A gripping story about learning to live again after abuse.
For Charlie, the basement is home. He's being punished. He doesn't mean to leave—Father wouldn't allow it—but when Charlie is accidentally thrust outside, he awakens to the alien surroundings of a world to which he's never been exposed. Though haunted by fear of the basement and his father's rage, Charlie embarks on a journey toward healing and blossoms when he becomes an unconditionally loved and loving member of the right foster family. This carefully crafted and authentic portrayal of Charlie's emotional and physical abuse is gracefully matched by Susan Shaw's inspiring and deeply moving story of recovery.
Awake.
A bed? What?! Oh, right.
I want to go home. To the basement. That’s where I need to be. With the window well, the two–wheeled wagon. The steps to the kitchen where I hear my parents together. The smell of coffee. The chance of living upstairs again. If I could, I’d wrap those crumbling basement walls around me
Clip–clunk! Clip–clunk! A tall, tall lady with noisy shoes comes into my room. I look at her feet. Red. My mother doesn’t wear red shoes. I didn’t know anyone did. Her shoes make my eyes hurt way into my head.
"Hi," she says, and sits down on a chair by my bed.
Why is she here? I’m not supposed to see people. That’s what Father says. Or, at least, they’re not supposed to see me.
"My name’s Dr. Leidy." My head slowly pounds around her words. "I’m a psychologist. That means I help people feel better inside their heads and help them answer questions about what bothers them."
I don’t understand what she’s talking about.
"What’s your name?"
She shouldn’t be talking to me. That’s against the rules. But she found me. I wonder if that will make a difference when Father asks. Either way, I don’t want to talk to her with my head hurting and hurting and hurting.
"We don’t know your name," says Dr. Leidy.
So? You’re not supposed to know it. You’re not supposed to see me. I’m invisible. Why does this lady have to talk to me when my head hurts? She has to already know my name since my parents sent me here.
Maybe this is a test. Like the spider. I’m getting used to the spider. Same as I got used to my shoulder hurting. Maybe I have to get used to my head hurting, too.
Anyway, my name’s Charlie. I know that. She knows that. So that must not be the answer. Maybe I’m not supposed to answer. Maybe I’m supposed to know something else. Which is it?
I look at Dr. Leidy. She smiles and waits. She and the spider both wait.
Here goes.
"Charlie," I say, and cringe against the smack. I told you not to speak! But—But nothing! There is no smack.
"Are you afraid, Charlie?"
I look at Dr. Leidy. She hasn’t moved. Her gray eyes are steady on mine. I’m not sure I like that. I look away to the spider. She’s getting darker. Her legs move all around her body.
"No," I say. Can’t ever say you’re afraid. But I am. All the time.
"You’re safe here, Charlie. No one’s going to hurt you."
Except the spider. OK, I’m not thinking about the spider. She’s just there in her web. Like the window is there. Not the window well.
"What’s your last name?"
Last name? This one I don’t know at all. What’s that mean? The name I had before it was Charlie?
Dr. Leidy turns her head sideways to look at me.
"Do you know your last name?"
Did I ever have another name? I must have. But what is it? Charlie’s the only name I remember.
"Charlie." That’s what I say.
Dr. Leidy writes something on a brown clipboard. Father has a clipboard, but his is black. I wonder what Dr. Leidy writes. Was my answer OK? I can’t tell by her face.
"I’m writing things down so I don’t forget them, Charlie," she says to me. "Do you know your phone number?"
"My head hurts." I push my hand against the pound–pound–pound!
"I’m sorry, Charlie. I have to ask these questions. I’ll stop soon."
I shrug my good side and look away, still pushing against my head. Pound, pound, pound!
"What’s your telephone number?"
"Telephone number?" But there is no number. Just a telephone. "We don’t have a telephone number."
"All right. Where do you live?"
I look around the room, avoiding the spider’s corner. Isn’t this where I live now? It’s where I am. It’s where I’m supposed to be. That’s what the lady, Ellie, said. So I live here. Not the basement.
"Here?" Is that what she wants?
Dr. Leidy puts down her clipboard.
"Charlie. This is King’s Hospital. No one lives here. It’s a place for sick people."
"Oh. Well . . ."
"Last night the police found you sleeping outside—almost in the street. The police brought you here."
Police? Ellie was the police? She wasn’t like the police I remember from the lake house. That one was a man with a real deep voice. I could tell by his voice that he liked to laugh, but he wasn’t laughing when my father was talking to him. He wasn’t laughing while he talked to me. I kind of wished he would. I wished everybody would stop looking so upset and laugh. Then we could be happy again.
Dr. Leidy keeps talking. "No one knows who you are. If you tell us, that will help us get you to a safe place."
