Pieces of Charlie

By Winter McKnight

Charlie Munroe had been a nobody all her life. And when she is found in the ditch, more dead than alive, she becomes a nobody once again.

Seventeen-year-old Charlie was shunned at school. Trailer trash. Second-hand Charlie is what they called her. It was time for her to make a choice. She chooses to leave, to run away from it all, and never look back. To chase a dream, and maybe find herself. When a motorcycle accident leaves her battered and unconscious, she becomes a nobody again.

Left for dead in the ditch… like trash. Something no longer needed. Or wanted. Someone else's problem.

The doctors consider it a miracle that she is even alive. She is transferred to a long-term care facility where she lies in a coma as her body heals. More than a year later, she awakens... another miracle. Or is it? Amnesia has erased everything. No one knows her. She doesn't even know herself. No one cares.

Except for Danny—the young custodian who cleans her room daily. And who reads to her in his spare time. And plays music. The man who brings her back from her twilight existence.

Does she deserve a third miracle? Is it too much to ask that her memory return? All she has from her past is a bracelet on her wrist with the name Casey spelled out in wooden letters. It's written on her chart. So that is who she becomes. Now all she needs to do is fill in the blanks, to put the pieces of her puzzled life together. And find out who she really is. Or was...
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Books Under The Stairs
• Release date: Jun 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223346197

Book preview

By Winter McKnight

This novel’s story and characters are fictitious. Certain long-standing institutions, agencies, and public offices are mentioned, but the characters involved are wholly imaginary

Copyright © 2023 Winter McKnight

Published by Books Under The Stairs

All song lyrics are the property of the author

and may not be reproduced in any manner.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

DEDICATED TO

VICKI

WHO SUPPORTED ME.

WHO WAS ALWAYS THERE.

WHO NEVER COMPLAINED.

WHO ENCOURAGED ME.

WHO HAD FAITH IN ME.

WHO WAS EVERYTHING.

Table of Contents

The Girl in the Ditch

––––––––

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

The Girl in the Ditch

The stars tumble by in slow motion. Air whistles past, and I can hear cracking noises. It repeats, over and over. How many times? I lost count. Then it stops and overhead a falling star passes by, very slowly. It’s so beautiful and I want to go there and be with it.

But I can’t yet, because I’m still here. And there is a rumbling sound nearby. It’s the motorcycle. I’m sure.

But why am I here? Why am I on the ground, looking up at the stars?

Oh, no.

Who said that? Is someone here? It was a man’s voice. Where am I?

The pain comes suddenly, and not from any single part of me. But from everywhere.

Make it stop! I can’t take it.

Help... me...please... help... me. Oh my God—that’s my voice!

A hand brushes my cheek. It’s  a man, and he looks sad. His trembling fingers lock around mine.

I’m here, he says.

Something trickles into my mouth. I squeeze his hand, and again hear my own voice.

Don’t... leave me.

Now I begin to float, above myself. How is that possible?

The ambulance will be here soon. His voice sounds distant. I am drifting away.

Is this what it’s like to die? I feel no pain now.

He says something, but I’m not there anymore. My body is on the ground, but somehow I am watching from above. I can go back but I choose not to.

I am dying.

I know it, and I accept it. It feels good to let go of the hurt. I look one final time at them, and my only hope is that I haven’t caused him grief, or suffering.

I follow the shooting star, flying after it. Into the light. I am at peace.

Chapter 1

Death Card

The Eight of Swords represents

feeling stuck in a rut or repeating a cycle.

IT WAS A BLAZING HOT day in Minot, North Dakota. So hot that the tar in the cracks of the roads bubbled. Days like this were common in the upper mid-west in the summer, with temperatures soaring to record highs for days on end. It was perfect weather for the State Fair, and it looked like all 48,500 of Minot’s citizens had descended upon the fairgrounds.

Shorts, hats, bottled water, and plenty of sunscreen were the order of the day. Except for someone like seventeen-year-old Charlie Munroe, who had an image to uphold. As the hard-rocking, caustic, rebellious lead singer for the punk rock band, Burnt Offerings, Charlie had to look the part both on-stage and off. That’s why she wore low-slung, tight jeans, a midriff-revealing tank top, a studded belt, a studded leather collar, leather wristbands, and a razor blade on her necklace. Along with the studded eyebrows, bleached hair, and black lipstick, she struck an imposing figure. She looked like a tough girl—the kind you wouldn’t want to mess with.

Charlie turned a corner and bumped into a little girl, knocking her to the ground. The child sat up and looked at Charlie, and her eyes became wide as saucers.

