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Chapter 49. Let them go
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX
Chapter 49. Let them go
Once the police let them go, Matilda, Cody, and Cole inevitably ran into each other again at the hospital entrance, even though their last conversation had practically been a goodbye. The air between them had become particularly awkward. Furthermore, the exhaustion was more than noticeable on their faces and postures. The only thing Matilda wanted in those moments was to get to her hotel, bathe as best as possible that her wound would allow, and sleep… also as best as that horrible wound would allow.
But before all that, she would have to prepare everything for her departure to Arcadia, to rest for a few days at her mother's house until her health improved. With her arm in this state, it was not advisable to fly, so her most viable option would be a train, which would take perhaps more than a full day to arrive in Los Angeles.
And about her rental car, another complication stood in the way of the psychiatrist's immediate wishes. Due to all the medications they had given her, including the anesthetic that had put her to sleep, and additionally her immobilized right arm, it was also not recommended that she drive, although the distance between that point and her hotel was not so long. However, Cole offered to do it for her since they would be going to the same place anyway. Matilda accepted in a somewhat cold way.
"I'll be staying in Salem, too," Cody pointed out, taking his two companions by surprise.
"Are you sure?" Matilda questioned uncertainty. "What about your…?"
"There's no way I can sleep without having nightmares tonight," he said with some regret. Then he felt his jacket, specifically the pocket inside it, making it sound like a rattle. "I'll have to use my pills. Besides, I'm too exhausted to go all the way to Seattle."
Matilda and Cole said nothing to him. They hoped that he really knew what he was doing.
The drive to Salem was really quiet. Cole had his sight fixed on the road, Matilda was staring thoughtfully out the passenger window, and Cody was fighting not to fall asleep in the backseat; the last thing they wanted was for one of the professor's vivid illusions to appear in front of them right there in the middle of the road. Neither said much, no more than a few random comments, most coming from Cole and none from the Californian woman beside him.
Once they reached the hotel and Cole parked the car in the parking lot, Matilda bolted inside, only offering a terse good night without looking at them. She entered the reception area before anyone stopped or spoke to her, and they quickly lost sight of her. Cole got out soon after, slamming the door with some force as a sign of frustration.
"Remember, it's rented," Cody muttered in a muffled voice, getting down as well. "At least you didn't kick it like that chair."
"I need a drink," the policeman murmured, running his hand over his face.
"I believe you. But I have to see if I can get a room, so…"
Cole waved a hand in the air, signaling him to go confidently. Cody took him at his word and entered the hotel through the same door Matilda had gone through. And once again, Cole was left alone.
He stood to one side of the vehicle for a while, thinking of what to do. Would he go for that drink by himself? Would he take that cigarette he hadn't been able to, or perhaps wanted to, smoke all night? Or would he follow the example of his friends and go straight to sleep? The last option didn't appeal to him, but the first two might.
He took out his pack, took a cigarette between his lips, lit it without hesitation, and began to smoke it calmly, trying to calm down... if that was even possible. After all, nothing in all that situation was worthy of inspiring calm.
He raised his gaze to the starry Salem sky, letting the smoke slowly billow out of his mouth and settle over him like a dirty gray cloud, obscuring the stars for a few moments. Thus it felt as if he had a great dark cloud over his head, waiting for the best moment to drop a heavy rain on him and perhaps some lightning.
"You should consider quitting smoking," he heard a voice abruptly to his right, taking him so by surprise that he jumped to the side in alarm. "It won't do you any good in the long run," added the same voice.
The rugged, somewhat square face of the late Dr. Malcolm Crowe turned to him, offering him a curious, mocking smile. Recognizing it, Cole's initial shock lessened, though it became more of an unusual strangeness. Twice in one day; it was uncommon for Cole to see Dr. Crow so often, not since he was a child.
"Is it a real warning?" It was the first thing that occurred to him to say, although the ghost only answered him with a subtle shrug. A little more confident, Cole leaned back against the car next to his unexpected visitor, but his attitude turned slightly rougher. "Did you know this would happen? The escape, the death of that woman, Eleven…?" Crowe didn't reply. "You could then have warned me much more clearly."
"You know..."
"That it doesn't work like that, yeah, yeah," Cole finished, just before taking another deep drag on his cigarette.
He, more than anyone else, knew that some of the dead could see much further than the living, even into the past or the future. But it wasn't like turning on a television and sitting down to watch a movie. As was the case with those shine ones who had a particular affinity with seeing or feeling what would happen, the information often came to them in pieces, which had to be put together and interpreted later. And yet, there were other times when they could know or sense that something was going to happen, but they didn't have the ability, or perhaps the permission, to pass that information along, even to those like him. So recriminating to that being, who shouldn't even be in that world anymore, for what happened was totally meaningless. The actions of the living were solely the responsibility of the living themselves.
"Do you at least have any advice on what I should do now?" He asked him, somewhat hopeful that Dr. Crowe could at least give him some guidance, as he had in many other moments when Cole had felt just as lost.
He heard him sigh, and a cold sensation ran through the place from below to above. Crowe was looking toward the door through which his two new friends, if he could still call them that, had left. His expression was concerned, quite tangible, coming from the face of someone who had died years ago.
"Go home, Cole," he exclaimed suddenly. "Stay away from this, like your mother asked you to."
"Go?" Cole snapped, almost as if the innuendo insulted him. "Just so? Is that your advice?"
"That's the only one I can give you, as your psychiatrist and friend."
Cole snapped, apparently not too pleased with what he was hearing. He returned his cigarette to his lips and inhaled again with some insistence. Although, he noticed how, little by little, that ceased to relax or calm him as much as he needed.
"And if I do… will this all work out?" He questioned, intrigued, without looking at his visitor. "Will everything be alright?" He raised his eyes at that moment to the door, which seemed to him for a moment more distant than before. "She will be alright?"
In his head, the warnings that his mother had given him hovered:
"This case in which you have been involved is more dangerous than you think. You have to leave as soon as possible, get away from this whole thing. Or else... you'll die... and she too..."
Unfortunately, however, Crowe did not have a satisfactory answer to ease his doubts.
"I don't know, Cole," the late psychiatrist murmured ruefully. "I don't think there is anyone living or dead who can assure you of such a thing. Not this time... not with this enemy you've gotten involved with."
Cole quickly lifted his face and turned it squarely on him, intrigued and surprised by the sudden mention.
"Are you talking about who attacked Eleven? Do you know who he is?"
He was unable to hide his urgency to find out. That person, the threat that had lain over his head like that deadly rain cloud. Did he know who he was? Did he know who that hidden enemy was? Cole was sure beforehand that he wouldn't tell him if that was the case, but he still couldn't help but question it. The result, however, was as expected.
Crowe slowly shook his head, not seeing it.
"If I told you, you'd try to go straight for him, wouldn't you?" he responded in dismay, and Cole could not deny it. "It is your decision whether to do it or not, but I refuse to deliberately push you in that direction; your mother wouldn't forgive me. Besides, he's not the only one you have to watch out for, but you already know that."
Cole exhaled heavily through his nose and leaned back against the vehicle. The disappointment was quite palpable, even his anger. But Crowe was adamant about his answer, and he couldn't blame him for being. Cole himself wasn't really sure what he would do if he had that information at hand.
After a while in which both remained silent, the spirit took a few steps away from the vehicle and turned to the detective with a calmer and more serene face.
"I have to go," he informed her bluntly. "I've been here too long already. I don't think we'll see each other again for a long time."
"Didn't you say you'd be around if I needed anything?" Cole commented in a slightly jocular tone. "I feel I'll see you sooner than you think."
Crowe gave a light chuckle at the suggestion.
"It may be so." He smiled at him. "See you later, Detective Sear."
"See you later, Dr. Crowe."
After that last friendly goodbye, the psychiatrist turned around and began to walk as if he were going to enter the hotel as well. However, halfway there, he disappeared, fading into the background and completely taking his presence with him, including the cold.
Cole stayed there a while longer until he finished his cigarette. He didn't think carefully about the hidden meaning of those words, what had happened, or what his following action would be. He just stood there, finishing his cigarette and thinking about that drink.
— — — —
Matilda gave up her idea of ​​taking a full bath at that point due to her injury and just washed her hair and part of her body, just enough to make herself as comfortable as possible. The medicines still had her in a daze, so once she finished her improvised wash and barely managed to put on her pajamas, she lay in bed for a few moments, looking at the ceiling as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. She forced herself not to stay like this for too long, and she immediately took her cell phone with the intention of… she really didn't know what she wanted to do.
Her first instinct was to investigate what to do with her rented vehicle, but then she thought of Eleven, Mike, and her daughter. Should she call them to find out how she was doing? She didn't know if she would be too intrusive. And, on top of that, she wouldn't know what to tell them that could be comforting; she was terrible at those things, which was not a remarkable quality for a psychiatrist.
Then she thought about her mother. Shouldn't she call and tell her what happened? She would otherwise end up arriving at her door out of nowhere with a gunshot wound to her shoulder. But if she told her what happened on the phone, she might upset her even more...
She sighed in frustration and pressed the screen of her phone against her forehead as if hoping it would help her think. She inevitably remembered Cole and Cody and that she had maybe been pretty rude to both of them a few moments ago. They hadn't done anything, and they were just as affected by all this as she was. And instead of reaching out to them with a helping hand, she had chosen to run away… Yes, that was the best way to describe it.
What kind of psychiatrist was she? At that rate, she would have to go to therapy herself, and everyone knows that doctors make the worst patients. She might have to apologize to both of them before she leaves in the morning, especially to Cole. They had already started to get along, and she suddenly returned to her rough attitude out of the blue.
But anyway, by that day, it was too late. Perhaps the best thing would be to sleep, rest, and worry about the rest the next day...
Then she suddenly heard someone knocking on the door, taking her by surprise. She flinched a bit, and her movement caused a nagging pain sensation in her shoulder. She waited a bit for the pain to subside, and then she carefully stood up and approached the door, almost without thinking. In fact, she was about to just open it directly, but before touching the knob, she thought twice. Hadn't there been too many misfortunes that day to be so reckless? She then decided to look through the peephole first to see who it was. That, however, did not help her much to calm down.
Standing in the hallway outside the door was Cole, looking to the side as he waited for some response from her. Matilda backed away from the door a little as if it had frightened her. What was he doing there? Has something happened? And how did he suddenly appear just when she thought of him? And… why was she reacting so nervously exactly?
Matilda breathed slowly, trying to calm down. That reaction was immature and irrational. With more courage, she removed the chain and lock, opening the door wide enough. Cole turned to her as soon as the door opened and smiled, apparently a little timid and uncomfortable. Before saying anything, the detective raised what he was carrying in his right hand: a six-pack of beers, one of which was already missing.
"Would you like a beer before bed to make amends, doctor?" he suggested with a jocular tone.
Matilda looked at him sternly but not too severely. He didn't look drunk as such, but she felt he had more than one beer on him. Even so, she was surprised, and at the same time a little embarrassed, how despite everything he behaved so lightly with her, wanting to "make amends" as if everything was slipping away from him. Either he was a person with a good emotional balance, or it was another one of his masks.
"Sorry, I don't drink alcohol," she replied, trying not to be sharp. "And even if I did, I couldn't mix it with my medicines."
Cole just smiled and nodded a little.
"I had a feeling that you would tell me just that…" he murmured, pointing at her with a cunning gesture. "Sorry for the interruption. Goodnight…"
He made a dismissal gesture with his head, and without another word, he turned around with the clear intention of returning to his own room.
"But…" Matilda said forcefully, drawing his attention before he left. The doctor seemed to debate with herself again for a few moments, but in the end, she opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Come in if you want. I guess we could both use a little talk."
"Will you charge me for the consultation?" the detective asked playfully, to which Matilda responded only with a questioning look. Choosing then not to continue tempting fate with jokes, Cole accepted the invitation.
The officer entered the room, and Matilda closed the door behind them.
— — — —
Cody lucked out and got a single room for the night, though it cost a lot more than he expected. He hadn't brought pajamas with him, so he just took off his shirt and pants to sleep in his underwear. He didn't have a toothbrush, either. And, actually, he hadn't even eaten anything, although for some reason, he wasn't hungry; in fact, his stomach felt queasy.
He didn't take a shower, just washed his face and soaked his hair a bit. Then he lay down on the bed, resting his head on a tower of three pillows to be almost sitting up, and turned on the television for a few moments. He didn't pay much attention to it; he had it more like background noise so as not to sink into silence.
The professor's blue eyes focused more than anything on the orange bottle with those magic pills that guaranteed him to be able to sleep all night without any dreams or nightmares, at the cost of practically not resting. But God knows what else unknown side effects could come on suddenly. He wondered if he really needed them; maybe nothing would happen, maybe he cared too much... But he knew that he was fooling himself.
Cody knew very well how his mind worked, and he knew there was no possible way he could get through the night without some horrible nightmare accompanying him. Whether it was the Canker Man, Lily Sullivan, or a horrendous, misshapen dark mass eating Eleven without him being able to reach her. Whatever it was, it would materialize through the corridors of that hotel, putting all guests in danger.
So, not taking that pill was not an option. Still, he had been staring at the bottle for about half an hour, waiting for something in his label to change and tell him not to do that.
He sighed wearily, placed the pills on the nightstand, and took his phone instead. He reviewed his conversation with Lisa. He had texted her twice after what had happened at the hospital and tried to call her once he was in his room. Lisa didn't respond to any of those things and didn't show up as she logged in for hours.
Cody tried not to let that bother him, especially when he had ignored her a few days after her discussion; perhaps it was her way of getting back at him. However, their last conversation had him unsettled, especially about what Lisa could do with the information he had shared with her. Not that he expected her to tell anyone, but maybe she just wouldn't take it well. He might not hear from her for days, and when he finally located her, it would be to end it all on bad terms.
He suddenly felt somewhat selfish and foolish for thinking about it at a time like this. Eleven was in a coma, people had died, Samara had disappeared, Matilda had been shot, and they had no idea who this mysterious enemy was that was haunting them or whether sooner or later it would come back to attack them again. By comparison, his concerns felt a little small... but not unimportant.
Without quite consciously proposing it, his hands opened the bottle and took out one of those small pinkish oval pills. He gazed at it for a few seconds in his hand, somewhat fearfully, only to be shoved right into his mouth, followed later by a small sip from the glass of water that rested on the nightstand.
It was done.
He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling while the television and light were still on. His vision and mind soon wandered, and the sounds on the TV distorted and confused. From one moment to another, he wasn't exactly asleep, but his body no longer moved; his eyes didn't really look at anything, and his ears didn't hear any sound either. He was simply there, reclining, his bald eyes unable to close, while his mind disappeared overhead. In a way, that feeling was like a nightmare, but at least it was one that only tormented him… as it should be.
— — — —
Cole sat on the floor mat to one side of the bed, quietly sipping his beers. Apparently, the fact that Matilda rejected them was not a reason for them to go to waste. For her part, the room's guest sat on the bed with her legs stretched out. While he drank beer, she settled for one of the complimentary bottled water and bag of peanuts that came with the room; these last ones she had placed on the bed cover so that they were easier to take with her free hand.
"He didn't know he was dead? Really?" The psychiatrist questioned skeptically. Before Matilda was aware, her casual conversation had quickly turned to the subject of ghosts. She supposed it was pretty common in a conversation with friends over beers and appetizers on nights to start talking about spirits and demons out of the blue. But this occasion was special because she was doing it with someone who was supposed to be more than an expert in the field.
Cole took a sip of his second (or third?) can before answering her.
"It's not that weird, actually," he explained. "I think I had already told you about it, but when death is violent and sudden, the transition from one state to another is so abrupt that the souls become confused, and they cannot process the entire experience. From that moment on, they live their day to day without realizing the passage of time or those things that contradict the reality they want to believe. It doesn't happen every time, but it is common."
Surprisingly, the officer spoke quite fluently and eloquently despite already having a few milliliters of alcohol on him, perhaps even more eloquently than he did when he was sober.
"I don't get it," Matilda pointed out, just after popping a peanut into her mouth. "Do you want me to believe that he was unaware that his wife, or anyone else, wasn't speaking to him or even aware of his presence?"
"I told you," Cole shrugged, "they interpret the passage of time and reality as best fits what they want to believe. You are a psychiatrist; you must understand it better than me. As in the aftermath of a traumatic experience, some memories are blocked, and realities are created to protect themselves."
"And does that apply to ghosts as well?" Matilda questioned, arching an eyebrow.
"So it seems."
"How interesting," muttered the brunette, somewhat sarcastically. "If I had met you before, I could have done my thesis about the psychology of the dead."
Cole laughed, amused by her jovial comment.
"I don't think many in your line are ready to take that idea seriously. Like you, for example," he pointed at her with the same hand that held the can.
"Do you think I'm not taking this seriously?"
"You do?"
No, she didn't really… or at least, not entirely. But right now, she felt much more open to considering the possibility. Quite a few uncontrollable things had happened in the last few days, in which her pride and arrogance hadn't been much help. And after learning more about Detective Sear, she didn't see why he would cheat or lie. Besides, it's not like she was going to solve the mysteries of life and death that very night; it was just a pleasant chat between friends. And perhaps, hearing more about how he saw this world of wandering spirits, she would understand a little what was hidden behind his mask of cheerfulness and carelessness.
"And you knew he was a ghost?" Matilda asked, trying to get back to the story they were talking about.
"Not at first," Cole replied, moving his head slightly to one side, then the other. "Now I have learned how to recognize them, and mainly to feel them. At least most of them... But back then, I could only trust their appearance and the cold that accompanied them. The first two times I saw him, I didn't feel the same as with others, but I could tell as I spent more time with him. Well, it also helped that my mom never mentioned she wanted me to see a psychiatrist. And once I mentioned it to her, I realized she didn't know what I was talking about. After that, I was able to see him in his actual appearance."
"And what was that?" Matilda asked with genuine interest.
"Basically, he looked so normal, but for some reason, many wandering ghosts who haven't crossed to the other side yet, are usually seen with the appearance they had the moment just before they died. In Dr. Crowe's case, he was shot in the abdomen, and his shirt was covered in blood. As far as it goes, he was the most minor terrifying thing I saw at the time."
"And he didn't realize it?"
"What? The blood stain? I suppose not. I go back to what I said before: they deceive themselves. But when I realized what he really was, I was not afraid of him like the others because I never felt threatened by him. He really wanted to help me, and he succeeded. He..." Cole paused for a moment, staring at the opposite wall, losing himself a little in that thought. "I think he was the first real friend I ever had… and he was already dead."
Although, at first, she joked a bit with the idea, in reality, Matilda began to find that point a bit interesting. The idea, hypothetical or not, of studying the states of mind that a deceased person passed through would be a totally virgin field in which there would be much to discover. Although, if that was in any way possible, she could bet that someone else, with the help of someone like Cole, had already done something similar without ever publishing it or passing without drawing much attention from the scientific community, for obvious reasons.
Matilda took a small sip from her water bottle as she thought about this. Leaving aside the professional (or pseudo-professional) nature of the matter, there were some other implications inherent in the possibility of speaking with the dead, some of a more… personal nature, but which she refused to give a definite shape in his head. As if that embarrassed her.
"And you told him?" Matilda asked suddenly after that moment of silence, taking Cole a little off guard.
"Excuse me?"
"Did you tell that man he was actually dead?"
"No…" Cole hesitated. "But I gave him a little push so he would figure it out on his own. After that, I didn't see much of him, so I assumed he had crossed over to the other side. Once every few years, though, he reappears to give me some advice, as if he were my personal Obi-Wan.
His "Obi-Wan"; that statement brought back to Matilda an old memory. She looked thoughtfully toward the door and picked up one more peanut from the pile next to her.
"When a soul crosses to the other side... can it return to this world?" she asked suddenly, with some hesitation in her tone. Cole turned to look at her, puzzled. Not because of her question but because of how she had asked it.
"Only on infrequent occasions, and I think only with people like me," he replied more seriously than before. "That is, with the proper Shining to communicate with them. But they never stay long. Being on this side is sometimes painful. Why do you ask?" Cole turned fully to her, looking at her with curious eyes. "Are you thinking about that doctor who jumped off the roof or Mrs. Morgan?" Matilda continued to stare at the door without saying anything. "Or in Carrie White?" Matilda remained silent, although her face made a little frown, similar to how her stomach hurt.
Cole then started to get to his feet, as dexterous as the beers he'd had would allow, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Matilda didn't stop him. The detective looked at her seriously, like a parent about to lecture a child; one fair but severe.
"I'm the least suited to say this, or perhaps the most depending on how you look at it," he stated calmly. Matilda looked at him just a bit. "But it isn't good to cling to the dead" He paused to drink a little of what was left in his can and clear his head in the process. "My mother died of cancer about eight years ago… or is it already nine? Anyway, when it first happened, it was so easy… to call her before me and be able to see her and talk; pretend that she had never left. But what I was doing was wrong. I was hurting her for my selfish desires, and me the same. I understood the hard way that although it is very difficult, perhaps one of the most challenging things that can be done, the best thing is to let them go. So they can rest in peace, and so can we."
Matilda was struck by how wise and convincing those words sounded, even from someone half drunk. Although she had not been through an experience even remotely similar to the one he described, she could imagine the emotional impact that could have on an individual. Perhaps that had been part of that mask he was now wearing, but she felt that while she was listening to him, she had been able to see and hear the real Cole Sear for those moments. And what she perceived… she had to accept that she didn't dislike him. Although if he smelled less of alcohol, it would be better.
The brunette smiled without meaning to, and not sure why exactly. It had simply gotten away from her.
"Eleven was right," she pointed out suddenly, sitting up straight on the bed and moving closer to him. "You really have a perspective on all of this that I could never have or even understand. I wish I could have used it better instead of feeling threatened by your presence. Maybe things would have turned out differently…" She looked ruefully to the side.
"It wouldn't have, and you know it," Cole scoffed. "If it makes you feel any better, I also felt a little jealous when I asked about you and heard everything the Foundation people said about "Eleven's Favorite."
"Oh, God," Matilda exclaimed between giggles. "Do they really call me that?"
She had come to think that everything Cody had said to her was just to annoy her, but it seemed that it was a very real nickname.
"Don't tell them I told you," Cole asked between some laughs. "But the reputation that precedes you can be intimidating and create a lot of expectations."
"So much pressure. Well, I hope I met those expectations."
"You did," the detective pointed out with conviction, leaning toward her slightly. "And too much..."
This took Matilda a little by surprise. She felt her cheeks flush, and unconsciously she leaned back a bit as if wanting to make even a little more distance between them. Cole apparently thought he had made her uncomfortable, which Matilda wasn't sure if it had been true or not. Despite his alcoholic state (which he apparently could control well), the policeman had the clarity to decide that perhaps it had been enough for one night.
"I'd better go," he said, getting up from the bed with everything and the couple of beers he had left, staggering a bit in the process but managing to stay on his feet. "You sure want to sleep. Tomorrow you will travel, after all."
"Yes, that would be for the best," Matilda replied calmly, also standing up to lead him to the door.
"Next time we meet, you'll have to tell me about that poltergeist you saw when you were a kid. "
"I don't think so," Matilda whispered wryly. She didn't think they could ever reach that level of trust.
The psychiatrist opened the door for him, and Cole walked slowly, perhaps to avoid falling. Before he got out, however, Matilda stopped him.
"Cole, wait a bit," she whispered, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. Her eyes stared at him with some intensity. "Tell me the truth… what was it you saw in Samara?" Cole looked at her blankly. "Everything you told me about a demon haunting her… was it serious?"
Cole couldn't figure out if she was asking because she was beginning to believe him or perhaps because she was hoping he would tell her something that would clear up the significant doubts that were starting to occupy her mind. The beer didn't help him much in finding out, either. For the same reason, before saying something that could ruin that little moment they had shared, he decided to say something that perhaps was not what she expected, which was quite sincere anyway.
The officer took a deep breath and leaned against the door frame to keep from falling.
"People like Eleven and I tend to walk in the shadows so much that it's all we see at one point. But you were able to see the light in that girl and realize that there was goodness in her. Maybe that was what she needed most, really. I am convinced that if you had had the time and the opportunity, you could have saved her, regardless of what I did or did not see."
Matilda smiled thinly and leaned her head against the open door.
"That doesn't comfort me."
"I know," Cole replied, shrugging. "But unlike Carrie White or Mrs. Morgan, Samara is still alive. As long as she's alive, there's still hope, right?"
Matilda nodded slightly, not in fact entirely convinced.
"Good night, Detective."
"Good night, Doctor."
Cole backed away, swinging down the hall a bit until he reached the elevator at the end of it. Matilda closed the door carefully after he left, and she stood in front of it for a while, her forehead resting against the smooth wooden surface. She wasn't sure if that short conversation had helped either of them in any way. But something was a little more certain: she was going to miss that… "detective of the dead."
She sighed and smoothed her hair a bit with her free hand. Now she really had to try to sleep. How well Cole had said, tomorrow she had to travel.
END OF CHAPTER 49
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Chapter 48. Uncle Dan
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX
Chapter 48. Uncle Dan
The night in Frazier was a bit colder than Salem or Anniston, even though Anniston wasn't that far away. The Helen Rivington House for Palliative Care was for those hours submerged in silence, even more than on other nights similar to that. Little by little, the time to turn off the lights was approaching, and the residents were retiring one by one to their rooms. 
Mr. McMan had spent most of the afternoon in the rec room, doing nothing in particular but watching soap operas and the local news on television, sitting in his ever-loyal wheelchair. At about six o'clock, Isaac from the other wing had come over, and they played three games of chess, leaving three to two in favor of Mr. McMan. Isaac retired early after that.
When he least expected it, he was left alone in the room. In the last stretch, while he was watching the news, they had brought him a custard in a small plastic cup, which he ate little by little while the news was on until he scraped the walls of the container and made sure that he had consumed every last centimeter. When he was done thoroughly, it was time to turn off the television, so one of the caretakers went to take him to his room. He approached him from the side without noticing until he was close enough.
"Ready to rest, Mr. McMan?" The man asked jovially, crouching down next to him to be the same height. The old man in the chair turned to look at him through his thick glasses, and a smile of genuine delight crossed his lips.
He was one of the best caretakers in that place and one of the most requested by the residents. One might say a man in his late forties but reasonably well preserved. Strong-faced but handsome, with a half-grown beard, short dark blond hair, and serene blue eyes.
"Oh, Daniel," he greeted him in a raspy voice. "Do you have to deal with us at this time today? What a nuisance for you."
"Nothing of that," he replied, smiling at him, and then stood up again, moving behind the chair. He was a tall man with a medium build and broad shoulders. He took hold of the chair handles and slowly pushed it out into the hall. "How about we go for a walk first?"
"That seems fine to me. I don't have much else to do, after all."
And just as he suggested, the caretaker took him for a little tour of the corridors. At the same time, they talked as animatedly as possible. Whenever they exchanged a word, Mr. McMan showed that he still had some spark and wisdom to share, which lung cancer had not taken from him. But mainly, he always felt very comfortable in the presence of that man half his age because he had a strange gift for making people feel very safe and comfortable with him. And it was not, in fact, his most peculiar gift.
Daniel Anthony Torrance, or just Dan to his friends, had been working at Rivington House for almost fifteen years. After spending an important part of his life aimlessly and drowning in problems, fights, and alcohol, he felt that he was in the best possible moment at that time. He had a job that he enjoyed. Despite his constant proximity to death, he thought it was a place where he could do good, and his unique abilities could be helpful to people who really needed him. He had friends and family whom he loved with all his being. He had been sober for over fifteen years now and counting.
Really, for the first time in a long time, he felt that he could safely say he was "happy." And he hoped he could pass on some of that happiness to the residents, including Mr. McMan.
But, of course, experience had taught him that the calmer and happier he felt, the more likely it was that something unexpected would happen. And that something would happen just that night...
After a few minutes of walking, Dan took Mr. McMan back to his room and helped him lie down on his bed. The older man gave a small, painful moan as Dan sat him down on the bed, but he quickly pointed out that it was nothing; he was quite a warrior in his own way. Dan laid him down and covered him to his chest with the white sheet.
"Does everything feel okay?"
"Better than ever," the older man laughed hoarsely and tiredly, followed shortly by two small coughs.
While Daniel finished wrapping him up, also placing a not very thick blanket on him to offset the cold a bit, he noticed that the resident's eyes were diverted towards the open room's door. Dan turned in that direction out of reflex, and there she was: Azreel, affectionately called simply Azzie, that cat with dark gray fur that seemed to have gotten bigger and fatter over the years but still kept its grace and the vitality of a young kittie. The cat was sitting right in the doorway, staring with her bright, withering eyes toward the bed. The three fell silent, even holding their breath a little.
Azzie tilted her head to the side without taking her eyes off the point that caught her attention. There was at least another ten seconds of silence. Then the cat rose again and continued down the hall, walking carelessly away from that door.
Only then did Daniel and Mr. McMan breathe a sigh of relief, perhaps also with a combination of disappointment.
"Looks like the doctor won't be able to see you tonight," Dan commented, trying to lighten the mood a bit.
"Another day," McMan commented with a half-smile.
Azzie was the wisest doctor in the whole place. When it was time for one of the residents to leave, she could tell them without any mistake. But when it was not yet time, it was not, and she knew it well. And it seemed that Mr. McMan still had a few more nights left in that place. Or, at least, that was the doctor's diagnosis.
Dan kept tucking him in and was just finished when he felt the presence of someone else at the door, but now considerably larger than a cat.
"Daniel," a white-uniformed nurse called him from the doorway, her tone soft. "You have a call from your sister."
The caretaker turned to her with a puzzled expression.
"My sister?"
Dan thought for a few seconds before the meaning of that sentence took complete form in his head.
How long has it been? Five years? And yet, from time to time, he would have those rare but still existing lapses in which his conscious mind did not relate to the expression "your sister" with a name or a specific face, although that used to be fixed quickly. And it wasn't that he disliked Lucy Stone, the idea of ​​discovering to his forty that he had a half-sister he had never known about, or even the two of them had not some kind of bad relationship. It simply seemed that there was a small implicit agreement between the two of them to not take that mutual treatment beyond a polite adult friendship, with the cordiality typical of a picnic conversation with a neighbor or another parent from the school; Daniel was neither, it bears mentioning.
This was perhaps inspired by the inherent distrust two complete strangers tend to feel towards each other, the understandable discomfort caused by the less than ideal connection between them, or simply the lack of brotherly affection, which, unlike what the movies showed, did not arise spontaneously like daisies from the ground.
Therefore, in addition to Daniel's initial confusion, one would have to add the logical conclusion that Lucy would not be calling him at that time of night just to say hello and ask how his day had been, especially by introducing herself directly as his sister", unless she required it.
"Excuse me, I have to go," he murmured, apologizing to Mr. McMan.
"Go ahead, God be with you," he answered in an amused tone, to which Dan only responded with a small smile.
He walked to the nearest nurses' station, where the call had been put through. The nurse who had gone to call him was in charge of connecting and passing him the handset.
"Hello?" Dan murmured in a low voice, already having the phone in his ear, and the answer on the other end was not long in coming.
"Dan, where have you been?!" He heard Lucy's high-pitched voice blurt out on the line quite loudly. "Why did you take so long?!"
"Hey, chill, Lucy," Dan replied, trying to remain calm. "What happens?"
Daniel intuited that his "sister" must have tried to look for him on his cell phone (which he never brought with him while he was with the residents, out of respect), and in her haste, she had had to look for the number of the Residence and dial it directly in her search. More signs that this could not be anything good.
He listened as Lucy breathed slowly, trying to calm down, and then she answered with a softer tone, but not without anguish.
"It's Abra…" she snapped, and all the alarms in Dan's head went off. "We don't know what happened to her. She was fine, and suddenly, she started screaming, passed out, and we can't get her to wake up. John checked her out and says she doesn't have anything physically, that maybe…" She trailed off abruptly, hesitant at what she would say. "Maybe it's something else..."
Dan remained silent, more intrigued by how she had mentioned: "something else" than the idea conveyed by that expression.
Abra was Lucy's only daughter, and therefore Dan's niece. She likewise brought into his life abruptly, as well as her mother. However, unlike what had happened with Lucy, the relationship between Dan and Abra had been much more harmonious and pleasant, even before they knew they were family. Dan liked to think that it had been given for much more than that special something they both shared; the one Lucy called "something else" with some disdain.
And now, apparently, something had just happened to that child (who had grown up enough to no longer fit into that word). And at first, he didn't fully understand what it was about.
"Slow down, Lucy," he murmured, moving a little away from the nurses' station. "What happened? Did she say something? Did she see something?"
"I don't know," the woman on the phone answered a little defensively. "She just cried to stop, that it hurt her… I don't know what happened, really. Please come. We need you."
"Okay, calm down. It may be nothing, okay? But I'm going there if that makes you feel safer."
"Thank you, thank you, Dan." There was a little more relief in Lucy's voice. "Please, hurry up."
After a few last courtesies, they both hung up almost simultaneously. Dan thought a little about what he had heard, going over each point in his head. 
Abra started screaming, saying it hurt and asking it to stop. She fainted, and they can't wake her up. Unusual, certainly. Despite how he was nicknamed in those parts, he was not a real doctor to determine if there was a reasonable explanation that could explain such events. John Dalton, however, was, and if he recommended they talk to him, it must have been for a reason.
Yes, at first glance, it sounded like something that could have to do with what connected him and Abra, but not enough to say it with absolute confidence. It was likely that just when he was halfway there, Abra would simply wake up as if nothing had happened.
He continued to meditate a little on the matter for a couple of minutes, but if he didn't move at once, he wouldn't keep his promise to his sister. Either way, Abra was her niece and one of those special people in her life that he couldn't afford to lose for any reason. Besides, she was special; very special. Nothing that went through her head could be taken lightly.
Dan turned back to the nurses' station and handed the phone back to them.
"I need to go," he hurriedly informed the two uniformed women at the station. "I have a family emergency."
"Come on, don't worry," one of them answered quickly. "We have you covered."
"Thanks, I owe you one."
"Just one?"
Usually, Dan would play along a bit longer, but the situation's urgency wouldn't allow it. He then hurried to the employee parking lot, crossing without stopping the long corridors of the Residence, and went out for one of the back doors. He climbed into the driver's seat of his old, but still fairly integral, Mercedes Benz and closed the door. He put the key in the ignition but didn't turn it. Instead, he stared thoughtfully out the windshield at the door he'd left through. He slowly placed his hands firmly on the steering wheel and closed his eyes. He breathed slowly, trying to rid himself of any worries or thoughts that might distract him.
(Abra?)
He pronounced slowly in his head.
(Can you hear me?)
He was silent for a few seconds waiting for some answer; he didn't get any. Everything was hushed, as many would expect, but not Dan. He didn't expect to hear her voice suddenly or the dialing sound as if it were one phone. But he hoped to at least feel something; feel the presence of his young niece, even if it was as a dim image in the distance or a barely audible shriek in his ear. But instead, he got only silence and a deep sense of emptiness.
Maybe it was nothing, just as he had told Lucy. Or, it could be something very, very serious. You never knew when it came to the Shining.
He fastened his seat belt and turned the ignition making the engine rattle like a kitten. He quickly pulled out of the Rivington House parking lot and took off without waiting for Anniston.
— — — —
It was after ten o'clock at night when Dan arrived at the Stone family's street. Nothing had changed during the time his journey lasted. Abra was still lying on the couch, quite peaceful, with Brownie curled up next to her. David and John were sitting at the kitchen counter quietly drinking a cup of coffee; his attempts to start a conversation were unsuccessful. Lucy could not calm down, much less sit down to drink coffee. As soon as she hung up with Dan, she started pacing back and forth across the room, sitting down with Abra from time to time, mostly going to the window to see if her half-brother's car hadn't already parked in front of the house, even though it had only been a few minutes since they spoke.
When at last the sound of the vehicle was present, and it was more than evident that it had indeed stopped in front of the house, Lucy ran terrified towards the door, followed several steps behind by her husband and Dr. Dalton.
"Thank God you finally got here!" Lucy snapped with relief, but also some recrimination, just as Dan barely got out of the car. He looked somewhat stunned by the sudden remark.
"Easy, Lucy," Dan murmured thoughtfully, closing the car door and locking it. "Doesn't she wake up yet?"
"No, it's still the same. Please come quickly..."
Lucy took him urgently by his arm and began to pull him towards the house's interior; he barely had a few seconds to nod his head to David and John as a greeting.
Dan was first welcomed by Brownie as they entered, barking slowly at him with the same alarm and urgency as Lucy. Then, looking up a little further on, the caretaker met the figure of her niece, lying on her back on the couch, with her hands in her lap. She wore a pink velvet sweater and red pants. Her tennis-type shoes rested on one side of the sofa. Dan cautiously approached the chair, never taking his blue eyes away from the girl for a second. He allowed himself to sit on the coffee table right next to her and leaned his body a little towards her, silently contemplating her sleeping face.
"Abra?" he snapped with some force, but there was no reaction from her.
(Open)
He blurted out right after, but not with his mouth, but as a strong thought that headed straight for his young niece, with enough intensity to at least make her shake a little. However, it didn't work either; it was as if his thoughts were a breeze blowing against an impenetrable wall.
Dan ran his hand over his mouth and chin, feeling them scrape against his half-grown beard.
"And?" Lucy murmured over his shoulder impatiently.
"I think she's protecting herself," he answered after a while. "I can't get into her mind at all. She must have suffered some kind of external attack, and her mind was shielded to defend itself."
"That is something good?" David asked, his voice trembling.
Dan didn't answer because he didn't really know; he wasn't sure if he could even ratify his theory.
"Can you wake her up?" John now commented with interest.
"I don't know. She is quite powerful, and you know it. I don't know if I'll be able to get in without hurting us both. Maybe she will just come out of this state when she is ready."
"Maybe?" Lucy murmured, almost as if the word offended her. "Maybe when? A few hours? A few days? Years?"
"I don't know, Lucy," Dan answered assertively, standing up quickly from the little table. "This doesn't exactly come with an emergency manual, you know?"
"Let's calm down, please," John said quickly before it could break into a fight. "We're obviously very nervous and confused, but we all agree that Dan knows the most about these things, right?" Lucy and David didn't say anything; the first only limited herself to looking with cold anger at her half-brother. John then turned to Dan with a more conciliatory posture. "What do you think we should do?"
Dan hesitated and turned back to Abra. He had the impression that he had never seen her so calm before; it didn't really look like her, and it especially didn't look like anything wrong was happening to her.
"I'm going to try," he answered seriously, sitting down again. "Just try. If I feel I could cause her any harm, I will leave for her own good."
"Alright. Thanks, Dan," David murmured, placing his hands on her wife's shoulders in an attempt to comfort her.
He said he would try, but he wasn't sure exactly what he would do; most of the time, he didn't know. As he had said, his powers didn't come with a manual. Most of the time, he had to go with his mere instinct and apply a bit of trial and error.
Dan took a deep breath. He reached his left hand to Abra and placed it on her forehead. Then he concentrated even more than before, focused his mind quite hard on her. The sensation was similar to pressing both hands against a wall, trying to push them through it, and getting the same result as if he did it in the physical world. He closed his eyes to better concentrate.
(Abra)
(Abra)
(Abra!)
His eyes snapped open, though he knew it wasn't precisely literally. His mind was no longer in the Stone room, and perhaps he wasn't anywhere in particular. Before him, he could only see black and absolute darkness, and hear a deep and almost impossible silence. Wherever he wanted to turn was exactly the same. He took a step, and that movement broke the feeling of emptiness a bit as he heard the splash of his feet against the water. The ground seemed to be covered by it by at least half an inch. Looking down, he was surprised to be able to clearly see his wet shoes and pants as if his body shone with its own light in that gloom.
"Abra?" he exclaimed with some force, and he really wasn't sure if any sound had come from his mouth. Where was he really? "Abra, are you here?"
There was no discernible response of any kind. Dan began to move cautiously and felt his feet pushing through the water each time.
Was this where Abra had gone to hide? It seemed unusual for her, especially since he didn't see any dragons or any other of her favorite fictional characters drawing their swords with a readiness to decapitate any intruder. Dan did not perceive there the usual fire that characterized his niece. That place felt much colder and, above all, lonely. Could it be that this stage did not belong to her?
Dan kept walking without seeing or hearing anything for… how long exactly? The running of the seconds was confusing in that space. Sure, in the real world, it hadn't been more than a couple of minutes, but he felt as tired as if he had already traveled a couple of kilometers.
That didn't seem like it would get him anywhere, but apparently persevering ended up paying off. Reaching a certain point, he managed to distinguish something else between the practically infinite darkness, something that seemed to also glow with his own light and was on the ground up ahead of him. He didn't know what it was, especially he didn't know if it was what he had gone looking for. Still, he quickened his pace, dragging his feet through the water that he felt was getting heavier. Little by little, what he saw took the form of a person lying on the floor with their body almost completely submerged in the water; perhaps the only thing exposed was her pale face. Dan reached for her, dropped to his knees, and lifted her up.
"Abra, do you hear me?" he snapped loudly as he held her niece's slender body a few inches out of the water; she did not answer. Her blonde hair lay loose and soaking wet, releasing little drops that fell vertically and created little ripples. Her face looked paler than usual, without the usual blush on her cheeks, and she felt cold.
Dan tried to call her again, but this time bringing his thoughts to her perhaps more aggressively.
(Abra! Wake up at once. Don't you know how worried you have us all? Wake up, girl. Now!)
That last push was even more intense, but it worked. The young girl's body shuddered, her eyes snapped open, and her mouth drew in a quick gasp of air. She finished sitting up by herself on the ground and cocked her head to the side, beginning to cough and release some water.
Dan breathed a sigh of relief. She was still there.
"Uncle Dan?" The young girl exclaimed in confusion once she managed to control her retching. "What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here? Do you at least know where here is?" Daniel responded with a combination of humor and reprimand.
Abra then looked around, feeling totally disoriented.
"I guess it's not my house."
"That's not quite right, actually. Do you remember what happened? Your parents said you heard several voices, mentioned you were in a lot of pain, and then passed out."
"That's what happened?" the young woman whispered, more as a question to herself. She stood up slowly without Daniel helping her, and she began to walk aimlessly as if she was looking for something that would help clear her head. Her uncle followed cautiously. "Yes, I think... I remember a little bit. I was walking up the stairs, and all these images and sounds came into my head. It was too sudden; I couldn't control it."
"What images? Do you remember what they were?"
"They were…" Abra hesitated a moment before answering. "They were like memories… But they weren't mine."
She paused for a moment, turning her back on him.
"A few days ago, a woman appeared in my living room. She was a projection, but I could feel her vividly as if she was physically there. I had never seen her. Rose the Hat came to mind for a moment and how she showed up in my room the same way when I was little."
The very mention of that name sent a stab of anger and worry to Dan's chest. Rose the Hat and her damn True Knot; a group of monsters, if that was the best word to describe them, who hunted children with the Shining like Abra, to kill them and consume what made them unique, and all just to maintain their lives and their youth. It had been a while since he thought about them, but he knew very well they must be present in some way or another in his niece's mind.
Abra continued with her explanation.
"I got scared and pushed her far away from me. I don't know who she was, but I think I saw her again among all those images."
"Was she the one who attacked you? Another Shine one? Or a True One, maybe?"
"I don't know…" Abra held her head firmly with both hands as if it was beginning to ache. "Everything is very confusing. Maybe if I could put those images in order and see them more clearly…"
"That's possible," Dan pointed out, advancing to stand beside her. "This empty space is your canvas. If those images are still in your head, you should be able to project them like a movie."
"Like a movie," Abra repeated mechanically.
That made a lot of sense, or at least enough. Abra took a deep breath, trying to calm down before entering again the swampy terrain of what she wanted to get out of. She pretended to remember everything she had seen and felt in those moments without getting lost or buried by it like the last time. She had felt many voices speaking and flashes of different times and places, but not all of them felt so relevant; they were just background noise in the scene. She had to focus on the main characters and what was in front of the stage, and leave everything else aside.
And then, surrounded by all that darkness, a green upholstered rug-like chair materialized as if out of the mist. And sitting in the center of it was a woman. This sudden change threw Dan and Abra a bit off balance, but they didn't succumb to it. From the distance they were, none of them could see the woman clearly; she was like a blurred figure blending and losing itself in the chair's upholstery.
Both cautiously advanced towards that enigmatic figure. Although they knew that it was only a materialized mental image of those foreign memories that had invaded Abra's mind, their movements were still cautious, as if they feared that someone or something would attack them at any moment of distraction.
As they got closer, the appearance of that person became more appreciable. She was a woman in her forties, with curly brown hair that fell to her shoulders. Her face was calm and serene, with somewhat hard features. Square and relatively large glasses covered her brown eyes, which looked concentrated in front of her as if, among all that blackness, she was able to see something that they couldn't. Abra moved in front of her and leaned her body to look closer at her face.
"It's her," she said almost immediately, "the woman who appeared before me the other day. Or at least I think so… I didn't get to see her very well. She doesn't seem like a bad person."
"Faces are deceiving," Dan muttered a little harshly. "What was it that she wanted you to see? There is nothing else here."
"I don't know. Maybe…"
Before she could say anything else, they both heard a loud and painful scream that escaped from the lips of the woman while her body twisted. That scream resonated all around her with a tremendous echo. Abra backed away in reflex alarm, and it was just as she marked that extra distance that she noticed: someone else was there. Just behind that woman was a humanoid figure, totally black, that tightly wrapped its arm around her neck, so much so that it seemed as if it was suffocating her. The slender fingers of its victim clung to that black arm as if trying to pull it away from her, but she couldn't seem to move it even a little. Neither Abra nor Dan could clearly see the appearance of that other person; it was simply a black silhouette that was sometimes confused with the darkness at the back of that unreal scene.
"Mike, that's his name, huh?" They listened as a deep and inhuman voice murmured that resonated as several, without even being able to identify themselves as male or female. They heard it echo in everything around, but they were sure that it came from that being behind the chair. "After all that you tried to keep me away from here the first time, and look now: you brought me right to your house, with your cute family."
"What's going on?" Dan questioned, stunned by the echo of that voice in his ears, which even caused some pain in his head. Abra didn't say anything; her attention was entirely focused on seeing what was happening in front of her, trying to understand it.
"Mike… Terry… Get out of here, run..." the brown-haired woman whispered weakly, barely being able to be heard.
"And do you really think there's somewhere they can hide from me?" Answered right after the same cruel voice as before. It felt as if it was even making fun of her. "You must have stayed on the sidelines, ma'am. I don't lose twice in the same game..."
Abra shivered as if a strong and uncontrollable chill ran through her entire body, from her feet to her head.
"The attack wasn't against me," she pointed out in surprise. "She was the one attacked... that's why..."
The young woman's eyes focused on the strange dark being, trying somehow to see through the shadows that hid it. Its presence gave her a strange, uncomfortable feeling… but also very familiar.
"I know you," she blurted out, not sure why she was saying it. The thought suddenly popped into her head, though it was more of a feeling than coherent reasoning. "Who…?"
"Who are you?" Abra suddenly heard a voice that wasn't her, pronouncing the same question that was beginning to form in her mouth.
Abra turned to the side. A new figure had materialized on the stage. It was a young woman, perhaps the same age as her, with curly brown hair very similar to that of the woman in the armchair. In fact, she looked quite like her, as if it were a younger version of that woman.
"Ah, she can see me. Is she like you?" the mysterious attacker playfully questioned. "I should also pay her a visit after I finish with you. But this time in person. Or even better, I have a couple of friends who would love it if I gave her to them as a gift. They would put her to good use..."
"Don't even put the finger on her, you bastard," the woman in the chair snapped, fervent anger in her voice. "I swear I'm going to..."
"You're going to what? Huh? In case you haven't realized it, you are in no position to threaten anyone. And you will never be again..."
At that moment, the black fingers of the being's right hand were pressed against the side of the woman's head and began to slowly enter her. Her skin was starting to turn dark from the point where its fingers entered, spreading like an oil slick on the ocean. The brunette woman screamed with such intensity that it seemed her throat would rip. It was a scream so painful and searing that Abra felt a suffocating pressure in her chest just hearing it. There was no blood at the junction of its fingers and her head, but the woman's nose was bleeding profusely.
Abra had an instinct to close her eyes and cover her ears, but that didn't matter; the scream and the image of that woman being consumed by that voracious shadow did not leave her.
"Remember, this is all just a memory," uncle Dan whispered behind her. "Nothing of this is real; no one can hurt you."
"That doesn't make it any less horrible!" Abra snapped defensively.
"No! Leave her!" Suddenly she heard that other young girl screaming fiercely. Abra allowed herself to open her eyes and look up at her. She was staring intently at the mysterious attacker, though she thought she could see doubt and fear in her legs and hands trembling. "Leave my mom!"
That last scream was so intense, and it reverberated as loud as a tremendous explosion. And sure enough, Abra and Dan felt like a shock wave was pushing them back. Everything around them shattered like glass, shattering into a thousand pieces. For a few moments, they both seemed to lose the feeling of the ground against their feet, or any clear sense of up or down, as if they were drifting through space. Dan extended his hand to his niece and felt that he had to stretch it several meters before he could take her hand firmly. Only then did they fall back onto something they could consider a floor, soaking in the water on it.
"That's what happened," Abra pointed out, sitting down. Around her, there was no longer an armchair, no bleeding woman, no frightened young girl, much less that horrible dark creature. "The clash of these two… or rather three forces. It was what ended up hitting me and leaving me incapacitated. So much so that I had to lock myself in here to protect myself."
"But why you?" Dan questioned in confusion, standing up. The feeling of having his shoes and pants wet seemed so real enough. "You don't know any of these people, do you?"
"No…" the young woman replied hesitantly. "But I'm actually not entirely sure about that. I think that woman was looking for me for some reason the other day, and today she maybe did it again. And whoever attacked her…" She trailed off, and she hugged herself as if she were trying to calm a sudden chill. "I think I know him, but I can't think clearly about it... There's still so much noise..."