"Back with my parents, you mean? But they sent me here. In my father’s car. Besides, I told you. I’m Charlie. That’s who I am."
A shadow falls from the doorway.
"Dr. Leidy?" It’s a man’s voice. I’m glad he doesn’t come into the room. His shadow is so big, and his voice is so low.
"Just a minute." Dr. Leidy leaves her seat to talk to the man in the hallway. His voice rumbles like Father’s, but it’s not Father’s. I can catch some of his words, but I don’t care at first. Then I know he and Dr. Leidy are talking about me.
"Terrible thing . . . nobody’s seen him there . . . terrible . . . parents . . . shoulder . . . abandoned?"
They think my parents are terrible. But they aren’t. I love my parents, and I know they love me.
I’m bad, that’s all. I’m being punished, but my parents would never hurt me. Well, my
shoulder—that was an accident. Father didn’t mean to throw me so hard
against the wall. He said so. Well, I know he meant to say so, but I couldn’t
help crying at first—Stop that noise!—and he really hates it when people cry.
When I cry. So I—so I held it down. I made myself stop. By then, he’d left
the house to walk. That’s what I make him do—walk and walk and walk when I mess up.
After he’d left, Mother touched my shoulder. "Are you all right, Charlie?" and I gasped, backing away.
"I’ll go lie down," I said, through the white–lightning jabs of pain. "It will be better soon."
Because I didn’t want to worry her any more than she was. There was nothing she could do.
"I’m so sorry, Charlie."
"I know."
"Someday it will be better. I promise."
"Sure." And I believed her. Once it was better, and it would be again. If I could just stop being bad. . . .
I didn’t bother my parents for a long time after that. I didn’t feel too good. My shoulder hurting made me feel sort of sick to my stomach, so I stayed in my room on the bed. Sometimes my mother would look in on me, but Father was always calling her to get him something.
Don’t baby the boy. Leave him alone.
It hits me.
My parents didn’t send me here. They don’t know where I am. They must be so worried because even though they don’t see me while I’m in the basement, they know I’m there, all right. Especially Mother. But now I’m not there, and they don’t know where I am. I have to find them.
I’m not supposed to be here. That was a mistake. My mistake—because I went outside. Because I let the door slam and couldn’t get back in. My mistake. I’m always messing up.
Father warned me about going outside. He never let me go there. I knew the reason, he said. Danger.
I tried to listen, tried to do what he said.
But outside was where the birds were. It was where you could walk
forever. The air was fresh, and a gust of it could make you want to run.
Danger was a meaningless word—an interesting sound. I went outside whenever
I could until—
The first chance I get, I’m getting out of here. I’ll find our house, figure out a way to get back in the basement. My parents will be so glad to have me back, they’ll let me live upstairs again. They’ll make the spider stay in the basement. And I won’t ever go outside again. I promise.
Dr. Leidy comes back to her seat. She smiles at me.
"Does your shoulder hurt?" she asks.
The spider moves. I don’t answer.
"The doctor wants to have it X–rayed when you’re feeling a little better," she says.
Whatever that means. "Do you remember hurting it?"
"It’s fine," I say. But my head isn’t.
Dr. Leidy nods her head and writes something on her pad.
"Lunch is coming," she tells me. "The doctor says you can eat." She looks up at the coatrack thing. "You won’t be needing the IV much longer."
Lunch? I haven’t had lunch since—well, I can’t eat it. What if Father
found out? An apple here or there from Mother, OK. Even that was risky. But a whole lunch—when other people know? Beyond risk.
"Charlie," says Dr. Leidy, "we haven’t heard from anybody trying to find you."
I shrug with my good shoulder. My parents can’t do that. It would call attention. Danger.
"Why do you think that is, Charlie?"
I shrug again. "Father doesn’t like fusses."
"Fusses." Dr. Leidy’s voice is matter–of–fact.
I only repeat what I said. "Father doesn’t like fusses."
Or messes, I could add. If I wasn’t so clumsy . . . That was the main problem before the basement. I spilled things. And I asked questions. If it had been only that, it wouldn’t have been so bad–maybe only a night or two in the basement. I’d been through that.
But I sneaked outside. Outside with the blue–and–white skies, the birds, and the air moving, pulling on my hair. It was so wonderful that day with the air just getting warm, with the earth smelling of mud and new leaves growing. I wanted to stay outside forever. When Father appeared on the back porch, I was on the grass, jumping and laughing. I stopped right quick.
Get back in here. I told you—
But Father—
Do you think we need the neighbors asking questions? Smack! None of their business who lives here. Smack! Now, sit over there until I tell you otherwise.
I bite my lip. Sometimes it was awful hard to be good enough. I was bad to sneak outside. I knew that before I did it, so I was bad two ways. I know the reason, but I still don’t understand it.
