Belmont

Charlie stared at the clock on the wall, it read 3:15. He felt like the clock had read 3:15 for hours now. He is sitting, waiting for… what was it again? Shit, I can’t remember, he thinks to himself as he looks into his cup. It’s tea, When did I start drinking tea? As Charlie looks up, his surroundings are changed and unfamiliar. He is inside what seems to be a tea shop, surrounded by people he doesn’t know. It’s a gathering of some sort. The person at the head of the table is speaking, but Charlie can’t hear him. Charlie looks around to see if he can find anyone he knows, but nothing. Though, the people around have name tags. The two on either side of him are Margaret and Joseph, the person at the head of the table reads Rosalind. She is extremely pretty; long ginger locks with bright green eyes that shine like a peridot. She looks down the table to Charlie, who is staring at her dumbfounded. She tries to get Charlie’s attention by yelling, but he can’t hear her. He can’t hear anyone. Rosalind is fed up with his staring, she gets up from her chair and walks to Charlie. She mouths words, but he can’t make sense of them. Guess it was the wrong time for that because she slapped him, hard. The smack was inaudible to Charlie, but the warmth on his face gave enough. 

He lifts his head up to see her again, to try and speak, but she is gone. Now he sits in the tea shop alone, lights out, no one in sight. A little defeated by the disappearance of Rosalind, Charlie stands up, wobbles a bit, and then walks out into the brisk air. He takes a look to get his surroundings, to figure out where in God’s name he is. Nothing is familiar, but his hearing has returned. The cars rush by, it’s an extremely busy city by the looks of it. People are walking fast and talking faster. Charlie’s head is spinning with all of the movement. He finds a bench to take a seat and try to get his bearings. Someone, a dark haired man with blue eyes like the sea, sits down next to him. Charlie turns to speak with him, but when he opens his mouth, nothing. “Can I help you?” the man asks, but Charlie can’t respond. He starts to try and yell it, “WHERE AM I?” but nothing comes out. The man stands up and mutters as he walks away, “Like the world needs more people like you.” 

Charlie was hoping an accent would stand out, but it was neutral, nothing helpful to pick up and determine where he was. He looks for a clock, and it reads 3:15. It can’t be 3:15! The sun is down and it’s not rising either. It’s got to be 9 or 10. Charlie starts down the street to find a store. If I can’t talk, I’ll write. I need to know where I am. He finally comes to a small convenience store. It’s dinky and in a whole in the wall. If the accent had been in the man’s voice, he would have assumed he was in New York with all the shops that are like this. He walks in, wandering the tiny aisles, hoping to find a pen and pad of paper. Bingo, he spots a small office section with a few supplies left. Amongst them, pens and sticky notes. He grabs a pen and four pads of sticky notes then heads to the counter. The woman behind the counter looks extremely familiar, but the name is faded. She is tall and blonde, dark amber eyes. She looks at Charlie, “Five dollars even,” she says, sticking her hand out. Charlie reaches to his pocket, but the wallet is gone. He pats his pants frantically and looks at the girl apologetically. “No money? Then why try and pay? I ain’t giving nothing away for free!” She looks at him, waiting impatiently for him to do something. Then he does, Charlie looks her dead in the eye, wishes an “I’m sorry” to her, and bolts with the stickies and the pen. 

He’s running down the street and turns into an alleyway to hide. He squats behind a garbage bin which smells surprisingly okay. When he feels the coast is clear, he stands up and looks into the bin. It’s filled with donuts, bagels, cookies, chocolate, everything sweet you could imagine. No wonder the garbage smelled half decent. Then it hits him, it has to belong to a bakery. He walks to the other side of the alley, and there it is, “Belmont Bakery”. At least I have an idea of where I am, but where the hell is Belmont? Charlie thinks as he pushes open the door. He sits down at a small table and starts writing on his sticky notes, “Where am I?”, “Can’t talk”, “How do I get to Georgia?”, “Don’t have money”, “Rosalind?” For some reason, he can’t get the girl who slapped the voice out of him and the hearing into him out of his mind. Charlie looks up at the clock, 3:15 still, and writes another sticky note, “What’s wrong with the clocks?”

He is sitting in the bakery no more than 10 minutes when a man walks in. It’s the guy from the bench! Charlie waves at him and motions for him to come sit. The man is hesitant, but obliges after placing his order, “See you grabbed some supplies for communication,” he says with a chuckle, “What do you want, kid?” 

Charlie writes fast, “What is your name?”, the man responds with “It’s none of your damn business,” then starts looking at the other stickies, “Question 1: you’re in Belmont. Obvious you can’t talk. Question 3: I’ve never heard of Georgia before. No money? Welp, looks like you’re screwed even if I did know where Georgia was. Question 4: don’t know a Rosalind. Question 5: the clocks? The clocks are fine. Anything else you need?” He starts to get up, but Charlie catches his shirt and pleads with his eyes. “Sorry kid, I don’t know how to help you,” He walks to wait for his food, then his name is called, “2 jelly donuts for Charlie” Charlie starts writing a note, “I didn’t order anything,” but before he can finish, the man runs over and punches Charlie right between the eyes. 

When Charlie comes to, he can’t see anything. “Must be night time again,” Charlie scares himself. “Was that me? It must be! I have my voice back!” He stands up and feels his way around what he figures is the bakery, but everything is pitch black. He feels his way to the door, grabs the handle and opens it. Still can’t see anything, not even the streetlights. “Oh no,” Charlie says, grabbing his face, “No. No. No. No. NO!” he screams into the street. He begins to sob, sinking onto the pavement. It’s warm, and Charlie notices that the rest of his body feels warm too. Must be daytime he thinks to himself. He feels a hand on his back and whips around, trying to strike whatever was there. “Woah tiger, just trying to help.” Charlie is hesitant, but something is calming about the voice he hears, so he reaches out his hand. “I can’t see, you’re going to have to help,” he tells the person. The voice sounded feminine, but he couldn’t be sure. “I got you,” she says as her hand wraps around his. 

They wander, Charlie telling his story of utter confusion while this person, whoever they may be listens. “I never got your name, I’m Charlie,” he says as he puts out his hand for a handshake. He hears nothing in return, “Hello?” he says to the darkness. Nothing. Back to wandering alone in a town you don’t know, huh? He starts to walk and BAM, straight into a telephone pole. When he comes to, he isn’t anywhere near Belmont, but in his room at home. He feels his head, still a pretty bad bump. “Couldn’t have been a dream, unless I hurt myself for real?” He shakes it off, and goes to open his door. It’s locked, from the outside. 

Charlie starts to bang on it, but the door is rubber. He looks around and realizes that where he is isn’t his room, but a decoy place to look like his room. He yells and screams, hoping someone will give him answers, but he is left with nothing but a sore throat and a pounding head. “What the hell is going on?” He mutters to himself, sitting back on the bed, feeling his heart that is like a racehorse. He lays back to stare at the ceiling, but that is faked too. It looks like the ceiling of a theater: wires, bars, lights. Before he can question anything, he fades back into sleep, into Belmont Bakery, where people are waiting for him.