Mom! screamed the little blonde girl. They’ve landed!

The mother hurried over, picked up the child, and caressed her head, then turned to Charlie and smiled.

I’m sorry, said the mother. You know how little kids can be.

Charlie’s appearance was intended to have an effect on people, and it worked well. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just her teenage audience who were subjected to her shock-rock image. Often, people on the street stopped and took a second look at her, sometimes pointing her out to their friends so they could all have a good look. She could only imagine what they thought of her, and what they said about her behind her back. Other times, people would pretend to ignore her, and when she passed them by, they would turn and stare. She had caught more than one person doing exactly that. She hated to be prejudged like that, without having a chance to talk to people and show them that under all the body piercings and the leather she was just a normal person.

Reactions like that from adults, she could handle. But what bothered Charlie the most was when little kids reacted negatively to her. She knew children weren’t very good at concealing their emotions, and shocking them certainly wasn’t part of her game plan. Sure, she was a rebel. And sure, she was a brash punk. But that was only an act.

Inside she was still Charlie—the girl from the wrong side of the tracks, the kid with the hand-me-down clothes. Second-hand Charlie, that’s what they used to call her in high school. Poor as she was, though, Charlie had a heart of gold.

No, she said, walking over to the mother and child. I’m the one who’s sorry. I don’t blame her one bit for being scared.

She leaned in closer to the child, who was cowering in her mother’s arms, and slowly reached out and stroked the child’s hair. The girl appeared to be about seven or eight years old, and she had the most beautiful blue eyes that Charlie had ever seen.

The child turned to face Charlie, but still kept close to her mother, and Charlie noticed she was wearing a red t-shirt with a slogan on the front that read Kid’s Day at the Fair. She recognized it as a project that brings children from low-income households to the State Fair, a project that Charlie herself had taken part in when she was a kid. Knowing that this little girl was from a disadvantaged home struck a chord with her, and she knew she must do more than just say ‘sorry’ and walk away.

Hey, don’t be afraid, said Charlie. This is only makeup I’m wearing for a show I’m doing. Sort of like dressing up for Halloween, only I do it every night. Look, when the show’s over, I can take it all off and I put on normal clothes again. See.

She removed one stud from her eyebrow to show the little girl. The little girl shook her head and tucked her face a little more into her mother’s shoulder. Charlie wanted to do something for the girl and looked around for help. She saw it a few steps away. On the midway.

Hey, said Charlie. What if I won you a giant stuffed animal? Would we be friends then?

Maybe, said the girl.

Oh, that’s not necessary— began the mother.

No, please, said Charlie. I want to, okay?

She led the mother and child over to the midway game booth and handed the barker five bucks. It was a game where you had to throw a baseball at standing plates. If you break three plates with three baseballs, you win your choice stuffed animal.

Charlie picked up the ball, rolled it around in her hands a bit, then turned at a slight angle to the target plates. She drew the ball up to her chest with both hands, tucked her chin in, and narrowed her eyes. In her mind, she was fourteen years old again, back on the pitcher’s mound, and she was wearing her fast pitch team colors.

She wound up and threw a strike that shattered the first plate. It hit like thunder and a few people stopped to watch.

You got quite the arm, young lady, said the barker.

Pitcher, fast pitch. State champs.

Charlie stole a glance towards where first base would be if she were playing a baseball game, almost as though she were holding a runner. She looked at the little girl and winked. The girl gave a half-smile back. Then Charlie threw a sidearm pitch that took out the second plate. A lot of people had now stopped on the midway and were watching.

Just one more plate for your choice, said the barker sadly.

The girl was at Charlie’s side and excited.

Have you picked out the stuffed animal you want yet? she asked the girl.

That big brown one up there! The girl pointed to the biggest one of them all. Charlie looked up at the huge stuffed teddy bear, thinking that’s the one she would also have chosen.

Good, said Charlie, cuz I’ve picked out the plate I want, too. She straightened and pointed at one all by itself in between the two she had already smashed. That one right there in the strike zone. She cranked out a fastball that smashed the plate to smithereens.

The little girl jumped up and down as the crowd cheered. The barker scratched his head, thinking it was going to be a long night.

I’ll take that big brown stuffed bear up there, said Charlie. The barker took it down and handed it to Charlie, who turned and presented it to the little girl. The girl hugged Charlie and took the stuffed animal in her arms, smiling.

Thank you so much, said the mother. I don’t even know your name.

Charlotte, but everybody calls me Charlie.

Nice to meet you, Charlie, said the mother. Then she turned to her daughter and said, Casey, say thank you to Charlie.

