A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two

Chapter Thirteen

Sitting in the overstuffed chair nearest to the fireplace, the only thing Charlotte could focus on was how cold she was. Shivering in her seat she bundled herself in a blanket and perched herself on the edge of the chair, reaching her hands towards the fire, inching ever so carefully closer to the flames.

It was strange — the fire was blazing, she was nearly touching the bright flames, but for the life of her she couldn't get warm.

Must be chilled to the bone.

When she had been a child Polly had always warned her about coming in from playing outside before she became chilled to the bone. "You'll catch a chill right to the bone, young lady! Now get yourself inside before you get sick."

The warning had come whether is was winter or summer, spring or fall. Causing Charlotte to be of the opinion Polly hadn't a clue what being 'chilled to the bone' actually entailed.

As she inched her hands even closer to the licking flames, scooting her bum to the very edge of her seat, a pounding on the front door to her left caused her to jump to her feet, nearly falling face first into the blaze of fire.

Without pause, the pounding continued on and on as Charlotte righted herself, smoothing her shirt into her trousers. Stepping around the sofa, Charlotte turned to her left, to look through the open doors that lead to the kitchen — and beyond that, the shop — checking to see if anyone else were on the house.

Rats. No one was at the table. She wanted to press on through the doors, to check the shop and Tommy's office, but her body wouldn't let her. She tried to force her body to lean in, but she couldn't make even the slightest movement in her desired direction. Then turning — as if unable to stop herself — Charlotte moved towards the door and the sound of the continuous pounding.

Pausing with her hand on the door handle she squeaked out, "Who's there?"

No response. Only the continued pounding.

Taking in a breath, she cleared her throat and repeated herself, "I asked you a question! Who is it?"

No answer from the other side of the door, but she did hear Tommy hollering from behind her, "Enough of that racket, Charlie! Make it stop before I come out there and do it meself."

Rolling her head she sighed at Tommy's threat. She wasn't even the one making the noise. Whoever this ass was pounding on their door was about to get a face full of her fist.

Swinging the door open, she found the words were leaving her mouth before she even recognised the figure, "What the fuck do you want?!?"

"Can't a father take his own daughter out for a pint?"

Looking up into the towering figure's face she grew confused, "Da?"

His face came into focus and he grinned down at her, "The one and only, my girl."

She was frozen in place. She didn't remember him being so tall, last she saw him — back when Tommy was throwing him out of their house — he was about as tall as Arthur. But now he held the figure of a tree, towering over her, casting a shadow that engulfed her. She also had to stifle the sudden urge to inform him that she was not — nor had she ever been — 'his girl.' She had to admit that Tommy was right about one thing, their father had not been around to raise her. As much as she yearned to know him, he hadn't earned the privilege to call her 'his girl.'

Stuttering as her thoughts overwhelmed her, she questioned him, once again, "What– Why– How– I mean... What are you doing here?"

Chucking good-naturedly, her father informed, "It's me own house, ain't it? I've come home — I'm here to stay."