"Jane!" They heard a scream behind them. They both flinched and turned at the same time in the same direction; there was still one more memory to look at.
The woman in the chair was now lying on the floor. The blood from her nose covered almost the entire lower part of her face and stained her clothes. Her eyes were still open, but they looked lost, even dead. A man was next to her and lifted her into his arms. Her neck tilted unresisting to one side.
She's dead? Abra thought in disbelief.
The man kept calling her without receiving an answer.
"Oh, God, El, darling…" He turned to the side, speaking for a few moments to someone else. "Terry! Call an ambulance! Quickly! Jane, please answer me, wake up…"
"Jane…" Abra murmured slowly, making that name become something real and tangible.
Suddenly, she noticed how that woman's eyes turned directly towards her. For a second, she thought it was her imagination, or maybe a coincidence, but it wasn't. 
(Help them, please)
Abra heard a voice whisper weakly in her head.
(Help my family... Help Matilda...)
"Matilda? Who was Matilda?" She wasn't sure if that image would answer her or not, but it didn't matter anymore. An instant later, she began to disappear, vanishing in a cloud of windblown dust.
And once again, there was nothing else, just the two of them and the darkness. Dan gave her a few moments to finish calming down and take it all in.
"Abra, it's time to go back," the caretaker pointed out once he felt it was prudent.
The young woman nodded.
"Yes, it's time."
Everything was still very confusing, but she already felt ready to wake up and face the real world. She didn't know yet what she would do after that, but it would be a good first step. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let all those worries drain from her body like water. And she allowed all that black scenery to be covered little by little with color...
— — — —
The first to open his eyes was Dan. He flinched back, quickly brushing Abra's hands away as well to use them for support against the table he was sitting on to keep from falling. Abra followed him a moment later, though in a much calmer way as if she were just waking up from a pleasant dream. The first thing she saw was the ceiling of her living room, which was spinning a bit from her perspective.
"Abra!" Lucy Stone's voice gushed as she practically threw herself at her daughter and wrapped her arms around her tightly. The young woman, still somewhat dazed, did not seem to react at all to this nor to the repeated kisses that her mother began to give her on her forehead. "My little girl, are you alright? Nothing hurts you?"
Abra took a few seconds to respond, the time it seemed she needed to shake off the last remaining traces of unconsciousness.
"I'm fine, Mom," she whispered somewhat distantly, raising an arm to hug her back. "I'm sorry if I worried you."
Lucy didn't reply; she just kept hugging and kissing her.
Dan got up from the small coffee table and moved a little away from the chair, partly to give his half-sister a little more space and for himself to get some air and recover. He didn't think it had been so physically exhausting until his mind returned to his body. He was a bit dizzy and tired, but he was slowly recovering.
"You did it, Dan," he heard David say behind him and then felt his hand rest on his shoulder. "Thanks."
"It was nothing," he answered dryly without turning to see him. "In a way, Abra had done it herself; I had only given her a little push."
"What happened?" He then heard John questioning now, quite curious to know.
Dan turned to look at him hesitantly for a second, then turned his attention to Abra. She understood he was giving her the floor if she wanted to explain it. And it wasn't that she didn't want to, but rather she wasn't quite sure what she could actually say to her parents and Dr. Dalton to understand. And in hindsight, she could have started with something more clarifying than what she chose to say. 
"I think somebody needs my help," Abra pronounced solemnly, looking up.
Lucy, David, and John looked at her in confusion.
"Somebody? Who?" Lucy asked urgently.
Abra slowly shook her head.
"I only know their names are Jane, Terry... and Matilda..."
END OF CHAPTER 48
Author's Notes:
—Daniel Torrance is based entirely on the respective character from the Stephen King novels The Shining and Doctor Sleep. Regarding his appearance, personality, and background, he will be mainly based on how he was introduced in the novels, taking only a few details from the film adaptations. This story takes place about two years after the end of Doctor Sleep, making him between 43 and 44 years old.
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Chapter 47. Good Friends
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX
Chapter 47. Good Friends
Jeremy, the guy who agreed to do the little favor for Esther, left the bar a few minutes after the girls pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the hotel. He had come in mostly to invite a few people at the bar a round and celebrate the lucrative and strange business he had made. After finishing his drink, he paid the bill, said goodbye to his new unnamed friends, and headed for the exit.
            He stepped into the parking lot with his cell phone to his ear. Before leaving, and still with the live music in the background, he made a very special call to Sheila, his favorite prostitute and the most expensive. Jeremy apparently hadn't planned to stop his celebration yet.
            "You won't believe how I got these bills," he muttered enthusiastically as he walked to his vehicle. "It was the strangest thing. As soon as I arrive, I'll tell you. But whatever, prepare those nice legs; I've enough green to keep them open all night. And I'm hard as stone, mommy. But shave them a little for me, will you?"
            After a little more flirtation on the phone, Jeremy hung up and continued walking with his chest held high towards his vehicle. He couldn't think of a better way to spend that surprise money than stay the whole night with Sheila. Perhaps the next day, he would regret it a bit, but nobody would take it away from him.
            An old van was parked next to his Corolla, but he didn't notice much of it. Passing right behind it, he threw his keys into the air in an act of triumph. He saw them rise, turn, begin to descend... and then he saw nothing. The keys kept going but passed Jeremy's hand without touching his fingers. The man had been completely paralyzed, his eyes raised to the last point on him where he had seen his keys, even though they were no longer there. His face no longer reflected emotion but pure and utter emptiness.
            The van's back door swung open, and James's big, strong hands grabbed Jeremy's jacket and quickly pulled him inside. The doors closed behind him, and then that little backspace became the entire universe, in which only James and Jeremy existed. The black man slammed him down hard on the truck's floor and leaned on the top of him. James pressed his left hand hard against his mouth and nose, while with the other, he held a long, sharp military knife, pressing its blade against his neck. Then James released him and let him be aware of where he was for just an instant before sliding the blade from side to side with a quick pull, opening his throat in a deep horizontal cut like a second mouth, which spat out a stream of blood, staining James's clothes and face. He remained undeterred.
            Jeremy shuddered, staring at the towering figure above him in confusion and terror. He couldn't scream or breathe from the heavy hand placed on his face. He could only feel his own blood pooling in his throat, unable to even cough it up to somewhat release the pressure. His hands moved of their own accord, struggling and trying to push his unknown attacker off of him, but it was useless. The oxygen left his body as fast as his own blood, and little by little, those struggles became less.
            James watched him intently, admiring all the despair, fear, and pain that lit up his eyes throughout the process. From the desperate and futile effort to do something to the inevitable seizures, the shock, and then nothing...
            James took a deep breath, trying to fill his lungs with even the slightest trace of what could spring from that monstrosity. Indeed, it was little… too little.
            It hadn't been worth the risk, but in the end, it hadn't been for that. He had to clean up any mess that woman left behind as if he were her personal babysitter. And Jeremy was a lazy mouth. By sheer luck, he hadn't told anyone inside the bar what happened, but it wouldn't take long to do it, of that James was sure. But now, he wouldn't say anything to anyone.
            He withdrew his hand from his face. Jeremy's wild eyes stared in puzzlement at the truck's roof or the infinite nothingness above it. The blood kept coming out of his neck in two more little spurts, and then it just stopped. James was not a fool who did not know what he was doing; they had taught him the trade well. He had put on gloves, and goggles, in addition to having placed plastic on the floor and walls, but he still couldn't be sure that something wrong had not been stained. He took the man's cell phone out of his pocket, wrapped the body in the plastics as best he could, and put the bundle against the wall, covering it with a blanket and some boxes.
            He still had another assignment to run that night, and now it looked like he had just stepped off the set of some horror movie. In fact, the reality was much worse than that comparison. He quickly removed his gloves, goggles, mask, and stained clothes and cleaned himself as best he could with wet towels. Being practically naked, he couldn't help but notice the small spots lighter than his skin forming on his chest and abdomen. It was difficult for him to breathe a little. Then he stretched his hand to the front of the cabin, taking from between the seats the cylinder that the brat had given him and that he had been avoiding even thinking about it. He took it firmly in his hands and opened it just a little between a small fit of coughing. A thick, whitish vapor escaped from it, slowly rising in front of his face. Seeing this turned out was almost an erotic image for him.
            He took a deep breath of what little he had let out, but it was enough. That was quality steam, not the crumbs Jeremy had spilled on it. As soon as it entered his body, he felt much better. With more energy, the horrible feeling of illness subsided. He looked at his chest again, and the stains had diminished, though not disappeared. He sighed with some relief but also frustration. He ran his hand over his face and leaned his head against the wall of the truck.
            He had lived like this for five years, gradually consuming what he could get, not to stay young and strong but simply to survive. Like an aimless wanderer, all since he left behind his companions, his family, and his own leader to save himself. That had been his life since he fled with his beloved Mabel and some of his closest friends, leaving the True Knot behind. And now, only Mabel and he remained. Possibly they were the last of that proud line that for so many years, or centuries, had traveled the roads of the new and old continents, consuming the rubes for strength and longevity. That beautiful tradition and brotherhood, reduced to being the lapdogs of a steamer brat who thought himself much better than them, to beg for the crumbs that his new master dropped to the ground.
            Pathetic, it was pathetic. They weren't much better than the good old Jeremy, with his throat sliced ​​and wrapped in plastic; a victim of all his greed and lust.
            But there was no time to lament over nonsense like that. He had another assignment from his new "master," and that little dose of steam gave him the strength to do it.
            After cleaning himself as best he could, James took Jeremy's cell phone and passed in one of the wet towels in case any trace could have fallen on it. Then he got out of the truck, locking it securely. He picked up Jeremy's keys that were still on the ground after the failed catch and headed for his latest victim's vehicle. The true one drove out of the parking lot in the blue Corolla and crossed the road to the Ringland Motel.
— — — —
            The show Owen Ringland was watching ended, and he still had a long night on duty until at least six in the morning. He began to change the channels looking for an interesting movie that could entertain him for at least the next two hours and not stoop to playing a game on Facebook. He no longer believed he would receive any other visitors for the rest of the night. More than anything, he only had to be on the lookout for any needs arising from his current guests, especially this man who had just registered relatively recently. Against all odds, however, the sound of the front door opening took him abruptly by surprise as he switched channels. And it wasn't any of his guests; in fact, the tall, burly man, with dark skin and long braided black hair, did not seem at all familiar.
            The man wore a slightly old green jacket and a white tank top underneath that hugged his muscular torso. He had a rather hard look, and his thick lips were drawn in a sulky grin that certainly made Owen nervous. He was ashamed to admit it, but as much as he denied it to himself, perhaps his nerves were accompanied by a certain ill-fated prejudice; so much so that his hand almost involuntarily wanted to get closer to the weapon he had hidden under the counter. Still, he forced himself not to do that, although his hand remained close to the edge.
            The newcomer inhaled with force through his nose and rubbed it a bit with his hands. He then approached Owen with a slightly more relaxed posture and even smiled jovially at him once he was in front of the counter.
            "Good evening," the man greeted in a moderate tone.
            "Good evening…" Owen replied, sounding more insecure than he wanted to project. He cleared his throat and then stood up straight. "Can I help you?"
            "I don't want to bother. It's just…" The man reached into his jacket pocket with his right hand, and once again, Owen went on the alert. But, unfortunately for his small prejudices, the only thing this individual took out of his pocket was a Smartphone, which he placed on the counter in front of him. "There were three girls out there just moments ago, and I think one of them dropped this. It seemed to me that they entered one of your rooms. Could you give it to them?"
            Owen breathed in some relief, feeling even sorrier for his unwarranted thoughts. He allowed himself to pick up the phone and press the power button to turn on the screen. The phone was clearly locked, but on the lock screen, he could see that it had a close-up photo of a man in the background, which he recognized. He was the last guest who had registered, and in effect, he had said he was coming with his three daughters. It was the man's phone, or one of his daughters had a picture of their father in the background; that last alternative was kind of cute.
            "Sure, I'll take care of giving it to them," Owen agreed enthusiastically.
            "Thank you," said the newcomer, smiling at him again. "I don't take your time anymore..."
            Just as he entered, that man turned and began to walk towards the door. However, after two steps, he seemed to stagger a little, as if he were going to fall, but managed to firmly hold on to his two feet before that happened.
            "Are you okay, sir?" Owen asked him, a little worried when he saw it. The stranger stood motionless for a few moments before straightening up and walking again as if nothing had happened.
            "Yeah, I'm just a little dizzy," he said hastily before opening the door. "Have a good night."
            Before receiving any further questioning, he rushed out and closed the door behind him. Owen stared at the door for a few moments. Was he drunk? It seemed to him that he looked quite normal.
            It didn't matter; he was already gone anyway. Now he only had to hand over that phone to its owners as he had promised. He came out behind the counter and left the reception for a few moments to make the delivery.
— — — —
            Esther opened the bathtub's handles to fill it with hot water. She sat on its edge with her hand hanging inward, pinking the water with her fingertips as it filled up. That act alone was relaxing, but not quite enough yet. She hoped that little bath would help her forget for a few seconds how crazy those last days had been. And it wasn't just the constant police hunt over her head, or having to travel between states dragging a despot and hateful girl on crutches with her, or that she had had to kill more people in recent days than she had in the last couple of years. Or that she hadn't had a good or bad fuck in weeks, and strangely her body seemed to start to resent it; perhaps it was the power of habit. Besides all that was the undeniable and surreal reality presented before her every moment.
            People who could read your mind, make you see and feel things that weren't there, play with your mind or immobilize you, and now a girl who was able to make someone else stick a scalpel into their neck without blinking, and with the same normality with which she would apply a little makeup.
            And then there was this boy, Damien Thorn. Esther didn't know what he could do, but she was beginning to think that it was something much more horrible still. Her own weirdness, that strange quality that had come out of nowhere in her after coming out of that frozen lake, already made her uncomfortable and confused, but it was nothing in comparison. What kind of world had she gotten into? Or maybe she was always in it and hadn't realized it.
            Her head ached a little, and her shoulders felt tense.
            There was no point thinking about it much more. In a couple of days, they would arrive in Los Angeles, she would hand the two brats over to that guy, and she would get her answers; each and every one of them.
            Once the tub was full, she turned off the faucet and began undressing. First, she released the two tails she had made herself, letting her black hair fall over her shoulders. Then she removed her clothes, gradually releasing her small body of childish proportions but still maintaining the shape and curves of a grown woman's body, without ever becoming fully grown. She placed her hands on her small bust, barely protruding from her flat chest. She felt her breasts with her fingers, explored them a little, and enjoyed the light touch of the tips against her hard nipples. She flinched a little with relish, and all her worries faded for that little instant.
            Esther got into the tub and sat fully in it. Her muscles immediately appreciated the warm hug. She fully submerged her head to feel the almost maternal warmth throughout her body, not caring if her makeup ran off in the process. In fact, she allowed herself to scrub her entire face with the water to cleanse it as best as possible. Shortly afterward, she used the small hotel soap that came as a gift and ran it over her arms and legs to clean them of any trace of sweat, dirt, and (why not?) blood that might have been on her.
            During her soaping process on her legs, her hand slid down the inner part of her left thigh and up until it reached her intimate part. At first, she just rubbed the soap over that area in a totally normal way, as if trying to convince herself that she just wanted to clean herself. But she knew well that it would not be just that. She dropped the soap, not caring if it was underwater on the floor of the tub, and began to move her fingers against her sex. She shuddered again when she felt that direct and somewhat brusque touch. Maybe that was what she needed to get all of this out at once.
            She placed her right leg over the tub's edge to give herself more room and maneuver better. With her other hand, she explored her small breasts again. And again, everything was gone. She didn't care where she was on the map, the two girls on the other side of the door, the police who were looking for her, or who was waiting in Los Angeles. For those minutes, in that bathroom, there were only her and her own imagination; the best and worst company she had had during all those years of absolute solitude, practically since she arrived in this world.
            But the universe did not want her to forget for long about her undeniable reality. She was in the middle of her work, or perhaps a little further when she clearly heard heavy knuckles knocking on the room's door despite having the bathroom door closed. That made her jump, somewhat stunned at being snapped back to reality.
            "Shit," she muttered, mired in indescribable frustration.
            She shot out from the tub and desperately searched for one of the white bathrobes to cover herself. Was it the police? She didn't think so since they should have announced it more clearly. But no matter who it was, she couldn't allow either of those two brats to open up and say something stupid.
            The robe was obviously too big for her, but it would work for now. However, she suddenly remembered the makeup. Esther walked over to the mirror and took a quick look, trying to detect how bad it looked and if there was anything she could do to reverse it without taking too long.
            And it was at that moment, when her eyes fell on her reflection in the mirror, that her mind simply clouded.
            Some of her makeup was running down her face, and most of her real face was exposed. Or, at least, what was supposed to be her real face. But in the mirror, Esther saw something vastly different from what she expected. Wrinkles, skin marks, crow's feet, chapped lips…. None of that was there. The skin on her face was smooth, firm, and soft, decorated with her flirty freckles, how it looked when she applied her makeup… or even better.
            Confused, she took a long piece of toilet paper and ran it over her face insistently, trying to remove any trace of the paint layer that might remain on it, not thinking that she should, in fact, be doing the opposite. The paper was wet and stained, but only slightly. And when she looked back in the mirror, the image she had initially seen was still there: a young face that could pass much quicker than that of a girl between nine and thirteen years old, perhaps fourteen at most. And without the need for some accessory that made it look that way.
            Esther opened her robe to look at the rest of her body. She hadn't noticed it at first, but now it became more than evident to her: the skin on her body in general looked firmer and smoother as well, just as it was ten or twenty years ago. The scars on her neck and wrist were still there, being difficult to ignore. That was perhaps the only thing that kept her from believing that this was a complete hallucination.
            What the heck had happened? How had her body changed so suddenly? Was it a side effect of that ability that had sprung up from her path? But just before entering that hospital, her face was the same as always; she had seen it in the mirror while putting on makeup. What changed? Nothing at all. Nor had anything unusual happened, except that now he was traveling with...
            Samara? That girl?
            For some reason, her new traveling companion came to mind, and she stayed there for a long time, refusing to leave. Had she caused this? But how?
            She could not reflect on all that madness anymore because she heard a knock on the door again, now with much more force. She quickly pulled her robe closed and hurried out of the bathroom.
            Samara and Lily were each lying on a bed, watching on television an extensive car chase that surely belonged to an action movie, while slowly eating their respective hamburgers and fries. Neither seemed interested in getting up and attending.
            "Someone is at the door," Lily pointed out absently, having at least two potatoes in her mouth. She turned to see Esther at that moment and seemed a little surprised when she saw her. "Didn't you remove your makeup to shower?"
            Esther winced a little at that question. Did she see it differently, too? Was it not her imagination then?
            It didn't matter, not at the moment.
            Esther went to his suitcase, took out her gun, unlatched it, and hurried to the door.
            "Cover that leg," pointed out to Lily sharply. "And no one says anything."
            Lily snorted and then covered her legs with the pink coverlet from the bed.
            Esther stopped in front of the door and attached the chain. She held her weapon with her right hand, hiding it behind the door, while she opened it only a little, what the chain allowed. The man standing outside in the hallway wasn't a cop, or at least he didn't look like one. Owen Ringland's appearance was actually quite normal and boring. The middle-aged man lowered his gaze to meet the apparent girl's face, barely peeking through the small opening.
            "Hello, little one," Owen said with a friendly smile, then handed the phone he carried in his right hand. "A man at the front desk said that maybe this could be from one of you."
            "A man?" Esther murmured without fully understanding that statement. She looked at that phone for a second and immediately shook her head. "No, it must be a mistake, sorry..."
            Esther was about to immediately close the door before receiving more questioning, but Owen insisted.
            "Are you sure? He said he saw three girls outside, and you are the only three girls who have just arrived. Besides, this is your dad, right?"
            Owen allowed himself to turn on the screen so the girl could see the lock screen with that photo in the background. Esther recognized it quickly.
            "Maybe it's from him? Could you call him?"
            "He went to get ice," Esther answered quickly without much thought. "What was that man like?"
            "The one who delivered it? Well… he was tall, Afro-American, hair in braids… But then, isn't it yours?"
            Esther thought for a few moments. That description left no room for doubt; it was clear who it was. But why had he left that phone for them? Was it some kind of strange message? Anyway, that phone possibly belonged to that individual he had used. Whatever it was, she couldn't leave it to that stupid manager; it would be very risky.
            Esther's lips drew a sweet, almost naive smile, making her face look sweetly innocent.
            "Ah, how silly of me," she exclaimed, laughing, slapping her hand against her forehead. "Of course, it's my sister Michelle's phone." She turned then to Lily sitting on the bed, visible from the door opening. "Surely you dropped it again. You are so clumsy."
            That last comment had been made with a playful tone that Lily did not like at all.
            "I'm sorry, I have butterfingers," replied the girl on the bed without much enthusiasm.
            "Thank you very much, sir," Esther exclaimed cheerfully, then grabbed the phone, almost snatching it from Owen's fingers. "My father would have killed her if she found out she had lost another phone. You have saved her life."
            "Do not worry. If you need anything..."
            "We will call you, thank you very much. I'm sorry, but my dad will be back, and I don't want him to see us talking to a stranger."
            Before Owen could say anything else, Esther rushed to shut the door, almost hitting him in the face with it. Then she subtly peeked through the window curtains, watching as the manager stood a few doubtful seconds in front of the door, scratched his head a bit, almost completely bald, and then walked away down the hall. She wasn't sure if she had entirely convinced him, but again she would have to take a chance.
            Once it was no longer visible from the window, Esther hurried to fully close the curtains and lock the door.
            She sighed slowly, trying to calm herself, and only then did she glance at the phone. She tried to turn it on, but it was locked. She could only see the background photo of the same guy she had just seen not long ago in the parking lot of that bar and the numeric keypad to enter the pin, which she was clearly unaware of.
            "Who's phone is this?" She heard Samara ask curiously, but Esther had no intention of answering.
            She wondered again what were the intentions of that strange man who had intervened in the Eola Hospital. It seemed safe to conclude that the previous owner of that phone was dead. But why send it to them? Just to warn her that she had been too careless and that he had to take care of it? On the one hand, she thanked him if that was the case. On the other, she wanted to see him head-on and ask him if he had any better idea of ​​what the hell she should do.
            And at that moment, the phone began to ring loudly, with an irritating tone that it had by default for sure. All three girls were startled in surprise by this sudden change, although none had a conscious reason to react in such a way. The number on the screen was listed as unknown, so it was not one of the contacts the man had saved. It was unlikely, but not impossible, that it was a wife or girlfriend asking why he hadn't come home yet.
            Esther hesitated for a few moments between answering or not because it was also possible that it was precisely that man, and his final intention was to speak to them by that phone instead of doing it head-on. And that seemed clever to him. But… what if it wasn't him?
            "Are you going to answer or not?" Lily asked scathingly.
            Esther glanced at her without saying anything for a few moments and then looked at the screen again. If it was not who she thought, they would have to destroy the phone and run out of that place as soon as possible. Everything in that last stretch had been based on taking risks; would one more run?
            Somewhat resigned to accepting the inevitable, she answered the call a couple of seconds before it was completely cut off and held the cell phone to her right ear.
            "Hello?"
            "You could have been more convincing, Leena," she heard almost immediately a voice murmur on the line, a voice she did not identify as the man's, but it seemed pretty familiar.
            The woman's eyes widened, and her entire face suddenly turned quite serious.
            "You…" she exclaimed with a tone of recrimination.
            She glanced at Lily and Samara, who were staring at her in confusion but also curious. Instead of prompting them to explain who was speaking, she led her to walk quickly to the room's small balcony, go out, and close the glass door behind her. Lily and Samara looked at each other in confusion. However, Lily's was relatively minor since she had sensed in Esther a trace of that emotion that was so familiar to her.
            Was Esther afraid? Maybe not as such. But even so, either from the remnants of what she was doing in the bathtub before being interrupted or from the strong shock of suddenly hearing that voice, her heart thumped violently, and a tickle ran through her abdomen. Once on the balcony, she gradually calmed down.
            "You were a lot less silent and discreet on your way than I expected," whispered that voice on the phone, the one she had only heard once but immediately recognized as that of that boy named Damien. "But somehow or other, you almost accomplished your mission; congratulations."
            "Save your talk, brat," Esther snapped, keeping her cool as best she could. "I already have your two girls, now do your part."
            She then heard him laugh proudly.
            "The deal was for you to bring them to me, which hasn't happened yet. But you are already close, and I am still waiting for you here."
            "And why are you calling me then?"
            "I just wanted you to know I'm closer than you think, always watching."
            Esther was silent for a few moments. Was it a threat? It was difficult for her to suppose that it could mean anything else.
            "Was the man at the hospital your spy?"
            "I wouldn't call him like that, but yes, I sent him."
            "If he's around, why don't I hand the two brats to him and get this over with? I'm already getting sick of being a babysitter."
            "Oh, come on, don't tell me you didn't have fun on this trip. I thought that by this point, you would have become good friends."
            Esther joked, annoyed at the mere insinuation.
            "Besides, you have to be the one to bring them here."
            "Why?"
            "Because I say so, and that's the only thing you should care about."
            Esther's fingers tightened on the phone. She felt the anger rise in her head and pool in the back of it like a throbbing pain. The only thing that dampened it a bit was a gust of icy wind that made her hug her right hand. She remembered at the time that she was wet and only covered in a robe too big for her, and he hadn't given it much thought before going outside like that.
            "Be very careful how you talk to me," Esther replied, leaving no doubt that this was indeed a threat. "Obviously, the two brats are important to you, and I am now much closer to both than you and your spy, or whatever you want to call him. What would prevent me from slicing off their skinny necks in their sleep and running away with the money that's left?"
            On the other end of the line, Damien smiled, indifferent to her words; she didn't see it, but she knew it was.
            "Many things," the boy replied, normally. "To begin with, you would lose the opportunity to know what you long for. Next, there would be no place in this world that you could hide from me. And most importantly, you have already seen what both are capable of. Do you really want to risk hurting either of them?"
            Again, Esther was silent. Indeed, she had witnessed, sometimes the hard way, what her two companions, hostages or whatever, could do if they were cornered. And she sensed that she still did not know the full extent of those abilities. She knew it, even before she launched her threat. But she raged at the idea that this brat believed he had all control over her. That a man, adult or not, saw her as something insignificant without any power was something she simply could not and did not want to conceive.
            "Come on, cheer up," the boy murmured with more encouragement. "Your mission is almost over... or just beginning, depending on how you see it."
            "Who you really are?" Esther whispered. "What do you want them for exactly?"
            Again she felt him smile arrogantly.
            "Bring them as soon as possible. I will be anxiously waiting for you. And by the way, if I were you, I would destroy this phone and leave that motel as early as possible tomorrow. If I need to contact you again, I will search for a way. See ya."
            And then he hung up, as abruptly as he'd called.
            Esther slowly withdrew the phone from her ear and stood looking up at the dark hill behind that motel. That guy caused so many things to her; anger, frustration, but also a certain degree of fascination and, of course, excitement.
            Who was he? What did he want? What would he do with the three of them once they arrived? Were they in danger? She had no answers to any of that. And for the first time since this whole absurd mission began, she wondered if she wasn't heading straight for the wolf's mouth.
            What guaranteed that boy knew exactly what was happening to her? How could she know that he wouldn't kill her once she was in front of him again? And what would he do with Lily and Samara…?
            Questioning that last thing took her unexpectedly by surprise. Did that matter? It wouldn't have to. Those girls meant nothing to her at all. They were the equivalent of legged packages she had to deliver and no more. Although their abilities seemed helpful, there were sure to be many fun things they could do if she used them correctly. But, in the end, they were just a heavy and annoying burden.
            Let Damien Thorn, or whoever he was, do what he wanted with them. She would bring them before him and whatever happened, even if it involved her own death. In fact, on more than one occasion in the past five years, she had come to embrace the idea of ​​death, if that was still a possibility. The idea that maybe it could all end that way, and in the hands of that guy whose presence caused so much within her, it caused a strange satisfaction.
            But she would only know until they got to Los Angeles.
            She turned towards the door to go back inside, and as she did so, she found herself squarely into Lily's cold, hard face, staring at her from the other side of the glass door. Esther flushed, almost scared. The girl was standing there, leaning on her crutches, staring at her silently. How long had she been there? Had she heard something? Although, it didn't really matter; she didn't need to hear as such to know what they had been talking about.
            The ten-year-old girl stood there for a while, just watching her, and then she turned on her crutches and headed back to her bed without saying anything. Esther stared at her as she walked away.
            She remembered then that Damien Thorn's threat was not the only one on his head. Really, she was surrounded in all directions, with little chance of getting out of it. So yes, she really was helpless and powerless… and without any friend who could sincerely reach out to her.
END OF CHAPTER 47
Author's Notes:
-The True Knot and the data revealed by James in this chapter are references to the Doctor Sleep novel by Stephen King. Although James is an original character who does not appear or is mentioned in said book, he was created under the same context and used as a basis for its antagonists, in the way that James is a former member of this group.
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Chapter 46. Nowhere to Go
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX
Chapter 46. Nowhere to Go
The night had been relatively quiet for Owen Ringland, owner and manager of the Ringland Motel on the outskirts of Eugene, on the road that connected with Cottage Grove. Only three of its twenty rooms were currently occupied (two by tourist families and one more by a woman traveling alone). And only five of the remaining ones were already clean and ready to receive someone. It was an off-season, and still having three rooms occupied in one night like this was considered acceptable to him.
Owen was a middle-aged man with an abdomen a little bulkier than the rest of his body and less hair than he should have for his age. He spent that night mainly staying at the reception, waiting to meet his current guests' needs or the arrival of a sudden new guest. It was around eleven o'clock at night when the latter apparently happened.
He was sitting behind the reception desk, arms folded as he watched on the small flat screen perched on the wall a local night show, which possibly only he and his wife saw on the face of that Earth. Then he saw how someone approached the glass door of the entrance and entered accompanied by the slight electronic bell that indicated that the door had been opened. The visitor was a tall and thin man with thick and shiny black hair (as Owen once had), covered with a leather jacket that he kept closed with his right hand as if trying to protect himself from the cold outside; Owen didn't think it was that bad. The man held a grocery bag in his right hand with items that Owen did not identify with the naked eye and, under his arm, a large brown paper bag from some fast-food restaurant.
The visitor walked over to Owen and smiled broadly at him naturally.
"Good evening," he greeted him calmly, allowing himself to place the bags he brought with him on the counter. "Do you have rooms available?"
Owen adjusted his glasses, muted the TV for a few seconds, and turned squarely on him. The smell of fried potatoes wafting from the paper bag filled his nostrils.
"Of course. For how many people?"
"Four; my three daughters and me."
The manager turned to his computer, began to review the available rooms list on his schedule, and cross-checked it for the number of people who would occupy it.
"Very well, for how many nights?"
"Just one."
He began to type with some dexterity for quick registration.
"Perfect. It would be sixty-five dollars. How are you going to pay?"
"Cash," the new host said without hesitation. Then he put his hand into the right pocket of his jacket, taking out of it a wad of bills from which he began to put aside those necessary to cover the amount. He then placed the corresponding bills on the counter and handed them over.
Owen was uncomfortable for a second to see all the cash he was carrying, but in the end, he let it pass; after all, it was not surprising that some tourists preferred to travel with considerable cash for any unforeseen events during their travels. Though it was still a bit curious to him the carefree way he had pulled out the bills and counted them in front of him without the slightest concern. He thought about indicating to him how dangerous that attitude could be, but he preferred not to get involved in what did not matter to him. He counted the money to verify that it was complete and then proceeded to take two of his electronic cards, programming them for the selected room and finishing the check-in with that.
"Here you have," he said, placing the cards on the display surface. "Room 14, on the top floor. I hope your daughters enjoy their stay."
"Very kind," the man said in a jovial tone. He put the two cards inside his jacket, retook his bags, and went out the way he had entered.
Owen settled back into his chair and turned up the volume on the television.
— — — —
The new guest of the Ringland Motel crossed the road, then walked a few feet south toward the wide parking lot of a fairly busy restaurant and bar. There was loud music from inside the establishment, although it was heard clearly mainly when the door was opened from time to time. He walked to the side of the premises, moving a little away from the streetlights in the parking lot. There, leaning against the wooden wall, was a small figure, wrapped in a fur coat, hidden in the shadows. However, its presence was betrayed by the orange glow that emanated from the tip of its cigarette. When he approached it, the person did not even look at him. It remained focused on the darkness that loomed beyond, toward the woods with no more moonlight and stars. It blew thick smoke over its head, creating a dark haze around.
"Stop there," a female voice instructed the newcomer sternly, and the newcomer obeyed out of reflex.
He carefully lowered the balls he brought with him, placed them on the floor, and then took the magnetic keys out of his pocket to put them inside one of the bags.
"It's room 14, upstairs," the man told her as he stood up again.
"And the clothes?" The figure in front of him inquired aggressively, and he merely nodded at the bags beside him.
Only then, the tiny figure, which could easily be mistaken for a nine or ten-year-old girl, detach itself from the wall and approach him. When the dim light from the streetlights hit her, the man noticed that she was holding a long, dark gun in her other hand.
"Hey, wait," the man commented, even with some humor in his tone. He raised his hands slowly and stepped back, away from the bags. Once she was far enough away, this girl examined the contents. It had clothes indeed: pants, a blouse, and sandals. The other bag had three hamburgers, three orders of potatoes, and three canned sodas. "I don't know if it is the correct size."
The girl did not answer him. She just turned to look at him in silence, with a rather disturbing intensity. For a second, the man thought she was torn between shooting him right there or not. Still, he trusted that even at her young age, she would understand how absurd it would be to do so and that the whole bar would listen to the shot. Of course, she could always try to persuade him to walk into the bush and do it in the dark. But she was a brat half his weight or less; he didn't think it would be difficult to subdue her and take her weapon away if that happened, and she sure knew it too.
He did not know precisely what the girl's reasoning had been, but in the end, she apparently gave up on the idea of ​​the shot. Instead, she put the gun back inside her coat and pulled out a white envelope, which she threw right at the feet of the man. He bent down slowly, taking the envelope with one hand while continuing with the other one raised. He went through it quickly: the envelope was filled with beautiful green bills, like the ones in the bundle that still had a few leftovers. That drew a wide, satisfied smile in his lips.
"And you never saw me," the girl snapped sternly, picking up the bags from the floor. "Is it clear?"
"Clear enough," the man replied, tucking the envelope into his jacket. "Although… is not my problem why three girls are running away and hiding in a motel, but…"
"Indeed, it's not your problem," the girl interrupted abruptly, already standing and holding the bags of clothes and food against her body with one arm. "Get out of here while you still can."
Then she turned fully towards the back of the bar while putting her cigarette between her lips again to take one last puff.
"Okay," she heard the man mutter behind her. "But you shouldn't smoke at your age, or you won't grow."
That stupid comment made her stop in her tracks and turn to see him once more over her shoulder. He had already turned around and was walking towards the parking lot, or perhaps instead into the bar. The girl reached inside her coat and drew her gun again, pointing it straight at his large head. Even at that distance, she could hit an accurate shot. She hesitated for a few moments, clenching the gun until his target turned the corner and was out of sight. Only then did she drop his arm entirely to the side. She whistled in frustration and kept walking towards where she was heading a moment ago.
It wasn't worth risking so much for a fool like that. Besides, she wasn't in the mood that night. All she wanted was to rest.
After shooting out of Eola's Hospital, Esther, Lily, and Samara drove for two hours without stopping. It didn't take long for Lily and Samara to actually fall asleep in their respective seats, although it was difficult to determine if Samara was really asleep or had just leaned back in the seat, as her long hair covered her almost entirely like some strange black sheet. Meanwhile, Esther, her nerves racing and alert, kept driving as best she could, trying not to let her fatigue get the better of her. Only once during the entire journey did she see the lights of a patrol coming down the road from the opposite direction, which made her even more worried. She held the wheel with her right hand while hiding the left on one side, holding her already loaded weapon and with the safety removed. The other gun, along with the silencer, had been left behind in that hospital corridor.
The patrol passed her and continued on their way. Esther looked at it in the rearview mirror, waiting to see if it would turn around at any moment and head behind them; that did not happen.
She breathed in relief.
They had managed to take a few alternate paths that the GPS indicated on their long drive to the south. However, it still surprised her too much how relatively easy it had been to get that far away without encountering any roadblocks, or at least a couple of patrols in pursuit. That must be more than luck.
Although in addition to the police, there was that man who had intervened to help them escape. Esther didn't have to think about it so much before coming to the conclusion that he must have been sent by that boy to… help her? Spy on her? Whatever it was, he indeed should be following them. But if so, he had to keep his distance well, or he drove with the lights off because Esther never noticed any vehicle driving behind her.
The uncertainty of not knowing who that man was or what specific intentions he had, stressed her even more than the police themselves. What if he planned to get rid of her and take the two girls himself, either on his own initiative or by the orders of the Thorn brat? She wanted to see him try it.
After crossing through Eugene, it became apparent to the woman at the wheel that she wouldn't be able to keep driving for much longer. She was tense, tired, and hungry. They passed that motel, and she considered that it would be pretty appropriate to stop there. However, she couldn't just walk in and ask for a room. In the best cases, they would call children's services to put them in their custody. That is why she had stopped in that bar to think about what to do.
She was watching for a while the people coming and going until she found the right one. Over the years, Esther had learned to read men and recognize different types. Especially one: the unscrupulous, capable of doing anything to receive money or pleasure; luckily, she had both things to offer, although whoever chose preferred the former: a few dollars in exchange for getting them a room, some clothes and food for dinner, and not asking too many questions.
So far, this had worked out well, but Esther was quite concerned that she had left a potential witness like that on the loose. There were several ways to get rid of him, but they all involved drawing too much attention, and that was the least they needed right now. She would have to risk it; after all, she had already risked too much that night (not to say during all these last days).
She returned to the van, parked in the darkest and furthest part of the parking lot, ensuring that no one saw her. She climbed into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind her. Lily had woken up before she left to do her transaction, but Samara was still huddled with her back to them when she left. Now Moesko's girl was sitting up again, leaning against the vehicle door while hugging her legs. She was a little startled when she heard Esther's door slam as if that had just woken her up.
"Finally!" Lily muttered in annoyance. Esther ignored her and instead turned back and handed Samara the grocery bag with the clothes.
"Here, it's for you."
Samara looked at the bag in confusion.
"You must change before you go out of the car."
Samara took a discreet glance at the hospital gown she still had on, the same one that was stained red with her own mother's blood and a little of hers. She also had a gauze on her cheek covering the cut her mother made her with a scalpel, as well as her hand. She timidly took the bag in her hands and looked at its contents. Inside there were blue jeans, a pastel-colored horizontal striped blouse, and sandals to be worn without socks. The girl understood immediately, but the idea of ​​undressing in that vehicle did not seem pleasant at all.
"Don't worry, the windows are tinted," Esther told her in a jovial tone as if she had sensed her doubt just by looking at her face. "That means that no one can see inside."
Esther drew her weapon at that moment and showed it to her.
"And in any case, I am here to take care that no one comes near, okay?"
Samara hesitated for a few more seconds, but in the end, she gave a slight nod and began to remove the clothes from the bag. Esther turned back to the front to not bother her but kept holding her gun for anything. She was looking mainly towards the road, ensuring that no blue and red lights took her by surprise.
"You're so kind with the new one," Lily muttered suddenly.
Esther shrugged.
"I didn't have to shoot her to convince her to come with me."
"Lucky one..."
Saying that the brown girl brought her hand towards her right thigh, pressing a little on the bandage that covered it. As he did so, her mouth twisted in deep pain.
"Is it hurting you?" Esther asked with some coldness.
"No, it feels wonderful; ready to run in the Olympic Games," Lily replied wryly. "I really don't know how they haven't caught you yet. This escape was a disaster, and now you decide to stay here, still quite close to where we fled, and with a witness that all he would have to do is call the police from inside that bar, and that would end your big flight. You must have a good guardian angel."
"Or something else," Esther thought to herself as she continued to stare into the distance.
"It'll be only one night," the woman in the driver's seat said. "I am exhausted, and we still have a long way to go to Los Angeles. Also, you should rest that leg."
"How considerate," Lily muttered with the same irony as before, or maybe more.
Esther didn't say more, mainly because she no longer wanted to talk with her. What she craved instead was to put the gun down the girl's throat and empty the entire cartridge inside, because she was more than fed up with her disrespectful and sarcastic mouth. Sadly for her, she had too many reasons to not do that. However, everything had its limits... Besides, she had to admit that having her unique abilities had been beneficial to her, and not just that night.
"Are we going to Los Angeles?" They suddenly heard Samara's voice question from the back seat.
"It's a miracle, she finally speaks," Lily murmured, again in that annoying tone.
Esther ignored Lily again and preferred to answer Samara's question. In the rearview mirror, she looked at how she had finished putting on her new shirt.
"Yes, the person who hired me to find you is waiting there."
"And will he have better answers than you about what this is all about?" Lily interjected with interest.
"I hope so," Esther replied reluctantly, turning back to the windshield.
Less than a minute later, they heard Samara speak again.
"I'm ready."
Both girls in the front seats turned to see her. The shirt was a bit too big, but beyond that, she looked totally different with that change of look; even her face seemed to take on a little more color. The bloodstained robe lay on the seat next to her, curled into a ball.
"You almost don't look like a walking corpse," Lily commented nonchalantly.
"Ignore her; you look good," Esther added with some haste, and without further ado, she started the vehicle to go to the motel as soon as possible.
They parked a little away from the rest of the vehicles and crept out when no one was nearby. They did not unload luggage other than Esther's suitcase with the money and the bag with the food. The bloody robe was kept in the suitcase, and they would get rid of it as soon as they could.
"It's the prettiest hole you've dragged me into these days, though that's not saying much," Lily pointed out pointedly. Then she looked at the pool on-site, for those hours wholly alone and the door that led to it locked. "At least it has a pool."
"Don't even think about it," Esther answered reluctantly, going to the front and making sure there were no onlookers nearby. "Even if you weren't hurt, we can't show ourselves too much. We go straight to the room and leave first thing in the morning before someone finds out that our supposed daddy left."
"You just have to say you killed him," Lily pointed out wryly. "I bet you have practice saying it."
Esther didn't reply.
They then reached the foot of the stairs, which Lily observed as if they were a sudden creepy apparition. It wouldn't be nice to carry that up on crutches, and of course, that motel had no elevator. Esther looked over her shoulder at her reaction and smirked. Without saying anything, she calmly started up as Lily watched her angrily.
"Do you want me to help you?" Lily heard Samara asking with her little voice, standing next to her.
"Don't bother me," she replied dryly and began to climb step by step as her condition allowed. Samara walked behind her, hoping she didn't end up falling on her.
Arriving at Room 14's door, Esther unlocked it with one of the electronic keys. She immediately felt the wall for the light switch. The room was not bad at all, although it was pretty basic. It had two queen size beds with pink covers and two pillows in each one. In front of them, on the opposite wall, was a chest of drawers with a small flat television on it. At the back of the room were two doors: a wooden one that led to the bathroom and a glass one that led to a small balcony from which they could see the surrounding mountains. Apart from that, there was not much more than a few bureaus next to the beds, and between them, some lamps and a wooden chair in one corner.
Simple, but it looked clean and comfortable.
"I'll take the bed alone," Lily muttered quickly, heading over to one of the beds so that she could flop down onto it so could rest her already sore leg.
"Whatever," Esther replied without much interest in her complaint. Then she went to the bureau between the beds and placed the bag with the food on it. "Eat quickly before going to sleep."
Lily reached a little toward the bag to see its contents. As soon as Esther got into the car, she could guess what it was from the smell, but the sight of it made that clear.
"Burgers again?" Lily muttered with a certain weariness in her voice. "We haven't eaten anything else on this tedious journey."
"Excuse me, princess," Esther replied sarcastically. "Do you want me to cook you a steak? I immediately go to the kitchen and prepare it."
The woman stretched her arms up a little, letting out a pleasant moan as she felt the numbness of her muscles relax a little. Maybe this was all a bad idea, and there was a possibility that they might have the police on their doorstep before long. But for the moment, she didn't care; she just wanted to take a few minutes to relax so she could think better about her next step.
Samara moved silently around the room, appreciating the beige and pink paint on the walls, the dark blue curtains on the balcony door, and of course the covers on the bed with that scent so characteristic of hotel laundries but that for her, a twelve-year-old girl who had only left her island in the last four years to be locked up in that madhouse of pure cold white rooms, was strangely refreshing. In fact, although she wasn't entirely sure where exactly she was, she knew in advance that it was the furthest she had been from Moesko in her entire life. And, of course, it would go even further.
She sat on the edge of the unoccupied bed and stared at the bag of food. She peered out carefully, seeing the hamburgers wrapped in yellow paper, the potatoes in their white boxes, a few seasoning sachets decorating the bottom of the bag, and the soda cans, two red and one green. She wasn't drawn to the menu that night.
"I'm not hungry," Samara muttered slowly. However, she took one of the sodas, though she didn't open it right away. She just held it in her hands, resting it on her knees, and gazed at it in silence. She did not see her reflection on the shiny metallic surface of the can but her silhouette with the spotlight from the ceiling framing it.
Out of the corner of her eye, Samara noticed that Lily was also sitting on the shore, right in front of her, and this forced her to look up in her direction. Lily was watching her with some interest as if examining some weirdo under a telescope; oddly enough, that look was less annoying than that of Dr. Scott and the other doctors.
"Well… Samara, right?" The Portland girl questioned directly; Samara just nodded. "You were quiet or crying the whole way, so now tell me."
"Tell you what?" Samara replied, confused.
"The granny said you killed your mother," Lily snapped, making Samara wince in her seat. "How exactly did you do it? Tell me the details."
That question clearly bothered the girl, who not only didn't answer but also instinctively turned away in an attempt to avoid that interrogation look.
"Don't bother her," Esther chided, peering out a window beside the door to make sure there were no suspicious movements. Still, the girls' conversation had not been alien to her.
"Or what?" Lily replied challengingly, glancing at Esther for a second, but turning almost immediately back to Samara. "How many more have you killed? How do you do it? What exactly can you do?" Samara continued without answering or looking at her. Her long hair fell to the front, covering her almost entirely. "Come on, don't be a coward. I show you mine if you show me yours..."
"I told you not to bother her," Esther snapped angrily, stepping between them and facing Lily head-on. "The least you want is to alter her."
Lily looked at her, not directly angry but rather curious. A crafty smile played across her thin lips, and then she slowly stood up, leaning on one of her crutches. They both stood one in front of the other with a defiant attitude.
"Is fear what I'm feeling in you?" Lily whispered slyly. "Are you afraid of this witless?" Esther didn't answer, but it made a lot of sense. That's why she was so kind and considerate to her. Lily laughed satirically. "So bad and intimidating, and in the end, you're just a ball of fear like anyone else, right?"
Esther's face hardened even more. That comment was just the last drop in a glass that had been filling up all night and was nowhere near overflowing.
"Do you want me to show you how scared I am?" Esther whispered defiantly, and just then, Lily felt the barrel of her gun hitting her abdomen. That impressed her a bit at first, but she kept her calm and superior demeanor.
"Who do you think you impress with that? You lost your silencer gun, stupid. Shoot, and you'll have half of the Eugene police cornering this place. Besides, if you wanted to kill me, you would have already done it." Her smile broadened even more, laden with quite a bit of confidence. "It must be imperative for you to give me alive to whoever hired you, right? Are you also afraid of that other person?"
"I can deliver you alive even without your skeletal legs, you asshole brat," Esther replied and slowly lowering her weapon until the barrel was now pointed at her healthy thigh. Instead of being intimidated by that threat, Lily moved closer, facing her with greater vigor and keeping her eyes fixed.
"Do it, and I'll wrap you in a world of nightmares from which you will never be able to leave. And then you'll live the rest of your miserable and schizophrenic life in the padded room of a madhouse, like those you hate so much, wallowing in your own saliva and feces."
"Really? How threatening… Read my mind all you want, you little whore, and tell me…" Esther approached her to the point where they both almost had their foreheads pressed together. "Are you scaring me right now?"
They both fell silent right after that, looking at each other with such intensity that sparks almost seemed to arise between them. Esther had a firm grip on her gun aimed at Lily's leg, but Lily had her own kind of gun ready to fire as well, and that Esther knew very well. Both entered a stalemate, in which they only waited for the other to take a step, move a finger, or even blink so that all that tension that had arisen between them that day would finally explode... no, rather since several days ago, from the first moment they met in that hospital room. And everything was set to inevitably happen that way.
However, the attention of both of them dissipated a bit as they heard at that moment the sound of gas being released, followed by a bubbling gurgling and the gasp of astonishment from the third person in that room.
Esther and Lily turned to Samara simultaneously and noticed how the soda in her hands had started to spill when she opened it, wetting her fingers and leaving them sticky, and then falling to the carpet. Quickly the girl placed the soda on the table in alarm. Her next almost involuntary action was to run her hands over the new shirt in an attempt to wipe them off a bit of the soda but only managed to stain her clothes as well. When she realized she was being watched, she looked up at her two companions, feeling embarrassed. Her cheeks flushed, and she tried again to hide her face behind her long hair.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered slowly, barely audible.
By the way or not, that little act seemed to cool Lily and Esther's heads, just a little bit but enough for the older one to pull her gun away from the other and then walk to the bathroom door.
"I'll take a bath. Don't disturb me."
Lily snorted nonchalantly and flopped back onto her bed with her arms folded.
"Wait to see her without her makeup; it's horrible," she said playfully to Samara. Esther listened to her but did not stop to say anything or think much about the matter. He went straight into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her with some force. "Turn on the TV and find something, will you?"
Samara was a little startled at being alluded to, and then she noticed the remote control on the bureau near her. She took it, sat on the bed, and turned on the flat screen on the dresser. Then she navigated between the channels, staying a few seconds in each one, waiting for her roommate to tell if she wanted to watch it, but that did not happen.