Thank you, Charlie.

You’re welcome, Casey. She watched mother and daughter walk away.

Suddenly the little girl came running back, pulled a beaded bracelet off of her wrist, and handed it to Charlie. It had the name Casey spelled out in wooden beads.

It’s a friendship bracelet, said Casey. "You gave me Charlie Bear, so I wanted to give you something, too."

"Charlie Bear? said Charlie. Nice name."

Charlie started to tuck the bracelet into her pocket, but Casey grabbed her and tugged her hand.

You have to wear it on your wrist, said Casey. All the time.

Okay, I’ll wear it on my wrist.

All the time, insisted Casey.

All the time, agreed Charlie, as she slipped it onto her wrist. "Thank you, Casey. You and Charlie Bear take good care of each other."

Casey ran back to her mom, skipping along the midway, clutching the giant stuffed animal.

Charlie watched them for a minute or two until she lost them in the midway’s crowd. She felt good about what she had done, but she wondered if what she was doing with her life was worth it. Was this the way to reach her goals? By dressing up like some zombie and screaming her lungs out on stage while the band did their best to shatter everyone’s eardrums? She didn’t know the answer. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure what her goals were, but she knew that right now, singing with the band was the only option available. Maybe in the future things would change, but tonight, on the free stage of the State Fair, she would once again be the screaming leather-clad zombie.

CHARLIE STROLLED DOWN the midway, oblivious to the crowds and the smells and the noise. She was alone in her thoughts, in her own little world. Throwing the baseball at those plates had brought back a lot of memories, both good and bad. Actually, a lot more terrible memories than good ones. Sure, all the Minot High kids at the State Championships had cheered and went wild when Charlie struck out the last opponent and sealed the victory for the home team. But she knew they were just caught up in the moment, and she had been sure that the next day at school they would forget what Charlie had done on the diamond. And she just knew she would once again be the poor kid from the seedy trailer park that nobody wanted to be friends with. And she had been right. Within twenty-four hours, she went from a hero on the field to being unwanted and forgettable.

Charlie blinked back a tear, but another one right behind it escaped and roll down her cheek. She wiped it off with her finger, then glanced left and right to make sure no one had noticed. It wasn’t what had happened to Charlie when she was growing up that bothered her so much. It was what that little kid Casey would have to face in her young life that had brought on the tears.

Life was often unfair, she thought. She wished she had a way of changing things. In fact, change is just what she hoped was on her horizon, for she didn’t know how much longer she could continue with the way her life was unfolding.

If only she could be sure that things would get better. Surely her luck would change if she had something positive to hold on to, to keep her spirits up.

After all, she thought, I’ve paid my dues.

All she needed now was a glimmer of hope.

Charlie stopped, finding herself facing a small tent off to the side of the midway, kind of off the beaten track, in an area where few people ventured.

There was a banner over the tent which read ‘Tarot Readings’. Below it was a photograph of a mysterious-looking woman with dark, curly hair holding a deck of peculiar cards in her hands. Every finger on the woman’s hand had a gaudy ring on it. The caption under the photograph read, ‘Anastasia will answer your questions or reveal your future’.

Charlie had always been one to try the unusual, and today she needed to hear something positive about her future. She had been having a lot of conflicting thoughts about the band, especially the songs they played, as well as her future.

Maybe, she thought, this gypsy card reader can tell me when things are going to take a turn for the better—if they ever will.

Charlie moved the heavy purple curtain aside with her hand and entered the tent, which was lighted only by several candles on a table. On the table, beside the candles, was a deck of cards similar to the ones in the photo. A shadowy figure sat behind the table, sprinkling something that looked like twigs and crushed leaves into a glass of steaming liquid. Charlie cleared her throat, and when the figure looked up, Charlie saw it was the woman from the photograph outside the tent.

Please sit down, my dear, said the woman, in a raspy voice that fit perfectly with her weathered face. She motioned to a velvet-covered chair in front of the table.

Charlie sat down and watched as the woman returned her attention to the glass, slowly and methodically stirring the concoction.

A full reading is twenty dollars, said the woman, without looking up. You can either ask one specific question, or I can tell you what the future holds for you.

What are you mixing in that glass? asked Charlie.

The woman turned to Charlie, cocked an eyebrow, and studied her for a moment.

It’s not a potion. I’m not planning on turning you into something other than what you are... whatever that is.

Ouch, mocked Charlie.

