followed, but only for a minute. After that, he was worse off than before. With every sentence that his eyes attempted to interpret, it only added more sand to the bags, until the weight had become unbearable.

Charlie decided to shut his eyelids for just a second, but no more than that. He let out a jaw-stretching yawn, folded his arms on the top of his desk, and then rested his head in his elbow crease. He reminded himself of his one-second time limit before drifting off to sleep …

◆
◆
◆

Charlie’s eyes fluttered open. Immediately, he knew that much more than one second had passed. He lifted his head off of his desk and peeked at his computer clock to check how long he had been out. Much to his surprise, the clock claimed that it was now 7:15 p.m. Charlie blinked hard to reset his pupils and checked the clock again—same time. It didn’t make any sense. He’d either magically lost three hours or slept for twenty-one, neither of which seemed plausible.

The clock wasn’t the only thing off. Charlie realized that he was no longer wearing his hooded sweatshirt. In fact, he wasn’t wearing any of his clothes from before. He had somehow switched to athletic shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt. Before Charlie could contemplate the possible reasons for the time difference and his wardrobe change, he was stopped by the sound of rustling and voices coming from downstairs.

“We need to hurry,” a female voice insisted. “We’re going to be late.”

“I’m in no rush,” a male voice responded. “He can wait.”

Charlie instantly recognized the voices—it was his parents. More than just their voices was familiar; so were the words they spoke. Charlie was able to place everything: He had heard them have the exact same conversation just five nights earlier. Charlie concluded that he hadn’t woken up. He was still asleep and was just having some sort of lucid-dream-memory hybrid. Charlie knew how to tell if it was, in fact, a memory. If it was, his mother would be calling his name any—

“Charles Kim, can you please come down here? We’re about to leave.” Mary hailed from the foyer, just as expected.

Charlie smiled. Hearing her speak his name sent a warm rush through his whole body, like he’d just downed the world’s biggest cup of hot chocolate in one massive gulp. Charlie sprung from his desk and sprinted downstairs.

Charlie beamed as he made his way down the steps toward Alan and Mary, who waited in the foyer. Everything felt so real, like Charlie was living it all over again. The only difference—a dire one, at that—was that Charlie knew what would happen when they left. His thoughts jumped to the crash. He knew he had to convince them to stay home, or at the very least, to make sure that they took a different route—only he couldn’t.

As soon as his parents acknowledged his presence, all Charlie could say or think were the same things he’d said and thought that night. “Where are you going?” he asked his mother.

“Your father and I have a meeting in the city,” Mary said.

“I’ll check the traffic.” Charlie pulled up the traffic report on his cell phone and showed his parents that the roads were clear, nothing but green on the digital map. Mary thanked her son.

Alan, who was much more reserved than his usual self, chimed in, “Can you do me a favor, Charlie?”

“Of course,” Charlie said. “Whatever you need.”

“Take a break. At least ten minutes. Heck, go crazy and watch a whole
tv
show or play a video game.”

“I don’t know if I can handle anything that crazy,” Charlie said, half joking.

“I’m serious,” Alan said. “You’ve been pushing yourself really hard lately. I don’t want your headaches coming back.”

Charlie had told his parents that his headaches had gone away for good a couple years earlier, and they seemed to have. But Charlie had hidden from his parents the fact that they had come back stronger after he had started following his plan. The same list of goals that boosted Charlie’s confidence and sense of purpose had also boosted his anxiety. But for Charlie, it was a small price to pay, and the pros far outweighed the cons.

“Your father’s right,” Mary said. “You need to find a balance. You need to enjoy being a kid. You’ll have more than enough time to be an adult later.”

Charlie was used to his parents encouraging him to “enjoy being a kid” and always found their suggestion to be equal parts amusing and ridiculous. He couldn’t imagine many kids’ parents actually telling them to do less work. Charlie figured it was easier for his parents to say; they didn’t know what it was like being a kid these days. When they were in high school, they didn’t even have
ap
classes, and most of their peers took the
sats
once, if at all. Charlie had taken his first practice
sat
in seventh grade and read daily vocabulary sheets ever since. One of his words from that morning had been “appeasement,” and that was the exact strategy he decided to employ.

“If you guys insist,” Charlie said. “I’ll catch
Jeopardy
.”

“Good,” Alan said. He nodded to Mary. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

Alan and Mary took turns hugging Charlie.

“We should be back by ten at the latest,” Mary said as she let go of her son. “But hopefully earlier.”

Alan put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and nodded. “And don’t forget—”

“To take a break,” Charlie sighed, cutting him off. “Don’t worry. I will.”

Alan smiled. “More important, don’t forget that—”

Alan’s reminder ended abruptly; however, he wasn’t interrupted by anyone. His words merely stopped short when Charlie blinked. Charlie would have obstructed the basic autonomic action if he had known what would happen afterwards. In the short amount of time that it had taken for his eyes to reopen, Charlie’s parents disappeared from the foyer.

Charlie’s thoughts scrambled like eggs in a pan. That wasn’t how their conversation had ended. His parents hadn’t pulled off some sort of mid-sentence David Copperfield disappearing act. He knew for a fact that they had both given him hugs, and then he had watched them drive away. This memory he was reliving was all wrong.

As Charlie attempted to figure out what was going on, he realized that he was no longer bound by the constraints of his memory and could finally think and speak for himself.

“Mom! Dad!” Charlie shouted, but there was no response. “Don’t go! Stay!”

Charlie’s body went stiff as he struggled to come up with a solution. Then it dawned on him: the garage. That’s where they had to be, and he might still be able to cut them off. If he got there in time, he could tell them why they couldn’t leave. He could tell them what would happen. Maybe, just maybe, he could save them, if only in his dreams.

Charlie sprinted for the garage and ripped open the door, only he was too late. His father’s
suv
was already gone. Charlie started to hyperventilate. His vision blurred and the whole world began to spin like it was his own tortuous Tilt-A-Whirl.

◆
◆
◆

Charlie shot up from his desk, wide awake and gasping for air. His sweat-drenched clothes were stuck to his body. Charlie was no stranger to nightmares or sleeping problems. Most nights, he would spend at least an hour staring at the ceiling, his mind racing, before his body would finally shut down. Many of those nights, a nightmare would follow. His experience provided him no ease, only the knowledge that of all the terrible dreams his mind had ever conjured, the one that he had just woken from was the worst by far.

It took a minute for Charlie to regain his breath and composure. Once his mind was finally clear, Charlie did his best to remember what his father had told him before they left. But no matter how hard he tried, he was unable to summon Alan’s last five words: We couldn’t love you more.

“We couldn’t love you more,” Alan had said to him before he and Mary had left for their meeting. The same thing they said every night before bed, and had told Charlie multiple times each day, ever since he was a baby. And yet, Charlie had no recollection of his parents ever saying it to him.

In fact, Charlie was so focused on trying to remember his father’s words that it was a moment before it hit him that he had actually forgotten the conversation altogether. He remembered that it had happened, that they were in the foyer, and that Alan and Mary had left for something. But he couldn’t recall where his parents were going, their demeanor, or a single word they had said. It was the last time he’d seen them, it had taken place just days ago, and it was seemingly wiped from his memory.

Charlie’s eyes darted frantically about his bedroom. How was this possible? He almost never forgot anything. He even remembered the combination for his fifth-grade gym lock, which he hadn’t used in years. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but he figured something had to be. The more he considered the cause, the more his thoughts kept pointing in the worst possible direction: He was losing his mind.