"Can you at least tell me why you agreed to come with this crazy woman?" Lily blurted out, taking her a bit by surprise. "You didn't know we were going to Los Angeles or who we are going to see there. I don't know either, but I have reasons for playing this woman's game for a bit longer."
Then she turned inquisitively to her.
"Which ones are yours? Or do you have so little willpower that you do whatever the people tell you?"
Samara seemed thoughtful for a while. She lowered her gaze for a few seconds and then turned once more to the television, continuing her journey through the few channels that were available on it.
"At first, I just wanted to get out of that horrible place," Samara blurted out suddenly with some apathy. "But now, I have nowhere to go... I killed my mother; I'm a murderer. Matilda and my dad will never forgive me. Besides…" She slowly turned her head to one of the corners of the room, her gaze focused on that point. "She told me that this is what I should do..."
"She?" Lily murmured, confused. "Are you talking about the granny? Or who are you talking about?"
Samara did not reply. She did not think that girl was able to understand what she was looking at in those moments. She did not think that girl was able to understand the opaque figure, with long and disheveled black hair, dirty white dress, wrapped in a dark and rotten air, that lay in that corner, but that at the same time did not seem to be there as if it were just a blurred etching on the wall.
That night, that being had come face to face with her more times than ever, considering she was still awake. Samara wondered if now, every time she looked to the side, there she would be watching her from afar. Maybe not, but it still didn't matter. After what happened that night, she had begun to lose her fear to that ghost or whatever it was. At the end of the day, she was now a monster just as horrible as her... or maybe worse...
END OF CHAPTER 46
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Chapter 45. What shall we do now?
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX
Chapter 45. What shall we do now?
It was a lovely night in Anniston, New Hampshire. The weather was mild, and there was not a cloud in the sky. Abra Stone considered it an excellent time to take his puppy Brownie for a walk and clear the mind a bit since she had been locked up all day with her mother, who would not even let her eat without giving him a scolding.
Both walked leisurely along the sidewalk of that peaceful, illuminated, and quiet suburban neighborhood, especially the latter. The street was so lonely at the time; it seemed almost as if everyone had gone on vacation, and now all those houses around them were empty. Abra was not bothered by this at all.
She had Brownie's strap attached to her right wrist as she walked animatedly in front of her. She practically allowed the little dog to guide her on their nightly journey, as long as he didn't get off the concrete path of the sidewalk. For her part, Abra had half attention on her steps and the other half on her cell phone, in which she exchanged messages with her friend Emma. The conversation was another gossip that nobody knew anything about, but everyone was still sure it was true. And yet, she felt an almost moral duty to not leave the discussion until a favorable outcome was obtained.
Abra: I'm tired of being the one giving the explanations.
Abra: If she wants to apologize, she knows where to find me.
Emma's response was immediate.
Emma: She won't. She's too proud.
Abra: Well, that is her problem. She must learn that she isn't the center of the universe.
Emma: Have a little patience with her.
Emma: She has just realized that her GPA won't be enough for Yale.
Abra snorted slowly with some annoyance. She was really sorry about the Yale thing. Still, she was already tired that they brought it up as a justification for anything. She quickly started moving her fingers across the screen to answer.
Abra: She still has one semester left.
Abra: She could apply and achieve it if she stopped being...
Her fingers paused before she managed to finish and send the last message. She seemed to hear clearly a voice calling her name behind her and that abrupt presence echoing through the silence that enveloped her. She stopped her steps, alarmed. She turned quickly to her feet and looked around; there was no one around, or if there was, the mercurial lights did not illuminate it.
"Hello?" She exclaimed a little loud. "Who's there?"
There was no answer. Everything went back to being as silent as a moment ago.
This was strange to the young woman. It hadn't been like one of those times when you think to hear your name suddenly, but it's just some misinterpreted noise. Abra was sure she really heard it, with its three letters. Although her very short name could easily be confused with other words or expressions. That wouldn't be so weird... if it weren't for the fact that she didn't see anyone around.
After pondering it for a few seconds, she shrugged and continued her walk, although not as calm as before.
After finishing around the block, the girl and her puppy headed back home about five minutes later.
"Come on, Brownie," Abra exclaimed as she unlocked the front door with her keys, and immediately the little brown animal rushed into the house. "That's it, little one. We're back," she warned forcefully to be heard.
As she walked into the living room, the girl could see her father, David Stone, sitting in the dining room with his tablet in his hands. He was staring at the screen with considerable concentration and itching it every few seconds with his index finger.
"How was the walk?" Her father asked absently, without taking his eyes off the tablet.
"There were no fights this time, so you could say it was fine," Abra commented mockingly as she sat down in one of the dining room chairs next to her father. He just nodded, possibly without actually listening.
Indeed David was still focused on that card game that he had just been downloaded a few days ago, and that practically did not let him do anything else. Abra wondered how long it would take for him to get bored with it or if her mother would force him to get bored all at once.
As if she had invoked her with her thought, Abra heard at that moment her mother's voice coming from the stairs.
"Abra! Your dog climbed back onto the sofa," Lucy Stone's voice reproached, annoyed, followed by her hurried footsteps down the last steps and then into the living room. "Down! Come on."
Brownie, who had settled into the largest armchair in the living room, jumped down before Lucy reached him, drifting away until hiding under the table at Abra's feet.
"How serious is it to have a little dust and hair on the furniture, Mom?" Abra commented humorously, reaching down to stroke Brownie's head a little. Her mother just snorted in annoyance, starting to shake the couch with her hands. "Did you write something while I was gone, dad?"
"What...?" Her father stammered, somewhat puzzled, finally raising his face to his daughter. "Ah, no… I got a little distracted, I think."
"Doing what?" Lucy muttered somewhat aggressively from the living room. "Wasting time with that silly game again?"
"No, of course not," David replied clearly defensively, hurrying to turn off the tablet and place it on the table, pretending he hadn't been engrossed in it just seconds ago.
And there was what Abra knew would sooner or later happen: Lucy Stone taking charge of the situation.
"Well, this is something I don't want to interfere with," Abra muttered evasively and slowly rose from her chair with the delicacy of a bomb screwdriver. "I leave you; I have to do homework. Come on, Brownie, let's go up."
The young woman walked briskly toward the stairs. Brownie did not hesitate to respond to her call and followed her from behind. The intention was to lock themselves in Abra's room and concentrate again on the conversation she had left pending with Emma; and, of course, in her homework. However, neither of them managed to climb more than three steps.
Abra stopped suddenly midway. She felt the entire house around her spinning, so she quickly held onto the railing to avoid falling. Sounds and images that were strange to her suddenly began to come to her head. The scene around her flashed to another that was not familiar at all or turned entirely black for a few seconds. Abra did not know what she was seeing: she was looking at a forest in the distance, a table, beige walls, and the sporadic faces of two people she could not focus enough to recognize.
Then she heard a loud scream that pierced her ears and made her double over in pain.
"Ah!!" She yelled loudly and took her hand off the railing to instinctively try to cover her ears, but it was useless; the sounds and screams continued. Worse still, she lost her balance from being unable to support herself and fell to her knees on the step.
The scream startled Brownie, who quickly ran away to hide under the table again.
"Abra!" Lucy Stone screamed hysterically and immediately came around the chair to head toward her. David wasted no time in doing the same.
Abra rolled over onto her back, leaning back on the stairs. Her eyes were pressed tightly, as did her hands against her ears, but the sights and sounds continued.
"Who are you?" She heard a voice screeching like glass being scratched. Two more similar ones followed.
"Ah, she can see me. Is she like you? I should also pay her a visit after I finish with you. But this time in person..."
"Don't even put the finger on her, you bastard."
Lucy came to her daughter and took her in her arms.
"Abra, honey, what is wrong?"
Abra didn't answer. She just writhed and groaned in pain. Lucy kept insisting, but the result was the same. It was as if she couldn't hear her.
"You are in no position to threaten anyone. And you will never be again..."
And at that moment, unparalleled pain invaded the seventeen-year-old's entire body. It was a burning, corrosive sensation that ran from her head, down for her back and legs, and left her totally paralyzed. Abra began to scream so loudly, as she did not know her throat was capable of. Her mother and father looked at her, totally terrified, afraid to even touch her.
"Stop it!" She moaned between screams. "Stop it! Make it stop it, mom!"
This was a desperate cry inspired by pain and fear. Her mother could do little or nothing for her at that time, but in her position, the girl could only reduce herself to a poor girl crying for help.
"No! Leave her!" the first of those screeching voices screamed louder again. "Leave my mom!!"
That last scream stretched out in all directions like a tremendous explosion in her head. Everything was covered with an intense flash of light, and then nothing else...
Abra's eyes closed heavily, and then her body slumped completely on the stairs without offering any resistance. He was left in a crooked position, with her face against the edge of a step and her arms and legs bent in a position that seemed close to hurting herself. And there she remained, completely motionless.
"Abra, darling!" Yelled Lucy, her face covered in tears. She dared to approach her again but was afraid to move because she thought it might hurt her in some way. She only shook her daughter a little, trying to make her react, but there was not a trace of awareness in her. And the worst part was that she was starting to feel abruptly cold.
Lucy turned startled to her husband, who was watching everything from the foot of the stairs, quiet and not knowing what to do.
"Call John!" His wife shouted at him in a stern voice. "Quick! Don't just stand there!"
David was astonished when he heard her, and that made him react at last. He immediately ran to the table where he had left his phone. Meanwhile, Lucy kept trying to wake her daughter and carefully managed to lay her on her back.
After calling the doctor, David carried her daughter onto one of the armchairs in the living room. Brownie climbed in with her, making small puffs of concern as he rubbed his little head against her side. On that occasion, Lucy Stone did not care in the least about the dog's dirty paws on her chair. The only thing she could think of was her daughter, her baby, who looked and felt almost like dead in front of her...
— — — —
The ambulance arrived at the Wheelers' residence six minutes after Terry Wheeler called them in desperation. Throughout that time, Jane remained unconscious. The bleeding from her nose was profuse, and Mike tried to stop it by pressing a tissue against it. He couldn't remember if El bled so severely before. By the time the paramedics arrived, the bleeding had appeared to have stopped, but her lips and chin were so stained that for a second, they thought it had been caused by some blow.
Paramedics checked her. She had a low but steady pulse. However, the woman did not react to anything they did to her. Mike couldn't explain to them clearly what had happened. In the face of the paramedics, the worried husband could see that they suspected a fight had occurred due to the chaos in which everything was in the study. Surely they also thought that perhaps he had hit her and broken her nose, a thought that greatly offended him, but he knew it was his obligation to have it.
"He didn't do anything to her!" they all suddenly heard Terry affirm sharply. "It was... that boy."
"What boy?" One of the paramedics questioned. "Did someone attack her? An intruder?"
Terry and Mike were silent. Yes, it had been an intruder, but not the kind they assumed.
"If you don't want to answer us, you'll have to answer the police," the other pointed out as if trying to make some kind of threat.
"I don't care," Mike replied sternly. "Just help my wife, please."
The paramedics concluded that there was not much they could do there, so it would be better to take her to the local hospital. They went to the stretcher, and between the two, they lifted El onto it, held her so that she would not fall, and took her out of the house to put in the ambulance parked on the street in front of the house. Neighbors watched curiously from their windows but didn't have time to deal with it. Mike and Terry got into the ambulance too and started on their way.
On the way, Mike took the opportunity to call Dr. Maxine Mayfield, known simply as "Max" by her friends, including Mike and Jane herself. She was not on duty that night at the hospital, but she said she would be there immediately when she knew what had happened.
Upon arriving at the hospital, Mike and Terry had to stay outside in the emergency waiting room while the doctors checked El. Max arrived shortly after but barely paused to greet them and immediately left to join the patient's team. Max was almost like the family doctor and one of the few thoroughly familiar with Eleven's unique physiognomy. Only she could have a complete picture of what happened. Therefore her presence in all that disaster was more than necessary.
Minutes passed, maybe hours, and Mike and Terry still had no news. The young woman, at one point, laid her head on her father's legs, intending to only rest for a few seconds, but ended up falling asleep. She was sixteen now, but sometimes she seemed as she was still only a little one of ten. She was so much like El at that age, in more ways than one. Their other two older children, Sarah and Jim, had come out more on the side of Mike's family; Sarah had become almost the spitting image of her aunt Nancy.
But Terry was clearly Eleven's daughter, with a more introverted and smiling personality but the same brown curls and flirtatious smile. And, of course, those same skills. Sarah and Jim had shown similar capacities as children, but when they were grown up, they were appeased until today; as far as Mike knew, there were only small traces left that both of them did not use to fully exploit. But Terry was different: with each passing year, she seemed to be getting stronger. And that to a Mike Wheeler now close to fifty, with the weight of everything he had seen throughout his years, had him more than worried. Especially now that he knew about someone out there, so dangerous and who seemed to have been hell-bent on hurting them.
And if he loses Jane… what could he do to protect his family? It was hard for Mike to admit it, but there was little he had managed to do without having El by his side for support. He liked to imagine that the feeling was reciprocal on her part, but he knew that it wouldn't be equally.
But he didn't want to think about it too much. The idea that the love of his life could just vanish from one moment to the next, and in such a horrible way… it was simply inconceivable. One would hope that the idea of ​​death, of either of them, had already become somewhat digestible over the years, primarily because of all the dangers they had been facing since they were children. But it wasn't like that... it wasn't like that at all...
Max suddenly entered the waiting room with a calm step and a serene face; so serene that Mike couldn't guess whether she was bringing good news or bad.
Mike got up from his chair, carefully removing Terry's head from his legs. The girl woke up immediately as soon as she was moved.
"Max… how is he?" he questioned, approaching her.
Dr. Mayfield stood firm in front of her old friend. Her reddish and slightly curly hair was held in a ponytail, although it was loose to her shoulders when she arrived. She was only a few inches shorter than Mike but with a strong and athletic build. She wore her white coat over an equally white blouse and blue jeans.
"We stabilized her as best we could. But we can't make her wake up in any way."
"Is she in a coma?" Mike asked, hoping his question wasn't too obvious. Max only slightly nodded her head.
"She still has brain activity; scarce, but enough not to completely lose the calm. We'll do some tests to see if we can discover any physical injuries that could cause her condition."
"Can I see her?" They both heard Terry blurt out in haste, approaching his father from behind.
"She's in intensive care…" Max hesitated when answering, but immediately Terry approached her and took her arm with some force.
"Please, Aunt Maxine. Maybe she could hear me."
There was a strong trace of plea and conviction in her eyes. Max looked at her for a moment, doubtful. "Maybe he can hear me," she had said, and she knew beforehand that it might be true. She then looked at Mike for some kind of opinion, and he only nodded slightly.
"I'll ask permission and accompany you myself," Max said with a half-smile adorning his freckled white face. "Just give me a minute. I need to talk to your father about something else."
"Sit down for a second, honey," Mike asked his daughter, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'll go with you in a moment."
Terry nodded, but she looked unsure. Still, she returned to her chair and sat in it, leaving them alone enough that they could talk about what they wanted.
"Actually, there is little we can do for her here," Max pointed out bluntly. "I should ask for her transfer to the city, but..."
"They won't be able to help her there either," Mike concluded before his friend did.
"What exactly happened?"
"I don't know," Mike muttered, a little defensive. "Someone attacked her, from a distance... you know-how. I don't know who it was. She told me about a guy, a strange boy who had attacked her before."
He had not been able to tell her the full implications of what happened over the phone at the risk of being overheard by paramedics. But it was not necessary; Max had immediately sensed that it was one of those things. However, she looked at Mike with some severity at that moment, crossing her arms in an almost martial position.
"Did her nose bleed again?" She asked abruptly, taking his old friend by surprise. "It had been cleaned by the time I arrived, but they informed me. They told me also that the bleeding was quite a lot. It's true?"
Mike didn't reply, but his face was enough to reassure him. Max then began to speak much more slowly to her.
"Mike, I warned you two. If she abused her abilities again like before..."
"Don't dare to blame her for this," Mike replied, as slow as she but still blunt, annoyed at the mere insinuation. "And you don't have to remind me that. Do you really think I have the power to stop her from doing anything she wants to? And besides, weren't you the one who told me long ago that she should be the one to set her own limits, and I shouldn't control her?"
Maxine's eyes widened in astonishment, and right after, they turned annoyed due to the sharp sarcasm of her last words.
"Are you going to berate me for something I said thirty years ago?" She murmured slowly sternly. "Very mature, Mike. But yes, I did. As a friend, I was confident that she would know what was best for her, but I could not leave it lightly as a doctor. Not since that time..."
The air between them became pretty dense. That single mention made any confrontational attitude in both of them dissipate little by little.
Mike sighed heavily.
"She's been okay for many years, even stronger than before. This had nothing to do with it. It was the work of that person I told you about. He did something to her, I'm sure."
"And would that be a better option? At least otherwise, we would be dealing with something familiar."
Mike backed away, trying to avoid eye contact with his friend in an attempt to calm her anger, not to mention her denial. Well, he had seen it; her nose had bled again a few days ago after so many years. But she had downplayed it, and unconsciously he had too. They didn't want to think that it could be something really more severe. It was easier to blame that stranger than his own inaction."
He heard Max sigh a little and take a somewhat more relaxed stance, or at least not accusatory.
"Did you tell the others?" The doctor asked. "Or at least Jimmy and Sarah?
"No… not yet…" Mike answered doubtfully.
"Maybe you should. Just in case."
Mike turned to see her sideways. He looked calm, but in reality, he was still as terrified as he was a few moments ago. "Just in case." How heavy those words could be.
— — — —
Just as Max promised, she got Terry to see her mother. She would accompany her herself, as it would not be safe that any nurse witnessed how exactly she intended to try to make her mother listen to her. Perhaps nothing unusual was seen or heard, but it was worth preventing.
The image of her mother disturbed the young woman a bit. Jane was lying on the gurney, unconscious, her hair in a mess, and her face looked older. She even seemed thinner and more fragile. For a moment, Terry really thought it wasn't her.
She had a tube attached to her nose to help her get oxygen, as well as several connected devices that measured her vital signs. She was covered by a blue sheet, although underneath, Terry could see that she was still wearing the clothes she had been wearing a few hours ago. The doctors only opened her blouse a little to connect the sensors.
After the initial shock, Terry cautiously approached the gurney, stopping just to her right. She gazed at her mother in silence for a moment. Little by little, she was able to recognize her in that pale and distant image. She firmly clasped her hand with her left and placed her right delicately on the woman's forehead; it felt cold. The young woman closed her eyes and breathed in slowly, focusing entirely on her mother and no one or nothing else. And she stayed that way for several seconds, maybe minutes until it almost began to worry Max.
"Terry?" the doctor murmured after a long, silent wait. "Everything is alright?"
Terry continued to do her own thing without answering her for several more seconds. When she finally spoke, she was accompanied by a marked sense of anguish.
"I can't feel her; I can't feel her at all," she whispered slowly, opening her eyes again. "It's like she's not here or anywhere."
Max didn't know how to interpret those words.
"Like I told you, it still has brain activity, so somehow or other, she's still there. I promise you that I'll do everything in my power to bring her back."
Terry was silent. She seemed, evidently, not wildly convinced by her promise.
She placed her hand once more on her mother's smooth, cold forehead and concentrated again, this time without closing her eyes.
"Please, mom, tell me something. Talk to me, tell me whatever." She continued without feeling anything as if she were speaking to the wall. "Why can't I reach you? Where have you gone?"
Max continued to watch her. Despite the time that she had been treating Eleven and her children, or all that she had lived and seen with her other friends during all those years, she did not consider herself as an expert on the subject of psychic abilities. So, she did not understand what exactly it could mean that Terry couldn't reach her. However, she had a feeling that it couldn't be a good sign at all.
And inevitably, she also asked herself the same question: "Where have you gone, El?"
— — — —
Matilda, Cody, and Cole had allowed themselves into a group therapy room to talk alone about the sensitive call Cole had received from Monica, the Foundation's tracker. Cole had already informed his two new friends about the main thing, but only until they were there did he give them all the details he had. Monica didn't really know much either, although they could build a more complete story between what they and she did know.
Eleven had been psychically attacked in her own home, in front of Mike and her youngest daughter. The attacker had bent her and done so much damage that now the Foundation's director was in a coma, and her actual state was still unknown. All of that happened right at that moment, right while they were dealing with all that madness. Cole had thought he sensed Eleven's presence and heard her voice during the fight with the stranger. Still, he thought it was just his imagination, or perhaps a side effect of whatever the attacker did to immobilize him. But now he realized that it was not so; It had been Eleven who had stepped in to save him, as she had with Matilda in Portland. The result this time, however, had been far more disastrous.
They were sat each in one chair, the three arranged in a circle in the center of the room. Matilda hadn't said a word since Cole told them everything. Her lost and tired gaze only stared at the opposite wall. Cole and Cody, however, weren't much better. Each one looked upset, serious, uncomfortable, and of course, annoyed. But mostly, they felt lost. Neither could fully understand that something like that had happened.
Eleven? The one who always seemed invincible and untouchable? The one whose very presence commanded both respect and fear alike, depending on the situation? How had something so horrible happened to her? Matilda and Cody were wondering all of that and more, and Cole was wondering in part as well. Yet the detective remembered what Eleven had told him that night.
"He wasn't an ordinary person, even by the standards of those who are like us. I'll be honest with you: he terrified me..."
"It took every ounce of my force to repel him, and I'm not sure if I can do it again if the situation repeats."
And as always, she was right...
"Was it the same boy from last time?" Cody stated confidently as if reading his mind.
"It sure was," Cole commented, not so convinced, although deep down, he had no doubt about it. "Who is he really? How could possibly have done this to Eleven?"
"We know as much as you do," Cody replied dryly. "Didn't Monica tell you if she had discovered something?"
"Apparently, Eleven just asked her to find this girl named Abra she mentioned to us the other day. Eleven seemed to believe that whoever she was, is related to her attacker. However, Monica failed to discover much."
All three were silent as if trying to digest each piece of information at once.
"It's all my fault…" Matilda suddenly muttered, completely breaking the deep silence in which she had been plunged for some time.
Cody and Cole looked at her, confused.
"What do you say?" The biology professor asked her.
Matilda continued speaking without taking her eyes off the wall.
"Eleven told me I couldn't handle this, and instead of listening to her, I got mad and threw a tantrum. If I had heard to her, if I had not been so proud..."
"Hey, wait," Cole interjected quickly before she finished. "That has nothing to do with it. Even if you hadn't set foot here, I would have asked to come here, remember? And all this would have happened anyway. The actions of Leena Klammer, or these guys who are with her, didn't depend on yours or ours."
"But I went to Portland to see Lily Sullivan on my own," Matilda declared sharply. "Eleven had to step in to save me, and I exposed her to that stranger guy. If I hadn't done that, she would never have..."
"It's not like that." It was Cody's turn. "No one could have predicted this would happen, not even Eleven."
Their words seemed to enter one ear and come out the other. In fact, it wasn't even sure that she was listening to them, or if the words that came out of her mouth were actually directed at them. She was sunk in her own head as if arguing with herself.
"It's like Chamberlain again, exactly the same," Matilda blurted out, confusing them even more.
"That wasn't your fault either," Cole pointed out sternly.
"And how do you know?" The psychiatrist answered openly defensively, turning to him with a challenging attitude. "You don't know what happened that night; you don't even know what happened here. You know nothing."
Cole seemed taken aback by this harsh response, but he was also noticeably irritated. Matilda wasn't the only one who was tense and tired; all of them hadn't had a tranquil day at all. And, mainly, he did not like the idea of ​​she speaking to him in that way again, when he thought they had already passed that stage.
"Let's not lose our cool..." Cody tried to intervene, somewhat nervous.
"No, it's okay," Cole pointed out sharply, then leaned his body toward Matilda. "Do you want to blame yourself for everything? Well, then I grant you: this is all your fault, yours and no one else's. All the world's problems revolve around you, Dr. Honey."
"Hey…" Cody exclaimed in alarm. Matilda just looked at him dryly.
Cole sat back upright in his chair and apparently more serene after taking that off his chest.
"But with that cleared up, we can move on to what's really important. We've to decide what to do now, especially without Eleven to guide us."
"What to do?" Matilda snorted wryly. "What will we do about what? Do you want us to search under every stone for this woman who took Samara or the boy who did this to Eleven?"
"Monica or one of her other trackers can tell us the whereabouts of Samara, Lily Sullivan, or Leena Klammer. They have found people with less than a name and a photo before."
"And expose any of them to the same thing that happened to Eleven? No, she wouldn't want us to do such a thing."
"She would want us to take care of this for her. Not let them get away with it and take revenge for what they have done to us."
"And how would we do that exactly?" Matilda sentenced sternly, almost as if she was spitting out a loud scolding. "Do you want us to go and face whoever this guy is? Let's all go together to defeat the villains as if we were the X-Men or a team of Dungeons and Dragons? No…" She stood up from her chair then, holding on to her injured arm with some force. "We aren't superheroes. We are just a school teacher, a failed psychiatrist, and a policeman who should better consider where to spend his next vacation."
Then she took a couple of steps in the direction of the room door, and Cole jumped out of his chair at that moment, standing up as well.
"Will you just give up like that? You repeatedly said that you would not abandon that girl, no matter what. And now, will you turn your back on her?"
"I tried!" Matilda exclaimed forcefully, turning to face him. Although her expression was belligerent at first, it softened to almost sadness. "I tried… it's all I know how to do… Matilda, the perfect girl, Eleven's favorite, the genius… She only knows how to try things and fails in that attempt."
Cody and Cole were silent, ignorant of what to say.
The psychiatrist sighed. She knew very well that she was feeling sorry for herself, but it was something she couldn't, and didn't want to, avoid at the moment. Matilda turned back to the door with the intention of leaving for good.
"Where will you go?" Cody asked, and Matilda paused for a moment to answer.
"First to see my mother for a few days to settle this," she replied, placing her left hand on her shoulder. "Then I'll go to Indiana to see Eleven and see what I can help at the Foundation until she recovers…" Those last words were laden with mistrust as if she were unsure that this could really happen. "And then I'll go back to Boston. You two can do whatever you want. Forgive me for getting you into all this."
And she kept walking to the exit, now definitely without the intention of stopping or looking back.
"Matilda, wait," Cole snapped, trying to catch up with her, but couldn't do it before she was entirely out into the hall.
"See you later, Detective."
Matilda walked out of the therapy room, out of sight of both of them.
Cole remained standing, staring silently at the now-ajar door. Suddenly he clenched his fists, and out of nowhere, he turned and kicked with all his might the chair closest to him. It fell, rolled a bit on the ground, and then slid away from him, creating a thunderous and annoying thump in the process.
"I'm sure that chair deserved it," Cody commented wryly, watching the whole scene from his seat.
"I would have liked a bit of your support, pal," Cole accused, turning to him accusingly.
"Do you really think it would have helped? Besides, she is right. You're a cop, and you've fought things like this before. But in truth, there is something so dark in all this that I simply don't understand." Cody looked thoughtfully at the ground as he crossed his arms defensively. "I wish I could help, but… when I could have done something, I reduced myself to the same crying child that I have always been. And now I don't even have Eleven... I'm sorry..."
The teacher rose carefully and also prepared to leave. Cole stopped him for a moment with his own voice.
"Do you think you can sleep without nightmares while that stranger boy is out there threatening us? If he did this to Eleven, what would keep him from doing it to all of us?"
Cody hesitated a few moments, crestfallen, but he also came out without answering anything in the end.
Alone in the room, Cole's anger and frustration were only growing. He ran his fingers through his short hair with some insistence. He almost involuntarily took out his pack to get a cigarette.
What Matilda had said came to her mind: "Eleven had to step in to save me, and I exposed her to that stranger guy. If I hadn't done that, she would never have..."
If that was true, then… was that his fault? Eleven had appeared to save his life, like so many times before. But now, the price she had paid was much higher.
As soon as his cigarette touched his lips, he only held it there for a few seconds before tossing it to the ground in frustration. He sank into a chair and hid his face behind his hands.
"Shit," he muttered, though it was the softest word he wanted to use right now.
"You were lucky this time," He thought suddenly, shrewdly remembering that voice whispering to him. He had no clear memory of listening to it, but it was still hovering in his mind like flies in the garbage. "But that bitch won't be able to protect you anymore. You should have listened to your mommy when you could, handsome. Now it is late; He won't let you go anymore."
Cole considered those strange words. It was late; maybe it was late.
— — — —
Almost at the same time Dr. Maxine Mayfield received the distressing call from her friend Mike in Indiana, several miles away in New Hampshire, John Dalton, a doctor and friend of the Stone family, also received a call full of concern from David Stone. He could not explain everything clearly, but John managed to understand that Abra had suffered a sudden faint, and they could not make her react. Before he even thought to suggest that maybe it was nothing and they must just wait a bit, or even that it would be much better if they called an ambulance, John had already put on his shoes and jacket and took his vehicle's keys still with the phone in the ear. He didn't even have time to explain where he was going to his wife, but he hoped it was clear from the context that it must be an emergency.
The Stone family, and especially Abra, were not ordinary patients for Dr. Dalton. As a pediatrician, he had met and watched many children grow, but Abra Stone was unique in more than one way. Just as the Wheeler family entrusted Dr. Mayfield with many private matters that could not be shared with just any doctor, the Stones did the same with Dr. Dalton. So much so that her first reflex after what happened had been to call him.
When he arrived at the Stone residence, her parents had put Abra on one of the armchairs. Lucy and David informed him that in the time he had taken to arrive, the girl had not yet given any sign of consciousness. They had tried an alcohol swab as John had suggested over the phone, but it hadn't worked. At first glance, she looked very calm and placid, as if she were just taking a little nap. Touching her forehead, however, John noticed that it felt a bit cold, even though the weather inside the house was quite pleasant.
John examined her as best he could. Outside of the cold, which became less strange as time passed, everything seemed normal. His pulse was a bit weak but within normal ranges. He checked his hair and neck and did not feel or detect any injuries or blows. He also considered that she could be using some drug. And although it was not something he could rule out for the moment, he did not see any physical signs that could indicate it.
The additional options, of course, were too many: a tumor, anemia, low blood sugar, even a pregnancy; all of them verifiable only with a more thorough medical examination.
But John suspected it was nothing similar to that. She really looked very calm. For a moment, John was tempted to just shake her a little to see if she would wake up just that, but he guessed her parents had already tried that and more.
"At first glance, she doesn't seem to have anything out of the ordinary," he pointed out to his parents, who watched expectantly at one side of the chair at everything he did. "She seems to just be asleep."
"But she doesn't wake up, John," Lucy pointed out with a degree of impatience. "And you didn't hear her scream. It was like someone was tearing her alive. It was horrible."
"We have to call an ambulance," David added, "take her to the hospital, do tests on her... or something, right?"
"In any other case, I'd say it would have been preferable to do that as the first option, over anything else," John said, wondering shortly afterward if he wasn't berating himself. He stood up, putting his stethoscope around his neck. "However, before doing that, we should rule out that, in the case of Abra, this could be another type of problem. One who needs another kind of help and another kind of expert."
He looked at both of them seriously, hoping his words were enough to make them understand. So it was; both David and Lucy understood. It was a possibility they had considered while waiting for John, especially because of how Abra was acting just before the blackout. However, they hoped that somehow John would come along and discard that option; Lucy especially wished it were that way. As terrible as it was, he preferred it to be some disease and not something... more. An illness or injury could be understood and treated; the other she did not understand, and how to "treat" it usually involved something dangerous and horrible.
Lucy cautiously approached the couch and sat down next to her daughter. She took her hands gently in hers and gazed silently at the girl's sleeping face. So beautiful, so cute… and so grown. When had she grown so big?
She sighed with some resignation, and without releasing her hands, she turned to her husband with a solemn expression. As John had indicated, that might require another type of expert. And for better or for worse, just as they had a family doctor, they also had this other type of expert almost at hand.
"We have to call Danny..."
END OF CHAPTER 45
Author's Notes:
—Maxine "Max" Mayfield is based on the respective character in the series of Netflix, Stranger Things of 2016. In the original series, in its second season that occurs in 1984, she is only 13 years old. By this time, she will be around 46 years old, just like Eleven and Mike. At the time the original chapter in Spanish was written, it has only been released until Season Three of the series, so at the moment, only the first three seasons will be taken into account as a reference for this story from now on, even if in the next few seasons something happens that contradicts what is shown.
—John Dalton, David, and Lucy Stone are characters from the novel Doctor Sleep written by Stephen King and published in 2013.
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX
Chapter 44. I'm not okay
Esther didn't calm down or breathe easy until they were several miles from Eola and were driving south on 99W. Once Lily got into Esther's truck hidden behind the mental hospital, they headed toward the highway, taking the route west toward Rickreall. She hadn't yet heard the police sirens coming from Salem, but she was sure it wouldn't take much longer.
They wouldn't stop at Rickreall or anywhere else for the next two hours at least. Although the next step in their mission was to deliver both girls to Los Angeles, they did not have an immediately fixed destination at the moment. They would only drive south until they felt safe, or Esther got tired of driving and needed to rest.
Everything had turned out relatively well, but Esther did not wish to over-tempt her apparent good luck.
Lily was sitting in the passenger seat while Samara had sat in the back. The latter had not said a word since they left Eola. In fact, she wasn't even moving. The girl was sitting, with her head leaning against the window. Her whole body limps as if she were sleeping. However, her eyes were open, fixed on the darkness that enveloped the floor of the van under her feet, only illuminated from time to time by the light from other vehicles passing by. Esther had improvised a quick bandage on her hand and a band-aid on her cheek from the medicine cabinet she used to treat Lily's injured leg.
"And what happens to our new traveling companion?" Lily questioned curiously, looking back over her seat.
"Leave her alone," Esther chided without taking her eyes off the road. "I think she just killed her mother."
"Really?" Lily took a more careful look at the girl in the back seat.
Samara looked somewhat scrawny, and Lily didn't feel a big threat coming from her. In fact, she felt nothing from her: no fear, no sadness... nothing. As if it were a mere corpse, and in truth, it almost looked like one. Either way, it wasn't her problem at the moment.
Lily shrugged and settled back in her seat.
"Not a big deal," Lily murmured. "I killed my father, and you don't see me whining."
Esther glanced at her subtly out of the corner of her eye for a few moments, but almost immediately turned back to the path.
"I killed them both," Esther whispered slowly as if she had no genuine interest in being heard by her companion. "My mom and dad... more than once."
— — — —
Matilda had suffered various types of wounds throughout her life, but never a bullet through her body, even though it was not the first time she had been shot. The same woman had just a few days ago done it under quite similar circumstances.
It hadn't been so painful at the time, but more like an annoying burn. However, after a while and with the adrenaline of the moment reduced, this burning was increasing until it became unbearable. By comparison, the bite on her ankle from that dog at the Portland hospital felt insignificant.
The hospital's staff found her sitting in a corridor when she couldn't walk anymore. She was barely conscious. She had applied some alcohol that she had found in one of the doctors' offices. Then she bandaged herself with the best of her ability using only her left hand. Two nurses treated her as quickly as possible, cleaning the wound and bandaging it more appropriately. As they did so, they repeatedly mentioned how lucky she was, as the bullet had entered and exited, and there did not appear to be anything significantly wounded. Matilda could hardly believe that there could be any good luck in all of that.
After treating her, they laid her on a gurney and injected her with a tranquilizer to help her relax. She did not want them to do it since the least she wanted right now was sleep. But in the end, she fell exhausted.
While she did so, she seemed to have seen Cole standing on the side of her gurney talking to her and wasn't sure if she answered something or not.
Anyway, the sleep had served her well, and hours later, when she woke up, she felt somewhat better. Her entire shoulder had been bandaged, and a sling had been placed to keep her arm still. It hurts a bit, but with the anti-inflammatories, pain relievers, and antibiotics, everything should be fine in a few days.
Matilda sat down carefully on the gurney, holding her head a little. She felt that it was spinning a bit.
She felt someone approach her from the side. Her first thought was that it was a nurse coming to reprimand her and tell her to stay in bed, and she was more than willing to tell them to mind their own business. People say that a doctor is always a lousy patient; that seemed accurate in her case. But it wasn't a nurse; it was Cody who approached her cautiously.
Cody was a mess at the time. His hair was disheveled, his tie had been removed, and his shirt was misaligned and stained. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and it also looked like he had just woken up not long ago.
"Matilda, are you ...?" Cody murmured doubtfully, discreetly glancing at her sling.
"I was shot," the psychiatrist replied, though almost immediately, she assumed he must already know. "Don't tell my mom. She'll go crazy as soon as she finds out..."
She brought the fingers of her free hand to her forehead and rubbed it hard.
"Samara is gone. That... woman took her... or she wanted to go with her. Her mother is dead... I couldn't stop it ..."
"I know," Cody answered in a muffled voice, and then he allowed himself to sit on the gurney next to her. "I couldn't do anything either. Lily Sullivan," Matilda was startled when she heard that name. "She was here. She got into my head, but not like others have done before. The protection Eleven gave us not only was useless; she was able to go even deeper and bring to light errors that I thought I had forgotten."
He paused and took a deep breath as if trying to regain the energy he'd lost saying all that.
"These girls… are not like the other children we have helped before, Matilda."
"These girls?" Matilda repeated doubtfully. "Are you talking about Lily Sullivan…?"
Cody was quiet for a few moments, and then he turned slowly to her, almost as if he was afraid to look directly at her eyes.
"And Samara," he finally answered, leaving Matilda speechless. "Eleven was right. There is something… that is not right with them… Maybe we should have listened to her and stepped aside; leave this matter to Cole."
Matilda had nothing to answer him. A few days ago, that comment would have angered her quite a bit and would have led to a marked defensive attitude. But, just at that moment, after everything that had happened, she had neither the strength nor the weapons to affirm otherwise. Maybe it was true; maybe she should have left as soon as Eleven warned her.
"Where is he now?" Matilda asked abruptly.
"Cole? He's fine," Cody replied. "He has a few bumps, but nothing serious. Apparently, he got into a fight with another individual who was also helping Leena Klammer. And Cole thinks he also had… abilities," he whispered that last as if afraid someone else would hear him even though they were alone at the moment. "He's with the police, giving his statement and trying again not to keep us here too long, I guess..."
"I'm sorry," Matilda muttered suddenly, taking Cody by surprise. "I am the one who got you involved in this."
"It wasn't what I meant. I wasn't blaming you."
"But I do." Matilda lowered her gaze with a certain melancholy. "I failed Samara, as I failed..."
The door was opened without warning, making them both a bit tense as if they had been caught in the middle of a prank. This time it was not a nurse nor a policeman. It was Dr. Johnson, not in better shape than theirs.
"Dr. Honey, you woke up," Johnson mentioned, pointing to the obvious.
"Dr. Jhonson, are you okay?" Matilda questioned with genuine concern. Johnson nodded in response. He seemed to hesitate for a few moments, and then he spoke.
"Mr. Morgan just arrived," he murmured in a muffled voice, catching Matilda entirely off guard, and she abruptly felt her head spin again. "He asked to speak to you. I told him you were hurt and maybe unwell, but… he insisted a lot."
Dr. Jhonson was trying too insistently to justify himself, so much so that he was beginning to border on the false.
"I can tell him that you're still asleep..."
"No, it's fine," the psychiatrist declared firmly and began to stand up with the care her condition warranted. "I'll go to see him."
"Matilda, it might not be a good idea," Cody pointed out with considerable concern. Not only because of her shoulder but also because he already knew why this man wanted to talk to her. Not only was her daughter missing… her wife was dead.
Matilda knew it too, and quite clearly. The least she wanted was to face him, to hear what he was going to say to her or to recriminate her. But she couldn't hide from it; sooner or later, she would have to have that awkward conversation, to call it somehow.
"I must," was the only thing Matilda managed to answer, and then she walked carefully to the door. The rhythm of her steps grew more confident as her lethargic state dissipated. However, the same did not happen with her longing for the meeting she was about to have.
— — — —
Police arrived as quickly as they could, closely followed by firefighters and paramedics. There was no fire to turn off, but there were people to deal with. There were more than twenty injuries among staff, patients, and visitors; the most serious was Matilda and her gunshot wound. But in addition, there were seven dead in total: a janitor, a nurse, and two security guards, all four killed by firearms, presumably by Leena Klammer. In addition, one more nurse suffered a severe blow to the head to be attacked by a frantic patient. A patient, Anna Morgan, seemed to indicate that she had stabbed herself several times in her own neck. And finally, Dr. Scott jumped from the roof of the building before all that madness began and whose relationship to it was still imprecise.
The press came flying in from Salem, perhaps further afield, and began to congregate outside the hospital in less than an hour.
It was all in a way a replay of what happened in Portland; two similar attacks perpetrated a few days apart and by the same person. If the name of Leena Klammer was not known, little by little, it would begin to be. In a way, that was a good thing, as it reduced the places where she could hide without being recognized. However, considering who was accompanying and helping her, Cole Sear was convinced that she would end up vanishing into the air, and it would be a long time before the police could find her. Of course, he did not say that directly to the officers who questioned him.
As a law enforcement officer, Cole cooperated and told them whatever was appropriate for them to know. Most of the story focused on the man who had attacked him when he was trying to apprehend Leena Klammer. He gave them the most detailed description he could and provided them with the weapon the suspect had taken and left behind on the run to search for his prints. However, Cole suspected they would find none or match no one at all. He omitted the part about people going crazy seeing things that weren't there or that the same man who had attacked him somehow managed to turn off his brain for a few moments as if pulling the chain on a ceiling lamp.
And of course, he was pretty careful trying to explain what he was really doing in that place, who Matilda and Cody were, and feigned ignorance when they asked why this woman named Leena would want to take Lily Sullivan and Samara Morgan with her. And he faked it pretty well, it was fair to say. But that was simply because, in reality, it was not like he was entirely sure about Leena's motivations or who was behind her. Although he had his theories...
At first, the Oregon officials were somewhat reluctant to take his word for it. Above all, it seemed highly suspicious that the three (Cole, Matilda, and Cody) had been at both crime scenes just by chance. Cole had to give them credit for that; it would be something that would also seem quite strange to him. The officers insisted a lot, using this as the primary basis of their interrogation. But when the hours passed, and a little boy in a dark suit arrived (who Cole assumed must be an assistant prosecutor), they only had to accept that they had nothing to relate him, or one of his friends, with this horrible event.
The site was a mess of forensics, officers, and medical personnel. Seeing a bit of the cynical side of everything, Cole thought that if you had more than twenty people injured, it was in a way good luck that it was right in a hospital, even if it was a psychiatric one; maybe thanks to that, Matilda was fine...
Of all the horrible things that had happened that night, learning that Matilda had been shot was perhaps what affected the Philadelphia detective the most. He did not care if the other officers wanted to stop him; he made his way to the consulting room where she was resting, just to see that she was really okay. And indeed she was, or something like that. Apparently, she was so confused by what her doctors had injected her that she probably hadn't been aware of his presence. And once the police left him, he just thought about going to see her again.
He told himself that it was a normal concern of colleagues, especially now that they had apparently started to become friends (or so he believed). But he knew it wasn't exactly that; it was so evident in his intentions that he felt ashamed.
Before he could get to where Matilda was, Cole passed through one of the waiting rooms, and there he saw Vazquez, sitting in one of the chairs staring wildly at absolute nothingness as if he too had been injected with a good dose of tranquilizers. The detective had some blows to the face, a couple done by Cole himself, and the wounds on his arm and ankle probably had to be rechecked. But he was still in one piece. Cole had to admit it: he was a tough man.
Cole decided to take a slight detour and walked over to him; he had to give him something back anyway. Vazquez didn't notice him until he was by his side. Cole sat in the chair next to him without saying anything at first. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling the pistol he had borrowed from him, and held it out.
"I think this is yours," he pointed out simply.
Vazquez took the weapon with his free hand and examined it for a few moments in silence as if it were the first time he had seen it. He did not ask why Cole had it or reprimand him for taking it, yelling about how irresponsible it was to take another officer's gun or the trouble it could have gotten him into. Incidentally, he didn't seem interested in thanking it either. He just put it back in its holster and then returned to the same almost lethargic state as moments ago.
Cole took something else out of his pocket: a pack of cigarettes. It was a hospital, and he had been reprimanded for it too much in recent days. However, he didn't think that with all the fuss, anyone would care. He placed one on his lips and then held the pack out to Vazquez. He glanced at it and just shook his head slowly, denying the offer. Cole put the package in his coat again and lit the cigarette with his lighter. He thought he would feel better after a few puffs, but it seemed that the nicotine was not enough this time.
"What happened here?" Vazquez blurted out suddenly without apparent provocation.
A lot happened, but Cole guessed he was referring specifically to what had happened to him and the others.
"Lily Sullivan, that happened," Cole answered without hesitation. Vazquez turned to see him with amazement in his eyes. "I think my friends tried their best to explain it to you the other day. Is there something I could tell you so you can believe it now?"
"Psychic powers, illusions, telepathy... Are these all real?" Vazquez exclaimed, still clinging to a fragile skepticism.
"More than I would like. And I'm afraid everything is even much worse than you imagine. Even I, who have seen so many things before, cannot fully understand what happened here. So don't feel bad if you're a little confused; everyone here will be for quite a while. There is no way that mainstream officers could understand or deal with all of this. We are not trained for this at the academy, I assure you."
The last thing he had apparently tried to say with some humor, but he didn't think it sounded funny.
"And who can deal with something like this?" Vazquez questioned in an interrogation voice, staring sharply at Cole with some mistrust. "You and your Foundation?"
Cole was silent and exhaled some smoke a few seconds later through his mouth with a small snort.
"I question myself the same," he whispered in a muffled voice.
They were silent again for a few seconds. A couple of officers walked past them, entering one door and exiting another without paying attention to them.
A yawn suddenly escaped from Cole. It had been several hours now, and even before this, the day had been quite exhausting getting to and from Silverdale. He felt tired, but he didn't think he could sleep yet.
"I need to… get out of here…" Vazquez murmured, again out of nowhere and without provocation, getting up from his seat as fast as his crutches allowed.
"Sure? You don't look in good condition. In addition, you fired your weapon twice inside a hospital. If Portland's internal affairs are like Philadelphia, that will have to mean a lot of paperwork."
"Fuck that," the detective snapped with some conviction, and Cole could applaud that. Vazquez took a few steps away on his crutches, then stopped abruptly and turned back to Cole. "There is more behind all of this than even you realize. After the incident in Portland, people from the government showed up to ask questions, demand evidence... and only God knows what else."
Cole looked at him, confused. Government people? That was a pretty ambiguous term.
"Federals?"
"I don't know what the fuck they are. But I think they'll be here very soon too. You and your friends better not be around when that happens."
Cole did not know how to interpret that strange warning. It would not seem odd to him that people from higher offices showed up at a crime scene like that, especially one involving a murderer like Leena Klammer. The Estonian woman had committed crimes not just crossing state lines but country borders. It was something Cole already knew he had to deal with and was something so common in his job, even though his career wasn't quite that long yet. And he supposed Vazquez must be more used to it.
But even so, he looked especially disturbed by that. Could it be that these people he was talking about weren't like the usual agencies who used to poke their noses from time to time when they sniffed out publicity and recognition? Who were they really talking about?
"Why are you telling me this?" He asked curiously, starting with the idea that he seemed willing to hit him a few hours ago or even Matilda if necessary.
Vazquez hesitated.
"I don't know... I don't know anything tonight..."
He turned back on his crutches, and now he did walk away without turning back, and Cole didn't do anything to stop him either.
He sat for a few moments and continued to smoke for a while longer, brooding over that piece of information he had just received. On top of all the worries he already had, now he must add that a mysterious government agency may or may not be doing suspicious things around them. Whoever they were, Cole hoped they didn't want to get too involved in that matter because it could not end anything well.
His phone suddenly rang, causing him to jump in his chair in surprise. He groped for it in each of his pockets until he found it on the front left of his pants. The number on the screen was unknown; the area code was not from Pennsylvania or Oregon, and at the moment, he could not identify exactly where it was from. It was not the best time to answer strange calls, or maybe it was the right time depending on how you saw it; a strange call was just the beginning of all his meddling in this matter in which he was involved.
He decided to attend.
"Detective Se…" He started to introduce himself with the phone to his ear, but he couldn't finish pronouncing his last name.
"Finally, I managed to contact one of you!" He heard a female voice yell quite loudly, perhaps angrily, on the other end of the line. Cole even had a reflex action to push the device away from him a bit because of the loud volume of that voice. "What's wrong with everyone?! Do I need to call you telepathically to attend?!"
"Hey, slow down," Cole replied defensively. "Who are you? Monica?"
"Who are you? Monica?" The woman on the phone repeated, using a more than dismissive tone of voice. "Yes, who else? I don't have time for bullshit, Sear. What the hell happened?"
It wasn't like Cole was in the best mood in the world before, but that abrupt call definitely didn't do much to improve him either.
Monica was one of the Foundation's trackers and one of the best, according to some people. A couple of times, he had asked for her help to investigate some information in some of his cases, and she had done it... with a rather unpleasant attitude. Apparently, helping the law was not one of her favorite activities. Therefore he was not one of his favorite people either.
"Look, we've had a very busy night around here," Cole sighed wearily, running his hand over his face, "so you'll have to be a lot more specific. Which of all the things that happened are you talking about?"
After a hurtful comment that Cole tried to ignore, Monica got straight to the point, revealing the true intent of her call. What Cole heard so surprised him that the cigarette he held between his fingers slipped to the ground.
Cole thought none could give him more bad news that night. He was so wrong...
— — — —
Matilda was not surprised to learn where Mr. Morgan was, but the lack of surprise did not prevent a knot in her stomach at the thought of going there. Dr. Johnson did her the favor of guiding her into the hall where the double doors were located, but he did not go any further, and she did not blame him. An experienced doctor had learned to deal with the relatives of a deceased patient… but this time was different.
She stood for a few moments silently contemplating the closed doors and the sign above them that read: morgue.