"Charlie."
Oh. Dr. Leidy’s still here with those quiet, steady eyes. Not worried–looking like Mother. Not like Mother. Quiet, steady eyes.
"Do you want to leave the hospital?"
I nod.
"Then see if you can stay with me here. Tell me why the police found you in the street."
I look at Dr. Leidy. "I don’t know why," I say. "I got outside, and–and I lost the basement house. I don’t know where it is now."
"You lost your house?" Her steady eyes have narrowed. Doesn’t she believe me?
"Yes."
"We’ll find it," she says, nodding. "We’ll find it for you all right. Can you describe it?"
"Well, um, there’s a kitchen and a back porch and a basement and, and um—" What else?
"There’s pine trees—never mind the pine trees. But there’s a um—well, there’s a
basement. There’s more, but I can’t think of anything else. The basement had a—" I stop.
I’m not mentioning the spider. "There’s a basement."
"OK, Charlie," she says. "You’re not feeling too good;
I can tell that. I have one more question. What are your parents’ names?"
That’s an easy one. "Robert and Trish."
"Thanks, Charlie. That’ll help. We’ll talk again when you’re feeling a little better."
"My head hurts."
"I know." She shakes her head. "I’m going to stop bothering you now so you can rest."
Good. I feel real tired. I push the heel of my hand onto the pounding place again.
Dr. Leidy stands up. But then I think of something.
"I can draw pictures," I say. "Pictures of Mother and Father. Then you’d know who they are."
"Great, Charlie. I’ll give you some paper, and I’ll come back after you’ve had a chance to
make your pictures, okay?" She hands me a pad with a pen. "But rest up, first, Charlie," she says.
"That’s the most important thing." Then—Clip–clunk! Clip–clunk!—she starts back for the hall.
But the spider— "Oh!" With Dr. Leidy’s back turned, the spider moves her head so that her eyes are full on mine. "Oh, oh!" I don’t mean to say it, but her eyes hurt my head and stomach so much. "Oh, oh, oh!" The spider, the spider!
Dr. Leidy turns abruptly. "What’s wrong, Charlie?"
I point to the spider. "The spider. Can you make her go away? Please? She’s going to get me."
Dr. Leidy walks back into the room. "A spider?" she asks. "Where?"
I point again. "Don’t you see her? Big and red and all over the corner? She’s looking at me and looking at me." I shiver all over with those eyes on me. I shouldn’t have talked about the spider. She doesn’t like it, and her red gets darker the more she doesn’t like it. "She won’t stop looking at me."
Dr. Leidy stares at the spot, then at me.
She’s big?" Dr. Leidy asks.
"Real big. And she wants to kill me. Ohh . . . can’t you do something?"
Dr. Leidy comes back to sit next to me. She takes one of my hands in both of hers, all cool over my hot one. "Charlie," she says. "You’re having a hallucination. That’s something our minds can make up when our bodies are sick. Your mind is making up the spider because of your fever, I bet."
"You don’t see the spider?" That can’t be true.
Dr. Leidy shakes her head. "No. She’s not real."
She is, too. That’s what I want to say, but I don’t. It’s too hard over the pounding, and Dr. Leidy says she can’t see her. But she’s there. How come Dr. Leidy can’t see her? Is this some kind of test, too?
Dr. Leidy looks down at me with those calm, steady eyes. I like how calm and steady they are. I feel like I could say anything, and those eyes would stay calm and steady.
"But," she goes on, "she feels real to you."
Real, real, real.
"Picture this, Charlie." She lets go of my hand and makes a sweeping motion with her arms. "There’s a piece of glass I’m putting here between you and the spider. It goes from wall to wall and floor to ceiling. Can you imagine that?"
I nod, looking at where it is.
"You can’t see the glass because it’s so clean and clear, but it’s there, and the spider is stuck on the other side of it."
I nod again, trying to put little shiny places on the glass to make it more true. The spider can’t get through. Nothing can.
"Do you feel better?" she asks.
"Yes. Some. Still scared, but not as much."
"You concentrate on that glass," says Dr. Leidy. "Make it as thick and as strong as it needs to be to keep the spider away. That’ll help. If you need more help, push that button to call the nurse." She shows me where to push on something attached to the bed. "You’ll be fine."
Dr. Leidy leaves then, with me concentrating hard on the glass. And a finger on the button.
“Shaw’s simple language and sentence structure effectively contribute to the realism of her psychological tale, even as she avoids a too-vivid description of physical abuse. This affecting, ultimately uplifting examination of a boy’s recovery from extreme child abuse is a stunner and certain to attract readers.”—Kirkus Reviews, starred review