It’s an herbal tea, offered the woman. It has dandelion and beeswax in it, as well as some other things that help rejuvenate the spirit and relieve the tensions that build up during the day. The dandelion is especially good at reducing stress. By the way... I won’t be charging you for that question.

Well, if you can in fact see the future, said Charlie, you already know that I wouldn’t be paying for that question, anyway.

The old woman offered the glass to Charlie. Would you like a drink?

I think I’d rather eat gopher brains, answered Charlie.

You seem to have a bit of an attitude, young lady, said the woman.

Is that a professional opinion? Or is that based on my bleached blonde hair, the three studs in my eyebrow, and my black lipstick?

Hmm, mumbled the woman. Gonna need more dandelion. And she added a little more to her tea.

The woman set her tea side, then drew a deep breath and picked up the cards. She withdrew one and placed it face-up on the table, and handed the rest of the deck to Charlie. Would you like to know what the future holds for you? she asked. I know I certainly can’t wait.

Charlie took the cards and held them, not quite knowing what to do with them. She looked at the woman, wrinkled her brow, and shook her head a little.

Just shuffle the deck and then cut it three times, said the woman, and she tapped on the table. Put them here.

Charlie did as the woman asked, then leaned in closer so she could get a good look at what would happen next. The woman gathered the three piles of cards and assembled them back into a single deck.

Suddenly, it seemed to get darker and quieter in the small tent. Despite the heatwave outside, Charlie felt a chill creep over her, and her body trembled.

This card represents you, said the woman, pointing to the card that she had taken out of the deck earlier. It is the Princess of Wands.

Princess is a good start, thought Charlie, feeling a little more positive.

The woman then began turning cards over and placing them face-up on the table. She placed the first card across from the Princess of Wands, the following four to the left, right, top, and bottom of that, and finally the last four in a vertical column on the right side. The woman studied the cards intently for a moment, shaking her head slightly, and then looked at Charlie. She stared as if she was trying to see inside her, to gain some insight into what the cards signified for this young girl.

Charlie looked too, and although she knew nothing about Tarot cards, she recognized one card immediately. The Death Card. The positive feeling she had felt a moment ago left her as Charlie held her breath. Both Charlie and the old woman stared at the Death Card, and both looked up at the same moment and their eyes met.

The woman blinked first, then looked away. When she turned back to look at Charlie, her wrinkled face appeared to have aged a few decades, and it sent another shiver up Charlie’s spine.

Tell me my future, said Charlie, her voice wavering. And... and don’t forget the Death Card.

The old woman took another deep breath, gathered her composure, and began to tell Charlie what the Tarot cards revealed about her future life.

This card lying across from the Princess of Wands is the two of swords, began the woman. It means that you will be faced with a choice, an alternative. You must decide between two courses of action. The first of the four cards surrounding the Princess is the Tower card, and it tells me that there will be a sudden change in your life. Rest and recovery are the meanings of the four swords on the second card. The third card is the eight of swords, and it lies in the position that shows something in your past. Its meaning is that of the missing piece of the puzzle.

The woman paused and looked at Charlie.

Keep going, said Charlie. Tell me about the Death card.

The fourth card— and she hesitated a moment. The fourth card is the Death Card, and it lies in the position of immediate future. Rarely does the Death Card mean death in the literal sense. In fact, it can mean many things. Such as a closing of one door and the opening of another, or putting the past behind you and embarking on a new future.

But it can mean death, can’t it? asked Charlie.

Yes, it can. It is, after all, the Death Card. But the rest of the cards in the spread don’t support an actual death. Shall I continue? asked the woman.

Charlie nodded her head slowly and swallowed hard.

These four cards in the vertical column represent advice, home, hope, and outcome. The first of the four is the Lover’s card, advising you to find out what you truly care about.

The woman looked up and peered deep into Charlie’s eyes.

It could be a person or something you are passionate about. She continued deciphering the arrangement of cards on the table. The next card is in the home position, and it is the five of cups. It means to say goodbye. The third card, in the hopes position, is the nine of cups, which means that your wishes will come true.

Yes! said Charlie, pumping a fist in the air. I knew it!

The last card, representing your long-term future, is the Wheel of Fortune card. It means that you may witness something like a miracle, or that something miraculous may occur in your life.

So, it’s all good, right? asked Charlie, as she pushed the Death Card to the back of her mind. She was definitely upbeat now after hearing that her wishes would all come true.

"It is an interesting arrangement of the cards. Very interesting. I’ve never seen one quite like this before. I would interpret it to mean that soon you will face a choice, an important choice. Deciding which path to choose will determine how your life will unfold. Because of the choice, there will be a radical change in your life, followed