Matilda took a deep breath to gather strength and hide the slight dizziness caused by the medicines. She carefully opened one of the doors and peeked into the dark, cold room. The first thing she saw was Mr. Morgan's broad back and his dark hair with a few grays. He was right in front of one of the plates, illuminated by a brilliant light suspended above it. Mr. Morgan's body blocks Matilda's view of his face, but she knew without a problem that the body on the plate must have been his wife's. He watched her silently, indeed gazing at her serene face.
Matilda took a couple of steps inside, then let the door close on its own behind her. Richard Morgan didn't seem to have noticed her, or if he did, he didn't seem to care enough to turn to look at her. Matilda had at that moment a thought a little out of place about how long she had really slept because the trip from Moesko to there should not be short.
"Mr. Morgan," the psychiatrist said slowly, thus trying to announce her presence. He still didn't look at her.
"They said you were hurt," the man said in an alarmingly calm tone. "You are okay?"
"I'm recovering," was the only thing Matilda could think of to reply, regretting it a little later for no reason.
Then she dared to get a little closer until she could see, willingly or not, the face of the woman leaning on the plate. Her skin looked even paler than before, and some of the veins were popping out underneath it. Her eyes were closed, and the wound on his neck had been closed somewhat hastily. Its expression, sometimes uttered in a futile attempt to comfort as "seems to be only sleeping," did not apply at all in that case.
Only her face was visible; the rest of the body was covered with a thin white sheet. Matilda subtly glanced around the rest of the room. Other plates and stretchers were occupied, all completely covered with a sheet similar to the one that covered Anna Morgan's body.
"I loved her from the first time I spoke to her, you know?" Mr. Morgan commented suddenly, pulling her attention back to him. The man reached his large hand toward the dark hair of the body in front of him, stroking it very gently, as if afraid to break it. "The passion with which she spoke about her horses and all the dreams she had for the future. And I witnessed how she fulfilled them all, one after another... except one. I told her that we didn't need children, that we, our ranch, and our horses were enough. But I think they weren't for her. I just wanted her to be happy, completely happy. And for a moment, you made me believe that it might still be possible. That we would get over this, she would come home, we would buy new foals, and we could start over. Keep fulfilling our dreams, and build some new ones. That just the two of us could be happy after she left this place, and we got rid of that demon."
He paused a little before finishing.
"Hope is the cruelest thing in this world, isn't it? And you seem to be an expert in that kind of cruelty."
There was no apparent sadness or recrimination in his words, just a grim, cold calm that, for that matter, could be even worse. Matilda felt totally disarmed in those moments, unable to react in any sensible way. Her mind had been wandering mainly on that last thing he had said: "Hope is the cruelest thing in this world." She had no way to deny such a statement; she had thought the same not long ago while remembering Carrie White...
"Samara was getting better, Mr. Morgan," Matilda murmured as firmly as possible, which wasn't really much. "Our sessions were helping her. I am convinced that with the proper care, she could have..."
"Do you think I give a damn about what you might or might not have done with that girl?!" Richard snapped loudly, turning her to see just a little over his shoulder. His voice echoed in the room, and for the first time, Matilda felt a trace of crying creep into it. "My wife is dead, lying on this cold table, and her killer is still breathing; the girl who was supposed to be her daughter, who would make her happier than I could."
Mr. Morgan then leaned forward, letting out a few little sobs that he could no longer contain. He kept running his hand through the hair of the body while he looked at her, melancholy.
Matilda tried to speak, but her voice trailed off.
"What happened… it wasn't Samara's fault…"
"And whose is it then? Yours?" He looked back at her over his shoulder, and Matilda wanted to say yes; it was all her fault. However, nothing left her lips.
Richard turned almost immediately to the front once more, not caring anymore.
"Perhaps it was mine, despite all having been fooled by her angel face and not having fully seen what she really was when Anna told me. I didn't just put my wife here for trying to kill herself, you know. She wanted to kill Samara too." That fact revealed so suddenly chilled Matilda. "I should have allowed her... Now she is free in the world, and God only knows what kind of horrors she is about to unleash on us."
— — — —
They didn't say much more after that, and there was really nothing else to say. The message Mr. Morgan was trying to convey to her was too clear: she had failed, and that was something she could hardly argue with.
Matilda left him alone when she thought it appropriate. She walked slowly down the hallway aimlessly but actually only advanced a couple of meters before having to stop and hold onto the wall with one hand to keep from falling. But in reality, it had been more of a reflex act because she really did want to fall. She slammed her shoulder against the wall, then her back, and let it slide across the surface until she landed on the floor. Her blue eyes were staring blankly at the opposite wall, not looking at anything specific in it.
Her free fist clenched tightly, and in a vague attempt to release all the frustration and anger inside her, she slammed it to the ground hard. She did it once, then two and three times. But it was not hitting the ground. What she really wanted to do: she wanted to scream, kick, and make that whole building fly into the air; that everything and everyone went very far from her.
She wanted to get rid of that overwhelming and suffocating anguish that was not letting her breathe. She wanted to do a lot of things, but she didn't do any… just hit the ground and let a few tears slide down her cheeks, not allowing herself to fully cry out.
"You told me you would help me, Matilda… You told me that you would help me control my powers! You said to me that I wouldn't hurt anyone else anymore! And look what I did! I killed my mom! I killed her!"
"I'm sorry," the psychiatrist kept repeating in her mind over and over. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry..."
"Matilda, hey…" She heard someone call her suddenly, but it wasn't enough to bring her entirely out of the state she had fallen into. The person approached her and crouched aside. Only then did Matilda turn and meet Cole's concerned face, and behind him came Cody. "Are you okay?"
"No! I'm not okay!" Matilda replied sternly. "Nothing in all of this is okay!"
She leaned her body forward and pressed her hand against her eyes as if she wanted to soothe some throbbing pain. She held that position for only a few seconds before turning back to her two companions. They were both looking at her seriously… too seriously. At first, she told herself that it was a normal reaction to the situation, especially if she was found in such a deplorable state. However, the more she watched their faces, the more it seemed that it was not precisely that. They both seemed doubtful like they were looking for the way and the moment to say or do something.
"What?" Matilda questioned them bluntly. "What's going on now?"
Cole turned to Cody, and they both looked at each other, more doubtful than before. The policeman looked at her again, seemingly exerting great effort at it, and the seriousness in his gaze deepened even more.
"It's Eleven…" he finally answered in a solemn tone.
Matilda looked at him confused, although a part of her knew it before Cole explained. Among all that pile of misfortunes, something even more horrible had happened...
END OF CHAPTER 44
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Chapter 43. You were lucky this time
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX
Chapter 43. You were lucky this time
Esther was actually a few feet from the same exit they had entered when she spoke that last time to warn Lily. Their path had been relatively clear after losing sight of Matilda. They had only come across a beaten and stunned male nurse who tried to stop them, and Esther pushed them out of the way with three bullets to the abdomen. The man was still breathing, albeit with difficulty, lying on the ground while they walked away. Samara didn't even blink.
In fact, the girl with the long black hair had been too quiet. She made no attempt to stop or prevent Esther from taking her out. Instead, she just stared blankly at the ground as they advanced as if she wasn't even aware of where she was or where she was going. Esther didn't know if she was just in shock from what had happened recently, or maybe she was actually dragging a comatose zombie around that hospital. But she would worry about that later; for the moment, that bewildered state made things easier for her.
And even before she was practically walking through the door, all this had been relatively easy for Esther. Or, at least, more than how her journey at the Providence Medical Center in Portland had been, despite the number of people she had to shoot was higher. But, of course, back then, she didn't have Lily Sullivan's little sorceress on her side to watch her back. Maybe without that, everything would have been substantially more complicated. But then everything became a little less straightforward.
"Leena Klammer!" She heard someone yell loudly, echoing down the hall, and instinctively hearing her old name made her stop. "Police, drop your gun and put your hands up."
Esther was facing the door, so she couldn't see the handsome Philadelphia detective behind her, who was pointing at her with the gun he had just borrowed from Detective Vazquez. Even so, his words and how he had said them indicated without a doubt that he was indeed a policeman and certainly was aiming at her. That latter felt like a hot sting at the back of her head.
"Don't try anything, don't even take a step from where you are," Cole Sear demanded sharply, still keeping his distance before daring to move a little closer.
Esther quickly examined her options. Until that moment, she was still not sure whether or not she could survive a shot with her new and unusual nature, and she actually did not feel lucky enough to try it at the moment. She could bet he wouldn't shoot her or not fast enough before she did. But in that sense, he had the advantage; he had her right in his sights at the moment. And by his firm voice, Esther could tell that he had no doubt in having to do shot if necessary.
Additionally, he called Leena Klammer. He knew who she really was, so it was unlikely that she could use her role as an innocent child as a shield.
If she tried to pick up her radio again and talk to Lily, he was still likely to shoot her; at least one hand or one leg. And even if she managed to do it, how long would it take her happy accomplice to do something to help her from wherever she was?
The other alternative was the girl right next to her, who obviously had her abilities as well. But she was so self-absorbed (she hadn't even reacted to the abrupt presence of the cop) that it was unlikely she could convince her to do anything to help.
For all that reasons, Esther decided, for the moment, to do what the man asked and do some time while Lily got to that site and took care of that idiot with her unique abilities. Of course, if that damn brat did not decide to let her die and leave that place by herself.
Anyway, Esther dropped her weapon to the ground and raised both hands above her head. That had to cause at least a little confidence in that cop, and confident men made mistakes.
"Samara, come with me now," Cole said with commanding force in his voice, but the girl he was speaking to didn't respond. She didn't even raise her face as if she hadn't heard him. "Samara? What did you do to her?"
"Nothing, she wanted to go with me of her own free will," Esther answered simply, and Cole didn't believe her at all.
"Samara, it's me, Cole, Matilda's friend. Come to me; I'll protect you."
Samara still did not react at first. Then she slowly began to raise her gaze in his direction, and that reassured Cole a bit. However, this tranquility did not last long. Samara's expression seemed absent and lost as if she were sleepwalking, which gave Cole an awful feeling.
"I killed my mom," the girl murmured slowly. "I can't go back..."
"What are you saying?" Cole questioned, confused. "Listen, I don't know what there is for..."
And then the officer abruptly stopped speaking. At first, Esther did not understand what was happening. Still, after several seconds without hearing anything else, she slowly turned to look at him over her shoulder. And then she realized that not only he had stopped talking, but about everything else. He froze entirely in his place from one moment to the next, pointing his gun forward, but he no longer said anything or moved. His eyes no longer seemed to be looking at them or anything in particular.
"What happened?" Esther asked.
Samara did it? Or Lily, perhaps? Glancing at the one closest to her, she didn't think it was her first choice; Samara was just as stuck in her own head. And she didn't see Lily anywhere.
Esther didn't know what had happened, but she wouldn't stay to find out either. She took Samara by her hand, ran the half meter that separated them from the door, and threw it open. On the other side, however, she found a new apparent obstacle blocking their way. Standing a short distance from them was a tall, stocky dark-skinned man, with his long black hair tied in various braids and a goatee around his mouth. His expression was aggressive, making Esther flinch and even take a step back from the shock.
Esther had the urge to point her gun at him again, but in her haste, she had put it down as Cole had instructed. She looked back, trying to determine how fast she could move to reach it, but she didn't need to. That man passed them by, walking steadily on their left foot and then walking through the door. Then he bent down to pick up Esther's gun from the ground.
"Get out of here, now," he told them sharply without turning to see the girls.
"And who are you?" Esther snapped suspiciously.
"Move now!" He yelled at them almost furiously, glaring at them over his shoulder. "I'll take care of this guy."
Without further explanation, the mysterious man advanced toward Cole with the gun dangling to the side of his right thigh.
Esther did not understand but did not think to miss the opportunity with hesitation.
"As you say, handsome…."
She took Samara by her hand again and pulled her in the direction of where her truck lay hidden.
Once alone (although it was not like that had been a determining factor), James, Leena's mysterious savior, stood firm in front of Cole and stared at him for a few moments. The policeman's face remained frozen in time in a single expression of perplexity.
James knew it immediately: he was one of them, the kind he spent so many years hunting and feeding. And he was a very powerful one. James did not need the skills of his Mabel to feel it because it was enough for him to perceive how his mind struggled to free itself from the bond he was imposing on it.
James meditated a little on his possibilities. It would be a shame to waste such fantastic food, but he would not have enough time to get it out properly. He could feel that man fighting, and he was still relatively weak. Surely at any moment, he would be free. The most practical solution was to finish it quickly, devour as much steam as possible, and get out of there as soon as possible. It wasn't an ideal meal, but it was a meal.
As James thought about it all, he was unaware that there was someone else there, or rather something. He didn't see her, and perhaps Cole, in his state, wasn't able to fully process what his eyes were picking upon. But over James's left shoulder, the face of that being who had presented herself to Cole with the name of Gema loomed with the same appearance that she had shown at the beginning: brown hair a little disheveled, blue and serene eyes, and lips twisted into a pleased smile at what she saw. She was observing the detective, wanting to know how that exciting scene would end.
"I warned you, handsome," the woman-shaped being said with a playful tone, words that Cole surely heard but perhaps did not understand.
Without saying a word, James raised his arm, placing the gun right in front of Cole's face, with the tip of the silencer only inches from his left eye. And likewise, remaining silent, he thought to press the trigger. He would have done it without the slightest shame... if it were not for the fact that his finger, and his entire hand, did not respond to him. Despite all the effort he applied, he was not able to move his finger an inch.
"What…?" James exclaimed, totally lost, especially when his hand slowly began to turn until the barrel pointed directly at his own face, and all without him ordering it.
It wasn't possible. Was that man doing that? He looked at him again. The policeman's eyes had changed entirely; it wasn't his eyes.
"Don't even think about it," the man murmured, but the voice James heard in his head sounded different too; it sounded like a woman's voice.
Cole lowered his right hand with his weapon and waved his left quickly to the side. James's body rose from the ground and flew violently towards the wall. He collided with it and then fell to the ground; the gun had slipped from his hands in the process.
"Who are you…?" James exclaimed in a daze, trying to get up as fast as possible.
"I ask the questions here," the same authoritative woman's voice answered him. Cole extended his left hand back to him, and James fell as if two large hands had pushed him down from his shoulders. "Who do you work for? Tell me his name."
James looked down at him with unwavering harshness. There was no fear as such in him, but he was pretty uneasy at the question that had just been asked.
"If you were smart, you would hand the girls over to him and leave it at that. You don't know what that demon is capable of."
"You don't know what I'm capable of!" Cole yelled at him loudly, his voice echoing like a thousand echoes. James felt his body press against the wall as if a heavy boot was crushing against his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.
The one who used the policeman as a conduit must be another one of them, and even one more powerful than that individual. It was impressive; maybe they were as powerful as… that rube brat.
For a few moments, James felt that this would be the end of that long journey. If that woman didn't kill him, the damn kid who'd sent him on that mission would do it.
There was no regret in him about the idea of ​​finally cycle and completely disappear from that world, as perhaps it should have happened to him five years ago. Except for one: Mabel. Who would take care of his Mabel? He knew well that the monster that had dragged them into all this would not. He would most use her, squeeze her to the last drop, and then get rid of her as he did to everything. That single idea caused him so much anger and frustration...
And speaking of the Devil, he looked out, or maybe he was always really watching.
"Why don't you show me what you're capable of?" His cunning voice echoed like a laugh, taking the woman inside Cole Sear's body by surprise.
At that moment, she felt as if someone had stood right behind her, put an arm around her neck, and squeezed him hard with it until she was almost suffocated. She also felt how he placed his face on one side of hers and whispered slowly in her ear:
"Ready for Round 2, ma'am?"
And then, she was violently pulled back, forcibly ripped from Cole's body, and disappearing into the shadows.
The pressure on James's chest lifted, and he was finally able to breathe normally. However, at that moment, he had another one of those sudden coughing attacks that made him double over on the ground.
For his part, Cole's legs buckled, and the officer fell to his knees. He had to drop the pistol to use both hands to avoid falling headlong, sensing that he might not be able to get back up if that happened. He felt quite dizzy and confused. It seemed to him that he had seen and heard everything that was happening, but he was unsure. Everything was like spontaneous flashes in his memory, like fragments of a dream. But something was quite clear to him: the identity of who had intervened.
"Eleven?" He murmured aloud as if hoping that somehow the voice of his former mentor would answer him, either in his ears or in his head. Neither thing happened.
Cole was not entirely aware of James's presence right in front of him for a few moments. Not until he noticed out of the corner of his eye as he suddenly reached out with his right hand to reach for the pistol Cole had dropped. The detective reacted, grabbing his wrist firmly to avoid it, and then reached out to hit the gun and make it slide sideways across the ground. He pulled James's hand aside and immediately grabbed him by his clothes, lifted him just a little, and then landed a strong punch straight to his face. James crashed into the wall again and then fell to the floor.
The Philadelphia officer tried to stand up again to regain ground, but James managed to sweep his feet mid-attempt, and Cole fell flat on his face to the ground. James crawled weakly and still with occasional outbursts of coughing toward the pistol. Cole grabbed hold of his ankle to stop him and quickly got on top of him, turned him toward him, and hit him two more times on the ground. By the third blow, James managed to grab him firmly by the wrist to stop him, and then both men began to struggle with each other, showing off their physical strength.
James managed to kick Cole straight in the face and throw him away from him. His intention was to return to the weapon. Still, another coughing fit came to him, much stronger than the previous ones, which immobilized him. He lifted his sleeve a little to take a look at his forearm; those damn reddish spots again.
Cole was sitting up again. James used what little strength he had left to create one more mooring, even a small one. He concentrated, focused, and then thrust his entire being into his current opponent. Cole felt his whole body stop responding to him, and everything went black once more. His attempt to get up was left to it, as he fell to the floor sitting down, his head falling forward. When he managed to react again minutes later, not a second would have passed for him. And again, he would have isolated flashes that would want to indicate that it was not like that. But for the moment, he was totally out of the picture.
James fell exhausted to the floor, holding his abdomen and coughing so hard that some saliva dripped from his mouth, creating a small puddle with it. He had forgotten to put in a third factor that could kill him: that damn measles, or whatever it was that was consuming him.
He struggled to get up and staggered out of the asylum to his truck, and after away from that place before the police found out about all this and cordoned off the road.
While all that combat was going on, Gema observed them, waiting for some exciting twist to take place, but it all ended up a bit boring for her taste. When James walked out the door, that being calmly approached Cole, squatting in front of him to look closely at his perplexed and frozen face that resembled a corpse. He looked even more handsome that way. Gema smiled widely, but her expression did not reflect happiness or any emotion that could reach something similar.
"You were lucky this time," she whispered, trying to imitate a certain sweetness in her voice while one hand caressed Cole's cheek. She approached his right ear then, whispering subtly to it. "But that bitch won't be able to protect you anymore. You should have listened to your mommy when you could, handsome. Now it is late; he won't let you go anymore. I'm sorry."
Then she leaned into her cheek, giving him a quick little kiss on it.
"Until next time…"
Gema stood up, and before she fully straightened, her figure simply vanished.
A couple of minutes later, Lily Sullivan would walk by that same hall. She would see Cole lying on the floor, but she would not pay much attention to him. The girl would suppose it would be another one of the victims of the beautiful chaos she had caused. She would go out through the same door and meet her traveling companions without significant mishaps.
— — — —
Eleven had been in a trance for a few minutes now. She had sat firmly in the armchair in her study, with her eye shields and headphones to isolate the sound to have the greatest possible concentration. Mike, meanwhile, watched her silently from a chair set to one side of the couch. He had been opposed to her doing it at first, but his wife could be quite stubborn when she wanted to. She was absolutely sure that something horrible was happening where Matilda, Cole, and Cody were, and she couldn't leave them alone.
Mike wanted to stay close anyway, with the perhaps absurd idea that he might do something to bring her back if something happened. And even though he couldn't really do something, he felt calmer being there than going to another room.
Nothing seemed to happen at first, but most of the time, it did. For a few minutes, Jane just sat there, quiet and motionless. Mike always imagined that this must be like trying to fly through space, looking for the person she wanted to see among a sea of ​​stars. Eleven had told him it wasn't precisely fly, but it had always been difficult for her to describe it.
Jane's breath hitched a little suddenly. Her hands tensed on the upholstery of the chair, and she leaned her body slightly toward the brake as if she were beginning to exert herself. Seeing this, Mike stood up by instinct and was tempted to call out to her but held back.
"Don't even think about it," Jane suddenly said in an aggressive tone, and for a second, Mike thought she was saying it to him, but then he realized she wasn't; she wasn't even there at the time.
Things in the room began to shake a bit: the coffee table, what was on the desk, the windows overlooking the garden; everything as if a small earthquake was occurring.
"I ask the questions here," Eleven murmured again, much the same as she had before. "Who do you work for? Tell me his name."
Mike wondered who exactly she was questioning. Could all of this have to do with the concerns she shared with him just a moment ago?
"Mom, Dad," Mike heard a familiar little voice say from the door, and a second later, the door opened.
Mike hurried over to it to prevent it from opening all the way. He stood firm in the small opening that had been created and looked through it at his daughter Terry, with Babylon at his feet also looking at him.
"Not now, Terry," Mike murmured slowly, getting in the way as if he didn't want her to look inside. "Your mother is projecting; we can't interrupt her."
"Projecting?" The sixteen-year-old muttered in perplexity and instinctively tried to look past her father into the study. "Right now? Something happened?"
"Nothing happened," he replied, although he wasn't really sure of the truth of that statement. "Go to your room. We must not..."
"You don't know what I'm capable of!" Jane screamed loudly from her seat, and the whole room shook again.
Terry was startled, a little surprised by such a scream.
"What's going on? Didn't she need our help?"
"Terry, your mother knows what she's doing. We should trust her, okay?"
Then he placed a hand behind his daughter's head and leaned forward to give her a quick kiss on her forehead. "Now go to your room. As soon as she finishes, I will call you."
"Okay," Terry replied, obviously not convinced.
The girl prepared to obey and head down the hall to her room, and Babylon seemed ready to do so anyway. However, at the last moment, the husky seemed to regret it. He stopped, turned back to the study door, and then began to growl fiercely.
Mike and Terry looked at him, confused.
"What is it, Babylon?" Terry asked worriedly. She crouched down beside him, trying to calm him down, but the animal actually looked more and more tense.
It was then that they both heard Eleven let out a loud scream of pain. Mike turned quickly to her, releasing the door. Eleven had pressed herself entirely against the back of the chair and had her head thrown back; more of those same screams came out of her mouth without qualms. She raised her hands desperately, practically trying to rip off her eye shield and earphones. She did, tossing them to the ground to push them away from her, but she was not reassured.
"El!" Mike exclaimed, full of anguish, going towards her; Terry followed behind.
"Do not approach…!" Eleven managed to yell, raising a hand to them at that moment. All three, including Babylon, were pushed back to keep their distance.
Eleven remained in her seat, her fingers gripping the chair as if her nails were going to pierce through the tapestry. Her gaze was fixed on the glass doors in front of her, her pupils fully dilated. Her body continued to tremble, but little by little, everything calmed down, including her breathing, until she was apparently calm, with her body more relaxed. However, some blood trickled down her nose through her right nostril, reaching her lips.
She turned her face slowly towards her husband, although he was unsure if she was really looking at him.
"Mike…" Eleven whispered weakly, almost as if talking hurt.
"El?" Mike muttered with reservations, approaching him carefully. "What happened…?"
Before he could get completely close to her, Eleven's body abruptly bent back and a scream even more heartrending than the previous one escaped from her, and the whole house was suddenly shaken like in the grip of a strong earthquake; even Mike fell to the carpet, unable to balance himself from the shaking.
Terry, for her part, had butted herself against the wall next to the door, holding on to keep from falling as well. Babylon was growling aggressively, though it was actually more fearful, in Eleven's direction. But he wasn't growling at her. His father surely did not see it, and Babylon could only feel it. Still, Terry could see it; she clearly saw that boy with black hair and a suit, right behind her mother, around her neck with his right arm, which was pressing hard, and she was unable to get rid of him.
"Mike, that's his name, huh?" The man muttered maliciously close to Eleven's ear, glancing at the man on the ground. "After all that you tried to keep me away from here the first time, and look now: you brought me right to your house, with your cute family."
Eleven was in shock. He had caught her totally off guard at the time; she hadn't even realized when he had dragged her to that point.
It was him; she didn't need to see him to confirm it. He was the same boy from the other time, and he had her ultimately at his mercy. She was not able to move or do anything else. She had never felt such a level of invasion in her person; she had never felt so helpless in her entire life.
"Mike… Terry…" she managed to pronounce weakly. "Get out of here, run..."
"And do you really think there's somewhere they can hide from me?" He exclaimed with marked sarcasm in his voice. "You must have stayed on the sidelines, ma'am. I don't lose twice in the same game..."
"Who are you?" Terry questioned sharply at once, drawing everyone's attention, including the strange intruder.
"Terry, who are you talking to?" Asked her father, who was trying to stand up; indeed, he did not see it.
The mysterious attacker smiled in amusement.
"Ah, she can see me. Is she like you?" Then he ran the fingers of his other hand playfully through the curls on Eleven's head. "I should also pay her a visit after I finish with you. But this time in person. Or even better, I have a couple of friends who would love it if I gave her to them as a gift. They would put her to good use..."
"Don't even put the finger on her, you bastard," Eleven snapped with such pent-up anger that her words were trying too hard to get out. "I swear I'm going to..."
"You're going to what? Huh?" The boy ironed, pressing his fingers against her head tightly. "In case you haven't realized it, you are in no position to threaten anyone. And you will never be again..."
Suddenly, the boy's fingers were pressed so hard against Eleven's temple, and they seemed to begin to sink into her skin little by little. But it was not as if it were opening, but rather as if the intruder's fingers were beginning to merge with Eleven's head. Whatever it was, Eleven started to feel tremendous, horrible pain.
"Aaaaah!!" She screamed with great force, writhing in her place but not managing to free herself from that mental hold in which she was held.
More blood began to flow from her nose… much more blood.
"No! Leave her!" Terry yelled at him defiantly, taking a step toward him that didn't really share that sentiment.
"Terry," her father called, but she didn't hear him.
"Leave my mom!" Terry screamed with great force, and his scream echoed like lightning.
The whole room shook more violently in response to her scream, and everything except the chair her mother was sitting on flew off in different directions. The glass doors smashed, and pieces of glass flew into the garden. And most importantly, that individual's astral image also seemed to be violently pushed along with everything else.
The lights jingled three times, then went off completely, not just in that room but apparently throughout the house.
Everything fell silent right after. Mike looked at his daughter warily; she was still staring at where her target had been standing just moments ago, her breathing as heavy as if she had just finished a race. He then looked at his wife. Jane Wheeler was sitting in the same place, her eyes wide, staring at the doors now with no glass in them.
"Jane?" Mike muttered but received no response.
And a few seconds after Mike looked at her, Eleven's body slowly tilted to the side until she fell sideways on the couch, and then she rolled to the floor. She lay face-up on the carpet, her eyes still wide open, but no sound or movement whatsoever.
"Jane!"
Mike crossed the distance that separated her from his wife in less than a second and crouched down beside her, quickly taking her in his arms.
"Oh, God, El, darling…" He repeated, full of anguish and on the verge of tears. Her eyes weren't looking at him; they were looking at absolutely nothing. But she was still breathing, though very weak, barely noticeable. "Terry! Call an ambulance! Quickly!"
Only then was Terry pulled out of her deep tranny. Looking at her mother in that state in her father's arms, she felt paralyzed for a few moments. Still, she forced her legs to move as quickly as possible, and then she left the study with Babylon in search of her cell phone.
"Jane, please answer me, wake up…" Mike continued insisting, shaking her a little and patting her cheek, but nothing worked. Eleven gave no sign of consciousness. And his breathing, which was already scarce before, was gradually beginning to fade...
END OF CHAPTER 43
Author's Notes:
—Terry Wheeler is an original character of my creation. Still, it is created based on the context of the Stranger Things series.
After a long time, I bring you this translated chapter, coinciding with this Halloween day. I hope you like it. In the Spanish version, we are already in Chapter 105, so there is still a lot to tell.
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Chapter 42.Look what I did
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX
Chapter 42. Look what I did
While everything outside was in absolute chaos, the real culprit of that horror watched her work from the hospital security room with particular pride and satisfaction. Lily Sullivan was still sitting in front of the console, her hands resting on it. From her position, she observed everyone who appeared and disappeared from the monitors. Although, in reality, she did not need them to see all her current victims. But they were a good guide, as a small map so as not to get lost, since the number of people she had to reach was more significant than any she had previously achieved.
Lily created horrible visions in the heads of all these crazy people, altering them and letting their fears consume them and act on them. She made them see all other people as hideous creatures, with rotten skin hanging from their faces, yellowish teeth popping out of their mouths, and reddened pus-filled eyes. Of course, the reaction of all was of aversion, terror, and above all of the violence; a lot of violence.
The show was a real treat for her. So much chaos, so much confusion, so much fear… She was delighted, even intoxicated, by it all. Her father always thought that fear was like food to her; that fed on her and made her stronger. She never quite believed that statement, but at the moment, she was tempted to consider it. The sensation that ran through her body was exquisite.
Suddenly, out of all the frightened and confused faces that appeared on the monitors, one caught her attention in a particular way; one that she managed to recognize immediately: the hateful Portland detective who interrogated her and dared to lock her in that room (with everything and guard at the door). She knew immediately that it was him, and it took her slightly by surprise. What was that guy doing there? Was he looking for her? It did not matter because without knowing it, he had just entered the cave of the worst wolf he had ever known.
Lily smirked.
"Well, look who we have here. My old detective friend. Just in time for fun..."
All the ideas that had crossed her mind to do with that man as soon as she had the opportunity came to her mind. And this one apparently was being presented on a silver platter. Indeed his square and simple mind could not understand what he was seeing, and he was naively wondering why everyone was acting so… "crazy." Of course, he still wasn't able to see anything they saw. He was just standing there with his gun in one hand and barely managing to hold it as he moved on those crutches. Surely he wanted to have a clear target to shoot at, as it was what he did best: aiming and then "bang!" If that's what he wanted, why not help him a bit with it? That would surely make him feel better.
"What are you afraid of, detective?" Lily whispered, focusing most of her attention on that single individual.
- - - -
Vazquez and Cole kept trying to calm things down in the hallways, but there seemed to be no favorable resolution. It was all a horrible pitched battle of everyone against everyone. Faces were scratched, heads smashed against walls, and even hands, arms, or necks were bitten in desperate defense. Vazquez, due to his condition, was the one who had it the most difficult. Still, his stubbornness was much more powerful than his physical limitation.
Suddenly, the Portland detective stopped abruptly without Cole noticing at first. He stared at the crowd of people in front of him in puzzlement as his appearance began to change, little by little, with each blink he gave. The faces of patients and nurses alike grew emaciated, leaving in their place only dangling skins attached to their skulls. The detective backed away, stunned. In a second, all those hideous faces turned towards him simultaneously, and one by one, they began to approach him.
"Stay where you are!" He yelled loudly at them, raising his weapon towards them. "Back off now!"
Vazquez backed away in fear, stomping on his crutches and falling to the ground. His injured ankle ached intensely, but he made no exclamation. All his senses were focused on those faces with hollow cheeks and eyes, ashen skins, and stained and missing teeth. Those faces, they were all alike; they were all the face of...
"Deja de llorar, Roberto," he heard one of those faces pronounced hoarsely in fluent Spanish.
"¡Deja de llorar como una puta!" One more of them added, with the same voice as before.
They kept getting closer, shuffling step by step. One by one spoke with the same voice, pulled from some cold and forgotten corner of Vazquez's memory.
"Miren a la niña de mami."
"¿Vas a ir a llorarle a mami?"
"No, no, no," the policeman muttered, totally petrified. However, his right arm was still raised, and his pistol pointed straight ahead. The following words also escaped him in Spanish: "Tú estás muerto… Hijo de tu puta madre, ¡estás muerto!"
"Soy un viejo que se caga encima, y aun así sigues temblando al verme, niñita."
"¿A quién crees que engañas con tu disfraz de policía?"
"Eres un pendejo, un inútil, y un malagradecido."
"Sólo sabes responder a putazos, igual que tu madre…"
The one who was closest to him raised his arm in the air. From his perspective, his hand looked immense, as he saw it when he was just a six years old little boy trembling in the corner of the room. The face accompanying that hand was not yet consumed by the alcohol and the coca.
"¡No me toques!, ¡no me toques bastardo!"
Vazquez gripped his gun, his finger on the trigger.
Another of those creatures lunged at him with great speed from the side, grabbing his arm and deflecting the weapon upward. The gun went off, and the bullet hit a ceiling lamp just above them, creating a small explosion and shower of sparks.
"Vazquez!" Cole shouted while he struggled on the ground with the Portland detective, trying to take his gun away from him. "Whatever you are seeing is not real! Give me your gun!"
Vazquez wasn't listening to it. He was still kicking and roasting, spitting screams in Spanish that Cole couldn't quite understand. The gun fired once more, now hitting a wall. The nurses who were not prey to hallucinations had no choice but to leave the place scared. The affected patients, some ran in terror down the corridor too, but others remained in place screaming in terror and hitting the walls and faces.
From the control room, Lily was laughing more than happily. All of this was much better than she expected.
Cole kept struggling with Vazquez, trying to disarm him before he hurt someone else. But the despair and fear invading him had given him more strength than expected to defend himself. This guy was an annoying stubborn, but he was a cop like him, wounded in the line of duty. He was also hallucinating because of a third party, or at least that seemed to Cole to be the safest thing to think. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him, but he didn't have much choice in the end.
Midway through their struggle, he dug his knee hard against Vazquez's abdomen, knocking the air out of her. Vazquez doubled over, exhaling a deep groan of pain. Cole immediately withdrew his gun and threw it away from him. Next, he punched him hard in the face that caused the Portland officer to fall sideways to the ground, stunned but still defiant. Cole stepped over him and gave him one more blow, and it seemed to affect him even more than the last.
Vazquez remained on the ground, semiconscious and complaining of the pain that was indeed invading his body. Cole stood up, waving his sore hands slightly from the blows. Before he could recover, he dragged Vazquez off his feet into one of the open rooms; the cop did not resist at all. He was able to put him inside the room and locked him up; for his protection and the others.
Cole took a deep breath with some relief. He took a few seconds to try to digest it all, settle down, and then think of his following action. Instinctively, he raised his gaze to a corner of the hall, where one of the security cameras was located; it stared at him like a single accusing eye, the red light above it blinking every so often. He had a hunch that the telepath who was causing all this might be looking at them right through that camera. And therefore, in theory, he was staring into their eyes right now, him or her.
"So boring," Lily muttered from the other side, staring at Cole's angry face on the monitor. Soon after, the detective began to walk down the hall in a hurry, but not before bending down to take Vazquez's gun from the floor. "You come for me? Don't make me laugh. I could make you shoot yourself with that gun whenever I want." Her attention was diverted at that moment to another of the monitors, where she could see Esther walking stealthily. And right on the board to one side, she saw another person also wandering, but with more modest steps, dare he even say fearful. "But I think we won't be around much longer to see it."
- - - -
Samara wandered lost for a while among the hospital corridors, not knowing exactly where she should go. She hadn't come across anyone to that point, nor had she seen firsthand the havoc Lily Sullivan was wreaking on the minds of those present. However, the loneliness that was breathed caused her some confusion and anguish.
What had happened? And whatever it was, was it happening because of her? And who exactly was doing it? She couldn't believe it was caused directly by the Other Samara; she didn't have that kind of influence unless she allowed her to somehow.
She kept roaming for a bit longer. She was getting ready to go to where she seemed to remember the reception and the main door of the hospital was. She had been locked there for too long, and the exit door was not exactly a place they used to or even want to take her to.
A few steps to her right caught her attention. She thought for a few moments that it would be some nurse trying to get her back to her room. She thought fleetingly about what she would do if that was the situation. Would she give them a "push" like the one she gave Dr. Scott? Did she wish to go out so badly to do that? Samara turned slowly in that direction. The person she saw was not a nurse. In fact, it was a girl, a little shorter than her, with a backpack on her back and who was looking at her with some anxiety in her eyes.
"Samara," the stranger said firmly. "You're Samara Morgan, right?"
She looked at her carefully without answering her immediately. She was unfamiliar, and she was not dressed to be a patient here. And besides… there was something strange about her. She perceived it just when she saw her, but the girl could not identify what it was exactly. Something in her did not agree, and that caused certain distrust to Samara.
"Who are you?" She murmured uneasily, backing away a little.
"Hey, don't be scared," the girl whispered slowly, throwing her hands towards her. Her face abruptly softened, and she gave a gentle smile, which would perhaps be adorable if it weren't for the fact that it seemed totally fake. "I don't have time for long explanations, okay? Let's leave it in that my name is Esther, and I came to get you out of here. And I'm going to do it by hook or by crook."
Still smiling, the stranger subtly reached her left hand toward her backpack while her right was still up, perhaps in an attempt to distract her.
"I really don't want to hurt you. I'm your friend..."
Samara narrowed her eyes a little, still suspicious.
"Are you who she said would come for me?"
The girl became excited in confusion and slowly made her hand recoil from her attempt to grab her backpack.
"I don't know what 'she' you mean. But yes, someone sent me for you. A very handsome boy; I think you'll be pleased to meet him." She commented that last with a very notorious gossipy tone. "What do you say? Are you coming with me?"
Samara stared at her in silence for a moment, and then she raised her gaze just a little above the stranger's head. And there it was, that dark figure standing in the middle of that perfect white corridor, highlighted by its haggard and opaque state. She looked back at her; among all the sea of ​​black hair that hid her face, Samara could notice it, and as well that creature was slowly nodding her head with a sign of affirmation.
The girl hesitated for a few moments, but then she nodded in the same way too. The girl with the backpack seemed surprised, perhaps by how (apparently) easy it had been to convince her.
"Perfect, quick." Esther held out her hand to the girl to take it. Samara did, and in less than a second later, they started running. Samara was almost flying because that girl turned out to be stronger and faster than she looked, or perhaps she was much thinner and lighter than she thought.
"What is happening?" The young from Moesko murmured slowly, watching the orange sirens of the alarm as they advanced. "You did this?"
"Me and another new friend," Esther replied. "You'll also like her. Beneath her unfriendly mask, it's kind of nice."
Samara didn't understand what she meant, but she didn't think about it too much. She didn't know precisely where she was taking her but trusted her to know.
As they walked, out of the corner of her eye, Samara noticed a figure moving down another adjacent hallway they were going. She turned slightly toward it, and as soon as she saw that, she stopped, apparently applying enough force so that Esther's grip was dislodged. Esther nearly fell flat forward from the sudden change.
A woman with long black hair, a white patient suit, and a gray sweater over it walked forward, looking around, disoriented. Both of her hands were firmly grasping in front of her, seemingly holding something.
Samara recognized her immediately, and her heart leaped with excitement.
"Mommy?" She exclaimed loudly enough to be heard in the echo from the hall. Anna Morgan stopped advancing and turned quickly toward her, her eyes wide in amazement and confusion. Yes, it was her. "Mommy! Mommy!"
Samara, without thinking twice, began to run quickly down the hall towards her before the stranger who had come to get her could do something to stop her. For the first time in weeks, Samara's face lit up even a little, drawing as close to a joyous smile as she could get. Even the way she ran towards her mother was in stark contrast to the sleepy, absent demeanor that almost always characterized her. Now she was running, practically jumping with happiness, like a normal girl happy to see her mother.
The adult woman, by her side, remained standing in her place, watching silently as the girl approached her, having both hands still firm in front of her.
"I'm happy that you're fine, mommy…" Samara whispered, only a few steps away from her. And it was at that moment that as she took one of those last steps, she caught a glimpse of that same dark and gaunt figure from a few moments ago, standing just off the side of the hall as she ran past her.
"Stop!" The Other Samara yelled at her loudly, her voice echoing only in her head. "Don't get any closer!"
Samara turned to look at her for only a fraction of a second, confused by such a warning. However, as she turned back to her mother, the cruel reality of those words struck her head-on.
Anna quickly pulled out the scalpel she held hidden in her hands and waved it in the air, making a long cut across Samara's cheek. The girl backed away and fell to her seat in fear, clutching her cheek that was beginning to bleed.
"You did this, right?" Anna asked sharply, holding the scalpel in front of her. "You caused this chaos. Wherever you go, everything you touch is corrupted and destroyed. You are the Devil, the very Devil walking this earth!"
Esther looked alarmed at such a scene. She approached hurriedly, and by mere reflex, raised her weapon, pointing it at the woman. But at that very moment, Samara stood in front of her, preventing her from shooting.
"No, mommy, please… I didn't do anything… Please, mommy… I love you…"
Samara took a fearful step towards her mother, extending her free hand towards her. At that moment, Anna waved the scalpel again, now making a deep cut into her palm. Samara doubled over in pain, clutching her hand and backing away, groaning.
"I'm not your fucking mommy! Spawn of the Devil! I wish I had never met you! You just made my life hell!"
Anna Morgan's voice echoed loudly in the hallway, and so did Esther's own head, who was watching everything paralyzed in place. She had already raised her pistol at her again, her finger on the trigger, ready to blow her head off without the slightest hesitation. But those words paralyzed her...
"I'm not your fucking mommy!"
"I'm not your fucking mommy!"
"I'm not your fucking mommy!"
That scream was repeated in her head over and over again, creating a pain that ran through her neck and back. Her hand shook, and she was unable to shoot. She was unable to kill that woman. She was unable to kill her mother... again.
The ceiling lights began to flicker suddenly, and heavy air completely covered the corridor. The ground at Samara's feet began to corrode and break, taking on a dirty ocher hue as if a strong acid were starting to consume it. Slowly the girl raised her face back to her mother. However, her eyes were wholly filled with fury, totally oblivious to the jubilant ones from just now, and they were pinned right on the woman in front of her.
Terrified, Anna took only two steps back before being completely paralyzed and lost in the deep darkness that consisted of Samara's eyes. Those eyes... they were the same as that occasion, the one in which all those horrible and unpleasant images flooded her head, preventing her from thinking about anything else. But now, it was a little different. There were no images slowly consuming her sanity. Actually... there was nothing. Anna didn't feel anything; she didn't think about anything. She just seemed to be floating in a deep, murky sea of ​​darkness...
Without saying anything, Anna Morgan firmly took the scalpel in her hand, raised it to her neck, and then, before Esther's astonished eyes and Samara's angry gaze, she stabbed it directly into the right side of her neck, until depths.
Matilda had arrived in the hallway just at that moment, stunned by such an image. Anna pulled out the scalpel once and reattached it. Blood spurted from her wound, covering the wall and staining her white coat. She did it again a second time and a third time as if she could not feel any pain. But she did feel it; she felt it all...
"Samara! No!" Matilda yelled from the end of the hall and quickly used her telekinesis to snatch the scalpel from Anna Morgan's hand before she repeated the abominable act a fourth time. But it was late enough.
The woman fell to the ground, first on her knees and then collapsed on her side. Blood kept pouring from her throat and mouth, trickling down her body and staining the floor. Only then did Samara seem to react and realize what she had done. Her face softened, and she looked in horror at her mother lying in front of her.
"No, no, no!" She screamed in horror and approached her mother, hugging her and trying to place her hand on her wound. Samara's clothes were stained red, as were her hands. "No, mommy... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to..."
Anna stared at her with empty eyes as she spat blood from her mouth. She coughed a few times, her breath hitting a bit near the end, and then… she just went still… Her eyes kept pointing to her daughter, but they weren't really looking at her. They weren't looking at anything at all, and Samara knew it.
"No, mommy... Nooo!!" Samara yelled loudly, and the walls and windows rumbled. Then she hugged her mother's body tightly, beginning to cry uncontrollably and staining herself even more with her blood. Their screams rang out loud, drowning out even the incessant sound of the alarm.
Matilda was astonished for a moment at the horrible scene she had just witnessed, but gradually she forced herself to react. Then she approached fearfully towards her patient.
"Samara," Matilda whispered very slowly. "Samara, listen to me…" The girl lifted her face covered in tears and blood (hers and her mother's) towards her. "Nothing of this is your fault, no..."
"You told me you would help me, Matilda…" Samara whispered suddenly between groans. "You told me that you would help me control my powers! You said to me that I wouldn't hurt anyone else anymore! And look what I did! I killed my mom! I killed her!"
Matilda froze again at the image in front of her: the image of a girl covered in blood, embracing her mother's lifeless body. The same image she had seen four years ago when she entered into that house in Chamberlain.
Esther was in a state quite similar to hers. Also, that image brought a wave of memories and feelings that drowned her. Suddenly she felt something that she hadn't felt for a long, long time: the urge to cry... but she wouldn't, not now or in that place.
Esther started abruptly and without much thought to shoot Matilda. The first bullet hit the doctor in the right shoulder, knocking her out of her thoughts and knocking her to the ground. Esther shot her three more times, but this time Matilda could react, focus, and stop the bullets before they hit her. This did not surprise her attacker, and, in fact, she expected it to happen just like that.
"Let's go!" Esther yelled loudly, and then she took Samara by the arm and yanked her upright. Samara didn't have the strength to resist and just let her pull as she continued to let out bitter sobs.
Matilda shook the bullets off her and tried to stand. But as she did so, she felt a great stabbing pain in her shoulder that brought her to her knees again. The bullet had entered and left without touching bone or anything, but that didn't take away the pain or the bleeding that was beginning to soak through her blouse. She tried again to stand up, now with better luck. She stepped past Anna Morgan's body and ran after the girls, clinging her left hand to the wound as best she could.
As they ran, Esther quickly took out her walkie-talkie.
"I need a damn distraction!" She yelled loudly, hoping Lily would hear her from the other side. "The woman who follows me is very dangerous."
There wasn't as such an answer from Lily, but she hoped she had heard her.
The two girls turned a corner, out of sight of Matilda long enough. When the psychiatrist turned the same corner, she stopped for a moment and looked around confusedly because there was no sign of who she was chasing. In front of her was only a long corridor, long enough so that at least she could see them in the distance because she had not been so far behind. But from the shape of the corridor, they couldn't have gone anywhere other than to the front, so she started to dash in that direction.
Her shoulder burned, and she had started to sweat.
She continued down the lonely corridor until she came to an end... and it really was. There was no other adjacent corridor. Instead, it ended in a wall with a window, perfectly closed and impossible to open. But there was no sign of Samara and that woman, who she was sure was the same one she had seen in Portland.
She turned on her feet, gazing thoughtfully at the doors on the side of the hall, suspecting that perhaps they had been hiding in one of those rooms. A reasonable thought, but wrong. Unbeknownst to Matilda, the little one hidden in the security control room had gotten into her head. By the time she finished going through half of those rooms, she had realized that the long hallway did indeed connect with others that she did not see or rather could not see. And at that point, that would be too late.
- - - -
"Mission accomplished," Esther said, pleased from the radio she had left for Lily in the security room. "I can't go back there. You'll have to go to the van on your own. Can you do it, brat?"
"With my eyes closed," Lily replied sarcastically.
She looked back at the monitors. Little by little, she let the illusions she had caused dissipate one by one. It would be difficult for her to keep everything working while leaving that place without being seen (literally). The monitors showed the reactions of relief, confusion, and, of course, the terror that did not disappear completely. Even some of the fighting that had started seemed unwilling to die down anytime soon.
Lily would have loved to stay long enough to see how far this could take. Could she even have her little puppets burn that whole place down on their own like Emily had? That would have been fun to watch. But indeed, it was time to go.
She placed her hands on the console and pushed herself back slightly to make the chair roll away from it so she could lower herself more quickly. However, before she could get her feet low enough, something stopped her tracks. At first, she didn't understand it, and later... she couldn't either. She felt her wrists clench, holding them steady and motionless on the armrests. And looking at them, she saw that it wasn't just the sensation: her wrists were surrounded by thick chains of shackles that had come practically out of nowhere.
"What?" She exclaimed in surprise, and a second later, more of those chains emerged, tying her entire torso to the chair and her two angles to each other. The latter gave her a painful cramp, as her injured leg had stuck and rubbed with the good one.
What was happening? Who had done that?
The chair turned on its own a hundred and eighty degrees, making Lily's face look right at the door. Her captor, or who she supposed this was, was standing there staring at her with sternness and deep concentration through the transparent glass of her thick glasses.
"You must be Lily," Cody commented somewhat harshly, approaching her without taking his eyes off her. Lily was looking at him too, with a combination of confusion and mostly anger.
"Are you doing this?" She questioned sharply. "They are not illusions, are they?"
"They are, but not like yours."
Cody stood right in front of the girl, analyzing her carefully. He could see a little of the bruise still present from the blow her kidnapper had given her, showing under her dark hair that covered part of her face. Cody noticed as well as the crutches that had leaned against the console. The skirt she was wearing wholly covered her thigh and, therefore, the bandage that wrapped her not very pleasant wound.
The next thing Cody noticed was much more horrible, and it scared him so much that he couldn't understand how he hadn't seen it at first: the two bodies lying on the ground, each shot in the head. Both in security guard uniforms, both obviously dead.
He was tempted to look away. He didn't want to have those horrible images in his head; the perfect recipe for a good nightmare. But it was late, well the image of their faces stuck against the pool of their own blood would not be quickly erased from his head. He decided then to turn entirely towards Lily and try not to look or think of anything else.
"Are you here with Leena Klammer? Why are you helping the woman who kidnapped you?"
Lily was silent for a moment, but then gradually, her aggressive expression softened, abruptly changing to a look full of anguish.
"I didn't know what else to do," she whispered almost painfully as if she were about to burst into tears. "She is not a girl as she seems. She's totally crazy! I thought she would kill me. Please help me…" She cut off her words abruptly, letting out a deep snort of exhaustion and perhaps frustration. That supposed fear and anguish, which for a second Cody was very close to swallowing, was gone in just a flash. "You know what, Cody? I'm too tired, and possibly high for so many drugs that crazy woman has given me, to play that now."
Cody didn't get much of a chance to think about how rare that abrupt change in attitude was, even despite what he had read in the file about her that Matilda had taught him. All his attention abruptly turned to one thing: the way she had called him.
"How do you know my name?" He murmured, quite confused.
After seeing what that girl had supposedly done in the past, one of his theories was that she could possess telepathic abilities. With that, it would not be so strange if she discovered some information about him. But… he hadn't thought about her name at the time, or not unless he realized it. Also, wasn't he supposed to have a specially placed protection on his mind to prevent such things?
Cody began to feel nervous… and perhaps more than that.
Lily, for her part, smiled, satisfied with his obvious reaction.
"How do I know the name of the scary little Cody Morgan who's afraid of falling asleep? People's fears and worries are the easiest I can perceive, and both are screaming loudly from you." Her smile widened even more, drawing a rather wicked grin on that tiny, supposedly innocent face. "What exactly were you planning to do by coming here? You aren't a hero, Cody… You're just a bunch of insecurities and horrors…"
Had she said fears and worries? Cody immediately remembered from just moments ago his reaction to seeing the bodies of the security guards. What had he thought of at the time? What was it that bothered him when he thought about his nightmares...?
Cody felt at that moment how a long, heavy hand was placed on his right shoulder, squeezing it tightly. Next was the sound of heavy, painful breathing coming right from behind him. He turned quickly, and then he saw it: that tall, thin, dull-skinned being, smeared over his gaunt face without any trace of hair, with his eyes sunken as if they were only empty sockets, in whose darkness two small white eyes appeared devoid of any trace of humanity or emotion in them. The creature's wrinkled lips curved into a smile even more hideous than Lily Sullivan's.
Cody let out a small cry of terror and quickly backed away, staring in disbelief at the figure in front of him. The creature approached him with slow steps, hunching its torso to one side and its head to the other, still looking at him. Its long arms fell to its sides, writhing as he advanced. Cody could hear the sound of its bones cracking and thundering.
"No, it can't be," Cody muttered, noticeably panicked. Without noticing, he tripped over the body of one of the guards as he backed away, falling to the floor in a sitting position; in one of the reddish puddles. "You no longer exist, I eliminated you!"
The creature let out a loud screech at once, and dozens of dark moths flew out of its mouth and began to fly at it. Cody closed his eyes and raised his arms, trying to protect himself from the animals. He felt them collide with him, fluttering in his hair, and even seemed to feel that one of them was biting the skin of his hands. The monster abruptly lunged at him, crossing the distance that separated them in less than a second. He took him by the arms and pushed him to the ground. When Cody opened his eyes again, he found himself face to face with the long look from the worst of his nightmares, staring at him from above, still with that long and grotesque smile. That thing extended its face to him until it was right next to his ear.
"I am... always... with you..." It whispered in a hoarse, exhausted voice that left Cody petrified.
Then the creature wrapped her two long, slender arms around him and pressed its cold, rough body against it. And little by little, Cody felt himself sinking into that grayish skin, being enveloped by it little by little as if it were a pupal cocoon.
"No!" He began to scream desperately, trying to get the thing off him, but it was impossible to do so.
That was an illusion; that wasn't real. That image had been invented by his subconscious many years ago based on the appearance of his biological mother dying of cancer, something his young mind had not been able to understand. And in those moments, he had not created it, nor was he asleep, so there was no way it was there. His logical side knew it and was yelling it loudly at him. But even so, he couldn't help himself. He couldn't push the thing away. He, a supposed expert in illusions, could not get rid of one as strong as that.
And there he was, writhing in terror on the ground as if he were a nine-year-old boy again, without understanding what was happening to him. No monsters or moths were stalking him. Only Lily Sullivan, who a while ago had managed to get up from the chair because, before such a scene, Cody had been unable to continue maintaining the chains that held her. The girl stood next to him, leaning on her crutches, watching with amusement as he writhed, staining his clothes with the blood on the floor.
"I may not be able to make my illusions real like you, but I don't need them to be. I just need you to believe they are... Still, I am surprised to see what that woman told me was true. There are more like me in these parts." Then he snorted wryly. "Although, hardly a being as pathetic as you could be considering my equal..."
Her radio rang again at that moment.
"We're getting to the exit! Where are you going?!" She heard Esther's voice echo, pulling her out a bit from the luscious scene she was contemplating.
"I'm coming," she replied reluctantly, pressing the button to open the communication and then snorted in annoyance. "Apparently, we wouldn't have enough time to get this over with. I'd like to stay and talk, but I'm in a hurry. Have fun."
While Cody felt that he was wholly absorbed by that creature above him, being totally immobilized and with difficulty breathing, Lily began to head to the exit as the rhythm of her crutches allowed her. She would leave that illusion active until she was at a safe distance, and she would have to deal more with not being seen than with torturing this stranger. She was partly pleased with the idea of ​​leaving that individual alive for now. Perhaps they would meet again, and he could show her what else he was capable of, and she would do the same...
END OF CHAPTER 42
Author's Notes:
-The description of the creature Cody sees at the end of this chapter is from the Canker Man's monster, originally from the film Before I Wake of 2016.
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Chapter 41. It Won't Stop
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX
Chapter 41. It Won't Stop
Samara knew in advance that she would have to speak to another of Matilda's friends that Saturday morning. She had mentioned it to her since even before the whole incident in her room had happened. However, what was informed somewhat suddenly was that Matilda could not be present while the talk was taking place since the psychiatrist would have to go out to take care of a quick matter with the officer who had accompanied her the other day. The idea did not please Samara in the least. She got nervous, and you could even say that she got a little upset, but not enough to show it too much.
She accepted the request to not bother Matilda, especially after the last two hard times she had put her through. The least she wanted was that the woman wanted to turn her back on her too. Perhaps she hadn't thought about it explicitly, but something of it was present in her decision.
That morning, about ten minutes before the agreed time, the nurses went to look for her in her room. Or rather, her new room, since the original one was indeed still unusable at that time. They took her to the observation room where that such talk would take place. The hospital staff seemed to have gotten over their disgust for her a bit. However, they were still talking to her and treating her with tweezers, fearful of doing anything that might bother her too much. This, in a way, gave Samara a bit of satisfaction, but the guilt was not totally absent for that.
The room was the same as the one she had previously been in with Matilda and her cop friend; there are still even some visible marks of what had happened back then. The nurses did not enter. They only left her at the door and proceeded to go as soon as possible in the moment she stepped inside. Samara supposed that she should sit in the center chair without any prompting, as she had all the previous times, and she did.
Samara then prepared to await the arrival of Matilda's mysterious guest. She couldn't even guess what she would get out of it all. Would this other friend also be someone with abilities like hers? Just like Matilda and the cop? The psychiatrist had told her that it would be constructive for her to talk to this other friend about what she could do. Could he do the same as her? She certainly doubted it; she was beginning to believe that no one was even remotely similar to her in that world. Well, no one except for maybe...
The overhead lights flickered suddenly. Instinctively, Samara lifted her face slightly in that direction, staring at the fluorescent light tinkling rhythmically as if it were some coded message. She felt for a few moments extracted in that white light, in that constant turning on and off, so much so that the passage of time simply slipped from her body like simple water...
"With water... there's water always. Sometimes it feels like I'm drowning, and I can't get out."
Samara jumped in her chair as if she had just awakened from a deep sleep; however, it actually seemed more like she had gotten into one. She turned her face fearfully forward towards the double mirror that divided that room from the adjacent one. The scenario that was reflected in it was not the same in which she was. It was a strange place, but in a way hideously familiar. The walls in the reflection were without paint and peeling, corroded by rust and mold. The room was barely lit by a faint flickering light, but it was mostly dark. And, of course, the water: the entire floor was covered with water, perhaps enough to reach her ankles.
And although that was only an image in the mirror, she could still perceive other things as if she were in that place herself. The air had grown heavy and sticky, accompanied by a foul stench that made her nose ache. All of this was like a replay of what had happened in her room, with the same look and feel. But that was not the same; this had not been caused by her.
Her attention was focused, almost unintentionally, on the center of that scene, in the right place where her own reflection should be. And indeed there she was, sitting on the chair, in the middle of the room, with her white robe, her hands on her legs, and her long black hair falling in front and completely covering her face. But she didn't have her hair all the way to the front like that, and her hands weren't gray and wrinkled and sore on the skin.
That figure in the mirror stood up abruptly, although Samara hadn't actually done it. She dragged her feet through the water, approaching the mirror slowly as if at any moment she was going to emerge from it as a character of some television program. Samara became tense in fear but was unable to move from her chair. It was her again, that other being… that monster.
She quickly squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears. Still, she could hear the sound of the water moving while the thing continued to advance, closer and closer to the mirror.
Samara began to sing in a low voice, the same song she always sang to feel more secure: "Round we go… The world is spinning… When it stops… It's just beginning ..."
The splashing of the water stopped. Even so, Samara continued to sing without opening her eyes.
"Sun comes up… We live, and we cry… Sun goes down… And then we all die…"
"Are you so afraid of me?" She heard the creature's hoarse, raspy, slow voice murmur. However, it didn't sound threatening at all. In fact, the girl found it a bit sad.
Almost by reflex, Samara slowly opened her eyes and looked in its direction. The ghostly reflection was just standing in front, still on the surface like a painting hanging on the wall. Then it raised its hand and placed it against the glass; Samara could see the pale, wrinkled skin of her hand pressing against it and even some water dripping from that contact.
"I won't hurt you," whispered the same voice as before. "I would never hurt you. Everything I've done has been to protect you."
"Protect me?" Samara exclaimed in disbelief, and even with some anger. "How can you say that? You have made me hurt everyone around me. My mother, Matilda, Dr. Scott..."
The head of the reflection moved at an abnormal speed; in a blink, it was pressed against the glass as if it wanted to go through it. Among all the long black hair that cascaded down like a waterfall, a single clouded eye peeked out, looking directly at her. Samara shuddered in fear in her chair, and whatever she was going to say got stuck in her throat.
"You know that I didn't do any of those things," the being in the mirror whispered in a cold voice. "You know the truth…"
Samara looked at her, dumbfounded.
Yes, she knew the truth, but a part of her tried to convince herself that she really wasn't. That all this had been the fault of that presence, of that being that she still could not fully understand. But it was telling her that what she feared so much inside her heart was the absolute truth.
The being tilted its head slowly to one side, having her face still pressed against the invisible barrier that prevented it from invading the space in which Samara was; all that without taking its dead eye off her.
"Come closer," the monster snapped suddenly with some severity. "I need to tell you something…"
Samara leaned even closer to the back of the chair. Although she did not respond with words, all her body language indicated that she had no intention of leaving her seat.
"It's important… I won't hurt you, quite the opposite."
She had no reason to believe in that thing, and every conscious reasoning she could concoct at the moment led her to the same conclusion.
However, she still did it...
Samara stood up and began to move slowly towards the mirror, towards the being trapped on the other side; slow, very slow. Even though the water she saw in the reflection was not on her side, she could still feel as if her feet were crawling through it, soaking her robe. She then stood right in front of that being, however, staying at least a meter away, having the innocent idea that that would be enough to keep her safe. Perhaps it was not, but still, that creature made no attempt to do more than what it had promised: speak.
"Someone will come looking for you. They'll want to get you off this site and take you with them. You must do what they tell you and get out of here without opposition and without looking back."
"Why?" The little girl asked, confused.
There was a small and uncomfortable silence before the being in the mirror answered her.
"Because if you stay here…" Once more, the creature raised its head, exposing to Samara its pale, bruised, and gutsy face, decorated with its two gray, dead eyes. "You will end up becoming me..."
Samara was a little startled when she saw that face again, but she stayed still in her place.
"What…? What do you mean with that…?"
Instinctively she took two more steps toward the mirror. The creature pressed its dry, rough lips against it and whispered slowly, very slowly. Samara was able to feel it cold, putrid breath touching her face. But, by the moment, it did not bother her more than the words coming out of it. She stayed fascinated, lost in their multiple meanings and implications.
Maybe it was only a few seconds, but it seemed like hours to Samara. She didn't want to believe what she heard at all, but at the same time, it was impossible for her to just put it aside and ignore it. Since it all made a lot of sense; if anything in all that madness could have such a thing.
The door opened suddenly, and in a blink afterward, everything was back to normal. The reflection in the mirror was just the one of the room she was in, with all its almost unbearable whiteness. And the face she saw before she was hers, full of confusion and grief. Of the water, the corrosion, the humidity, the cold, or the creature that also called herself Samara Morgan, no trace remained. Only in her memory.
Samara then turned slowly towards the door and looked curiously at who had just entered: a blond man with glasses. She immediately sensed that he must be Matilda's friend, the person who would see her that day.
Her mind kept wandering to what she had just seen and heard an instant before, but little by little, she forced herself to crawl back to the present.
The newcomer man smiled gently at her, though in her opinion he looked a bit nervous.
"Hello, Samara," he greeted her in a friendly tone, advancing a little towards her. "How are you?"
Samara just looked at him, not answering anything.
"My name is Cody. We met the other night, remember?"
Samara studied him for a few seconds in silence, trying to detect if he looked familiar or not. Her verdict was halfway between those two options.
"I think so. Matilda told me that I should talk to you. Are you a policeman too?"
"No, I'm a biology teacher. Do you study biology at school, Samara…?"
- - - -
After some quick introductions and Cody showing Samara what he was capable of, the two agreed to work together for the remainder of that afternoon. In the beginning, everything was very similar to what Samara did the first days with Matilda. Cody asked her to capture images on canvas or sheets, trying to make them take just the image she wanted them to take, but always ending up looking twisted and macabre. While they were doing that, Cody told her a lot about him; about how he grew up with his skills, his horrible nightmares, about the Canker Man, and about those who in some way or another had been hurt by this.
Cody told her about how people like his foster mother or Eleven helped him figure out how to better handle all of this, focus, and improve it to wellness. Samara listened carefully to everything Cody was saying, but she wasn't particularly interested. If she commented on something, these comments were mostly limited to short and slightly absent answers.
Near the end of his session, Cody tried to see what Samara could do with a physical object. He brought with him an articulated wooden doll, usually used as a reference for drawings. He placed it in front of Samara and asked her to modify it however she wanted. Samara had an ugly memory of what had happened when she tried to do something like that with the puzzle Matilda had given her, but she still tried. She managed to make the figure move, change color, and even shape to a larger or smaller one. But in the end, before their eyes, the figure began to come as if an invisible fire consumed it. Dark spots gradually covered it like a cancer, and it twisted itself into a misshapen piece of dull old wood.
Samara looked at that horrible image with a certain apathy. She didn't even look surprised this time.
"I'm sorry," she murmured slowly.
"Don't worry, don't worry," Cody replied normally and immediately put away what was left of the figure. "You know, I'm not a psychiatrist like Matilda. However, if I have to assume based on my own experience with my abilities, I think what you just did, and the drawings and what happened to your room the other night could just be unconscious reflections of your state of mind. Are you feeling upset or scared right now?"
"I always feel like that," Samara replied in a somewhat muffled voice.
"I know how that is. When I was a kid, I used to feel like this all the time, and it was reflected in horrible nightmares that I couldn't control. I think that's what's wrong with you, Samara. All of these things are like nightmares that you are having awake. And if so, before expecting any results other than these tests, I think you should work with Matilda on those negative emotions that overwhelm you."
"How can I do that?" Samara snapped suddenly, and Cody seemed to notice a certain aggressiveness in her tone that caught him off guard. "I've hurt many, and what I have done doesn't go away when I stop thinking about it."
That last thing seemed almost a recrimination towards Cody, but this one did not take it personally. Obviously, she felt defensive; he had been the same way when they began to help him with those kinds of issues. Besides, Samara still didn't know that not everything Cody did disappear when he stopped thinking about it. Many damages lingered even afterward.
"I know," Cody replied calmly. "But the first thing you must do to be able to overcome all this, is to understand that nothing of this is your fault. I know very well that you never wanted to hurt someone, just like me..."
"That's not true," Samara snapped, cutting him off sharply.
Cody hesitated, confused.
"What did you say?"
"I said that's not true. I wanted to do all that..."
That sudden statement surprised Cody. He couldn't tell if she was being serious or understood what she was saying. Samara then turned her gaze to the side, somewhat thoughtful, and continued speaking.
"Not at the beginning. When I slept, my dreams also affected my parents. I tried not to sleep, but I couldn't. Then they sent me to sleep in the stable. They made me a little room there, and it was comfortable, I guess. But the horses made too much noise at night and wouldn't let me sleep. I just wanted them to shut up, but they weren't... And then I made them shut up myself."
Cody was silent. He remembered the incident with the horses on her farm that Matilda mentioned to him. Still, he didn't know that it had happened just under those circumstances, and he suspected that Matilda hadn't either.
"My mother got mad at me for that," Samara continued, more distress now showing in her words. "She told me I was a monster, and she wanted to hurt me. I just desired her to leave me, not to hurt me anymore... and I ended up hurting her. And Dr. Scott was mean to me, and he was talking bad things about Matilda. He made me too angry, and I just wanted to give him a push to leave me alone, but I think I hurt him too, too much. They all got hurt because of me and because I wanted to. I wished to convince myself that the Other Samara had done it, but she didn't... I did everything..."
As she spoke, her voice gradually changed from being numb and muffled to filled with anguish, and she even let out a few small sobs, and traces of tears appeared.
"Samara, wait for a second, please," Cody muttered firmly, leaning toward her. "It doesn't matter if you wanted it or not. It is normal at your age and with your lack of experience to lose control for moments. It's not your fault you hurt the horses or any of those people."
"But I do, and I'm sorry. But…" She was silent for a few moments and then slowly looked up at Cody again. Her eyes no longer looked worried or sad. "I know... it won't stop. Not until I learn why I can do what I do."
There was so much detachment in those words that Cody could hardly believe they came from a kid. In fact, everything around Samara had changed. She didn't seem to be the same girl he'd spent the last few hours with. Her face, her eyes, everything about her was different. And something deep in the back of Cody's head was screaming one thing: something wasn't right, nothing right.
The same feeling of apprehension that he had the first time he entered that hospital returned, the one that told him that he should not enter but flee from there. And that same idea was beginning to cross his mind.
"You and Matilda have good intentions, and I appreciate it. But you can't help me. So, I need to find someone who can."
"What are you talking about, Samara?"
At that moment, just before she could respond to anything, the hospital emergency alarms blared loudly from the hallway, taking the professor by surprise. Samara, however, did not seem to share that sentiment.
"I think I have to go..."
- - - -
A few minutes ago, while Cody and Samara were continuing their tests, a cleaner had exited through one of the back doors of the hospital into the area where the garbage containers were located. He carried a heavy dark garbage bag with him, which with a deft movement, he managed to insert into the large green container. He'd barred the door that wouldn't lock, so he could quietly take a couple of minutes to smoke a cigarette. He leaned against the wall as he enjoyed his few minutes of rest. His turn was about to end, and he was looking forward to it. As the cigarette was consumed, so did the stress and fatigue of that long day.
"Excuse me, sir," he heard a small voice whispering beside him, just as he was taking a deep breath. The man slowly turned his head in that direction but couldn't see who was talking. Not before the low hiss of the silencer sliced ​​through the air, and the bullet went straight through the center of his nose and out from the back of his skull. The wall behind him was covered in a dense splatter of blood, and then he collapsed to the ground, dragging his back along the wall. All the smoke he had inhaled slammed out of her mouth, and then his head fell forward, his chin against her chest.
The lit cigarette fell to the ground, and a second later, a small black shoe smashed it down hard to turn it off.
Leena Klammer's hard, dark eyes looked indifferently at the cleaner for a few moments, mainly to make sure he wasn't going to move unexpectedly; he didn't. She put the gun back, complete with its silencer, in the backpack she carried in her other hand. She quickly placed it on her back and approached the corpse, searching for his access badge.
"Was that necessary?" Lily's cunning voice murmured with some sarcasm, coming up behind her, still leaning on her crutches.
"I don't have time for false courtesies," Esther muttered, just when she had the badge between her fingers.
It had been a tiring journey from Moesko Island to that hidden point in Oregon. They had to take a much slower route to get around Portland. They stopped in Willamina for a night's rest. The next day, Esther used a considerable chunk of the money from her mysterious client to buy a somewhat old but functional truck from a scrap dealer, who was willing not to ask too many questions and make the vehicle fit for someone with Esther's complexion, so she could drive it. And she spent a little extra as long as the man had it ready the following day. That would be their getaway vehicle, at least the best they could have gotten in such a short time.
Esther would have to do something she didn't like very much for the last leg of that trip: adopt a somewhat different appearance than usual. There is no makeup to hide the blemishes and wrinkles on her face, no children's dresses, no elaborate hairstyles, and no chokers or bracelets. Taking, in a nutshell, the appearance of a grown woman, short in stature, but still a grown woman. Many would sum it up to assume the appearance of who she really was, but that opinion she did not share. If perhaps on the stretch of road that they would have to drive, they had to be stopped by a police officer, it would be easier to get out of trouble if she presented herself with that appearance, and not with that of the nine-year-old at the wheel.
Maybe she risked that some state trooper was looking for a woman with her appearance, but she would have to take that little risk.
They were still apparently lucky, as no one bothered them on their way to Eola. Well, luck, or perhaps the good fortune of someone watching their journey from afar.
They parked and hidden the van behind the hospital, and there they waited for nightfall. While they waited, Leena used the time to re-groom herself and become Esther again.
"Seriously?" Lily had questioned her from the back seat as she watched her put her makeup back on in front of a small purse mirror. "Does your own face scare you so much that you can't tolerate having it exposed for a long time? How pathetic you are."
Leena glanced at her for a moment, then went about her business without much waiting. She wouldn't understand; she or anyone else. The person who looked in the mirror when she wasn't groomed was Leena Klammer. But she wasn't Leena, and she hadn't been for many years.
"Call me Esther. Leena Klammer died a long, long time ago."
That was what she had said to that boy the day he suddenly showed up at her apartment in Los Angeles. And that was not a mere whim or a frivolous request; it was utterly true in her mind. The little that her father, the streets, and the asylum had left of Leena Klammer had died that night in the frozen waters of that lake. What had emerged from the water at that moment had been someone totally different... if not, perhaps the correct thing to say would be to say that it was a "something." That she still did not know. But whatever it was, for her, the actual mask was Leena's, not Esther's.
Once they had the man's badge, they entered through the door he had barred and crept through the corridors. That was a mental hospital, so it was much less common to see two girls walking around alone. But that was not a problem, because Lily took care of it very well. Using her abilities, she made them go totally unnoticed by the three or four people who came to cross their path. They passed by without being seen or heard by them. In fact, they could advance with moderate haste; very appropriate considering one of them was on crutches.
Their destination was the hospital security control room. Once they reached the door, Esther again took out her weapon and used the badge she had taken to open it. Lily, at that point, stopped hiding them, so just as the door opened, the two guards inside quickly turned to it and noticed the two girls standing on the other side. Esther quickly entered with hurried steps, heading towards them without saying anything.
"Hey, what are you doing…?" One of the guards muttered, standing up from his chair. Before he finished his question, a direct shot from Esther's gun struck him right in the forehead, causing him to collapse back onto the chair and then fall to the floor along with it.
The other guard stared dumbfounded at the gun in the girl's hands, then at his partner lying on the ground. Everything went so fast that he couldn't even fully process what had happened. He couldn't reach for his radio, couldn't even get up from his chair, or reach his hand up to his own gun. Immediately another whistle from the silencer was present, and the bullet pierced his right temple. His torso slumped forward onto the control console, which began to stain red as the guard's wild eyes stared at the wall.
"Wow, what happened to discretion and going unnoticed?" Lily murmured once inside the room and closed the door behind her." Or with that new silencer, you serve that purpose?"
"To hell with that," Esther replied as she walked over to the panel controls. She abruptly pushed the second guard from the chair he was in to knock him down so she could get on. "I want to get out of this hole as quickly as possible."
"Are you really so bothered by madhouses? Just because you were in one? Are you afraid of staying here locked up?"
Esther did not respond, but that statement was indeed quite correct. She hated places like that, and what she least wanted was to be there more than necessary.
She quickly scanned the dash in front of her, identifying the available options. There was an emergency mechanism in case of a major mishap that opened all the electronic locks to evacuate patients; that would be of great help. She then looked at the monitors, checking the corridors that were interspersed from time to time. It would be very opportune to find the person they were looking for in one of them, but, evidently, their luck did not go that far.
Esther grabbed her backpack and reached inside for the two yellow walkie-talkies she had brought with her and tossed one at Lily. The latter barely managed to catch it before it slipped from her fingers.
"I need you to find the brat and tell me how to get to her," Esther indicated in a blunt order. "I also need a distraction to move more freely."
At that moment, she hit the emergency option, and alarms began to blare all over the place, and the orange lights flash brightly. Through the monitors, it was possible to see how some of the patients' doors were opened, and they looked confused towards the corridors.
"Will you free all the nuts?" Lily asked curiously.
"And you'll give them a few nightmares," Esther added knowingly. "If you know what I mean."
Lily seemed a bit puzzled by such a suggestion. She looked up at the monitors. More patients, nurses, and other guards began to move through the corridors without understanding what was happening.
"All of them?"
"All. Can you do it or not?"
"Of course," Lily replied with considerable pride. "But with the chaos that will cause, I cannot guarantee that any of them will not end up attacking you."
"I'll manage." Esther got out of the chair then, her backpack on her back, her walkie-talkie in a pocket, and the gun steady in her right hand. Then she hurried toward the exit. "Let me know as soon as you find the girl. And don't get out of here until I tell you to."
Esther then walked out the door, closing it behind her.
"It's not like I can go very far with my damn leg in this state, anyway," Lily muttered in annoyance.
The girl sat in the chair and turned to the monitors, watching everyone who appeared. She must cause chaos, that was clear to her. And creating chaos was just what she did best. Although she had never used her abilities simultaneously with so many people, there would always be a first time.
She took a deep breath, leaned forward, staring at the monitors, and concentrated.
She had to admit that whatever it was, the idea of ​​being able to make such a mess caused her some excitement.
- - - -
"What's going on?" Cody mumbled, confused, standing up from his chair. Samara didn't answer anything.
The alarms were ringing loudly, and down the hall, they could hear some hustle and bustle. Was it a fire? Right at that moment? It seemed rather inconvenient... or perhaps the opposite?
Anyway, what would be the best? Wait there for someone to look for them? Or go to an emergency exit? As a teacher, he had had to perform drills and guided the children to the exits; that was his responsibility. But, this time, for some reason, he felt they were safer in there than venturing out into the hallway. But why? He had no logical reason to justify that thought. Although did he have any that was illogical?
He put his briefcase and things on the floor and started toward the door.
"Stay here," he pointed out to Samara, doubtful if that would be the responsible action of an adult. "I'm going to find out what's going on, and we'll keep talking about this. I won't be long."
Samara only nodded her head but didn't say anything else.
Cody wouldn't allow himself to think about it directly. Still, that part of his head screaming at him to leave felt a lot more relieved the moment he walked through the door and was several steps away from Samara. Was that girl scared him? He, who was supposed to have gone there to show her that she was right? As he walked down the hall, he was sickened by that idea.
For her side, Samara sat for a while, silently staring at the closed door. When she was sure that Cody was no longer near her, she turned back to the mirror. And there she was again, the other Samara, peering out from the distorted reflection. This time she was not surprised; she even wished it were so.
"It's time," the being in the mirror whispered slowly. "You must leave now..."
Samara did not express objection or doubt. She only nodded once, stood up, and began to walk towards the door calmly.
- - - -
Just a few seconds after Dr. Scott's body collapsed to the pavement between Matilda, Cole, and Detective Vazquez, the alarms rang out loudly as if the two incidents were somehow related. When that happens, the expected course of action is to head to the nearest exit. Still, Matilda wanted to do just the opposite. That alarm was her signal to get in as soon as possible.
"Samara, I have to find her," was all she said before rushing toward the door.
"Matilda, wait," Cole stopped her quickly, taking her arm with perhaps a slight roughness. "Let me come in first to see that everything is okay."
"I don't have time," the psychiatrist answered sharply and jerked out of his grip. "Something is going on with Samara; I can feel it."
"What are you talking about?" Vazquez intervened, approaching them with his crutches. "What's going on in there?"
"We know as much as you do right now, Detective," Cole replied dryly. The confrontational tone they had maintained earlier had apparently not entirely faded.
Suddenly, they heard an intense sound coming from inside the hospital, similar to a metallic object hitting the ground hard. This was followed by a loud scream, more blows identical to the previous one, and then more screams.
"What was that?" Vazquez muttered, who instinctively brought his hand closer to the weapon he kept at his waist.
The sounds became louder; it seemed as if some kind of fight was going on inside. That, instead of scaring Matilda, motivated her even more to go inside. And before Cole could stop her again, she ran for the doors, through them only a second after they were opened enough for her to pass.
"Matilda," Cole called out loudly, but she didn't stop. The Philadelphia detective lunged behind, and Vazquez followed both of them, somewhat slower but with his gun in hand.
At first, they did not detect the source of all the commotion they were hearing. In the hall and in the first corridors, everything seemed quiet, except for the screams and sounds in the distance, as well as the alarms. However, it didn't take long for them to find what they were looking for. The three of them stopped in their tracks when they saw a group of nurses and patients down the corridor through which they had turned. The latter screamed in terror, hitting the male and female nurses who tried to calm them down, tackled them, and even scratched and bit them. It was like a pitched fight, right in that tiny space.
Everything was chaos and also accompanied by the incessant sound of the alarm that pierced the ears.
"What's wrong with everyone?" Cole exclaimed and immediately stepped forward to try to separate a patient from a nurse struggling on the floor. "What happened?! What happens?!"
"Monsters! They are all monsters!" The patient he was holding shouted at him in despair and horror, and who also suddenly tried to attack him. Cole struggled with him, trying to put him against the wall.
"What is he saying? What monsters?"
"I don't know," the nurse exclaimed, agitated, sitting on the floor because it seemed that it was still impossible for her to stand up. "The alarm sounded suddenly, the doors opened, and as soon as we tried to lead them to the exit, they just went crazy. But these are not so severe patients; they should not have this type of episode. Especially all at the same time."
Cole didn't answer anything, but he immediately sensed that there might be an outside influence causing all of this. He grabbed hold of the man he was holding and tried to drag him into one of the open rooms.
"Police!" He heard Vazquez yell loudly, raising his weapon in the air. "Everybody, calm down! What is happening?! What is the situation…?!"
One of the patients, a blonde-haired woman, jumped on him, knocking him to the ground and immediately trying to scratch his face with her nails. Vazquez took her firmly by the wrists, trying to shake her off. Cole immediately reached over to grab the woman by the waist and lift her off him.
"You better get out of here, Detective!" Cole suggested though it sounded more like an order. But Vazquez was clearly not willing to take that advice in a good way.
While they were both dealing with this situation, Matilda had been a bit on the sidelines, analyzing everything to decide what to do. That was pretty serious, and just like Cole, she guessed that something, or someone, was causing the behavior. However, her mind was still focused on Samara. It could not be a coincidence that this happened in that place and at that time. She had to find Samara and get her to safety as soon as possible. It was a feeling that pushed her to just focus on that, a sensation very similar to what she had felt that night in May four years ago.
Without saying anything, she took a few steps back and ran back the way they came, trying to find another route to where Samara and Cody should be.
"Matilda!" She heard Cole yell at her, but again she didn't stop. She ran away, trying to leave all that madness behind.
- - - -
When it all started, Anna Morgan heard the mechanical latch on her door click, and then the alarm began to sound, shaking her head from all the thoughts she was having. A few minutes earlier, she was combing her long black hair with a brush, as she always used to do every night since she was a child. She did not have a mirror in that room because of her apparent suicidal tendencies, and they feared that she might try to break it and use one of the pieces to finish cutting her veins. She thought wryly that she might as well have tried that with the plastic brush, but it would definitely have been less pleasant. In the same way, the idea of ​​dying did not cross her mind at the moment; she could not allow herself to die before that thing that had entered their lives to the point of corrupting and withering them completely. Until she was sure that this girl was no longer breathing, she could consider the best way to leave this world.
She remained seated on her bed, waiting for someone to look for her toward the door. None came. Her only companion was the annoying sound of the alarm.
"Hello? Anyone there?" Anna snapped loudly, but she heard nothing in response.
A few minutes later, she had made up her mind to move to the door, and then the sounds of confrontation, fighting, and the madness that were going on outside reached her ears. Scared, she instinctively ducked behind the bed, glancing just enough over the edge toward the door. In her mind, she imagined that at any moment some dark and hideous creature would enter through there; the kind with which she had had so many nightmares since that brat of the Devil got into her head. She could see it just as she had done during the nights: stretching its long fingers, staring at her with its six golden eyes, opening his huge jaw covered in dirty fangs and toxic saliva, to rip her head off in one fell swoop.
But there was no monster or anything else. Little by little, the fighting sounds dissipated or instead moved away as if the commotion was moving. Anna carefully crawled out of her hiding place, walked to the door, and opened it just a little to peer out into the hallway.
She didn't see anything or anyone at first. She opened more and gave herself the courage to step out. The rest of the rooms were open. In the corridor, she saw sheets and papers lying on the ground. To her right, there was what seemed to be a cart of medical utensils, tilted on the floor. Pouring syringes, cotton wool, scalpels, and some small bottles of medicine were through it.
She turned her gaze a little more towards the adjacent corridor, and then there she saw something that shook her and made her back away. On the left wall was a long stain of blood, trickling downward and ending in the body of a man in a white coat, lying on the linoleum on his right side, totally still.
At first glance, she could not see where that blood had come from, or if he was dead or just unconscious; and really, at that moment, she didn't care about such things.
Anna felt the instinct to go back to her room, but she held it back. She didn't know exactly what was happening, but one thing was sure: that was caused by that… thing. She was driving everyone crazy, as she did with her beloved horses; as she did with herself. It was not enough for the child to destroy her house and family; she had to spread death and madness wherever she was.
Anna knew that would happen sooner or later. She had warned that doctor, but evidently, he did not listen; nobody did.
It would be up to her alone to fix all that.
She bent down to pick up one of the scalpels on the floor, held it firmly between her fingers, and began to move slowly down the hall. That would be perhaps her only chance to end that curse.
END OF CHAPTER 41
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Chapter 40. You promised me
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX
Chapter 40.
You promised me
The three-hour drive from Boston to Chamberlain felt like forever for Matilda. She crossed the New Hampshire state line a little after 9:00, and twenty minutes later, she was entering Maine. From then on, she drove down Highway 95 like a madwoman, at a speed she was definitely not used to at all. In fact, a quick self-test would have revealed without a doubt that she was out of control. Still, she only became faintly aware of it the second time her vehicle nearly spun off the road when cornering too fast. Only then did she question herself if perhaps she should turn around and go back because, in reality, she had nothing concrete that could indicate that something was wrong. Or, at least, not something so bad that it warranted such a sudden trip.
However, that vision had been so horrible, and the accompanying feeling so overwhelming that she couldn't get it out of her head. She didn't even know what it meant or if it was something that had happened or was about to happen. But whatever it was, it kept her driving. He felt like he should go and make sure Carrie was okay; only then could she be calm.
At some point around 11:00, the psychiatrist's vehicle flew past the sign displayed in large, colorful letters: "Welcome to Chamberlain." Shortly after that point, she forced herself to slow down since she was already entering an urban area, and the least she needed at that moment was for a patrol to stop her. But it didn't take long for her to realize that no one had fined her, even if she had gone sixty miles per hour.
When Matilda entered the town's main avenue, she had to stop short when she saw a stampede of people running in terror down the street. Behind them, there was an orange glow that stood out over the buildings, as well as a dense smoke that was beginning to cover the sky. The screams and howls of the people were accompanied by the sound of sirens. An ambulance abruptly passed by the side of her vehicle, so close that it almost took away the side mirror. The emergency vehicle had to slow down a bit ahead and began to sound its horn insistently to get people to step aside and let it pass.
It was all too sudden. Matilda had gone from the silence and the almost numbing stillness of the road to plunging into a confusion of madness. She quickly got out of her vehicle. People ran around her, passing her as if they didn't even see her. They all looked scared, or at least quite confused. What was causing such hysteria?
Matilda began to move in the opposite direction from which the tide of people was heading. As she turned a corner onto another of the main avenues, she stared in amazement at the almost unreal scenery that loomed before her. Buildings on both sides of the street were on fire, light posters were down, and at least three cars were overturned. The pavement had cracked, creating long ruts in it. Chunks of stone, glass, and metal were scattered everywhere. And among all that rubble, she also managed to see several people lying; some moved and twisted in pain… others didn't.
The police officers were trying to drive people away from the place, and some paramedics were doing their best to get closer and help the injured. Three fire trucks were trying to put out the fires, but Matilda saw that they could not cope at first glance.
It was like a disaster scene from a movie, but it was totally real.
Matilda forced herself to advance a little further, getting close as she could to a policeman helping a woman advance. The woman had a tremendous blow to the forehead, and the blood flowed from the wound bathed her face.
"Let me check her; I'm a doctor," she said with impetus. The officer stopped, and then Matilda took the woman's face and checked the blow and her pupils. "Can you hear me? Follow my finger…" She extended her index finger and began to move it from side to side in front of the woman's face; she followed it, only moving her eyes at the same pace. She was stunned and shocked but seemed relatively fine, although only X-rays could confirm it. "Take her to the paramedics, let them treat that wound, and take her to the hospital."
"If there is still a hospital to take all these people to," the policeman replied in a tone of frustration. However, that was perhaps one more comment to himself.
As she pulled her hands away from the woman, Matilda realized that they had been stained with blood. She had an involuntary urge to wipe them against her pants, an act she regretted a second later.
"Officer, what happened? Tell me," she asked the policeman.
"We don't know for sure," he replied, just before walking along with the woman again. "They say there was an explosion in the school, and now the whole town is a fucking hell."
"In the school?" Carrie's prom came to mind immediately, and this thought was followed by several much worse ones. "It was an accident? A gas leak?"
"No, it was… it was…" It seemed for a moment that the officer wanted to say something. Still, he abruptly hesitated as if he was having trouble putting his ideas into shape.
"What? What was it?"
The officer stammered doubtfully. He turned away as if searching for the answer from the crowd around him.
"Carrie White," the woman he was carrying suddenly blurted out, catching the psychiatrist off guard. The woman was staring absently at the ground. "It was her... it was Carrie White..."
Matilda felt a knot in her stomach at hearing that.
"What are you talking about? Are you sure of that? Where's Carrie?"
"I ... I don't know ..." she murmured doubtfully, turning her to see slowly. "I don't even know who Carrie White is..."
Matilda was dumbfounded upon hearing that. She looked at the officer, and he said nothing but seemed convinced to support the statement.
"Get away from here, miss," the policeman told her, starting to walk away. "There may be more explosions!"
The brunette stayed in place for a few seconds, lost in her own thoughts. After a few moments, she managed to move and began to move quickly back to her car.
The reaction of that woman and that policeman was unintelligible. What had they seen or heard to be in that condition, and what did Carrie have to do with it? Could that horrible scenario really have been caused by her, as those two individuals seemed to suppose? She understood at least one of those points just as she sat back in the driver's seat of her vehicle: they were having implanted thoughts.
She hadn't treated Carrie enough to know whether or not she possessed telepathic abilities, but she knew it was quite possible. And suppose her abilities had gotten entirely out of control. In that case, she could be implanting her thoughts on the people around her without notice it. But, to that magnitude? All those people at the same time? What had happened to upset her so much? And all that destruction?
A part of her still refused to believe that Carrie could be responsible for such a disaster. But... hadn't she seen it herself? Hadn't she witnessed the amount of violence she was capable of? If something terrible enough had happened at the dance, she couldn't be sure of what might and might not occur. The truth was that if Carrie's telekinesis was as strong as she supposed, she could potentially be able to do all that... and more...
No, she couldn't get carried away with that thought. Whether or not Carrie had to do with all that, she had to find her first and see that she was okay. Then she would help her get through all of that.
Matilda pressed her hands carefully against the steering wheel, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Being a tracker wasn't her thing, but if Carrie found herself relaying her emotions and thoughts with that intensity, maybe even she could detect where the girl was. After all, that vision had come to her for a reason. There must be some open channel through which she could find her.
It took a while, but in the end, she could see something: the wobbly image of a house slowly approaching her.
Matilda opened her eyes abruptly and realized in those moments that a couple of tears had escaped from her and slid down her cheeks. That reaction… She guessed it wasn't really her. But didn't have time to think about it too much. She had recognized the house, and it was the obvious place to start looking.
She started the vehicle, reversed looking back to make sure no one was in his way, and then turned into the streets to go to the place she had seen.
— — — —
After driving for a few minutes, Matilda realized that she had almost entirely moved away from the chaos that reigned in the center. Unlike the main avenue, Carrie's street was on was quiet and totally alone. Even so, the damage was not entirely absent. As she moved on, she came across two other overturned cars and some fallen posters. There was no light in any streetlight or in a house, so her only guide through all that gloom was the headlights of her car and a little of what the stars and the moon managed to light.
In the distance, however, she managed to see a small illuminated point. It was candlelight, filtering through the windows of a particular house. Matilda parked right in front, not caring at all about doing it the right way as she even ended up on the sidewalk. As soon as she turned off the engine, she heard a loud scream from inside the house, which made her shudder in amazement, followed later by a high-pitched cry.
"Carrie..."
She hurried out of the vehicle, not even bothering to close the door behind her. She ran from the sidewalk to the front door of the house, which was obviously open. Halfway there, she stopped when she noticed something visible, thanks to the fact that she had also not turned off the car lights. Barely noticeable footprints had been painted on the concrete floor leading to the house's porch; red footprints.
Matilda kept going, hurrying up the porch steps and then throwing the door wide. The air inside seemed overwhelmingly heavy. The whole place was lit by candles placed in different parts of the house. She heard the crying again; it seemed to come from the living room. She had to take only a few steps in that direction to see what would be up to that moment the most horrifying image she had seen that night... or perhaps in her entire life.
Margaret White's body lay in her daughter's arms. Her white nightgown was completely soaked in blood, turning almost entirely red in the torso area. The woman had at least five objects embedded in her chest and abdomen, among which Matilda distinguished knives and some scissors. There were more similar objects with their red-stained edges on the ground. Margaret's eyes were closed, and her face looked calm and peaceful.
She was dead; Matilda knew it the moment she saw her. The high-pitched, heartbroken sobs she'd heard came from Carrie, holding her mother tightly to her. Matilda simply knew it was her, perhaps a little due to the implanted thoughts that still came from her since, in reality, Carrie was practically unrecognizable at the moment.
Her entire body was painted brown and red, from her hair to her feet. The blood had started to coagulate, clinging to her skin to the point that it was difficult to tell when these two were splitting. Her dress was dirty and tattered. Her feet were bare; the footprints Matilda had seen outside were indeed hers. Her hair, matted and hardened with blood, fell over her face. And on her right shoulder, a thick butcher knife was fully embedded, and fresh, red blood was pouring from this horrible wound, soaking her arm and chest, and further staining her mother's nightgown.
It was a totally vomiting scene for Matilda, which left her practically petrified in the doorway of the room and unable to utter anything at all.
Carrie was apparently finally aware of her presence and slowly raised her haggard face to her. This one, too, was covered in blood, grease, traces of soot and, of course, tears that had traced their path in the brown stains on her face. Her eyes were irritated, but… they didn't look particularly sad.
"Oh God, Carrie…" Matilda said slowly, taking up too much effort to even say that.
Carrie stared at her in silence for a few seconds. She not seemed surprised, relieved, or bothered to see her; it was as if she didn't really see her. Then the young lady looked back at her mother in her arms.
"I wanted her comfort. I wanted her to tell me that everything would be fine," Carrie began to whisper something rambling. "I wanted her to protect me like a real mother would. But instead… she hurt me…"
Carrie released her mother abruptly, letting her body collapse to the ground and hit her head against it. Then she clutched her left hand against her injured shoulder, squeezing it as if that way she could ease the tremendous pain it was causing her.
"He hurt me like she always did! I didn't want to do it… or maybe I did… But it was all her fault, hers and all of them… They made me like that! Why couldn't they just leave me alone?! Look what they've turned me into!"
She turned back to Matilda, letting out more screams but not from sadness, but rather from despair and anger and frustration that had to come out somehow. Matilda then felt the windows shaking and the walls creaking.
"Carrie, calm down, please," Matilda whispered and slowly approaching her. "I'm here, and I'm going to help you..."
"I don't need any more help…" Carrie whispered sharply, fixing her cold blue eyes on her. "And less from you!"
Matilda's body was abruptly pushed back with force. Her back slammed into the wall, bouncing off it, then hitting the floor facedown.
"Carrie…" She muttered in a daze. She felt a sharp pain run through her body, though it subsided shortly after.
Carrie tried to get up while still holding her horrible wound. She staggered mid-process, falling back to her knees.
"You promised me," the girl began to said suddenly. "You promised you would help me! You promised everything would be okay! Do you think any of this is okay?!"
She held her hand out to the side forcefully, and some of the blood that had pooled on his palm separated from it, drawing a curve on the ground.
"Carrie, calm down, please," Matilda whispered calmly as she tried to get up again. "Don't let your emotions take control of your abilities. You can control this; the power is yours..."
Carrie was breathing hard. She looked dizzy and weak, possibly from all the excess she had done in the use of her abilities and the injury to her shoulder that could be life-threatening at first glance. Still, she tried again to stand up, and this time she did. She stood on her bare feet, staggering a little but managing to remain standing.
"Yes, it's true… I can control it… But I don't want to…"
The young woman suddenly pulled her hand to the side, and Matilda's body rose and flew through the air, across the living room to the dining room, and then fell on her back right on the table. The dishes and decorations that were there were demolished. The table's legs creaked, but it remained upright.
Matilda felt quite stunned by the sudden movement. She raised her gaze as best she could toward the dining-room door. She could see the dark, almost ghostly figure of Carrie advance towards her with slow steps. She was still holding onto her injured shoulder tightly.
"You're like everyone else," Carrie gasped. "Pushing and pushing until everyone does what you say... You told me to oppose my mother, you told me to go to that stupid dance. And all for what? For this? Maybe that was what you wanted to happen, wasn't it?"
"Carrie, you don't know what you're saying," Matilda muttered painfully, trying to get up from the table. "You are not thinking clearly..."
Matilda rose abruptly again, now straight up until almost touching the ceiling. Then she came back down with great force until she crashed against the table. Now the legs did give way, and she and the board fell to the floor. The psychiatrist let out a high-pitched groan of pain from the blow. She turned, lying on her right side, and stood there for a few seconds, trying to recover. She felt Carrie approach her until she stood right in front of her.
"Good girls loyal to God don't think," the young woman declared harshly. The loose pieces of wood from the table and chairs slowly rose, looming over Matilda and pointing at her like stakes. "They do and say what He dictates. And His will tells me that I have to destroy this town full of sinners and pagans, roadhouses and alcohol, where being good and pure is a cursed crime!"
The stakes shot straight at Matilda's body on the ground. However, they came to an abrupt halt and were suspended just inches from her body.
The brunette began to rise slowly, and those sticks did with her. She whirled straight toward Carrie, and in the same motion, the stakes she'd threatened her with flew to the side, and Carrie's body was pushed back; her feet dragged across the floor, and her back was against the wall. Carrie's body was paralyzed, and she was looking at the doctor with her eyes wide and wild; they didn't really look like the eyes of a conscious person.
Matilda was unkempt, and some of her clothes had also ripped, and she had some minor scratches. But her gaze was steady and hard, and she had it right on her sudden attacker.
"Please, Carrie," she began to whisper, trying to sound as calm as possible. "Don't make me hurt you... I don't want to ..."
Carrie watched her silently. She sucked heavily through her nose, and her lips were pressed tightly together. Again, the walls and windows began to shake.
"You must have turned away from me when I asked you the first time, Dr. Honey..."
The roar from every window in the house exploding echoed with great intensity. Chunks of glass streaked through the air like ravenous locusts in search of their prey. Matilda had to release Carrie and duck to dodge the deadly daggers. A glass tore her jacket on her right shoulder and made a superficial wound; almost immediately, one more did something similar to her leg. She ducked behind one of the dining room furniture in an attempt to take cover, but they still caught up with her; even a small one embedded itself in the back of his hand.
Matilda glanced at Carrie. Once she released her, the girl had fallen to the ground and was now staring at her from there with a wave of anger so incomprehensible to her. This horrible situation was not the young woman's fault, but if Matilda didn't do something, they would both end up like their mother.
Matilda closed her eyes for a few seconds, breathed slowly. In her mind, she drew an image quite similar to the one Eleven had shown her the first time they met. She saw the stove in the kitchen of her childhood home and the bluish flame of the burner barely visible. She reached her hand out for the knob and slowly turned it, little by little, while her breathing accelerated at the same time. She kept opening it until the flame of the burner rose strongly like a blazing blue flame.
Matilda abruptly opened her eyes again. Her pupils had widened, her jaw clenched, and the veins in her temples throbbed. The pieces of glass stopped one by one right in place until they were suspended around her like snowflakes frozen in time. Matilda rose slowly from her site, leaning on the cabinet behind which she was hiding. Her gaze passed passively around her, and one by one, the pieces of glass exploded, leaving only small traces of glittering dust that fell to the ground like a tiny dew.
Carrie looked at all of this with some fascination, but the anger that consumed her did not subside one bit. She leaned on her good arm long enough to sit up, and then the table came crashing down on Matilda. She raised her hands to it, and the table not only stopped hitting her but broke in two, each half falling to one side of the brunette.
Carrie began to throw anything at her with her telekinesis: cups, plates, pieces of wood, the chairs that were still intact, and the knives she had taken from her mother, everything she could throw at her like a deadly projectile. These, however, did not touch their target. Matilda moved slowly towards her, and whatever she threw at her would turn her around and fit into the walls or the floor without touching her; except for a pair of scissors that they did make a horizontal cut on her left cheek, but she didn't even seem to feel it.
All of this only made Carrie more and more enraged. She let out a loud scream that expressed all the frustration and anger he had inside. This act was accompanied by an explosion of energy force that pushed everything close in all directions: the furniture, the paintings, the fragments, everything flew. Even Matilda could not avoid being a victim of it, and she was dragged back by that blow but managed to hold her ground and not fall. She raised her hand to Carrie in an attempt to immobilize her with telekinesis before she tried anything else. However, the blonde managed to do the exact same thing, raising her only good arm towards her.
They both stood still, feeling how the energy that flowed from the other enveloped them, but at the same time, their own tried to repel it. Around them, and especially in the space between them, a heavy pressure began to be felt. The walls of the room started to crack at the same time as the floor. Small objects and pieces of paper began to shake as if a small tornado had formed around them. They both felt like they were being pushed back. Still, they were reluctant to give in. Matilda had never experienced anything like this. The energy that enveloped them was so intense that she felt that her body would be destroyed if she took the wrong step.
They both screamed at the same time they tried to apply all the forces they had left. That crash caused what was similar to an explosion intense enough to blow the dining room apart and push them both backward. Carrie flew back into the living room, falling not far from her mother and letting out a high-pitched scream as she felt a stabbing pain run through her entire body from her injured shoulder. On the other hand, Matilda was thrown into the kitchen, crashing into the refrigerator and then falling face down to the floor, splitting her lip in the process. She was so stunned after the blow that she lay there for a long time.
Carrie was the first to try to get up, but her state prevented her. The pain was already too intense, and that last blow had sapped all his remaining strength. Maybe this was how it should all end; faint there, lying next to her mother and letting everything just disappear. Her only regret, strange as it was, was not being able to die looking at the stars... She had never thought that this would be the way she would have liked to do it until now.
"Carrie?" She heard someone say near her, but it was not Dr. Honey's voice.
Carrie raised her face weakly. Standing on the threshold of the room was the blurred figure of a person. She had come through the open door of the house, and now she was standing there, looking at her with disquiet and fear. The young woman's sight cleared, and she was able to make out Sue Snell's beautiful face and her shiny blonde hair falling to her shoulders. The gorgeous Sue, the girl of Tommy's eyes, and Chris Hargensen's inseparable friend. The who that must indeed have been the true queen of that filthy dance. She looked so flawless and clean… while she sure looked like an absolute mess. But… hadn't it always been that way?
"You…" Carrie whispered hoarsely, and suddenly she had strength out of nowhere, or at least enough to sit up and look at her more closely.
Sue gave a little cry and covered her mouth with her hands; her eyes seemed to be on the verge of tears.
"Carrie… I'm so sorry," Sue gasped, then dared to approach her cautiously. "I didn't know…"
"You sorry?" Carrie snapped with too much aggression in her voice. Sue's body stopped, and she could not move even a finger from one moment to the next. "What do you sorry? Didn't you laugh enough at me? Not throwing tampons at me at the dance too?!"
Sue felt a fear greater than she had felt before. She could barely breathe; she felt like she was going to suffocate at any moment.
"No, Carrie," she cried as hard as she could. "I had nothing to do with it. Chris, she alone..."
"I saw Chris tonight," Carrie interrupted abruptly and then raised her hand to her. Sue's body began to slide across the floor towards her without her being able to do anything to prevent it. "She's not laughing much anymore... And neither will..."
Sue knew immediately what those hideous words meant.
"Please, Carrie… don't hurt me…" she whispered pleadingly between tears as she continued to approach that ghostly figure covered in blood.
"Why not? You all hurt me my whole life..."
Matilda staggered into the room now, dazed and in pain but still standing.
"Carrie, no…" She murmured in alarm when she saw Sue. She tried to react to pull her away from the newcomer with her powers. However, an instant before she could do something, Carrie turned her gaze directly towards her, and Matilda's body flew again, now towards the stairs that led to the second floor. She collided with the railing with so much force that it broke.
Matilda rested against the steps, her right hand gripping her left arm. She had hit it right against the railing, and it seemed to have hurt it or even broken it.
With Matilda immobilized, Carrie turned her attention back to Sue. Turning back to her, she was so close that her fingers lightly touched her abdomen.
And then she felt it; as soon as her fingers touched Sue's body, Carrie managed to handle it throughout her being. It wasn't a beat, it wasn't a thought, it wasn't a voice. She couldn't put a name to it, but she felt it. She looked surprised, and even a little frightened, at the belly of her former schoolmate.
"What…?" Carrie whispered slowly, still unable to fully process this. She then raised her face slightly to Sue, who was still in horror. She didn't know exactly what gave her the clue she needed, but as soon as she saw Sue's face, she knew it immediately. "Is it... Is it Tommy's...?"
"What?" Sue questioned, confused.
Carrie looked down at her belly again, and now she dared to place her palm entirely against it. By doing that, she saw it much more clearly.
"It's a girl," she whispered very slowly, but enough for Sue to hear.
That made Sue's body tense even more, and her mind practically went blank; even his fear had faded a bit. She lowered her stunned gaze to his own belly. Although she didn't feel it like Carrie, she knew what he meant...
"Oh my God…" Sue murmured, dumbfounded at the revelation.
It had an effect on Carrie, an almost destructive effect. And for the first time in that horrible night, she was able to think clearly about something: Tommy… Tommy was dead. He was going to have a baby with the girl of his dreams... and now he would have nothing. He was dead, just like everyone else, just like her mother...
She dropped her arm with a bang, releasing Sue at the same time, who no longer being supported by Carrie, fell to the floor as her legs gave out. Carrie turned slightly to the side, gazing at her mother's sleepy, peaceful face. Little by little, her mind cleared, her pupils and her heartbeat normalized, and all the anger that flooded and blinded her faded. But that turned out to be no good, for little by little, the horrible reality in front of her became more and more tangible, just as the pain from her injuries grew more intense.
"What have I done?" Carrie whispered slowly to herself. "What have I done…?"
Sue stopped being afraid of Carrie. Perhaps the shock she had just felt had caused it, or possibly Carrie's volatile thoughts were affecting her as well. She tried to approach her, not really knowing what he would do. Would she comfort her? Would she say something to make her feel "better"? What could she do or say at a time like this?
Sue stopped when she heard the house creak. She looked up and noticed long fissures beginning to form on the walls and ceiling like exposed veins.
Sue tried to say something, but her body rose a few inches at that moment and began to float gently toward the front door. Her first thought was that Carrie was doing it. Still, before she crossed the threshold, she could see this other brown-haired woman, whose left arm hung limply at her side, but her other hand was raised firmly in her direction. Sue walked through the door and then sat in the front yard of the house. From the outside, she could see that the state of the house was even worse. The creak was even louder, and the entire upper floor seemed to bend and about to collapse against the lower floor.
Once Sue was outside, Matilda tried to get closer to where Carrie lay. Her arm hurt a lot, and she had several scrapes on her face and knees. Also, the wounds that the glass had done before began to burn and bleed more. Carrie, by her side, had sat down beside her mother's body and held her weakly against herself. Little sobs of pain and sadness came from her mouth, accompanied by the creaking of the house. A beam went off the ceiling suddenly, falling right in front of Matilda and cutting her off to get to where Carrie stood.
"We have to get out of here, Carrie," the psychiatrist whispered loudly, reaching out to her. "Please, let me help you."
"I don't want any more help…" the young woman whispered very slowly, turning slightly towards her. Her gaze was dull; there was almost no life left in her body. The last of her physical strength was being applied in the impending destruction of that house. "Getaway..."
"I won't, I won't leave you..."
"Getaway! Getaway and leave us alone!"
Matilda was abruptly pushed back as if she had been hit by a horse. Her body went directly against the window of the room, crossing what was left of the wooden frame and scraping with some pieces of glass stuck to it. She fell back against the ground outside, feeling, even more, the pain in her arm as she practically fell on it. This pain left her immobilized.
"Are you okay?" She heard Sue's question as she approached, but Matilda was unable to answer anything.
The house was beginning to collapse in itself, accompanied by the creaking of wood, metal, and stone breaking. And among all that symphony of destruction, Carrie's voice was subtly hidden, whispering from within, embraced by her mother as the puny strength of her body allowed it. The candles had fallen out of place, and part of the ground floor was already on fire.
"The Lord is my shepherd; I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside quiet waters. He refreshes my soul and guides me along the right paths for His name's sake. Even if I pass through the darkest valleys, I will fear no evil because you are with me..."
Yet another beam detached from the ceiling, falling abruptly toward them. Carrie made no attempt to stop it. She just closed her eyes and let it all end once and for all.
"Your rod and Your staff comfort me… You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies…"
And then her voice fell silent.
The house contracted into itself. The entire upper floor collapsed, causing a great rumble and a cloud of dust.
"No! Carrie!" Matilda exclaimed in horror. Her first instinct was to stand up, but the pain and her imbalance nearly caused her to fall again until Sue took it upon herself to hold her.
Matilda stared in astonishment at what little was left of the ground floor walls, the only thing left standing, and how some fire began to spread through the ruins. Her ears were ringing, unable to hear anything clearly, not Sue's voice, not the sound of police and fire sirens approaching down the street, not even her own thoughts. For a few moments, her brain went totally blank.
— — — —
No one slept that night in Chamberlain. The fire in the center spread throughout the morning, even reaching residential areas. Only ruins remained of the school. By the time the sun rose, the total fatalities were in the hundreds, and they were still growing; the injured were many more. The material damage was simply incalculable. It was as if a tremendous tornado had struck them suddenly, and no one had prepared in the least for it. And in part, perhaps it was so: an uncontrollable force of nature had struck them. And as the fires were put out, the wounded were treated, and the dead identified, all that remained were questions, the most critical being: why?
Matilda wouldn't have a clear answer. She was sitting in her vehicle, still parked in front of what was once Carrie and her mother's home. The paramedics had treated her; her arm was not broken, but she was injured enough to carry it deer and hang from a sling. She also had some gauze covering the cuts on his face. Except for her arm and a few other blows, everything else was superficial.
She was doing nothing in particular right now, other than staring at the police coming and going. The street had filled with dark vans and uniformed officers, almost to chaos. Some had already started going through the rubble, but Matilda did not want to see what they would get out of it.
They had let her sit in her car to rest after treating her injuries. However, a detective asked her not to leave since he would take her statement as soon as she was ready. He wanted to know who she was and what she was doing there exactly; fair enough questions. She should have used that time to think carefully about what she would say and put together a statement that would not compromise her or the Foundation. But she just couldn't think of anything other than the image of Carrie White wholly covered in blood, staring at her full of hatred and yelling at her:
You promised me. You promised you would help me! You promised everything would be okay! Do you think any of this is okay?!
Yes, she promised that. She told her that even if everything was so bad at that time, sooner or later, everything would be different; it would be better. That happened with her, and she was convinced that it would be so with Carrie. But it wasn't, and it never will be; Carrie White will never be better or worse again.
She had failed miserably as how she had never done it. All that disaster, all those deaths, including Carrie's, were due to her being a total failure...
"Nothing of this is your fault," she suddenly heard a voice say right next to her, causing her to shudder in her seat with fright.
She turned stunned to the side, suddenly glimpsing the image of a woman with curly brown hair, thick glasses, and a blue suit, sitting right in the passenger seat. She was looking at her with almost overwhelming seriousness in her eyes.
"Eleven…" Matilda whispered slowly once she could get out of her initial astonishment. "How do you…?" She was going to ask how she got there so soon, but the answer followed when that question was finished in her head. "You're not really here, are you?"
That woman, or rather the projection of herself she was sending for sure from her home in Indiana, nodded slightly.
"This wouldn't be necessary if you answered your phone."
A nervous laugh escaped from the psychiatrist.
"I don't even know where it was…" She dropped her head at that moment, hitting her forehead against the steering wheel. "I can't believe this is happening…"
Eleven sighed heavily.
"I wish you had never had an experience like this. But it was inevitable if you got more involved in this kind of thing. And I'm afraid it might not be the worst you go through."
"Thanks, that helps," Matilda replied remarkably defensively.
"I'm not trying to discourage you but to show you the truth. Everything in this world has a dark side: love, friendship, family... and the Shining too. Not everyone has such a good time when they find out what they can do. Many of us suffer as you cannot imagine, and we need more than words of encouragement to move forward. That's what you should keep from all of this. The rest, let it go."
"Let it go...?" Matilda asked incredulously, pulling her face away from the wheel to look at her.
"You must not regret this. There was nothing you could do in such a short time to prevent it. Nothing of this was your fault, did you hear me? Nothing."
"How can you say that?" The psychiatrist snapped, almost as if the comment offended her. "I saw that anger in her; I saw what she might be capable of. But I didn't do anything; I didn't want to react because…" She hesitated for a few seconds. "I don't know why… I was just too much of a coward. To have done something before, to have decided..."
"Nothing would have changed," Eleven interrupted harshly. "This was meant to happen, with or without you. It is evident that the girl had much more severe problems than you thought, and the damage she had suffered after all these years was much more profound. We're late, that's all. You did everything you could."
Matilda was breathing somewhat agitatedly. She seemed to use all her willpower to keep from crying; she'd been doing it pretty much all night, but at that point, it became almost untenable.
"I can't say that to myself... I can't..."
"You must. If you don't, this guilt will stay with you for the rest of your life. And the only thing you will cause is to affect all the cases that come to you from now on. Let it go. Not now, not tomorrow, but when you're ready."
"Is that what you do when something like this happens to you?" Matilda questioned in a hushed voice, looking uneasily at her former mentor. "You just… let it go…?"
That question seemed to leave Eleven defenseless. She shifted her gaze to the side with a thoughtful gesture, as if looking out the window, although it was difficult to say if she was capable of doing such a thing while being only a projection.
"I know more than anyone in this world that this is easier said than done. But it's necessary."
Quite a practical answer, even a bit cold, undoubtedly inspired by everything she had lived through in her years dealing with such matters. And perhaps if she had seen and lived the same thing as her, she could have done such a thing. But not now, not after she had seen that night. Not after failing Carrie so badly.
She ran her hands over her face and mostly her eyes, wiping away any tiny trace of tears that may have spilled from her.
"I can't do such a thing; I can't ignore what happened," she murmured more decisively, focusing her gaze straight ahead. "I'll never let this happen to another child again. Nevermore…"
* * * *
The black helicopter hovered over that forest in western Maine, lost in the shadows of the moonless night. Its destination was not visible to the naked eye, but on the cockpit GPS dash, the point was clearly marked in front of its current location. Built on the less visible side of a mountain, the helipad they would land was located. As he circled the mountain, the runway became visible to the pilot and the indications that the personnel on it transmitted to him with their signal lights. The helicopter slowly descended towards the surface, stirring the wind with its rotating shafts.
Once the machine was stable on the ground, one of the runway workers rushed to the door so that the only passenger on it would get out. An African American man with a shaved head and a white coat practically jumped out of the helicopter. The propellers still in motion waved his gown, but this gradually subsided after the pilot switched off the engine.
The newcomer calmly walked toward a young man waiting for him at the side of the runway. He was slim and tall, with dark blonde hair cropped at the sides and his presence barely noticeable on top. He was wearing a dark blue military-style suit with black boots, and he stood firmly in place with his hands placed behind his back.
"Welcome, Dr. Shepherd," the man welcomed him in a firm, stoic voice.
"How are you doing, Frankie?" greeted with much enthusiasm the man who hours before had been presented to Lisa Mathews with the name Russell. "How is everything around here?"
They both began to walk side by side towards what appeared to be an elevator door, practically placed on the mountain wall as if it were an object totally out of place. There were five others equal lined up beside it. Once close, the blond man passed his badge over an electronic reader located to the side of the door, and it opened automatically, revealing the interior of a spacious, clean elevator with an almost blinding white light.
"We have heard that the deployment of agents in Portland continues because of what happened at that the hospital," Frankie commented in a slightly belated response to his last question.
"Oh, that," Russel muttered, not really showing much interest in the comment. They both entered the elevator, and inside Frankie swiped his badge over another reader. Then, in the board's options, he pressed the button for Level -5, and the elevator began to travel a long way down. "That isn't our business; let our handsome armed friends take care of that. We are only interested in science."
"As you say, sir," Frankie replied without much enthusiasm, to which Russel only snorted in resignation.
They didn't talk much until the elevator reached its destination, mainly because Frankie was not the slightest bit of a suitable contact person. Upon reaching Level -5, the doors opened. Both men entered a long, white-list corridor, with numbered doors on each side, each with its respective electronic reader to one side. They walked down the silent hall; the sound of Frankie's heavy boots against the shiny, freshly polished floor echoed loudly. They stopped at the door a little before the middle of the hall, with large black numbers on it: 5016. Frankie once again swiped his badge across the reader, and the door latch was heard unlocked.
Russel Shepherd entered first. The room was large, square, lit with more white fluorescent light from the ceiling. In general, it appeared to be a simple hospital room, with its modern gurney, its lectern with its bags of saline and medicine hanging down, and its electronic devices for measuring the vital signs of the patient lying on the gurney. There were some couches and a couple of chairs, and even a television that was broadcasting a baseball game at that moment.
However, the appliances around the gurney were much more sophisticated than those in a conventional hospital room. On the different screens, they could monitor practically everything: heart rate, brain activity, oxygenation levels, and everything seemed to be stable. There was also a mirror on the left side wall, clearly double so that the room could be seen from the next, plus four cameras, one in each corner of the room.
The baseball game on television was not for the patient. She lay totally unconscious and had been so for a very long time. The one who saw it at the time was a man with Asian features, sitting in one of the chairs to one side of the gurney. He wore a white coat and thick black-rimmed glasses. On his legs, he held a support board with some papers hooked to it. As soon as he heard the door open, he turned his gaze slightly to it, recognized the two men entering, and almost automatically looked back at the television.
"Good evening, Dr. Takashiro," Russel greeted him with the same enthusiasm he had greeted Frankie. Still, he received a somewhat similar response in return.
"Good evening, sir," the man in the chair murmured in a muffled voice.
Russel approached the gurney while Frankie stood in front of the door, again standing firm and his arms behind his back.
"And how is my special girl?" Russel asked, looking at the patient with a wide smile.
Takashiro shrugged while still watching the game.
"Same as always, no news."
"It was a rhetorical question… or something," Russel commented with slight annoyance. Then he looked at both the man in the chair and Frankie accusingly. "Do you two share a sense of humor or what?"
No one answered anything.
"Whatever…"
He leaned forward a little to better see the person who was resting there, face-up, totally still, with her eyes closed and her breathing barely perceptible. She wore a greenish hospital gown that covered her slim body. Her lips were a bit dry, and her reddish-blonde hair was a bit matted and greasy. Her face looked pale but calm as if she was just taking a nap, a long nap of more than four years.
Russel smiled.
"Good night, Carrietta," he whispered slowly, as if afraid of waking her if he raised his voice too much. "I have good news for you: I think I just found you a new friend. I hope you both get along very well..."
The girl on the gurney did not react in any way. She stood as still as she had been, ever since she was pulled from the rubble of what was once her home in Chamberlain, Maine.
END OF CHAPTER 40
Author's Notes:
Hello everyone who reads this translation. Sorry for the long wait to publish this chapter. It has been a complicated few months, and many of my energies and time have gone to continue the Spanish version, which with great emotion, I inform you that it is about to reach its Chapter 100. I want to thank you too because it is also thanks to the support and interest of all of you who read the English version that I have been able to go so far. I hope one day to be able to share with you all these most recent chapters as well.
Like the previous chapters, this chapter relied heavily on the three film versions of Carrie (mainly the one from 2013), also taking on some aspects of the original novel. As you can guess, the last scene is an addition of my pate, accompanied by a surprise that we will develop and explore more in later chapters, including the new characters that were introduced in it. But for now, we'll let Carrie White rest.
In the next chapter, we will return to the present (although the last scene already occurs in this one). We will continue with Matilda, Cole, and Cody right where we left off.
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Chapter 39. The Black Prom
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX
Chapter 39. The Black Prom
The rented limo took them right to the school gates. From the very entrance, the place was already decorated, almost in a dream. There were lights in all the trees. And from the sidewalk to the door, they had spread a long blue carpet, as if it were the entrance of some awards. Lighted moons and stars had hung, indeed resembling a starry sky.
From her window, Carrie could see that a significant number of guests were arriving, all in beautiful suits and dresses in spring colors. They all laughed and talked among themselves, showing great joy and enthusiasm.
For a moment, the young woman felt overwhelmed and very scared. Tommy made the gesture of wanting to open his door, but she reflexively reached out her hand to him to stop him.
"Can we wait a moment?" Carrie murmured slowly, almost like a plea.
Tommy looked at her a little puzzled.
"Yeah, sure. All the time you want."
Carrie nodded gratefully. Then stared out of her window for a while at the rest of the people who were passing by her limousine and heading inside the school.
"Are you scared?"
"I'm afraid all of this could have been a mistake," the young woman whispered softly.
"They're not bad people, really," Tommy added mockingly. "Besides, I need you there. Dancing alone would surely look silly."
A little giggle escaped from the girl's lips without her really intending to. That single comment somehow managed to lighten a bit the heavy burden that she carried with her. Perhaps not all, but part of it.
"Ok, let's go."
Tommy got out first and turned the vehicle around to open the door for her. The two of them walked side by side across the blue carpet toward the entrance, and with each step, Carrie felt accompanied by the pounding of her heart. But even more important than being taken by Tommy Ross's arm was the feeling of entering that place along with all the other attendees, as one of them. They were all there for the same reason: to enjoy that night and have fun like never before. And she was part of it now, no more and no less.
The initial hit of the loud music and lights was at first somewhat stunning for Carrie. The place was almost dark, except for the large reflectors in the ceilings that reflected lights of different colors and shapes everywhere. The DJ's music echoed with great force in the gym's natural echo, ringing Carrie's sensitive ears, a little more accustomed to the silence and calm of her home.
After the first impression, and once her ears and eyes adjusted, she managed to appreciate all better. During regular school days, she always saw the boys at her school as aliens to her. But at that moment, they all looked so beautiful, almost ethereal. But Carrie was not intimidated but rather fascinated. It was like entering a fantasy world, with glitters, colors, and sounds that couldn't exist where she came from. And all the others were characters in that curious tale.
As they entered, Tommy introduced her to his friend George and her girlfriend Frieda, who were quite friendly. For a moment, Tommy concentrated on greeting George, quite effusively, and Frieda took it upon herself to chat with Carrie while they walked to their table. She was even impressed by her dress, and it was hard to believe that she had done it.
The four of them sat at the table; even the decoration of this one, with its white tablecloths and centerpieces, seemed beautiful to Carrie. Tommy chatted lively with his two friends, and Carrie generally just listened and smiled. There wasn't much she could add to their conversation, and that embarrassed her. She was so inexperienced at hanging out with people that she didn't really have normal talking points, beyond biblical interpretations, sewing, and recently psychic powers. But she was sure none of those topics would be of interest to people like Tommy and his friends.
Her greatest delight, or perhaps suffering, was looking around to appreciate others. They all seemed so happy with their friends, taking photos and dancing. There were already several people dancing to a very moving song, moving with enough grace and rhythm. Carrie found herself suddenly almost mesmerized by the movements they were making, and several of them seemed to her bordering on obscene. The women waving their butts in their tight dresses, reveling in the fact that the boys saw them like this. Men sticking their bodies against their partners, rubbing their crotches against them.
Carrie was appalled for a few moments by all of this but tried not to let the feeling take over. This was how her mother would react (or actually much worse), but not her. All of this had to seem as normal as possible to her... she must.
George and Frieda got up just as another song started and hurried out onto the dance floor. Carrie followed them with her eyes, accompanied by a sincere smile.
"George and Frieda are nice," she pointed out slowly.
"Yes, they are," Tommy replied. "They are good people; there are a lot of good people here." Carrie had no doubt. "You want to dance?"
The sudden proposal created a shock in the young woman, who once again looked in the dance floor's direction, observing and scrutinizing all the movements and steps that those present were performing. Leaving aside their dances' sinfulness, the truth was that she did not know in the least how to do what they did, or at least approach something relatively normal or similar.
"Can we keep talking?" She asked sadly.
"Yes, however you want. We can wait for a slower song if you want."
"Yes, it would be better..."
She had said that, but actually, she doubted if a slow song would be different.
A few minutes later, she could see an adult woman coming straight towards them in the dancing crowd. She had short dark brown hair and wore a bare-arm navy blue dress. She looked incredibly amazed and happy to see her, and Carrie responded to her excitement with a small smile.
"Carrie," muttered Miss Desjardin, the PE teacher. She had hardly recognized her until she was close enough, and Carrie believed it must have been the same in her case.
"Miss Desjardin," Carrie greeted her lightly. "You look beautiful."
"Me? Look to you. You are so pretty."
"Thank you... I don't think that's the case, but thank you."
She glanced sideways as Tommy was standing up from his chair just now.
"Can I leave you a moment?" The boy commented. "Do you want me to get you some punch, Miss Desjardin? I heard they put it a little of Brandy."
Tommy laughed a little right after he made that comment, but Rita Desjardin's stern gaze told him that she didn't share the same sentiment.
"Seriously?"
"No, of course not," he answered quickly, his smile fading. "Just kidding..."
Even Carrie found that a little funny. Tommy walked away to the punch table's direction, and Miss Desjardin sat in the chair right next to the girl.
"I'm glad you decided to come after all."
"I had my doubts, but I spoke with someone who finished convincing me to accept the invitation."
"With whom? Some friend?"
Carrie thought for a few moments. A friend? That was how she could call her? She wasn't really sure about it, but... she liked the very possibility that it could be so.
"Are you doing well?" Miss Desjardin asked her suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. Carrie just smiled at her and nodded slightly.
The teacher's presence didn't bother her, but it did cause her a bit of discomfort. It wasn't that they had talked much before. She had been the one who stepped in to help her with that shower incident and had brought her to the principal's office, although she had had to slap her to achieve it. Carrie did not blame her for that, and she was grateful. But seeing her right now made her remember that incident in a certain way, and it was what she least wanted to think about in those moments.
Of course, Carrie was unaware of everything Miss Desjardin had done, other than pulling her out of the showers and taking her to Principal Grayle. She did not know how the teacher had reprimanded those involved, or the pressure she had put on Mr. Grayle to impose their harsh punishments, or even how she had imposed herself on Mr. Hargensen when he wanted to reverse his daughter's suspension. If she knew, perhaps then would have understood why she was so happy to see her there... or, maybe relieved was the best word.
"I remember my prom," Miss Desjardin commented, looking over at the rest of the attendees on the floor. Carrie looked at her curiously. "I went with the captain of the basketball team. I was six feet tall, so I went and bought some four-inch heels; so that when we danced, I would look less strange by his side. He passed me by in his truck, but it broke down on the way. Can you believe it?" She gave a little laugh. "And we had to walk the last kilometer to school. And by the time we got there, those damn heels had smashed my feet. You can imagine that I couldn't dance a single piece, and we had to sit all night."
Her expression abruptly changed to being crowned with a nostalgic look.
"But still, it was a wonderful thing." She turned abruptly to Carrie then, making her a little intimidated by the sudden gaze. "Is that how you feel?"
"Well ..." Carrie muttered nervously. "Everything is nice."
"Just nice?"
"No, no... It's like being somewhere else, far from my home. I wouldn't know how to explain it to anyone, I think. It's such a... new feeling."
"Do you think you'll forget it?"
Again, Carrie thought for a bit before answering.
"No... I hope not."
Miss Desjardin smiled with pleasure. She reached out a hand to her, and placed it somewhat firmly on her shoulder.
"Focus on keeping those memories," the teacher murmured solemnly. "The pretty ones, the ones that after many years still make you smile. Not the bad ones..."
Carrie looked at her thoughtfully. She knew exactly what she was referring to... and that brought back that incident again.
"Have fun."
"Thank you," Carrie answered a little colder than she intended.
The teacher smiled at her one last time and then stood up and got back on track. Carrie objectively knew she was trying to give her some advice and help... but she couldn't help but feel some resentment, even so.
Tommy came back a little later with two glasses of punch. Since Miss Desjardin was gone, Carrie accepted the glass for her, although the taste was not entirely pleasant. She was hoping it didn't really have brandy.
"Carrie, do you really have to be at home that early?" The boy asked suddenly. Carrie nodded slightly.
"I promised it."
"Yes, sure, I understand. It's just that several of the guys and I are going to Kelly after the dance, and..."
"Yes, I understand..." Carrie answered suddenly with some regret before he finished what he was going to say. "Don't worry about me, go with your friends. I can go home alone, it's not that far. I always go walking during the week."
"What? No, no... I actually expected you to go with us."
Carrie turned fully toward him, her eyes wide in amazement.
"To... Kelly? I don't think I know her..." Tommy couldn't help but laugh a little. "What? What happens?"
"It's not a she; it's a he. I mean, it's actually a place... kind of like a coffee shop. Have you never been there?" Carrie shook her head shyly. "Well, it's one more reason for you to go and meet it, right?"
Carrie was not able to answer anything. She kept her eyes downcast and her hands rubbing each other nervously. She couldn't get out of her mind that she had locked up her mother; she had to get home on time and free her. Besides, Tommy would surely prefer to go alone to that place he was talking about so that he could talk more calmly with his friends without having to carry her around.
The atmosphere in the gym changed abruptly. The shaky and somewhat shrill music stopped and switched to a much softer one.
"Listen, it's a slow song," Tommy pointed out knowingly.
"No, I can't..." Carrie muttered nervously, shaking her head.
"Yes, you can. Let's go."
Tommy took her hand and stood up. Carrie hesitated but couldn't stop her body from reacting and rising up with him.
"No, Tommy. I have never danced."
"If you've made it this far, you should at least dance a piece, don't you think?"
His voice was so sweet and so convincing. It was as if he managed to penetrate the depths of her mind and make her act out of mere reaction, without really giving it much thought. When she least thought about it, they were already entering the dance floor, making their way among all the other couples that now rocked embraced to the rhythm of that sweet melody.
"It's easy, I'll guide you," said Tommy, then taking her by both hands and moving them into position. "Put this hand here, and this one on my shoulder. I'll put my hand on your hip, don't panic."
With great ease, he managed to get both of them into the dance position. Their bodies were so close that Carrie felt too embarrassed. Tommy's hand on her hip made her throat tighten. If that wasn't a sin... it was pretty close to it.
Tommy began to rock slightly like the others did, and Carrie hopelessly followed. Little by little, she began to feel a bit more relaxed... a little more normal.
"See? It's easy," Tommy pointed out confidently. "It's fun, right?"
Carrie didn't answer, but she couldn't deny that it indeed was, even a little. Without consciously intending to, she leaned her head forward, leaning her face against the boy's chest. The firmness of his chest, as well as the heat that it emanated, ended up letting go of the concerns that invaded him so much.
Or, maybe not all...
"Why am I here?" The young woman suddenly whispered slowly, still holding her face against his chest.
"Why?" Tommy replied with a laugh. "It's your graduation, and I invited you, remember?"
"Yes, but why?"
"Are you still questioning that? You're already here, and I'm really enjoying it."
"Seriously?" Carrie muttered, surprised.
"Of course. And I hope you are doing it too."
Carrie wanted to tell him many things. She wanted to tell him how much she was really enjoying it, how grateful she felt to him for having given her that beautiful night, and all the wonderful sensations that ran through her entire body until that moment unknown to her. She wanted to tell him all that and much more. But nothing came from her lips. She felt so engrossed in her thoughts, but they didn't quite fit together to become words. So she just kept quiet and just enjoyed the moment.
"So, what do you say?" Tommy's sweet voice whispered suddenly, bringing her back to reality a bit. "Will you accompany me to Kelly? We're leaving after some foolish couple is crowned King and Queen, and I'll take you home at 10:30. Agree?"
Suddenly, this self-imposed arrival time seemed absurd.
"Yes... Or at 11, maybe..."
They danced one more piece and then returned to the table, just in time for the King and Queen Vote. Carrie remembered that Tommy had mentioned something about that while they were dancing. Still, she really didn't quite understand what it was about. On each table, in front of each chair, they had placed an envelope and a pencil, both memorabilia of the dance with the name of the event and its date. Inside the envelope came a ballot with options of pairs to mark. Seeing it, Carrie was stunned. One of those options clearly stated:
Thomas Ross and Carrie White
It did not even say Sue Snell's name but directly named her.
"Are we in the options?" She questioned, puzzled, turning to Tommy in search of some explanation. However, he looked just intrigued as she was.
"Yes, I saw," he murmured as he looked at the ballot. "It bothers you?"
"I don't know... And you?"
"It's not a big deal," Tommy replied with a shrug, rather nonchalantly. He then turned in the direction of the main stage, where two men were setting up what appeared to be two glowing thrones. "If we win, we just go up on stage, get on those thrones, take a picture, everyone applauds us, and then we dance a little bit to make a fool of ourselves in front of everyone."
Carrie looked up at the thrones, and in her mind, she visualized as best she could everything Tommy was describing to her. King and Queen of the prom... it would be a magnificent way to crown that perfect night.
"It would be nice," she suddenly escaped without her proposing it at all. She stirred her thoughts a bit, trying to focus on what they were doing right now. "So... Who are we going to vote for? I really don't think I know any of these people very well."
"Then let's vote for ourselves," Tommy pointed out. "You know us, and we are great, don't you think?"
"No, no," Carrie repeated several times, almost scared by the idea. "I mean... I know I said it would be nice, but no... I couldn't deal with that."
"Come on, calm down. Still, it's unlikely we'll actually win..." Tommy fell silent as if suddenly regretting his words. "I mean, not because you don't have queen material, you're obviously the cutest girl around here, but..."
"No, it's ok, you're right," Carrie pointed out with a small smile. She looked at the ballot again, took her pencil, and without much thought marked their names with a big X. "What harm can it do?"
"That's right, to hell with false modesty."
Carrie's eyes widened in terror as she heard him say such a thing.
"To hell?" She murmured slowly in horror, but little by little, she began to relax. Again, that would be her mother's reaction, and she couldn't get carried away with it. "Yes... to hell."
They came shortly after to collect the ballots to put them in the ballot box. During the minutes that followed as the votes were collected and counted, Carrie amused herself, trying to chat with Tommy, George, and Frieda. A couple of guys passed by with cameras recording goodbye messages, although she didn't really know what to say. Until a few days ago, the idea of ​​leaving that school for good was quite indifferent to her. On the one hand, she would walk away from all those who had done so much harm to her for so many years. But, on the other hand, she would be practically all day at the mercy of her mother to do and undo only what she said.
But things had changed. She no longer had to resign herself to living under her mother's roof or under her care and submission. She had other options, better options like Dr. Honey's proposal to go with her to Boston as soon as she graduated. In September, she would be of legal age, and she could do whatever she wanted then. She would only have to endure a few more months, which actually might not be so bad now that her mother had learned that it was not in her best interest to mess with her by force. And after that, she would leave that place, towards a new and better life waiting for her.
So there was no nostalgia or sadness, other than for Tommy, if anything. But, for the most part, there was only joy and excitement for what would come from there. Because now, everything would be different...
The dance program said that the coronation would be at 10:00. After about ten minutes of that hour, Vic Mooney, president of the graduates, appeared on stage with quite a bit of enthusiasm on his face, holding the microphone firmly in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. The music fell silent at his signal, and everyone's attention focused on him, knowing that it was time. For most of the students present, the whole King and Queen business was insignificant, but it was the most important thing of the night for others.
"We got the results," Vic communicated, his voice echoing through the speakers, "and they were really, really closed." He held up the piece of paper on which he had written the names of the winners. This was more spectacle than anything else because he obviously already knew. "Drumming sound, please!" The DJ took care of placing the drum roll sound through the speakers. "By one vote, the winners are... Tommy Ross and Carrie White!"
There was an avalanche of screams and applause at that moment, echoing loudly throughout the gym. However, for Carrie, everything became silent... It felt as if her brain had shut down or was using all its capacity to process what she had just heard, and everything else had been pushed aside.
Had he said her name? Did he say that she won as Prom Queen? But... no... That didn't make sense...
Her mind was torn between accepting the joy of the moment and outright denying it.
What should she do? Should stand there in front of everyone? Was she really supposed to? Could she really...?
"Come on, come on," she heard Tommy say, and then he took her hand. Just as he had led her to the dance floor before, the young woman reacted by herself and stood up. Her feet practically moved of their own accord to follow her companion.
Little by little, her mind cleared up again, and she became aware of everything around them. She was able to appreciate the light from the floodlights shining on them as they advanced to the school hymn's rhythm. Carrie looked at her own glowing image, projected onto the large screens at the sides of the stage. She noticed people stepping aside to make way for them, still clapping harmoniously, bright smiles lighting up their faces. They were all looking at her, but their eyes did not cause her discomfort, nor did they cause fear. Because they did not look at her with mockery or revulsion, but with great admiration and respect... as if she was a true queen.
Her steps were so light that she almost felt that was floating in her walk. It all seemed so unreal, an image that not even in her wildest dreams could have imagined. The butterflies that roamed her entire body must be a product of sinful and undue sensations, surely; sensations that God would definitely not welcome in one of His loyal servants. But, even then, she didn't care. If God didn't like to see her like this, then He should turn His sigh to another way.
Never, in so many years of praying and pleading, had she felt so much joy as in those moments. That night was not for God, nor for her mother: that night was hers and no one else's.
"I present to you the newly crowned King and Queen of the ball! Tommy Ross and Carrie White," Vic Mooney enunciated with intensity, just as they both began to climb the front steps to the stage. And then the shower of applause became even more intense.
Once up, they both turned to the crowd, and Carrie faced them. Again their applause and their looks of happiness and pride were only for her. A young lady approached and handed her a beautiful bouquet of pink roses, which Carrie gladly accepted. One more placed on her head a diadem crown with sparkles that resembled diamonds; entirely false, but at the moment, they were worth gold to her.
Carrie stood next to Tommy, very close to him, seeking to feel his closeness and support. He accepted her and actually reached his hand close to hers and took it gently. At that point, the girl was unable to think clearly about anything. Everything was so much more beautiful and perfect than she could have expected. She couldn't think of anything that could have made it better. That shower of applause was the ideal way to say goodbye to the old her, the fearful and submissive, who was invisible to everyone. Now, she was welcomed with open arms to that new world full of possibilities.
Now, really, everything would be different.
And then, everything was painted red...
The first thing Carrie felt was a blow to the head that shook her, accompanied by a cold sensation that chilled her body. Her head was pushed forward, and her plastic crown flew off. The cold sensation worked its way through her head to her shoulders, down her back, and through her entire torso, and then down her legs and feet. Although it was very confusing initially, after a few seconds, she understood that it had been a sensation similar to as if cold water had been poured over her. But that was not water.
By mere reflex, she closed her eyes. And while she was not seeing, she could perceive that Tommy leaped to the side in shock, and the applause and the screams slowly faded into absolute silence. Carrie slowly opened her eyes again and saw everything as if it had been painted red. People were still staring at her, but the pride and excitement were gone; now, there was only confusion, much confusion on their faces.
The young woman slowly turned her face towards Tommy; he also looked at her the same way or even more. But beyond his gaze, what astonished her was seeing his white jacket, soaked in red on one side; his face also had several spots of the same shade on it. That was not paint and didn't smell like paint. It was a metallic smell and at the same time disgusting... and it was totally impregnated in her.
She looked at herself then, and what she saw was so disturbing, so repulsive, and so strange that she simply couldn't immediately understand that it was real. Her dress, all her beautiful salmon pink dress, was dyed red from top to bottom. Her arms, her hands, everything was stained with the same substance. Some of her hair strands fell over her face and were also damp and stuck against her skin. And on the ground just below her, a wide misshapen pool had formed, bright red, reflecting the light from the searchlights.
He looked up then. Above her head, tied to a rope, was a bucket, from which even at that time, small traces of that substance were still dripping; even one of those drops fell directly into her right eye.
Carrie felt intense terror but was unable to scream. She dropped the bunch of flowers out of sheer instinct, falling it into the puddle at her feet: a pool of blood...
"And Eve was weak and loosed the raven on the world. And the raven was called 'Sin.' And the first sin was intercourse. And the Lord visited Eve with the curse, and the curse was the curse of blood..."
"Tommy..." was the only thing that managed to escape her throat, like a painful moan. She looked at him again, searching for some kind of explanation for him, to tell her it was a mistake, or a dream, or her imagination, something that would prevent her from thinking about the idea that was violently invading her mind at that time.
"Carrie, I don't..." Tommy muttered, so difficult for him to put together the words and complete a sentence. Was he trying to tell her that he had nothing to do with that? The Carrie from a few seconds ago would have believed him whatever he said. But the one at that moment... she couldn't even think...
Tommy then turned to the crowd, snapping furiously.
"What did you do?! Who did this...?!"
Some looked at each other in confusion, seemingly doubtful how to react.
"Plug it up!" She heard a sudden blast from the audio equipment speakers, and Carrie inevitably looked up ahead. "Plug it up! Plug it up! Plug it up!"
Those chorus screams... Oh God, Carrie recognized them right away. She turned her eyes just a little to the side, and then she saw it. Projected on one of those large screens, there was the video, the video of what had happened in the showers, the video of her writhing on the floor, naked and defenseless while everyone surrounded her yelled and threw things at her. There it was, her moment of humiliation, big for all to see it.
And then they came, long-awaited and predictable: the laughs, few at first, but quickly turning into millions of them resonating at the same time. In a single second, that entire gym was filled with laughter and mocking glances, all directed at her.
And there it was once more, from being at the top to scrubbing again in the dirtiest and most stinking mud. Or, maybe she had never really gotten out of it... perhaps it had all just been an evil illusion.
She felt the anguish, the anger, the sadness, all building up in her chest, making it difficult to breathe.
She had to get out of there; she had to leave immediately.
Then she began to walk forward with some desperation.
"Carrie, wait..." Tommy Ross muttered, but she ignored him. She didn't want to see him; she didn't want to hear him. If she ever heard him again, she feared that perhaps...
Her right foot stomped into the pool of blood, and she slid violently to the side on the wet, slippery surface. Carrie's entire body slumped forward after that slip, landing on her right thigh, and she just didn't fall on her nose because she had the reflex to stop with her hands before it was too late.
As she fell, she could hear how the laughs increased exponentially. That, accompanied by that infernal chorus of "Plug it up! Plug it up! Plug it up!" rumbled violently in her head, scrambling her ideas, stirring up any logic or common sense. Little by little, she could no longer reason, hear, or even see: she only saw red... everything was red.
"Help this sinful woman who is next to me to see the sin in her life and her works. Show her that if she had remained pure, the curse of the blood would not have fallen on her."
"Carrie," came Miss Desjardin's voice, pushing her way through the crowd and onto the stage. She walked up the steps toward her and held out a hand, offering it to her. "Let me help..."
The teacher was not even able to finish her offer, as her entire body was abruptly thrown back as if she had been tackled head-on by a burly football player. She collided with a group of students in the front row, and both she and they fell to the ground, stunned.
The laughter gradually stopped after this, but the video was still playing in the background. Everyone's stunned and confused eyes fell once more on Carrie White, who began to rise slowly. Her breathing was so agitated that her lungs seemed to explode. Her eyes were wild and lost, and her pupils had been enlarged as much as possible. The veins in her temples pounded and throbbed. Her fingers flexed and contracted against each other so violently that the bones seemed about to break. And the blood... the blood from the pool, the blood that was still liquid and had not completely adhered to the skin on her arms and face, began to slowly rise around, like tiny dewdrops.
Everyone took a step back, even Tommy.
"Carrie..." the boy said in a shaky voice, but she wasn't even aware that he was still next to her.
This was how she wanted them all to see her: scared and confused, ignorant of what was presented to them. She had tried, she really had. She wanted to be one of them, to be good, to be normal... But it was a privilege that all those impious pigs were not willing to give her. They were all a bunch of sinners, morons, and bastards with no trace of compassion on their frail and pathetic bodies. Everyone in that place had made her life a nightmare with their mockery, jokes, mistreatment, and indifference. And if God did not come down from Heaven to impose His justice, she would unleash the Hell itself on them, and on that entire decaying city!
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!" Carrie screamed loudly and with all her might, resounding with a tremendous explosion. And in the blink of an eye, everyone, and everything around, was pushed in all directions as if a tremendous gust of wind had hit them.
Bodies flew through the air on all sides, crashing against tables, walls, doors, or each other. The speakers, the screens on the walls, the arrangements, the tables and chairs themselves, everything was ripped from its place and deployed through the air like projectiles.
Even Tommy Ross, who was behind her, flew backward as hard as if a tremendous truck had crashed head-on. Perhaps because it was the closest to the source of all that energy deployment, the shock was much more intense. His body slammed headlong into the back wall of the gym, and his neck twisted like a stick. But that didn't matter because he didn't even feel it. The first blow he received from the front had been so tremendous that it had practically shattered his heart, dying almost instantly and without pain, without even knowing what had happened. And yet, in a way, he was the luckiest of the night. The only one who had, perhaps, the most peaceful and pious death possible...
END OF CHAPTER 39
Author's Notes:
Originally my intention was that Chapter 38 and this one were only one. Still, the final length turned out to be too long, so I decided to divide it into two better.
As I mentioned earlier, this chapter is also based mostly on the events of the film Carrie from 2013, also taking into account the 1976 movie and the original novel. But mainly, my intention was to give my own personal interpretation of these events, and primarily of the character of Carrie, her introspections, and thoughts while all this was happening.
As you could see, not everything that happened was narrated, but rather what could be described from Carrie's point of view, trying to capture her confusion and her changes of thought. Also, as you can see, I took some freedoms with several issues, some for simple personal taste and others more to match the tone and style that story has had until now.
The previous chapter and this one are almost like a personal tribute to Carrie White, her novel, and her two most influential film versions (and actually two of my favorite horror movies).
The next chapter will conclude Carrie's story, but now from Matilda's perspective. It will depart more from what was seen in the versions already mentioned. However, it will still be based a lot on them.
See you soon.
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yeah something possessed me to draw this. look at it on my redbubble
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CORN SYRUP!!!!
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Chapter 38. Nothing's going to stop me
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX 
Chapter 38. Nothing's going to stop me
The same day Carrie met Matilda in that park and encouraged her to accept Tommy Ross' invitation, he appeared in front of her house. Tommy intercepted her on the sidewalk as she made her way there from the park, just at the time she knew her mother would return. Carrie was quite surprised by this sudden encounter. Still, she was also quite nervous at the idea that any vehicle that turned the corner was precisely her mother's.
Tommy quickly made his intention very clear: he wanted to ask her again about the dance, questioning that her first response had not been favorable. This somewhat cheered the young White, but his insistence also added a little more discomfort to the situation. Normally, it would be hard enough to convince her mother to accept the whole idea. However, it would be without a doubt impossible if she sees her standing next to a boy right in front of the house. Carrie imagined the thousand and one things she would say and do to him, and the prom subject would be totally put aside forever. A bit by the nerves of that happening, but mostly buoyed by the talk she had just had with Matilda, she decided to quickly accept the invitation, hoping Tommy would leave as soon as possible.
The boy looked happy for her answer; happier than she expected. He agreed to pick her up on Saturday at 7, and then he left. And it was then, just when she was alone again, that the whole reality of what was happening fell on her. But… it wasn't unpleasant, really. In fact, for the first time in a long time, she felt tremendous emotion and joy coursing through her entire body. She would go to the dance with a handsome boy… like an average teenager. That was real; it was really happening.
That night, she did not touch the subject with his mother. She had to see the right way and time. But she couldn't let time pass; the day of the dance would come in the blink of an eye, after all.
The next day, after school, Carrie did not meet with Matilda, but she did not walk straight home as she usually did. Instead, she went to the bus stop and took the one that took her to Westover, a town near Chamberlain. Her intention was to head straight for Main Street, where all the big stores were located. That was the kind of places she knew girls would go with their friends to buy things they couldn't find in the more modest shops in Chamberlain. Or sometimes just to walk around and eat something. After venturing to take the bus to Boston at that same stop, going to Westover alone seemed like a child's thing.
It was incredible what she was launching to do in such a short time. Herself from a couple of months ago would surely not even recognize her current self.
Carrie walked for a while, looking at the shops' windows, admiring the dresses displayed in them, outlining the slim figures of the mannequins. She'd already imagined herself wearing something like that on a few occasions. Still, the idea of ​​actually doing it felt quite far away, like an impossible fantasy. But there she was now, about to make it happen. The dresses on the sideboards were beautiful, but she had a specific idea in her mind of what it must look like, and none of them satisfied her. In the end, the idea of ​​doing it herself, just as she imagined it, tempted her more than any other. If there was one good thing among all the things her mother had taught her, that was definitely sewing. Why not take advantage of it?
She used most of the money she had saved from odd jobs with her mother to buy a long piece of salmon-pink fabric, just the tone she wanted; that had to be fate. There was no way she could have gotten it in the Chamberlain stores where her mother used to buy fabrics. In none of them could something so beautiful exist.
By the time Carrie finished shopping and took the bus back to Chamberlain, the day was getting dark. Her mother had surely come home hours ago and had found no sign of her. At any other time, that single possibility would have scared her to death, but not today. She had to start working on the dress as soon as possible, and she couldn't do it secretly from her mother. For this reason, she had made up her mind to tell her mother about the prom that night and let what had to happen.
"I know it looks that way at the moment. But sooner or later, you'll have to make your own decisions and decide your own path. Although for this, you have to go against your mother's wishes."
Those words that Matilda had said gave her the strength to do so. She just hoped it was enough.
She got off the bus at the same stop where she had gotten on. And from there, she walked down the street towards her house, with the piece of cloth hidden in her backpack. The sky was flashing, and a damp breeze blew and stirred the trees. The rain was about to fall, and it would definitely be strong. When she was near the house, the twinkling light of a lightning illuminated the silhouette of her mother, in her long dark dress and her hair down, standing on the porch and looked in her direction. That terrifying image stopped her, and for a moment, she felt the air escape from her lungs.
Her mother made no move to approach her; she just stood still watching her, not even blinking.
Carrie sighed and pushed herself forward.
"Where have you been?!" The woman in black yelled at her angrily as Carrie climbed the two steps that led to the porch. "I was worried sick!"
"I'm sorry I'm late, mom..." Carrie replied with her head down as she passed in front of her.
"Don't talk, just come inside."
The woman practically pushed her into the house, and Carrie didn't put up much resistance.
Once they were both inside, Mrs. White slammed the door behind them, causing the windows to rattle a bit. The entire interior of the house was lit only by candles. Her mother had already secured the windows in preparation for the impending rain. Carrie lowered her backpack and placed it slowly on the hall floor, as if afraid to break what was hidden there.
"Your supper's cold," her mother reproached her with some boredom in her tone. "Now I'm going to have to heat it up."
Mrs. White walked into the kitchen, armed with a candle she had taken from the dining room counter to get a better view. Carrie walked behind her, some submission in her step. She really believed she was ready, but the mere presence of her mother bent her down more than she expected
"Where did you go?" Mrs. White questioned her again while she opened the oven and inserted the container with the dinner's remains.
"I'm sorry, mom," the young woman apologized, her eyes downcast. "I took a bus to Westover and bought cloth for a dress..."
"Westover?" She cut her off abruptly sternly, raising her piercing blue eyes straight at her like two razors. "What were you doing there?"
"I told you, I bought cloth..."
"You aren't to go anywhere but to school and back, and you know that," Mrs. White stated sharply, putting an end to any other explanation she thought of giving. Carrie only managed a silent nod.
The woman turned back to the wood oven, slowly muttering words that Carrie couldn't understand. She began to try to light a match. The first two attempts were in vain, and the third broke it. She took a deep breath through her nose, trying to assuage her anger, and then tried again.
"Mom, before you say anything else, I've to tell you something," Carrie murmured more confidently than before. "Someone invited me to the prom."
Mrs. White froze, not looking at her or reacting. Her eyes were fixed on the interior of the oven, which resembled a deep dark cavern.
"Mom, I've been asked to the prom..." she repeated as if she thought she hadn't heard her correctly.
"What prom?" The woman muttered, turning her face slowly towards her. Her gaze was cold and hard.
"The graduation dance. It's next Saturday, and everyone will go."
"Oh, God; Oh, God…" Mrs. White muttered, clutching her head with both hands and beginning to shake. "Why? Why…?"
Carrie ignored her mother's reaction and kept talking despite it.
"His name is Tommy, and he's a very nice boy. He'll come and meet you before, and he promised to have me home by 10:30."
"No, no, no..." the woman repeated several times, like a thought aloud that escaped her. She stood up, taking a few steps away from Carrie. She shook her head and entire body from side to side. Carrie approached her to prevent her from completely moving out, thus stopping listening to everything she had to say to her. She had already taken the first step; she could not go back now, or perhaps she would not be able to do it again.
"Mom, I already accepted..."
As soon as Mrs. White heard that, she turned to look at her incredulously, with her eyes wide and full of astonishment.
"I know this scares you a lot; it scares me, too. But understand that I'm not like you. The other kids at school... they all think I'm weird. And I don't want to be like that. I want to be normal. I want to try to get along better with people before it's too late..."
Her mother abruptly silenced her words with a tremendous slap perpetuated by her heavy hand. This was so strong and almost made Carrie's full-body spin and collapse. However, instead, the young woman was practically thrown against the kitchen table and managed to lean firmly on it to avoid falling hopelessly to the floor. A whimper of pain escaped her lips, accompanied by some sobs. Her face quickly reddened where she had struck her.
"Indecent whore!" Mrs. White murmured with the anger building in his throat, leaning her body towards Carrie until she almost pressed her face against her daughter's left ear. "With all I have taught you, with all I have cared for you, how could you fall so easily into their clutches?!"
"It wasn't like that… it wasn't like that…" Carrie whimpered, taking a deep breath to try not to lose the poise with which she had started this feat. She sat up slowly, cupping her flushed cheek in one hand. "Things are not as you say, Mom. There are bad people out there, but not Tommy; he's good. You'll like him. He's a very nice boy ..."
"Boys, boys…" Margaret White muttered wryly. "Of course. After the blood, the boys come, sniffing and slobbering like dogs."
"Enough, stop it ..."
When she started talking like that, it was impossible to make her see reason. By mere reflex, Carrie stormed out of the kitchen with her head bowed toward the living room. Her mother was now the one who was behind her, harassing her senselessly, almost whispering her words at the back of her neck.
"He'll sniff you until he finds out where the scent of blood is coming from. And when he finds out, he'll take you, Carrie. Between the trees, in his car, out in the cold, where the canteens, the roadhouses, and the whiskey are."
"Stop all this madness," Carrie murmured, trying to turn around, away from her. But the woman followed her, overwhelmed with her presence, with her only voice...
"I've seen what they do with the other girls, and you won't be one of them. You'll tell that boy you're not going."
"I won't do that."
"If you don't, we'll move from here. We will move, and we will never stop moving!"
"No..."
"You're going to go to your closet immediately. You're going to go in there and ask for mercy. You will beg for forgiveness!
"I won't!"
"Go to your closet, now!"
"No! I will never do that again!"
Her scream echoed with a loud crash, louder than any lightning that resounded outside. Abruptly, and in response to her own cry, the armchairs and tables in the room rose until they collided with the ceiling as if an invisible being had taken them with its hands and raised them above their heads. The pictures on the walls also jumped, including the Last Supper's huge tapestry from the dining room. The few decorative objects that were there, and even the candles; everything around them at that precise moment leaped into the air of its own accord.
Margaret White saw all this in shock and fell to her knees in panic. She screamed in terror, in disbelief. She lowered her head in supplication for a few seconds. She then slowly looked up again, only to see that everything was still floating around her as if the entire house had been turned upside down. She didn't understand what had happened… but Carrie did.
The young woman was also surprised. That wasn't part of what she planned to do; that had happened out of nowhere, without consciously proposing to do it... but she had no regrets about it.
Her mother was still on her knees, her hands clasped in front of her in prayer position, and she was looking at her with wide and lost eyes. Carrie felt she was questioning whether she was the one doing it or not and immediately felt the desire to clarify her doubt. She blurted out everything, perhaps more abruptly than necessary, taking only primary care with the candles. She put everything back in place, and her mother let out another scream of terror, more discreet than the previous one, but still quite intense. She hid her face behind their clasped hands and began to whisper.
Carrie looked at her in some amazement. That was something she hadn't witnessed before. Seeing her mother there, sunken and trembling on the ground, for the first time she seemed so small; so... pathetic and insignificant...
"Mom, stand up," Carrie asked calmly, but the woman remained on the ground, murmuring prayers. "Stand up, please," she asked again in the same way, receiving the same result. "Stand up!"
Then she reached out her hand to her, and the woman rose into the air with a sudden jerk until her feet were off the floor and she was floating in the middle of the room. Mrs. White let out one more scream of panic, which Carrie had to accept that she enjoyed a little.
"Witch..." the woman snapped in a dry voice. "You are an unholy daughter of the Devil..."
"Don't call me like that," Carrie replied, truly hurt to hear her call her in such a derogatory way. "There are no witches."
"The devil is in you... the devil is in you..."
"It's not the devil, Mom; it's me. Other people do the same thing that I do, or even more."
"You poor girl, you don't understand. You don't know what's going on... He won't let you see that He's working through you..."
"No, you're the one who doesn't understand," the young woman pointed out with fervent conviction. "Dr. Honey explained everything to me..."
"Doctor?" Her mother interrupted sharply. "That woman? Is she the one who instilled all this in you? Don't you realize that she is a servant of the Dark One? She only came to knock on our door to get you away from the correct path..."
"No!" Carrie yelled, and the whole house shook slightly as if it were in the throes of a small earthquake. Margaret White howled in fear again. "She has been more of a mother to me these days than you have been in my entire life. She told me that I must begin to impose myself on you, to make my own decisions, and everything will be better when I do... and she's right."
Carrie released her mother and let her fall to the ground of her own accord. The woman collapsed again and stood there, moaning and praying, asking for forgiveness and strength. Carrie didn't really understand what she was saying, but she didn't care either.
"Pray all you want, but I'm going to the prom," she stated bluntly, indifferent to whether her mother was listening to her or not. "And nothing's going to stop me..."
She approached her backpack, lifted it off the ground, and headed for her room, passing right next to the woman. This one continued with her prays.
"So let's not talk about it anymore. I have a dress to do..."
Proud of what she had accomplished that night, Carrie went to her room, and that same night she began making her dream dress.
The emotion that flooded her was so great that it made her heart race as she didn't know was possible. She always thought she was destined to bow her head to her mother, classmates, teachers, and everyone who wanted to trample her. But that moment had shown that it didn't have to be this way; no more.
"I really think you are an exceptional person, Carrie… even if you have a mother and classmates who don't always appreciate you right now. But one day, things are going to be very different..."
She felt so good and strong. Dr. Honey was right in everything she had said. Now everything would be different...
— — — —
The week went by quickly, and Carrie worked too hard each night to finish the dress on time. While she was in her room with the sewing machine running at full speed, from time to time, her mother's distant prayers would reach her from the living room. She tried to ignore them as best as possible and focus on her work.
The final details were finished just Saturday morning. After her mother left for work, the stillness of the house helped her focus on that last stretch. She had put it on some times during the process to check that everything was fitting, but once it was finished and ready, for some reason, she was scared to put it on. Or, maybe fear was not the right word.
She took a bath, washing herself as she had never done before. Mainly she washed her hair very well so that it didn't show at all greasy. During the week, she had bought a curl conditioner and some makeup. She had never made up herself, and her mother definitely wouldn't help her with that, but she hoped to get it right. After bathing, she dried her hair and combed it as best she could. She wasn't sure if she was doing it right, but she liked what she saw in the mirror. Her hair shone, and its shape was defined and beautiful.
Then she went on to put on her dress. Taking a deep breath to pluck up her courage, she pulled off her bathrobe, slipped on her underwear and a bra, according to the type of dress she would wear, which she had also purchased during the week. And right afterward, she slid the soft fabric of the dress over her body from head to toe. The fall was perfect, the feel of the gender against her skin comforting but sinful at the same time. The last of her few savings had gone into a pair of beige mid-heeled shoes, which she slipped on before daring to look into the mirror.
Her own reflection was overwhelmingly unfamiliar to her. The way her hair fell, how the dress closed the figure of her torso, how it exposed her arms, her neck, and especially the upper part of her bust in that beautiful neckline to which she had dedicated so much time to make it look perfect. She felt for a moment the instinct to raise her arms and cover herself, but she caught herself and instead lowered her arms abruptly to her sides. He had nothing to be ashamed of; the dress was beautiful, discreet, and formal. It had been based on several of the dresses she had seen on the sideboards in Westover, and it was just as she had imagined.
It was close to seven. She then began to put on the best possible makeup: a base to cover her imperfections, a little mascara, a slight blush, and a discreet lip gloss. She didn't want anything exaggerated. She never used that kind of thing, and the least she wanted was to look ridiculous. And looking at the end result, to be her first time... she actually didn't do that badly. She looked as pretty as any other girl in school, or even a little more.
Carrie was delighted with how she looked. She immediately wanted someone to see her, and who better than the person to whom she should thank for all this?
She looked under the mattress of her bed for the cell phone that Matilda had given her. There she hid it from her mother because, indeed, her first instinct if she saw it would be to throw it against the wall until it broke. She immediately stood in front of the mirror and took a photo with the device's camera. Even then, she was amazed at what could be done with one of those.
She then sent the photograph to Dr. Honey, accompanied by a text:
My dress and I are ready.
Carrie placed the phone on the desk and went on with her arrangement. She tried to imagine the reaction Matilda would have when she saw her photo. She would surely not be able to recognize her, either. 
A minute or two later, she heard the answer come in, so she rushed to check. Her lips curved a small smile as she read her message:
You look beautiful!
Have fun
Having fun, if that was possible for a change, she definitely would.
Then she heard the front door open; her mother had returned. By mere reflex, she approached the mattress and hid the phone under it again. When her mother appeared at the bedroom door, Carrie was back in front of the mirror, touching up her lip gloss. She pretended not to notice her in the mirror reflection, but it was hard enough not to. The woman was standing there, staring intently at her with such severity, disgust, and even horror, that she almost felt those deep blue eyes pierce the back of her neck.
Carrie tried to pretend and carry things in peace. She slowly turned to face her and smiled as sincerely as possible.
"Welcome, how did it go?" The young lady asked with encouragement, but her mother didn't answer anything; she just kept looking her slowly up and down, undoubtedly scrutinizing her dress. Then Carrie took the corsage made of a single pink rose and held it out. "Do you want to help me with this, Mom?"
"Red..." was the first thing that emerged from Margaret's lips, pronouncing it as if the very word disgusted her. "I should have imagined it would be red."
"It's pink, salmon pink."
"Your dirty pillows are showing. Everyone will see them. The Bible says..."
"Breasts, Mom, they're called breasts," she interrupted, annoyed, and then turned back to the mirror to put on the adornment on the right side of her dress herself. "You have them too, like all women."
The decoration was finished; it really suited her.
"Take that dress off, Carrie," her mother snapped harshly behind her.
"I won't do that."
"Take it off, and we'll burn it together, apologizing. It isn't too late."
She felt a strange feeling of pleading in her voice that she didn't remember hearing from before. Was she asking? Margaret White never asked; she demanded, and her will had always been the law. How she had fallen so fast. It was sad but mostly satisfying.
"Mom, stop that."
"Call that boy and tell him you're not going. I don't want you to be hurt."
Carrie snorted slowly, already a little annoyed by her attitude.
"Could you at least try to be a little happy for me?" She stared at her for an answer, but Margaret White just fell silent, watching her with her cold, hard expression. "I suppose not…"
The sound of a car horn honking in the street was then heard, which put them both on alert. Carrie felt her heart skip. In theory, she was already dressed, combed, and made up, but abruptly she didn't feel ready at all, as if she was still naked. She hurried to the window and leaned out of it, expecting to see Tommy, parked in his vehicle right in front of the house. He was not him; apparently, it was just a vehicle that passed down the street and then drove away.
Carrie sighed, a little relieved… but also disappointed.
"Maybe he won't even come," Margaret White muttered. "He's have cheated on you, played with you as always."
"Mom, stop if," the young woman replied harshly. "I'm too nervous enough to deal with your words."
Margaret White let out an intense scream similar to pain. Suddenly, she raised her right hand and began hitting herself on the head with the back, apparently quite hard. As she did so, she whispered in a dry, stern voice.
"Wash yourself in the blood of the Lamb. Rest assured that your sin will be discovered, Carrie. Rip the color of the devil from your body and burn it!"
"Don't beat yourself up like that. You won't make me stay with that," was the only thing Carrie replied, as she glanced at her over her shoulder.
How transparent and obvious her manipulations and tricks became at that moment. Carrie wondered how she hadn't realized this earlier. She only had to impose herself on her once; she only had to stand above and look down at her, to understand what a mad, poor woman she was.
They both turned to the window again when they felt a vehicle pull up to the side of the curb. Carrie stared in wonder at a long, sleek, shiny white limousine, and almost immediately afterward, she saw Tommy Ross, climbing out of the back, wearing a thin white suit and black pants. Carrie felt all the air leaking from her body, and her heart raced with excitement.
The moment had come.
"If you go to that place, they'll only laugh, tease and hurt you," she heard her mother utter practically in her ear, abruptly pulling her out of her happy thoughts. "I'll meet him at the door and tell him you're sick. You can stay with me: we'll pray together."
Carrie took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.
"Good evening, Mom," she answered curtly, turning her around to calmly head for the bedroom door. "I'll be back early."
As well predicted, the woman did not leave things like that and inevitably left the room behind her, and then followed her down the stairs.
"Regret it, Carrie; it's not too late," Margaret muttered insistently, but Carrie came down trying not to pay attention to her. "As Jezebel fell from the tower, so will it be with you. And the dogs came and licked the blood. The Bible says so! You'll not allow any practitioner of witchcraft to live."
Carrie was silent. She finished down the stairs and crossed the hall to the door.
"If you insist on disobeying me, I'll have to tell that boy about your demon powers!" Her mother yelled loudly, and that did make Carrie stop in her tracks.
The young woman slowly turned to her again, but her expression was no longer at all calm. This was aggressive, filled with quite palpable and deep anger.
"Don't you dare," Carrie replied with a tone of clear threat.
Both remained standing in their respective places, looking at the other with intensity as if they were in the middle of a staring duel. Only the sound of Tommy's knuckles knocking on the door brought them out of that state. Margaret White suddenly made the gesture of wanting to go to the door. She took two steps to the side to get her daughter around, but her entire body suddenly froze, and she was unable to move a single finger. Glancing at Carrie, she saw that the girl was looking at her with even more intensity than before.
"I'm warning you, Mom," she whispered hoarsely as if the accumulated anger was closing her throat and making it difficult to speak. And, of course, she was quite angry. Much of it accumulated over the years, stored deep in her chest. But she didn't have to hide it anymore.
"The Devil controls you, the Devil is in you..." the woman whispered with the remarkable presence of apprehension in her voice.
"You've got me fed up with that..."
Carrie violently waved her right hand to the side, and Margaret White's entire body was thrown in that direction, across the hall to where the stairs were. However, it was not to the stairs that she was going, but to the closet door that was just below them: her prayer closet, where her mother locked her up to ask for mercy every time. According to her, she committed some sin that merited it, which in fact was quite often.
The closet door slammed open, and Margaret's body entered the closet until she was sprawled on the floor. By the time the woman managed to react and look up, the door closed before her, and soon after, the locks were placed. All this, without Carrie moving from her place.
Margaret began to try desperately to open the door, grasping the handle and pushing it with her whole body. But the door wouldn't budge. Carrie stared at the closet door, shaking with every knock she gave it. A part of her felt bad; she was her mother, after all. But… how many times had she locked her there for hours? Not caring if she had to go to the bathroom, eat, do homework, or whatever. In comparison, a couple of hours there could hardly be considered fair.
"Don't say anything until I'm gone," Carrie ordered sharply. "I arrive at 10:30. Wait there... and pray..."
She walked with a firmer step towards the door, but before opening it, she stopped, turned back to the closet, and whispered very slowly:
"I love you..."
Carrie walked out of the door immediately after. Waiting for her standing on the porch, she met Tommy. He had always been a handsome boy, but today it seemed almost unreal. The orange light of the impending sunset illuminated him. His dark brown hair was perfectly combed. He looked spectacular in his black and white tuxedo suit that outlined his athletic figure. As soon as he saw her, the boy smiled gently at her, and she couldn't help but do the same.
"Hi," she murmured nervously.
"Hi," he replied, apparently much calmer.
"Do you like how I look?"
Tommy looked at her for a few seconds, in which Carrie felt quite nervous but also excited.
"You look beautiful," he answered suddenly, causing the young woman's cheeks to blush even more than they already were. He then extended his left arm, offering it to her. "Let's go?"
Carrie nodded sheepishly and took Tommy's arm. He began to guide her down the porch stairs, and then they walked together toward the gleaming limousine.
END OF CHAPTER 38
Author's Notes:
—Most of this chapter is based on the events of the movie Carrie of 2013, but also took into account some aspects shown in the film of 1976 and others chronicled in the original novel. In addition to this, there are some own additions regarding the personalities and reactions of some characters. The next chapter will be similar in this regard, recreating only the crucial events from Carrie White's perspective.
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Chapter 37. Something's Happening
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX 
Chapter 37. Something's Happening 
That May 25, four years ago, was a busy day for Matilda Honey. From early on, she had scheduled appointments with her patients in her office. Some were shining children, while others needed more conventional help. A seven-year-old boy had recently started hearing his classmates' thoughts as nonsensical words in his head. Another was beginning to have forebodings about things that would happen, which caused him a particular obsession throughout the day. And there was also a girl who needed to wear gloves constantly because as soon as she had contact, even minimal, with someone, she was able to perceive feelings and thoughts from them that intensely overwhelmed as if they were her own. Each one occupied particular care, same that Matilda was little by little learning to carry out.
Just before seven p.m., Matilda was in session with Roberta, the girl dealing with her psychometry. Although the girl's attitude had initially been somewhat closed, she had begun to open up even a little over time.
"The other kids tease me because of my gloves," the sturdy little girl with curly hair murmured, sitting in the chair in Matilda's office. The psychiatrist was also seated in a smaller chair in front of her. "They don't understand why I always take them to class... they think my hands are deformed, and I'm ashamed of them."
"Kids that age have a hard time understanding that their actions hurt others," Matilda murmured cautiously. "But you mustn't allow it to affect you too much, especially when it isn't true."
"Easy for you to say it," Roberta replied dryly. "You sure were very popular at school."
"Oh, believe me, I wasn't," the psychiatrist muttered wryly. "I was the weird girl who spent her time reading books and didn't talk to anyone. They bothered me quite a bit, and that also made me as angry as you."
Roberta raised her face slightly to look at her with some skepticism.
"Really?"
"Do you think I'd lie about that?"
"No... And what did you do when that happened?""
"Well…" Matilda looked at the ceiling a bit, thinking about how to respond.
She didn't know if that was the right approach, but she had found that many children liked hearing real experiences from others who were like them. It made them feel less alone, and it helped them think that everything could be better.
"At first, I tried to ignore it. But..."
Suddenly, the characteristic sound of her phone receiving a message abruptly rang, interrupting her words. Matilda felt a little embarrassed. She had gone to lunch a little late and had forgotten to put it on silent mode afterward. These were the kind of rookie mistakes that she still made back then.
"Give me a second, Roberta," the psychiatrist apologized, and then she reached for her bag, which she had placed on the floor next to the chair. The intention was to put it directly to silent as she should have done from the beginning. However, she hesitated when she saw that the message received was precisely from Carrie White, or rather from the phone she gave her in the days when they met the first time.
She quickly recalled, trying to remember exactly what date that day was, and it came to her mind almost immediately. That convinced her to give herself a few extra seconds and take a look at the message. This was a selfie of Carrie, took in front of a mirror. But Matilda almost didn't recognize her; she looked totally different.
Her hair was combed and groomed. Her face was discreetly made up, even with a subtle lip gloss. And the most impressive thing was what she was wearing: a salmon pink dress with straps, which left her arms and shoulders exposed, and which also had a lovely neckline. She looked simply beautiful and even happy, something Matilda hadn't seen in the short time he had known her. Accompanying the image came the text:
 My dress and I are ready.
 Matilda couldn't help but smile. Carrie had never used a cell phone before, and now she was taking selfies and texting it; how she had changed in just a couple of weeks.
That was the night of the prom Carrie had told her about, and she really did look radiant. Matilda had no idea how she would have convinced her mother to allow her to attend, and especially with such a dress. But whatever it was, at the time, it seemed to Matilda that this had to be considered an outstanding achievement.
She took just one more moment to reply with a final message of encouragement:
 You look beautiful!
Have fun
 Once she sent that, she immediately put the phone on silent mode and put it back in her bag.
"I'm sorry, Roberta," Matilda apologized again and then sat upright in her chair again, crossing her legs. The girl looked at her expectantly. "There will be no more interruptions. What was I saying...? Oh yeah. When I entered high school…"
* * * *
It was already sunset in Indiana, practically in the blink of an eye. All that day Jane Wheeler had been quite disturbed, though she wasn't quite sure why. It wasn't that she really had no reason to be, for in just a couple of days, too much had happened that was worth upsetting her. But at that specific moment, she did not know exactly which of all the cause of her condition was. Possibly it was a combination of all of them.
Eleven had just hung up about an hour ago with Matilda and Cole, who were on their way to Eola, and possibly by now, they were already near or had already arrived there. They had quickly told her how little they had gleaned from their conversation with Samara Morgan's birth mother. They also summarized what happened when they spoke with Samara days ago and the conclusions drawn from that. Matilda's had more force because, apparently, she and Cole had agreed to follow this route from then on. Eleven was skeptical of such a statement, but her wandering mind did not allow her to object in any way. She preferred to let the two of them come to terms with it, then talk to Cole about it alone. She was convinced that the detective had obtained more from those two encounters than he had shared with his companion.
But while Samara Morgan's case was important, and perhaps only she and Cole knew how much, it wasn't the only thing causing Eleven's discomfort.
While she pondered all this, she stood gazing through the glass doors of her study, which showed their patio. In this one, she could see her youngest daughter, her little Terry, innocently playing with Babylon, her huge black and white husky dog. She chased him or made him chase her. They both threw themselves on the ground, rolled and rolled as if they were two brothers playing. Terry was laughing like she was an eight-year-old, rather than a sixteen-year-old girl. She had inherited her mother's full curly hair, and in fact reminded her quite a bit of herself, except for her innocent and happy personality; so pure and resplendent, in many ways. She was never allowed to be that way. But seeing her daughter playing so calmly filled her chest with a great joy that made her feel a little more comforting, but not enough to forget her worries.
She was so engrossed in staring at her daughter that she didn't feel when her husband Mike entered the study, holding a plate in each hand. Eleven, who was able to see, hear and even interact with what was happening miles away from her, ended up starting a bit in surprise when she caught the figure of Mike next to her out of the corner of her eye. This reaction caused a small gesture of satisfaction on the man's face, and inevitably a slight blush on her cheeks.
"Some waffles for your thoughts?" Mike murmured, handing her one of the plates. Indeed, this one had three Eggo waffles, an appetizing golden yellow, bathed with a discreet amount of maple.
"These things," Eleven muttered wryly, taking the plate with both hands. "I remember when I only ate this."
"Me too," Mike replied, with a pretty similar feeling.
Eleven took one of the waffles, taking a bite out of the side. She tasted it for a while in her mouth before swallowing it. Her expression remained fairly neutral.
"Is it my imagination, or did they taste better in our time?" She commented perhaps more seriously than she wanted, just before taking one more bite.
Mike shrugged.
"Everything was better in our time."
Eleven just chuckled a little, not much willing to debate his claim.
They both walked around the coffee table and sat side by side on the couch, facing the doors through which they could both still see Terry and Babylon playing. They continued eating their respective waffles in a peaceful silence that over the years they'd been together had actually become quite relaxing for both of them. Eleven wished they could stay longer just like this, side by side, without having to think or talk about anything. But she knew it was quite an ambitious wish.
"So?" Mike questioned after a few moments, turning discreetly towards her. "What's going on?"
Eleven sighed silently. She finished the waffle in her hand and even allowed herself to wipe the syrup off her fingers with her tongue. All this without stopping looking ahead, at the patio, at her daughter... and perhaps a little further.
"Do you think I've become a coward?" Eleven suddenly muttered, making Mike feel unsure whether or not she had actually spoken to him.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the issue we are dealing with right now; the two issues, rather: the mysterious boy who attacked us a few days ago, and the case of the girl I assigned to Matilda and Cole. There was a time when I would have faced both head-on and without blinking. Now, both have me restless, even fearful. I feel immobilized, and I doubt what I should or should not do at each step. I didn't use to be so insecure and afraid… at least as far as I remember."
"I don't think it's insecurity or fear. You're just old."
Eleven nearly jumped out of her seat and then turned to her husband with her eyes wide and incredulous.
"Excuse?" She asked, almost offended. Mike laughed, apparently amused by her reaction.
"I mean, you're not a child anymore. And age is accompanied by experiences; and experiences by wisdom. You are not a coward; you have simply learned to differentiate which battles to face head-on, striking before asking, and which require a little more finesse."
"That wasn't the best of your compliments," Eleven whispered, a slight trace of annoyance in her voice.
"It was more to want to clarify a point than a compliment." Mike's expression turned a little more serious. "But if you want to see it differently, you could say that we have learned the hard way the consequences that can come from acting without thinking about these kinds of things."
Those ambiguous words turned out to be quite clear to the Foundation leader. That seriousness rubbed off on her… and even intensified. So many years had already passed in that fight, and they had lost so much… already so many. That was definitely much more than just having "learned the hard way." 
Was that what made her so insecure? Maybe… but she kept thinking that there was quite a bit of fear involved.
She took a second waffle and then placed her plate, along with the last of the waffles, on the coffee table. She sat down against the back of the chair and crossed her legs, eating her aperitif as calmly as possible.
"Something else worries me too," Eleven murmured, not diminishing the severity of her voice. "I always knew that there would be others more powerful than me out there. I always knew that several guys from the Foundation, like Matilda or Cody, would get to do things that I didn't even imagine." She stopped for a thoughtful little pause before continuing. The sensations she had felt during that fortuitous encounter days ago with that stranger came back to her. "But this… man, boy, or whatever we are faced with… is something totally beyond my comprehension. And he's also related to another girl who could also be quite powerful… too much, I'd say."
"Which girl?" Mike asked, curious but at the same time, concerned.
"I just know that her name is Abra. I managed to find her for a moment, but she managed to realize my presence and repel me. I am hoping that Monica can give me more information. And there's Samara Morgan too, who I'm afraid will be something much more complicated to deal." A heavy, almost exhausting sigh escaped from her lips just then. "Lots of guys with overly powerful Shining popping out of nowhere. And it makes me wonder how many more there will be..."
"Maybe not everyone will end up being your enemy," Mike pointed out, a little more optimistic. "You have been able to make many valuable friends over the years, do you forget? And even if they were, come on, you're Eleven," he commented with a wide animated smile. "You are the most extraordinary and strongest person I know. And look that in recent years I have seen so many things that almost nothing manages to surprise me. And yet, you are the most incredible thing I have ever known. No one would dare to mess with you a second time, neither monster nor human. I don't know who these people are who have decided to bother you so much, but I can only feel sorry for them; they don't know yet what a big mistake they made."
Again the woman's cheeks flushed, but not in the same way as before. She turned sadly to the side as if she were some fifteen-year-old girl. Despite all the time that had passed, she was still Mike's heroine, who was capable of anything, whose very presence guaranteed that everything would turn out well. And Mike wasn't the only one who saw her that way. Her old and new friends always looked at her, searching for the best solution, when everything else seemed lost. It was a weight on her shoulders, but one she didn't despise… at least, not usually.
But, this time, she didn't feel entirely sure that she could live up to expectations...
She finished her waffle in silence as she reflected on everything her husband had just told her. Once her hand was free again, including traces of syrup on her fingers, she reached out to take the last waffle from the plate. She managed to take it with her fingers and bring it to her mouth. But she could not get it in because her body abruptly froze, head to toe.
Her eyes widened, and her fingers hopelessly dropped the waffle, and it fell straight to the carpet.
For an instant, her mind wandered away from that place and moment. Abruptly, she was very, very far from there. She saw quick flashes of long white hallways, people in white uniforms or coats, and padded rooms. Her mind moved through all those spaces like a slippery rat between the feet of ignorant pedestrians. At first, she didn't understand why she saw all that until she went straight to a door with the word "security" on it. The door opened, and on the other side, Eleven could see three men in security garb. The three of them, at different times, turned toward the door, and right afterward, there was a great crash that made Eleven's head feel like it was bouncing.
She yelped in amazement and pain. Her whole body threw back into the back of the chair, her eyes staring at the ceiling above her.
"Jane! Are you okay?" Mike exclaimed, worried. He quickly approached her, and he touched her very carefully as if he was afraid of hurting her somehow. "El, do you hear me? What happens?"
Eleven wasn't responding; it wasn't even sure she had actually heard him. She stared at the ceiling for a long time, while her mind slowly tried to return to that place completely.
"No... no..." was the first thing that escaped from her lips, like little moans. "Something's happening... or is about to happen..."
Mike looked at her blankly, and Jane really didn't quite understand either. The details eluded her, but the critical thing was clear: Matilda was in danger, and not only her...
— — — —
The sun was beginning to set when Matilda and Cole arrived in Salem. They spent more time that day driving than how much they stayed in Silverdale. Those long road trips were getting too exhausting. Matilda hoped that she didn't have to do any more of those and that, at least for the remainder of the case, she could quietly stay in Eola.
They stopped for just a few minutes at their hotel in Salem to stretch their legs, pick up some things, and maybe wash up a bit. After that, they headed back together in the direction of the psychiatric hospital. Matilda had suggested that Cole stays at the hotel. Still, he insisted on accompanying her until the end of that day. She didn't understand what that stubbornness was about, but she didn't make much of an effort to reject it either. In fact, she was so tired that she couldn't possibly put in much effort into anything, really. But she had to go see Samara, even if only for a short time. Since her talk with Cody, she had been quite anxious. She was even more anxious after her not very pleasant meeting with Evelyn. Matilda just wanted to take a look at her, talk to her for a second, and check that she was okay.
Was it normal for her to feel this overprotective of a patient, as Cody had mentioned? Maybe not so much… maybe Cody and Cole were right in saying that she had taken a particular affection for Samara. But… was that so bad?
"It's still a bit early," Matilda pointed out just as they were entering the hospital parking lot. "Maybe Cody is still here."
"You're dying to go and see that everything is okay, right?" Cole commented mockingly, causing the psychiatrist to blush sadly.
"Don't bother me. Samara is my responsibility, after all."
They parked near the entrance. Both of them calmly got out of the vehicle but could not enter the hospital at that time. When both had already closed their respective doors, they saw how the driver's door of a car that was two places from theirs was abruptly opened. From this, a man with brown skin and dark hair began to get off with some difficulty; both he and the two crutches he brought with him. Matilda and Cole stood a few feet from the hospital doors, watching this scene in utter disbelief.
"Oh, it can't be…" Cole exclaimed with unobtrusive annoyance. He recognized the individual immediately, and Matilda too. In fact, it was quite likely that he had been sitting, waiting especially for the two of them.
The man approached them defiantly, even though he leaned on two crutches; apparently, he had learned to handle them better since they last saw him.
"Detective Vazquez, good evening…" Matilda greeted him, still somewhat impressed.
It was the Portland Detective who had been wounded during the Providence Medical Center shooting just days ago and who had definitely not left a good first impression at all. Matilda hoped she would never have to run into him again. But there he was, and from his face, Matilda could tell that he was in the same or even worse mood than last time. How did he know where to find them? He was obviously a much better detective than she thought.
"They told me you weren't here right now," Vazquez murmured dryly, staring directly at the psychiatrist, "but I knew that if I waited long enough, I would surprise you." He said it as if he might have wanted to ambush him… and maybe that was the idea. "Where's Lily Sullivan? Where is the girl, woman, or whatever is the girl that shot me? Tell me right now."
In his voice, there was a great tone of demand that left no room for hesitation.
Before Matilda could answer him, Cole stepped forward to get between them.
"Are you still with that?" The Philadelphia officer questioned him defensively. "We already told you we have no idea."
"Oh, no? Maybe I can refresh your memory, informing you that this woman just killed another officer yesterday at Olympia."
This information surprised both of them so much that they were speechless for a moment.
"Oh my God," Matilda murmured. But not in horror, but rather in frustration as she remembered what happened in that hospital and how she could stop Leena Klammer at that moment.
However, little by little, she managed to get over herself, put the feelings aside for a second, and reason a little more about what he had just heard. Mostly, she concentrated on the place he had mentioned...
Vazquez, for his part, continued.
"He was a decent boy who was just doing his duty. She hanged him in a bathroom and left his body there like garbage."
"Did that happen at Olympia?" Matilda murmured, almost without meaning to.
"Yes, in Olympia," the policeman replied aggressively. "Do you want me to draw a map for you?"
Matilda ignored that answer and instead took a couple of steps away, completely relinquishing control of that conversation to Cole. She did not enter the hospital, nor was that his intention. She just wanted to think a little alone... or as much alone as possible.
Olympia; they had just had breakfast there that morning. Sure, Vazquez said it happened the day before, but finding out about it still made her too nervous all of a sudden.
"And how do you know it was Leena Klammer?" Cole asked skeptically.
"I don't have to explain anything to you," Vazquez answered, facing the man from Philadelphia head-on, with a more threatening attitude. "If you have the slightest idea where she is, you have to tell me right now!
"Well, you are stubborn; we have no idea where that woman is. If I knew, I would tell you; police to police."
"Police to police?" Vazquez suddenly let out a loud, sarcastic laugh. "Do you think I didn't investigate you? Philadelphia PD has many funny stories to tell about the insane Detective of the Dead."
"Oh yeah?" Cole mused; his expression hardened gravely upon hearing such mockery at his expense, "And one of those stories is my rate of solved homicide cases?"
The tension between Vazquez and Cole was mounting, and their discussion seemed to be getting more heated. But Matilda was not entirely aware of what was happening just a few steps from her. She kept thinking about her own topic.
That girl-like woman, the one who had kidnapped Lily Sullivan, was undoubtedly working for her mysterious attacker. Not for nothing had he appeared precisely to defend her and allow her to escape. And now she's headed from Portland to Olympia. That would imply that he was heading north. But what was in the north? Many things, for sure. Maybe she could be was heading to Seattle, or trying to cross the border into Canada... or perhaps something more alarming.
I'm just a messenger, was the only thing she had answered when she asked who she was. If she allowed herself to guess, she would say she had to be a messenger for this guy. But to what end? What did he want Lily Sullivan for? What was to the north...?
Seattle was at north, but so was Silverdale, right where they came from. But further north was...
"You're like them, aren't you?" Vazquez broke in as a fervent accusation. "You use tricks to make everyone believe that you can do things that are not real. But your little games no longer amuse me. We can do this by hook or by crook."
"Are you threatening me?" Cole answered her eagerly. "Because as soon as you leave those crutches, I can please you wherever you want."
"I'll kick your pretty face with everything and crutches, you disrespectful boy."
"Thank you for the pretty face..."
Matilda wondered why her mind was going in that direction as if drawn by a magnet. Further north from Silverdale, you could get to Port Townsend. Once there, you could take the ferry and get to...
And then the idea bombarded her head, and it detonated with a tremendous explosion. She had nothing specific to reach that conclusion, nothing to prove that this was indeed the correct one of all the possible sites north of Olympia. But there was no doubt about it; there was not a small part of her that wanted to stop and question it. For some reason, whether it was her Shining or usual intuition, she knew for sure: that woman was heading for Moesko Island.
"Samara…" She whispered slowly, with a deep sense of apprehension.
When she managed to react, she was so close to the automatic door that they opened abruptly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She then turned back to Cole and Vazquez, who were still arguing. But it was not the two policemen that captured her attention, but a strange sensation above her head. He walked away from the doors, and they closed as they had been opened. Halfway through, she stopped short, looked up at the already almost starry sky, and managed to see, or instead feel, something large collapsing towards them from the roof of the hospital. This put her entirely on alert.
"Watch out!" Matilda exclaimed abruptly and, for mere reflection, raised her hand to the front. Both Cole and Vazquez were suddenly pushed to the side by her telekinesis, landing on the parking lot pavement several feet from where they stood. All of this before what Matilda had seen crashed to the ground right in front of her.
Matilda watched it cross only a few inches from her, and after the impact, she felt her face get splattered, and by mere reflex she closed her eyes. The crash of that against the concrete was hard, like something breaking, but accompanied by a grotesque wet sound as if it were a paste of mash or sauce.
Cole and Vazquez, stunned by the sudden change, began to recover little by little, being the Portland Detective the one who had the most trouble getting up. They both turned at the same time in Matilda's direction, just to see what she had protected them from. Their expressions were filled with great confusion... but also horror.
"What the hell….? Matilda heard Cole say, apparently unable to finish his sentence.
The brunette forced herself to open her eyes and face that. She didn't have to look long before the same sentiment that had harbored the two officers rubbed off on her. A white coat covered the large body, which now rested in a pool of blood and tissue. His neck had been twisted at an obscene angle, and his legs and arms were sprawled out without any sense. The face, or what was left of it because near the middle of its right side had been deformed in an almost unrecognizable way after the impact, was turned right towards Matilda. And that single dark eye that was left intact seemed to still be looking at her through the broken glasses as if he were just lying there.
Matilda brought a hand to her mouth to keep from screaming. She breathed hard, trying to calm herself. She couldn't take her eyes off him, as if she hoped that the more she saw it, the more sense would find that abstract and horrible figure that only a few seconds ago was a person.
"Oh, my God," she exclaimed with a lump catching in her throat. "Dr. Scott..."
She could barely recognize him, but it was him. He had jumped off the roof; it was the only way he could have done such damage. But why? And why right at that moment?
She froze in place, so disconnected that she didn't feel vivid when Cole approached her, scooped her up in his arms, and turned her away from the body. She didn't resist, and a part of her actually thanked him silently. She didn't even try to pull away from him and stayed with her cheek against his chest in a childish attempt to feel safe.
Vazquez approached cautiously, standing to one side of the body and looking at it in absolute perplexity. Right at that moment, and as if it were a consequence of what they had just seen, the three of them listened abruptly to the hospital fire alarms, beginning to sound with strident force. These were like bells ringing one after another, completely destroying that fragile silence that enveloped them. The three turned at the same time towards the doors of the hospital. From the inside, they could only hear the alarms... and nothing more...
"What's going on?" Vazquez questioned, but none of them had an answer to give him.
* * * *
Roberta's mother came by for just a few minutes before her session ended. It had been a good talk, and by the end, the girl had become more comfortable; in fact, she didn't even seem to want to leave.
"Until next week, Roberta," Matilda said at the door.
"Thank you very much, Matilda," the little girl greeted her much more enthusiastically, waving one of her gloved hands.
After they were gone, she locked the door and took a second to stretch his arms a bit and try to relax. It was eight o'clock, or maybe a little more. She had no other appointments for that day, so she would retire to her apartment to rest. As she walked back to her office to grab her things and turn everything off, she went through everything she would have to do next: buy some dinner, work on notes from the sessions she had that day, maybe talk to her mother…
Halfway to her desk, she suddenly felt a strange stabbing pain in her stomach, which made her paralyze and double over herself. She brought her hands to the center of her abdomen and pressed it with some force. It was quite strange; it had come out of nowhere. And just as the pain came, it vanished, leaving only an annoying burning in its place. What had that been?
She slowly separated her hands from the abdomen, and as she did so, she noticed something strange: her hands looked stained. She turned them around to better look at her palms, and she was stunned by what she saw: they were stained with blood... wholly stained with blood.
Was she hurt? She looked down at her clothes, and it wasn't her abdomen: all of her was covered in bright reddish blood, from head to toe, even forming a puddle on the ground at her feet, and little drops ran down her fingers and fell like rain on your carpet.
"What is this…?" She exclaimed in horror, backing away with awkward steps, falling to the ground as she tripped over her own feet.
As soon as he touched the carpet, the next blink, she was no longer in her office. The world around her became hazy, full of lights and laughs; lots of uproarious laughs bouncing off her head. Abruptly, she felt great anxiety, so much so that she felt her heart race and bounce off her chest, almost causing pain.
Matilda had a cool enough head to close her eyes, breathe slowly, and begin to calm down little by little. The laughs faded until they were gone entirely. When she managed to open her eyes again, she was once again sitting on the rug in her office. The blood was also gone; her hands and clothes were totally flawless... as if nothing had happened.
"What was…?" She murmured under her breath but stopped abruptly. A thought invaded his mind. "Carrie..."
She hurried to a halt and headed for her bag, which was still on the coffee table right where she'd left it. She desperately searched for her phone and quickly scanned the screen; there were no messages or missed calls, but that didn't reassure her. Without waiting long, she unlocked it and went straight to the conversation with Carrie. The last message was hers, and it was marked as read, but there was no reply. In fact, it marked that the last connection had been around the same time that she had sent the messages.
Matilda quickly wrote:
Hi Carrie, how are you?
She sent it and stared at the screen in silence as she walked through the office. Two, three, five minutes passed, and Carrie didn't even connect. The nerves invaded her more and more. She could not resist and immediately sent one more message.
Carrie, are you there?
The result was the same: no response, not even a sign of life.
She took a second to drop into her chair and ponder for a second. She had no reason to suppose that something bad had happened. Maybe she was just having a lot of fun at the dance, and the last thing she thought about was looking at the phone. But… what had that vision been? What did it mean?
She rubbed her face with one hand, thinking hard about what to do. Although, in reality, her entire body was screaming it, and what she was looking for was some excuse that would convince her not to do that. But she didn't get it...
Matilda immediately grabbed her phone, her bag, and her car keys. She almost stampeded out of her office, not even bothering to turn off the lights. She had her destination well decided: Chamberlain, Maine.
END OF CHAPTER 37
Author's Notes:
Things had been relatively peaceful, but in this chapter they abruptly turned on. In the next three, we will conclude what we could name as Carrie's arc and what happened that night in Chamberlain between Matilda and this one. Some facts will be more than known, but others will be new. After that, we will see what we could almost consider as the Season Finale for what this story has been so far and that I don't know how many chapters it will last. Still, it will be really very exciting (I hope).
Thank you for following this story up to this point, and I hope the next chapters are to your liking. See you very soon with more.
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Chapter 36. Fresh Air
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX
Chapter 36. Fresh Air 
Carrie arrived at the public park, where they agreed to meet, around three o'clock. She approached down the cemented path with careful stride or even looked somewhat embarrassed. Matilda hadn't been waiting long for her on that old wooden bench. She had sat there and used her waiting time to simply look at the other people who were hanging out there, as well as get some fresh air and think. 
Chamberlain seemed like a pretty quiet and pleasant place, typical of small towns like that. Very different from Boston, no doubt. But she had quickly gotten used to city life, so she didn't immediately imagine what it would be like to live in a place like this.
But neither Chamberlain nor Boston was what was occupying Matilda's mind at the moment, but the young woman who was slowly approaching her. Or, specifically, the incident they had the other day at the junkyard. She was concerned with what she had seen in Carrie, but also the way she had reacted to it herself.
Matilda could be very bright, but she was still a girl who had just finished school and was a bit of a novice at that job. She had helped the Foundation before with other Shine children, but none like Carrie. She was definitely a case that deserved much of her attention, more than she initially thought. If that had happened to Matilda Honey four years later, she might have found a better way to calm things down. And equally, she would have known what to say that same afternoon in that park...
"Hello, Dr. Honey," Carrie said slowly when she was already in front of her. Matilda only responded by nodding her head slightly. She didn't even think about correcting her about calling her just Matilda. "Are you still mad about the other day?"
Matilda sensed quite a bit of fear in the way Carrie had asked that question. Apparently, what happened affected her as much or more than her. But it was difficult to know exactly what was bothering her: what she had done, or just the possibility of having annoyed the psychiatrist. It was probably the latter, but whatever it was, a vengeful attitude wouldn't help at all.
Matilda sighed slightly and then stepped to the side on the bench to make room for her. Right afterward, she felt the space with one hand to indicate that Carrie should sit down.
"I'm not mad, don't worry," she replied with a half-smile. "It's my fault for not being prepared."
Carrie nodded. She removed her backpack and sat on the bench next to Matilda, placing the bag on her lap and hugging it a little against her.
"How do you feel?" Matilda asked softly.
"Good… but something happened today…" Carrie whispered, her rosy gaze lowered as if she was embarrassed.
"With your mother?"
"No, no," Carrie was quick to reply. She lowered her face again, now her cheeks flushed. "Prom is in two weeks, and a guy invited me to go with him."
Matilda was slightly startled in surprise when she heard her relate this. She restrained herself for a few seconds so as not to overreact without trying.
"Really? That's great, Carrie," she murmured with moderate glee, though Carrie still kept her face down, and she looked apprehensive. "Or is it not?"
Carrie exclaimed a slight groan similar to pain, though perhaps it represented something closer to distress.
"I don't know… He's a cute boy, and he's always been very kind… unlike other people. But, I thought he already had a girlfriend, and even if he didn't... why invite me? I'm not very pretty, and I've never been to an event like that. Besides, my mother would surely go crazy if I hinted at it..."
This latest data didn't surprise Matilda, although it did sadden her a bit. She also did not usually go to proms, games, or similar events when she was studying. However, that had been her own decision, and she knew very well how frustrating it was when someone denies you to do something that you wanted so much. Mostly if it was your parents who did it.
"But do you want to go?" She asked thoughtfully.
Carrie hesitated a bit when answering but then gave a slight nod of her head.
"I didn't know how much until the possibility presented itself. But… I'm scared… What if it's all a bad joke?"
"Do you think that boy could be capable of that?"
"No... Or I don't think so. He is a good boy. But his girlfriend, or who I thought was his girlfriend... was part of..."
Carrie paused, unable to finish her sentence. But with that, Matilda got an idea of ​​what she was trying to say.
"Was it one of the girls who bothered you in the showers?" Carrie nodded again. "Was she who uploaded the video?"
"I don't know… But she had always been nice before that, too."
She then turned to Matilda, looking at her with pleading in her eyes.
"What should I do?"
"I can't decide for you, Carrie," Matilda answered firmly. "You must choose whether or not you want to accept that invitation." Carrie lowered her gaze again; now, she seemed disappointed to hear that answer. "I can only tell you that you shouldn't be afraid to take risks. Life is full of them, and if you break down in front of everyone, you can miss out on seeing many beautiful things."
Carrie turned to look at her again shyly, but also intrigued by everything she said. Matilda smiled gently at her.
"And above all, you must stop allowing your mother to prevent you from enjoying such things. I told you before, but you'll have to learn to fly without her sooner or later. It'll be better for you when you get it done."
Of course, Matilda was speaking from her own experience. Perhaps because of this, she could not be considered entirely objective. However, in Carrie's case, she was convinced that everything would be better if she left that home so overwhelming and toxic to her. Going to dance would not be equivalent to making such a change, but it would be an excellent first step.
Carrie thought about it a bit. Her fingers were rubbing each other nervously on her skirt, and her hair fell over her face, hiding it. After a while of silence, a slight smile of joy crossed her lips. She turned to see her again, transmitting that same feeling.
"I think… I'll accept…" Carrie whispered slowly, somewhat doubtfully, although almost immediately, she took a much more confident stance. "I think I'll go to the prom..."
Matilda smiled at her and nodded in support. In addition to that, she allowed herself to place a hand on her shoulder, giving a couple of comforting slaps. Carrie didn't seem to mind this.
For years to come after that day, Matilda would always regret having encouraged that girl to go to that damn dance...
* * * *
After they left Evelyn's room, Matilda took a second to calm herself and think about what had happened. He sat on a chair in a corridor where the psychiatric hospital's inner garden could be seen through the windows. In fact, there was not very far from her position, a door through which one could get out. The garden was much larger and more beautiful than Eola's. She had read this place was expensive and only received patients' cases in good to moderate condition. And perhaps because of this, they had the luxury of having somewhat more flexible facilities. Maybe that's also why Samara and her adoptive mother were taken to Eola and not there, even though Silverdale was closer.
She assumed in advance that the talk with Evelyn would not be entirely fruitful, but she was not prepared for the turn she had taken so suddenly. And once again, the same thought she had after talking to Anna Morgan came to her. It seems that everyone close to Samara, everyone who was supposed to love and care for her, inevitably turned their backs on her... or something much worse.
"A coffee?" She suddenly heard intoning next to her, making her jump with some surprise. Turning around, she saw Cole holding out a coffee cup with one hand while holding another for him. Had he told her he was going for coffee? If he did, Matilda could not recall hearing him. "I think it's better than the one in the other hospital."
Oddly enough, she wasn't quite in the mood for coffee now, but she accepted it anyway.
"Thank you."
Cole sat down in the chair next to her, and a short time later took a small sip from his own cup. He didn't seem happy or bothered by the taste of it, so the coffee at least shouldn't be bad. Matilda drank some of it too, and it was certainly not bad, but not great either.
"Are you okay?" Cole asked with some curiosity.
"Yes..." The brunette replied in a muffled voice. "It's just that a few days ago, I spoke to Mrs. Morgan, Samara's foster mother, and she also told me that I should kill her." A small gesture of irony escaped her at that moment, perhaps involuntary. "And her father, he wouldn't say it in those words, but I suspect he wouldn't be too sorry if that happened."
"Wow…" Was the sincerest expression of astonishment Cole was able to express.
"You said so." Matilda drank some more coffee before continuing; the second sip was a little better. "What worries me the most is that I don't know what will come for Samara from now on. I must admit that I had a very slight hope that Evelyn would be okay, or at least enough to receive and care for Samara in short to medium term. But that obviously won't be possible in any way. And going back to her adoptive parents seems no longer a very viable option; they probably no longer even want to receive her. And even if they do, I don't know what kind of life they can give her. I feel like she'll always be in danger of being hurt."
She snorted a little and then lowered her head reflectively.
"So," Cole began to pronounce, "if she ever manages to get out of that asylum, what awaits her? Back to the system? Go to an orphanage until she's adopted again?"
"That's if she can digest the truth that she's actually adopted. And those who were her parents for twelve years don't even want to see her anymore. And of course, if she doesn't find out that her adoptive mother is alive, mentally unstable, and wants her dead too."
"That's screwed up," the officer murmured quite casually.
"All of that will tear her apart, potentially causing a tremendous setback in her treatment. Besides, she is too old; do you know the chances she has that someone will want to adopt her? Especially with her track record."
"Not many."
"Exactly. And like the icing on the cake, even if we managed to find a family that would accept and adopt her, her ability is so unstable and dangerous that not just anyone could give her the care she requires. In conclusion, yes, everything is screwed up; wildly, very screwed up..."
Cole seemed surprised to hear her, so correct and neat, speak like that. That could only be a relative sample of the incredible frustration she felt at the time.
Matilda tipped her head back until it was flat against the wall behind them. She closed her eyes and began to run her hand over her face, rubbing it as if trying to relieve some pain. What would be Samara's future had already been a matter of consideration for her since that not pleasant conversation with Mrs. Morgan. But, apparently, she had forced herself to put the subject aside and not give it due importance until now. Only after talking to Evelyn did she become aware of how lonely that little girl really was.
"What am I going to do now?" She murmured slowly. "Seriously, I have no idea. I would accept any suggestions..."
Cole sighed a little and drank from his glass as he looked out the windows onto the patio. Just two or three patients were walking outside, each escorted and watched by a male nurse. There were four steel benches in the center of that green area, each with its back to the others forming a square, and having in the center, a small orange tree still growing. All four benches were empty at the time.
"Maybe you could adopt her," Cole suggested suddenly, taking his companion entirely off guard. Matilda opened her eyes again and turned to look at him in surprise.
"What?"
"Yes, why not?" The detective murmured, shrugging. "As Cody put it too, it's evident that you've grown fond of her. You care about her, and you went through something similar as a child, didn't you? Your foster mother welcomed you when you needed it most."
The surprise in Matilda's eyes grew even more prominent, bordering on discomfort. Her entire expression questioned him, without the need to use words: "How do you know about that too?" Cole noticed that and smiled a little nervously at her.
"I'm sorry, it's part of what I found out about you before I came here. But I guess it wasn't a secret, was it? Everyone knows you were adopted... although perhaps not precisely under what circumstances it happened."
Matilda could certainly not say that this was a secret, but she was a bit surprised that someone she had just met knew that piece of her story. 
But, it was true; Jennifer Honey had welcomed her with open arms at the exact moment she needed her. Despite the suddenness of the request, not even leaving her much time to question herself if it was a good idea. If she hadn't, if she hadn't accepted her back then... what would have become of her? If she had stayed with her parents, and if she had run away with them that afternoon, she would definitely not be anywhere near the person she was at that time.
She knew in advance that everything she had achieved in her life from the age of six and a half, she undoubtedly owed it to Jennifer Honey. Although not many times had she pondered how difficult it must have been for her to make that one-minute decision.
But Matilda was not Ms. Honey. And her situation back then, although similar in some aspects, was totally different from what Samara lived right now.
"Adopt her?" She whispered slowly, as if hoping that pronouncing the idea in words would give it some kind of clarity, but it didn't. She started to shake her head quickly, tensing a little. "No, no, that wouldn't make sense. I'm not suitable for being a mother; I'm not ready for that."
"And your mother was ready back then?" Cole questioned, almost accusatory. "Also, you said it yourself, she is an old girl with a Shining that is quite difficult to control. There will be no way she'll find another family that can take proper care of her."
"Maybe, but... to say it would be unprofessional would be an understatement. It's absurd..."
Matilda crossed her arms apprehensively and turned away, almost as if offended… But in reality, it was not.
"Right, it was just an idea," Cole pointed out, shrugging. "Pretend I didn't say anything."
They were both silent, and almost at the same time, each took a sip from their respective glass of coffee. Matilda also glanced at the vents overlooking the garden, pondering deeply and rapidly on the possibilities.
"Although you are right," Matilda suddenly muttered after several seconds of silence, almost taking Cole by surprise. She spoke, staring straight ahead as if she wasn't really talking to him. "It'll be impossible to find someone who can take care of her better than I can. After all, it's my job to treat kids like her. And I have the entire Foundation to support me. And she likes me, right?"
She turned quickly to Cole for reassurance, although the officer hadn't actually interacted with Samara long enough to answer that question with absolute confidence.
"I think so," was all he allowed himself to say, but for Matilda, it was enough.
A curious trace of emotion, almost innocent, glimmered in the psychiatrist's eyes.
"It could work. I know all the latest about parenting, I earn pretty well, and I have a huge collection of books that any child would enjoy."
"Not any child," Cole whispered slowly, almost through his teeth, though Matilda still didn't hear him.
The brunette's emotion subsided a bit, and she was able to go on to review other aspects.
"But I'm hardly in my department, actually. I spend much of my time working in my office or traveling for the Foundation business, so I couldn't always care for her." She tilted her head to her left, searching for the logical side of her brain to give her some idea. "I suppose I could move back to Arcadia with my mother. She and her partner could give me a hand when I'm out. She has always been very good with children and has always wanted me to return there." Again the illusion rose but abruptly fell as if it were a roller coaster. "But what if something happens while I'm not there, and she ends up hurt?"
"Samara or your mother?" Cole asked, curious.
"Both..."
Matilda leaned her body forward a little and meditated a few more coldly. Samara's abilities were too powerful and too uncontrollable. It was challenging to give her the independence that a girl her age requires and deserves in those moments. At least in the first years, she would occupy constant care and vigilance before gradually releasing her to the world. That, if one day, they could really aspire to do that.
Was she qualified to give her all the attention that she required? And if she wasn't... who really could?
She sighed heavily and closed her eyes, drawing an expression on her face, similar to what she would do if she felt a stabbing pain in her stomach. And, in part, it was.
"No, it's too much responsibility," Matilda whispered softly. "Eleven told me that I must stop taking all these cases personally or believe that I have to solve them all. How happened with..."
She fell suddenly silent when she realized what was about to say. There was nothing really wrong with it, but feeling that thought coming to her, and just then… it made her stabbing pain more acute.
Cole looked at her curiously, as if waiting for her to finish the sentence. She didn't, but Cole didn't need it to understand her.
"How happened with Carrie White?" He asked in a serious voice.
Matilda was silent for a few seconds, and then she nodded her head slightly.
"How happened with Carrie White…" she repeated absently, almost automatically.
They were both silent again; neither seemed to want to say anything else. They had gone back to the beginning of the problem, and that only made Dr. Honey feel even more frustrated.
Cole glanced at her; she looked even more serious and concerned than before, and she was staring at the ground absently. In a way, she even looked somewhat vulnerable in those moments, perhaps even scared and confused. Like a real person, and less like the perfect ice girl everyone at the Foundation described.
The officer finished his coffee, and just after taking the last drink, he allowed himself the audacity to extend a hand towards Matilda and run it through her hair with some speed, tousling it a little. Matilda jumped in confusion at this almost childish act and quickly waved her hands away from her. Cole laughed amusedly while she looked at him with a hard, annoyed look. The officer's reply was simply to shrug his shoulders with a mocking gesture. Matilda stared at him, even more annoyed for a while, and then turned slightly away. However, even though she tried to hide it, Cole could tell that she was holding back not to laugh as well. That was more than enough for him.
His mother sometimes did things like that to cheer him up when he was too serious. Something spontaneous and random, like ruffling it, yelling, or speeding the grocery cart through the parking lot.
"Don't worry, Doctor," the officer murmured, giving her a little pat on the arm. "We'll see the best way to help this girl, I promise you. I haven't given up yet, have you?"
Matilda smiled slightly and then shook her head.
"Matilda," she muttered suddenly, taking the detective a bit by surprise. She turned to see him again, and to his surprise, she looked much more animated. "You can call me Matilda, Cole." His name seemed a bit difficult to pronounce, but in the end, she did. "I'm sorry for how I've behaved these days. But you're not as a nuisance as you seem." That last one was even jokingly mentioned.
Cole was a little taken aback by this sudden change and couldn't react quickly. When he managed to do so, the same affectionate smile returned.
"Neither you, Matilda," he answered wryly.
The psychiatrist patted her cheeks a few times with both hands as if trying to wake herself up and then sat upright in her seat. She seemed, apparently, much calmer.
"I'm sorry you couldn't get what you wanted from Evelyn," she commented. "Maybe when she calms down, we can try talking to her again."
"No, don't worry," the detective answered quickly. "I think we've disturbed her enough already. You were also right; I think he isn't aware of what she knows or does not know. It doesn't seem like we can get anything useful out of it."
Matilda stared at him somewhat skeptically. Was he joking? After all the insistence that they go there, mostly to talk to her? Cole sensed that sentiment emanating from her accusing gaze. Still, his only reaction was to shrug, perhaps a little nervous again.
"Are you sure?" She asked suspiciously.
"Completely."
Matilda shrugged, somewhat resigned.
"Okay. So, will you keep your word, and now you'll support me to do things my way?"
"A deal is a deal."
"I'll remind you that, don't hesitate," Matilda pointed out, again with a bit of humor. She then started going through her bag to get her phone out and check the time. "We can get something to eat before we hit the road to Salem. What do you say?"
"Sounds good," he replied cheerfully.
At that moment, he turned his gaze back to the window. Through it, he looked again toward the courtyard, toward the center of it, and at the four benches that were around that young orange tree. A moment ago, all four of them were empty. However, there was now a person sitting on the bench facing the building. He was a man with little dark brown hair and a stern face, dressed in a long brown coat. He was sitting with one arm on the back of the bench, staring straight out the window with a modest smile. But apparently, he wasn't just looking out the window: he was looking directly at him. The man nodded his head and raised a hand in greeting, showing that he had realized that he had also looked at him.
This did not confuse or scare Cole, as he actually recognized him almost immediately. He knew exactly who that person was… if he could still be called as such.
"But before we go, can you wait just a minute for me?" He commented to Matilda, trying to sound as natural as possible.
"For what?" She asked him, a little surprised.
"I won't be long."
Before Matilda could question him further, he stood up, walked to the door that led to the patio, and out of it.
He approached with a calm step towards the bench. The man sitting on it watched him, patiently waiting for him to get close enough. The detective stood right in front and watched him, with the joy with which one would see an old friend, but also with the apprehension that he would feel at the imminent arrival of the bad news.
"Dr. Crowe," Cole murmured by way of greeting.
"Detective Sear," the seated man replied, nodding his head. "You look good."
"You too, to be dead," he commented in a mocking tone, which seemed to cause the seated man, not an annoyance but also a certain degree of humor.
Dr. Malcolm Crowe, a child psychologist, was an old friend from Cole's childhood. He knew him when more than ever, he was being haunted by his ghosts, literally. Back then, he was his primary motivation to lose their fear and start using his abilities to help people, alive and dead. His guidance and advice helped him a lot, even though he was already a ghost when they met. Although, like many he had met up to that point, Dr. Crowe was unaware of his condition. Since then, he returned to appear before him from time to time, although it was never just to say hello.   
Cole sat on the bench next to him and looked thoughtfully toward the building. He couldn't see Matilda from his position, but he wondered if she could see him. And if she did, what was she thinking he was doing?
"I saw my mother a few days ago," Cole whispered thoughtfully. "I hadn't seen her in six years, and she suddenly appeared to give me a warning. Did you come for that too?"
"Do you want me to do that?" Malcolm replied enigmatically. He was also looking up at the building. "She is a pretty girl."
Cole didn't have to ask who he was talking about; he immediately guessed he was referring to Matilda.
"I think so."
The doctor leaned completely against the bench and crossed his legs.
"You like her, right?"
"Don't start with that," the detective murmured, accompanied with a tiny nervous laugh. "I hardly know her, and she doesn't even like me very much."
"I think that's changing. Anna didn't like me much when we first met, either. But she changed her mind."
"I think she would like you."
"Maybe."
There was a short pause in which they were both silent, just staring straight ahead, lost in their own thoughts.
"You haven't been honest with her," Malcolm pointed out suddenly, almost like a scolding. "Even a moment ago. You said you wouldn't get anything from that woman. But not only did you get something: you are even more confident of your suspicion, aren't you? Maybe even you already confirmed it."
Cole didn't reply immediately. Indeed, everything was just as Dr. Crowe had said. That conversation with Evelyn revealed a lot more to him than Matilda thought. But he couldn't share it, or at least not yet.  
"She already thinks I'm crazy for telling her that I talk with dead people. If I told her what I think is really going on with that girl…" He was silent, as if afraid to speak his ideas out loud. "Besides, she loves Samara very much. Nothing I try to say against her, she will take it well."
"Still, you promised that you'd find the best way to help her when you don't really feel that there is such a way, do you?"
"I think I got carried away with the moment," Cole said sadly. "I just wanted to cheer her up... But maybe I shouldn't have..."
Cole sighed, exhausted, and undoubtedly worried. He had been acting pretty calm and confident ever since he came to that side of the country. Still, the truth was that he had almost terrified himself as he got deeper and deeper into this case. And right now, Matilda wasn't the only one with no idea what to do next. Perhaps it would be best to talk to Eleven about it, but it would be until Matilda wasn't around to hear it.
"My mother said that if I continued in this case, my life and Matilda's would be in danger." He turned to Malcolm, seeking a bit of clarification. "Is it true?"
"I don't know," he answered in a solemn voice. "It doesn't work that way, you know. But I think you actually got involved in something really dangerous, Cole. And there's no way I'm going to convince you to back down, right?"
"You can try," Cole sneered, causing the doctor to smile in amusement. "But I think not. I have learned to commit to my cases to the end."
"That makes you a great cop. I'll be around in case you need help with something."
"Thank you. But I hope we don't get to that."
At that moment, Cole noticed that Matilda was leaving the building, and now she was walking towards them. He thought that she had indeed been surprised to see him sitting there, apparently alone. And when she was close enough, he could tell that she was looking at him with some confusion.
"What are you doing here, exactly?" She asked suspiciously.
"I just went out to get some fresh air and think."
Matilda stared at him, somewhat incredulous.
"And have you had enough air? Or can we go and eat now?"
"You invite?"
"Don't push. Come on."
The psychiatrist turned on her feet and was about to go back inside. Cole stood up and was still ready to follow her.
"Cole," Dr. Crowe called from the bench. Then he stopped for a second toward him. "Good luck."
The way he had said it did not please him too much. He didn't sound very optimistic or wishful; it sounded, indeed, more like a grim warning. Cole only nodded his head in response, and without saying anything else, he hurried to catch up with his companion.
When he turned to the bench one last time at the door, Dr. Crowe would no longer be there. But it wouldn't be the last time he saw him during that little adventure he had gotten himself into.
— — — —
John Scott arrived at the hospital a little late that morning. He did not say hello to anyone; he just headed straight for his office with a fairly calm gait. His large size and lost gaze seemed almost to resemble the step of the Frankenstein monster advancing through the hospital corridors or at least more than one of those he crossed thought so. Those days he had spent going to the hospital practically when he felt like it. And, when he did, he would lock himself in his office and hardly speak to anyone.
He wasn't right, and everyone knew it except him... or maybe he knew it too.
That morning, after closing the door of his office behind him, all that spectral calm that accompanied him in the hall was gradually diluted. He didn't sit at his desk. Instead, he walked from one side to the other, around the desk, standing in front of the window without looking at anything in particular, and also passing his eyes over the books on the bookshelf, without taking any of them because he didn't really need it.
The wound on his hand ached, and yet he couldn't help the involuntary reflex to touch it, squeeze it between his fingers, and poke it over the bandage until it gradually turned reddish. It was as if he hoped that pain would somehow make him wake up from the lethargy he had fallen into. Because, indeed, that's how he felt: as if he were asleep, or at least about to wake up but not succeeding.
And the thirst... the devilish thirst that did not subside. He drank water all day without stopping, and it just wouldn't go away. And above all, it seemed to be accompanied by turbulent, and even disgusting, images about the ways he could resort to satiate it. Worryingly, the idea of inserting a piece of porcelain into one of his patients' neck to drink his blood like a fountain was not the worst of all.
His stoic countenance was slowly crumbling, and the steps he took through the small space of the office became more desperate as if he were a caged lion looking for some way out. Every time he passed the desk, he hit it with his fist, which of his injured hand, with increasing force. Until one of those was so strong that he felt tremendous pain in his fingers, which then went up to his entire arm. He groaned loudly and grabbed his sore arm. He looked at his hand and noticed that the bandage was soaked, and his knuckles had been scraped considerably.
His breath hitched, and his entire face flushed red. His mouth made a grotesque expression of despair. He began to slap his hand repeatedly against the desk, accompanied by a painful groan. Over and over, he slammed his fist against the hard surface, spreading his knuckles and breaking bones. When his hand no longer responded, he took hold of the wrist with the other, only to keep smashing it more and more. The desk had been dented, and it was completely red with his blood. His hand was also bathed in red, and his fingers were already crooked and shapeless at that time.
He stopped and fell to his knees on the floor, then collapsed entirely on it. It hadn't been the excruciating pain that had made him stop, but mere exhaustion. He lay there on his left side, breathing as if each inhalation made him suffer. He was totally lost ... he no longer felt like himself at all...
Then he felt the light footsteps of someone around him. But that was impossible; the door hadn't even been opened. He tried to look, but he was so exhausted that he could barely move his eyes. The only thing he could see at first was the white fabric of a long dress, which was dragging on the office carpet as it walked around, slow, very slow. That white figure seemed almost to glow, which from his blurred perspective seemed beautiful.
The stranger stood right in front of him and squatted down. Scott managed to lift his face just a little. And then, amid all that whiteness that enveloped it, he saw a very long hair black as night, falling like a waterfall, covering it completely. It was the small figure… of a girl… And among all those long black hair, he felt that he had seen her before.
"Sa... mara...?" He muttered weakly, though perhaps he hadn't really been strong enough and just thought he had said it.
That being tilted its face slightly to one side, and its hair fell in that direction. And it was then that part of her face was exposed, including her right eye, wholly gray and absent of any trace of life, adorning a horrendous face, dislocated... and dead.
Scott breathed more heavily and tried to scream. However, he didn't have the strength even for that. The thirst had become immobilizing...
END OF CHAPTER 36
Author's Notes:
—The character of Malcolm Crowe is based on the character of the same name in the movie Sixth Sense (1999), respecting the original film's events until the final moment of it.
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Chapter 35. He's Still Looking For Her
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Shining among Darkness
By WingzemonX
Chapter 35. He's Still Looking For Her 
One day, with two hours left before Carrie's mother, got home from work, Matilda and Carrie jumped into the psychiatrist's car and took a short trip outside Chamberlain. Their unusual destination was an old and lonely junkyard on the road, five minutes from the last house. All the way, Carrie stared out from the passenger window with fright at the thought of heading somewhere other than her home. Though perhaps, it was also accompanied by a particular almost childish emotion.
They parked the vehicle right outside the property and simply walked inside. There was no gate, no dogs, and no watchman; in fact, there were no people nearby for a couple of kilometers. It was the right place for what Matilda was planning; Lucy, the Foundation's tracker, had done her a favor by finding it.
The site was filled with mostly old car bodies, stacked up like the bricks of some wall. As they walked through that place, Carrie looked around, a little confused and curious.
"What are we doing here?" The young girl questioned after a few seconds. Matilda smiled in amusement at the thought that it took a long time for her to ask.
"I just want us to practice your skills a bit," Matilda replied with a small conspiratorial tone. "There is no one here to bother us, so we can act more freely. You would like that, right?"
Carrie looked at her somewhat puzzled but certainly very interested.
"Practice how?"
"For example, what is the heaviest thing you have lifted with your telekinesis?"
The girl thought for a few moments before answering.
"Your office desk, I think... or maybe a sofa."
They continued on for a while longer, until Matilda stopped short, seeing the ideal target right before them. A satisfied smile touched her lips.
"Would you like to try something bigger?" She asked in an almost mischievous tone and pointed ahead with her gaze.
Carrie looked in that direction and immediately detected what she meant. In front of them was an old school bus. The yellow of its original paint was still vaguely distinguishable among all the rust on its body. But other than that, the bus really did look whole. It had all four of its tires, doors, apparently almost every seat, and only two of its windows were broken.
"A bus?" Carrie exclaimed, surprised. "It's too big, isn't it?"
"When your skills are at their peak, the physical weight of objects becomes irrelevant," Matilda pointed out in a solemn voice.
The brunette then placed her bag on the ground and took a couple of steps forward. She focused her gaze fixedly on that great vehicle and tensed her hands a little at the sides of her body. She breathed in slowly, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. The image Eleven had taught her many years ago was drawn in her mind: her kitchen stove, with one of its burners on low flame, and her hand slowly opening the knob so that the flame grew just enough. When she was ready, she entirely focused on her goal, and the bus began to rise slowly and easily off the ground, like a simple feather blown by the wind. Carrie looked at this dumbfounded. 
"With the proper concentration, there is no limit to what you can do," Matilda murmured as she continued to lift the vehicle several feet above them. She left it there for a few seconds and then lowered it again with care, placing it in the same place where it was initially. She sighed, trying to ease the effort and let her body loosen a bit. "Do you want to try?"
"Do you think I can?" The young woman questioned, somewhat unsure.
"We'll have to try."
Matilda stepped back and gave the stage to her companion. Carrie removed her backpack and set it on the floor as well. She took a few steps forward, looking with some fear at the bus in front of her. She was a little scared, yes… but was also excited to find out how far she could go; that was quite evident just by looking at her eyes.
"Look at it, focus on it," Matilda whispered behind her. "Breathe slowly." Carrie began to do just what she was told without taking her eyes off the bus. "Inhale, exhale... slowly... Feel the airflow through your body... Now, focus, try to lift it..."
Carrie instinctively extended both of her hands to the front, pointing at the objective. Nothing happened for the first few seconds, but shortly after that, the vehicle shook slightly, causing a sound of metal hitting metal, and then slowly began to rise. The tires were separated from the ground, and the entire structure began to float like a balloon.
The young blonde smiled broadly, lighting her face with fervent joy at what she was doing.
"Okay, you're doing fine," Matilda commented proudly.
"I can't believe it…" was the only thing Carrie could answer, as she was in awe of what she was accomplishing.
The truck hovered in the air above them, and there it remained a few moments. Carrie had raised her hands to it as he climbed up. She had done well for her first try; better than Luke Skywalker, Matilda thought for a second, feeling a bit embarrassed at having made that reference in her head. However, in a way, perhaps it was inevitable.
A loud crack abruptly brought Matilda out of her thoughts. She looked at the bus strangely. She didn't see it at first, but as more of those creaks kept coming, she realized what was causing them. It was the body of the bus, bending inward as the entire structure of the vehicle seemed to begin to contract into itself as if it were rubber, and someone began to crush it little by little between their fingers.
Matilda quickly lowered her gaze to Carrie. Her fingers were tense and trembled slightly. She was staring at the bus, but the expression on her face had changed entirely. She no longer looked amazed or surprised; instead, she looked almost… excited, but not in a way that conveyed calm to her.
"Carrie?" She murmured slowly, but the girl didn't answer her. The bus's windows began to shatter from the pressure, and pieces of glass fell like snow towards them, so Matilda had to back up a bit; Carrie didn't even move. "Carrie, put it down..."
"No, not yet," the young girl answered in an absent voice, and abruptly the truck began to contract further, to bend and tear.
The feeling that accompanied that act was not one of curiosity or exploration, but one of absolute violence… It was as if Carrie enjoyed destroying it, squeezing it as if she were doing it between her own fingers and watching the metal twist. Matilda suddenly felt somewhat frightened. She wasn't able to know what was going through her mind while she was doing this, but she had some ideas...
My mother says that God punishes all the sinners and wicked, and protects His faithful. I've always tried to be faithful, but I have never felt protected by Him or by anyone. And I have never felt that He punish those who hurt me.
And as much as I have prayed to God to exercise justice for me, to make all His fury fall on them, nothing happens... 
They have mistreated me all my life. Wouldn't it be fair for once to return it to them?
"Carrie," Matilda said forcefully, grabbing the girl's shoulders and shaking her a little, but she didn't answer her. Carrie looked totally lost in the destruction she was wreaking over their heads. "Carrie! Stop!"
Matilda herself looked up at the bus, and using her own telekinesis, pulled it hard to the ground abruptly. The great steel structure fell like a rock in front of them, creating a loud crash and kicking up a light layer of dust.
Carrie was startled, surprised by the sudden change, and they both recoiled in reflex. Once the shock passed, the young blonde turned to Matilda, noticeably furious.
"Why did you do that?!" She yelled at her angrily, like Matilda had never seen her before. "I was doing it… feeling it… It had never felt so good before!"
Until that moment, Matilda had never seen her like this. Her shy, introverted personality seemed to have faded for a few moments. Now, she seemed totally beside herself, intoxicated by a myriad of sensations that washed over her entire body like adrenaline.
"You must not use your abilities that way," Matilda replied, almost as a reprimand.
"Why not?!" Carrie yelled at her again in the same way as before. "Why shouldn't I do whatever I want with my powers?!"
As she exclaimed that last, Matilda could feel how several of the vehicles stacked around her shook as if a mighty wind had hit them. Still, Matilda knew that it had not been such a thing.
She stared at her in silence. That angry face, resentment, and anger… that was what Carrie hid under her submissive and quiet air: latent rage about to explode…
Matilda had seen some of it since that afternoon at the cafe, but she hadn't been able to perceive how intense it was. But she must have seen it before.
"It was a mistake to come here," was her blunt reply, and she immediately took her bag and, without saying anything, began to walk to the exit. Carrie startled in confusion, watching her walk away.
"What?" Exclaimed the young girl. "Where are you going? I'm Sorry. Wait, please..."
Carrie picked up her bag and hurried to catch up with her.
* * * *
After finishing their breakfast at Denny's, and Cody being picked up, Matilda and Cole headed to the rental car to set off for Silverdale themselves. About two hours' drive awaited them, so they'd better get going as soon as possible. However, Matilda looked somewhat uncomfortable, and not precisely because of the journey they had to make. When they were halfway to her vehicle, she glanced over her shoulder, still expecting to see Cody's vehicle driving away. But there was no sign of it.
"I've never seen him like this," she suddenly murmured, almost unintentionally.
"Like what?" Cole asked curiously.
"I don't know, so… irked. All the time I've dealt with him, I've always seen him quite calm."
"Well, even the calmest of us can have bad days. Or several…" They both reached the vehicle, and each stopped at one of the doors; Matilda in the driver's, and Cole in the passenger's. Before entering, Cole looked at her above the roof of the car, intrigued. "Didn't you know he had a girlfriend?"
Matilda looked away, a little embarrassed.
"We haven't talked in a while. Besides, we're not exactly that kind of friends..."
"What kind of friends are you then?"
Matilda pursed her lips a little in annoyance, not so much because of the question, but because of its possible answer. The uncomfortable truth was that her relationship with Cody, and with virtually everyone at the Foundation, was basically professional. They helped her in her labors, she helped them in theirs, and little more than that. She didn't know much about anyone's private lives, including Cody. The only exception might be Eleven, as she knew her family, her husband, and her children in person. However, she didn't really know much about them either.
Maybe the word "friends" didn't quite apply in that situation.
At what point did her studies and work become so absorbing as to get to that situation? As a child, she had several friends with whom she played and had fun; what happened to them? Had she slowly pushed everybody aside to concentrate on other things? Or had each of them ended up telling her something that she didn't like, like Eleven did, and had she gotten mad at everyone?"
Thinking about it all affected her, but she couldn't and shouldn't get carried away by that right now. She had to focus on what she would have to do in Silverdale.
"That doesn't matter," Matilda answered thoughtfully, opening the car door. "Come on, we'll be late."
"I'm following you, boss."
They both got into the vehicle and sat down. Matilda put the keys in the ignition but didn't turn it. Instead, she turned to look directly at Cole with some sternness.
"We must make the rules clear," she stated firmly. "The doctor I spoke with told me that Evelyn is lucid, expresses herself clearly, and can answer questions. But she tends to ramble and often dissociates about where or when she is. We'll have to proceed very carefully in our conversation, so let me lead. Okay?"
"Whatever you say, bo..." Matilda looked at him even harder, anticipating that he would call her "boss" once more. "I mean, whatever you say, Dr. Honey."
Matilda sighed heavily and immediately started the vehicle. The engine thundered loudly.
"I hope we really get something out of this."
"You seem quite reluctant to talk to this woman," Cole pointed out as an observation. "Are you afraid of what she might say?"
Matilda just silently glanced at him, started driving out of the parking lot, and shortly after onto the highway.
— — — —
That seemed to be a good day for Evelyn, the mysterious patient at Silverdale Psychiatric Hospital. The girl almost always spent it in her room, somewhat isolated, and focused on her personal projects. That morning, however, she asked to go out into the garden for a few moments, sit on a bench, and look at the trees and the sky. She didn't do much more than that. She didn't speak to anyone nor walk around. She just sat there, alone and silent, with an unusually cheerful smile on her face.
Around noon, she asked to go back to her room, and there she spent the following hours entertained in her project. This project was basically about cutting out newspaper articles and photos, recently and old ones, and sticking them in one of the many albums she collected. Her room was filled with newspapers stacked on the corners, many from different Washington cities, but some even from other states. Every time a nurse put their hands on some unusual newspaper, they gave it to Evelyn before throwing it away. Then, she took it to see if she found something interested; she rarely said no.
Evelyn spent her days going through a newspaper to other, article by article, choosing the ones that interested her the most, cutting it out and pasting it in her album. She also pasted them in an unusual order; it did not appear chronological or subject matter. It seemed to be something that only made sense to her.
Many of the patients at that institution had their oddities and obsessions. What Evelyn did fit more into the classification of a hobby; one very important to her, but without falling into either of the other two categories. It seemed to relax her and keep her calm, and the doctors didn't think it could do her any harm, so they let her.
Not much was known about her, except for a few minor facts. She had been in that hospital for twelve years, had given birth to a girl whom she tried to drown. And before that, practically nothing. She hadn't talked much about who she was or where she came from in all the time she'd been there, except for a few little clues that the doctors hadn't entirely understood. All of this was not really so unusual. There were at least two other cases at that site for which much of their identity was unknown, but the State took care of them.
The most unusual thing on Evelyn, leaving aside her curious hobby, were some comments she sometimes made. About events that happened a long time ago right there in the hospital, in the women's shelter from which she came, or that they did not occur as she remembered. Sometimes, she also mentioned things that were about to happen, and of which she was only correct half the time. It was as if her mind was wandering between several ideas at the same time.
But she was not an aggressive patient, quite the opposite. She was always calm and cooperative, which was why she was a favorite of the staff. So much so that she was one of the few that had certain special amenities. Besides all the newspapers and albums, she was one of the few that was allowed to have scissors in her room for her clippings, plus a little old television.
Just before 2 PM, while she was sitting at her small desk clipping and humming, the door to the room opened, and a large, shaved-headed male nurse came in carrying a tray of food.
"Good afternoon, Evelyn," the nurse greeted her. "I brought you your lunch."
The man came in and placed the tray on a small table next to her bed.
"Thank you, Sully," the young woman thanked him, without taking her eyes off the article she was clipping.
Nurse Sully approached her desk carefully, leaning over the young woman's shoulder to look at what she was doing.
Evelyn was a pretty girl, although the years she'd been there had undoubtedly made her run down a bit. She was slim, with two large light blue eyes, long and curly straw-brown hair, somewhat misaligned; many times, she let it fall on her face, and this did not seem to matter to her. Like her other personal information, her exact age was unknown. Still, possibly it was not more than thirty years old, because when she arrived at that shelter twelve years ago, she was just a young girl who did not appear to be more than sixteen or seventeen.
"You look very active today," Sully pointed out. "It's good that you have a hobby."
Evelyn didn't answer him. She finished cutting the article and quickly moved on to placing it in her album, leaving three pages empty before finding the right place. All this while she continued whispering slowly that strange song, but apparently she liked it so much. Sully prepared to retire and go about his business. He started for the door when Evelyn spoke to him again.
"I'll have visitors today," she commented suddenly. The nurse stopped and turned to see her, a little surprised.
"Seriously? How do you know?"
Evelyn took a few seconds to finish perfectly arranging the clipping on the album before answering.
"I just feel it," she murmured slowly. "Can you pass them here as soon as they arrive?"
Sully snorted wryly, though he tried to be discreet.
"Sure, I'll do it," he replied, trying not to sound too sarcastic.
"Thank you."
Sully withdrew, closing the door behind him. He didn't want to tease her; he was not that kind of person. But the truth is that it was unlikely that she would receive any visitors, not that day or ever. No one knew who she was, and therefore no one knew if she had family or friends outside of that place. But it was nice to see her have that kind of hope. He hoped she wouldn't be too disappointed if things didn't turn out the way she expected.
When Sully finished making his rounds, he headed to the reception area to greet Maria, one of the security guards whose shift began at two o'clock.
"Hi, Sully," the woman greeted him from behind the visitor registration bar.
"What's up, Maria?" The male nurse greeted her enthusiastically, leaning on the bar. "Guess who just made another prediction."
Maria turned to see him curiously.
"Evelyn?" She asked uncertainty, to which Sully nodded slowly. Maria gave a small amused laugh. "Now, what did she say?"
"Nothing huge this time. She only said that today she'll receive visitors."
"Seriously?" The guard inquired, arching her left eyebrow in disbelief. "If no one has come to see her in… how many years?"
"I don't know. But hey, from all the patients here..."
Sully had no chance to finish what he was going to say because, at that moment, a man and a woman approached the registration area. The nurse stepped aside to give them free space, and the two of them stood in front of Maria, who looked at them carefully, waiting for them to announce what they wanted. The visiting woman was the one who stepped forward to speak first.
"Good afternoon," the short-haired brown woman said. "I'm Dr. Matilda Honey; he is my colleague, Detective Cole Sear. We came to see a patient admitted here named Evelyn; no last name as I understand it."
Both Sully and Maria were shocked when they heard that, and they looked at each other as if they were wondering each other with their glances if they had listened to the same thing; indeed, it seemed so. The two visitors looked at this strangely.
"Everything is fine? The blonde man questioned, forcing them to react.
"No, nothing," Maria answered hastily. "Did you said Evelyn...?"
"Yes," replied the brown-haired woman. "I spoke two days ago with Doctor..." She looked inside her bag at that moment for a piece of paper on which she had written down the name, "Dr. Horton, and he confirmed that she is still here. She was admitted twelve years ago if it's any use to identify her."
Again, both employees of the place looked at each other. Was that a coincidence?
"Yes, she is here," Sully replied, trying to sound calm. "And, in fact, I think she's waiting for you..."
That statement seemed to surprise the visitors, who now were the ones who had to look at each other.
— — — —
After registering and leaving two IDs at the front desk, the nurse guided Matilda and Cole to Evelyn's room. They walked a few steps behind, while the man in white walked ahead down the long hall. What they had said a few minutes ago left them both thinking a bit. Taking advantage of the fact that their guide did not see them, Cole moved a little closer to Matilda and whispered slowly:
"Do you think she...?" He murmured, and then with his hand, made the gesture to imitate a flickering light. A somewhat crude way, but Matilda understood what he wanted to ask her because she thought so too: could Evelyn shine?
If what the nurse had said was right, and indeed she knew that they would come to see her without anyone giving her advance notice, it was quite likely that it was so. Also, they couldn't ignore the unique abilities her biological daughter possessed. That thought reminded her of that conversation she'd had with the Mother Superior at the women's shelter.
If it is a mental illness that the little girl is suffering from, I am afraid that maybe she could have inherited it from her mother. That works like that, right?
It wasn't a mental illness they talked about, but it could be inherited. Although most of the cases Matilda had seen were not like that, or failing that they were usually inherited from grandparents to grandchildren. But there were some cases in which a child with the Shining had inherited it from one or two parents who also possessed it. Was Samara one of them?
"We'll know in a second," the psychiatrist pointed out simply.
When they were near the room, Evelyn's voice began to be heard humming the melody that she had repeated throughout that afternoon. Matilda paused for a moment, trying to perceive it more carefully. Every word or tune she heard confirmed the thought that had arisen in the beginning: she had heard that song before, and recently.
"Something wrong?" Cole asked her, seeing that she stopped without warning.
"No, nothing. It's just that song…" She then pointed upward with her finger. "I've heard Samara singing it sometimes."
Cole stared at her, then glanced at Sully, who was already waiting for them in front of the door they were heading to. It was evident that the person who was singing was in there. And if so, then that person should be Evelyn.
"So strange," the cop commented. "Wasn't Samara supposed to be adopted when she was just a baby?"
Indeed, she was. It wouldn't make sense for her to remember a song her birth mother sang to her since, at most, she'd been with them for a few weeks before they were separated. It might mean nothing.
"Maybe it's a familiar song around here," Matilda pointed out, trying to downplay it and quickly started walking again.
Sully unlocked the room door with his access pass. Once the door was opened, the song's sound became louder, which confused Matilda even more.
"Hello again, Evelyn," Sully said, entering first. "You were right. You have visitors."
Matilda and Cole entered cautiously behind the male nurse, each taking a quick look around the room. Everything looked pretty standard, although they had no reason to think it wouldn't be. The woman they were going to see was sitting at a desk at the back of the room, illuminated by natural light coming through a window just above her.
Evelyn kept clipping articles, and her attention was fixed on that work, despite the sudden arrival of her visitors.
"Thank you, Sully," was the only thing that escaped her lips, barely as a whisper.
Matilda inched toward the center of the room, staring at Evelyn's back, covered by her abundant brown hair. She didn't feel anything in particular when she was in that room and in the presence of that woman. Her Shining did not alert her to anything, for better or for worse. But this was, in turn, a bizarre feeling; it was as if no one was actually sitting there. But there she was, Samara's biological mother, the embodiment of the secret she had been keeping from her newest patient since she found out a few weeks ago. The woman who gave her life and tried to drown her when she was born.
Only then did she meditate on the fact that they really weren't so far from Moesko Island right now. Samara and her biological mother were relatively close, possibly without knowing it.
"Can you leave us alone for a few minutes?" Matilda heard Cole from behind her, asking the nurse.
"Sure. I'll be around in case you need anything, Evelyn."
"I'll be fine, Sully," Evelyn replied in a muffled voice, without turning to see him.
Sully left the room, closing the door behind him. As soon as she heard the sound of the door latch, Matilda was encouraged to continue advancing towards the desk, with the caution of a hunter trying not to scare her prey. Cole, for his part, stood a meter from the door, waiting in silence. He had told Matilda that he would let her lead, and so he would. Still, he would pay close attention to every word that was said; he needed to listen to everything...
Matilda stood just behind Evelyn's chair, at a suitable distance so as not to be invasive.
"Hello, Evelyn," she murmured softly and gently. "My name is Matilda, and he is Cole." The woman did not answer or look at her. "Did you know that we would come to see you?"
Evelyn was silent for several seconds, and it seemed that again she would not say anything. However, in the end, she replied:
"Not quite. Only sometimes… I have hunches."
The psychiatrist discreetly glanced over her shoulder at her companion. Cole shrugged, not knowing what else to add. It sounded like a possible perception, but perhaps not so much that it warranted labeling it as Shining.
Matilda peeked subtly over Evelyn's shoulder, overseeing her cut up of a newspaper, specifically the photo of a train that accompanied an article.
"Do you collect newspaper clippings?"
"Only the ones I find interesting," Evelyn replied, much faster now than before. "They help me get my mind in order and locate where I am."
He took the perfectly cropped photo of the train, then flipped back at least five pages in her album to place it on a page with barely a little free space left, much smaller than the size of the photo.
"You were doing it before you came in here, right?" Matilda pointed out, and at that moment, she reached for something inside her bag. She then took out a small book and held it out to her left. Evelyn slowly tore her deep, clear eyes away from her album. She looked at the book in confusion… but also in fascination. "This belongs to you, right? It was in your suitcase, the one you came to the women's shelter with twelve years ago. You remember?"
Evelyn stared at the small book in silence for a while before finally reacting and taking it gently between her fingers, almost as if she were afraid to break it. She ran her fingertips lightly over its paste, feeling its texture, drawing with them the lines that formed the pattern printed on it. Meanwhile, Matilda watched all her reactions. In general, her expression was absent and gone, but deep down, she could perceive small flashes of emotion. Still, it was difficult to tell if it was a good or bad emotion.
"The nuns were very nice," she whispered suddenly, but it didn't seem like she was saying it to her, "with me and..."
Evelyn fell silent abruptly, and her eyes widened in an expression of astonishment or even fear. Matilda leaned toward her a little.
"Samara?" She whispered slowly. "Do you remember your daughter, Samara?"
A small murmur came from Evelyn's mouth, like a groan. She raised her alarmed face to her then, and as soon as their gazes met, Evelyn jumped from her chair and backed away.
"Who are you? What do you want?" She questioned altered, raising her arms in front of her in a defensive position.
"Evelyn, keep calm," Matilda murmured, raising her hands in front of her. "I am a psychiatrist, and I am currently treating Samara. Do you remember her?"
"Samara?" Evelyn began to shake her head insistently. "No, no, no... It’s not possible... she died..."
"No, she didn't. She is alive…"
"You are wrong," the patient interrupted sharply. "She died, I felt it... and I saw it..."
Matilda did not understand what she meant by that statement. Did she tell when she tried to drown Samara in the fountain? Did she think she had managed to drown her back then? It would be strange, since commonly, patients who committed these acts used to denial and completely blocked everything related to that act. Besides, it would be quite odd if her doctors had never dealt with that matter in twelve years and tried to convince her that she didn't do that.
Or was it something else?
"No, Evelyn, she is alive. She grew up big and strong and is now a beautiful girl."
She didn't know how a good idea it would be to face her with reality head-on, especially without her current doctors' supervision and advice. But she decided to take a chance. She looked inside her bag again and carried out a square photograph, taken from Samara's file. It was a photo of the girl before she was admitted. She was wearing a blue dress, and she was looking at the camera with a cold expression and just a very tiny smile peeking across her thin lips.
Matilda handed the photo to Evelyn, and she looked confused as if it were something that she couldn't recognize its shape with the naked eye. Evelyn approached it carefully and took it between her fingers with the same delicacy she had taken the notebook. She brought it closer to her and looked at it carefully, analyzing every noticeable feature of the girl.
"Samara...?" Evelyn whispered slowly incredulously. Then she moved carefully towards the window, making the light coming through it illuminate the photo, perhaps so that she could see it more clearly. "It can't be… If she's alive, then…" She lowered the picture and looked out the window at no particular point. "What did I see? Who did I see die in that well?"
"Well?" Cole exclaimed, confused, although that sentiment was also shared by Matilda. What well was she talking about? Was she referring to the fountain of the women's shelter? Did she think it was a well?
"No, no, no…" the patient repeated again, then beginning to walk up and down the room, hugging herself as if trying to calm the cold. "If she is alive, then He is still looking for her... He will find her..."
"He…?" Matilda murmured, but before she could ask anything else, Cole abruptly intervened.
"Who is he?" Cole asked with some haste, approaching her. "Who is looking for Samara?"
"Detective…" Matilda screamed, but Cole held up a hand to her, signaling her to wait a bit.
Evelyn kept walking from one side to the other uncontrollably. Cole dared to get close enough and took her by the arms to stop her, though without much force.
"Evelyn, look at me," he asked, almost pleading; the young woman turned to see him just a little, unable to entirely hold his gaze. "Who is looking for Samara? Who were you trying to hide her from? You can trust me."
Evelyn stammered very slowly for a few seconds, apparently meaningless words.
"Father Burke told me He had chosen us," she suddenly murmured, much more understandable. "He told me that He would give life to the one who would come to transform the world through us. He showed him everything in visions… He made him do it… I couldn't help it… I couldn't help it…"
Her voice had abruptly taken on a feeling of despair. Her breath hitched, and her entire body trembled slightly.
"Evelyn, everything is fine," Matilda exclaimed in alarm and quickly approached her. Cole stepped aside to make room for her, and now it was she who took her gently by her shoulders. "Breathe, calm down... It's okay; you're safe."
The young woman began to breathe more and more calmly, but she continued to babble uncontrollably.
"I tried to stop him… I wanted to do it when Samara was still a baby, but they stopped me. I thought someone else had done it, I saw it and felt it, but it wasn't... She is still here, and He is coming for her..."
"Who is he, Evelyn?" Cole insisted on behind Matilda. "Who? Tell me, please."
Her breathing steadied gradually until she seemed as calm again as when they first entered. She then turned her face back to the window, also not looking at anything in particular... or, perhaps, looking at something far beyond what was actually seen through that window.
"I long ago stopped hearing His voice from the sea," Evelyn whispered suddenly as if it were the lost verse of some old song. "I thought He was gone... but now I believe He just forgot about me."
She turned back to Matilda, now looking at her more directly than before.
"You... you must. You must finish what I couldn't."
"What do you mean? Are you talking about Samara? Is that why you wanted to drown her?"
"I did it because she asked me to… It was the only way to save her from Him…" She dropped the notebook and the photo of Samara at that moment, and instead, she now took Matilda from her arms, with more force than her small body could make it look like she possessed it. "Only water can do it; only water can release her. You have to do it before she hurts others... Because she already did it, right?"
Matilda fell silent, stunned by everything she heard. Was she asking her what she believed? Was she asking her to kill Samara? She too? It all abruptly turned into deja vu of her conversation with Anna Morgan, which paralyzed her for a moment. Not only her adoptive mother but did her biological mother want her dead as well?
No, she should calm down and not get carried away by emotions. It was evident that this was all a delusion, something that had been accompanying her for twelve years. She couldn't have a clue what she was saying.
"Evelyn, you're confused," Matilda answered in a calm voice. "You have spent all these years obsessed with these ideas, but you need to let go of all this. Otherwise, you can't ever recover..."
"You're not listening to me!" Evelyn yelled loudly and jerked her arms violently to free herself from her grasp. She backed toward the window again and leaned out of it, almost pressing her face entirely against it. "Maybe it's too late... maybe He already has her..."
Before Matilda or Cole could say or do anything else, the door opened, and nurse Sully returned, apparently alerted by Evelyn's latest cry. He approached the woman and took her delicately to try to guide her to the bed.
"Evelyn, are you okay?" He whispered slowly, but the young woman did not answer anything. However, she did allow him to guide her without resistance. "Sorry, I think you better get out."
Matilda seemed reluctant to leave; that had just begun. But she felt Cole put a hand on her shoulder to get her attention.
"Come on, Doctor," he instructed, then nodded toward the door. "Let her calm down..."
Matilda didn't say anything, but inside she wasn't happy with the idea. But she still allowed herself to follow him to the door without many more options, not before picking up the notebook and Samara's photo again.
"Round... we... go… The world… is… spinning…" They heard Evelyn hum very slowly, but still audible thanks to the acoustics of the room. Matilda stopped and turned to see how the nurse laid her on the bed while singing that same melody again. "When... it... stops… it's just... beginning… Sun... goes... up... We live... and... we cry... Sun... goes down..." Evelyn turned to look at the doctor directly, just before she chanted the last verse. "And then... we all die..."
A sensation finally ran through Matilda's entire body at that moment, like a cold, worrying jolt. She had felt something similar before when she touched the white blanket that came in the suitcase from the shelter for the first time. One of Evelyn's possessions.
Cole touched her again to wake her up, and then they both managed to leave the room to let Evelyn rest for a few moments.
END OF CHAPTER 35
Author's Notes:
— Evelyn is wholly based on the respective character in the movie The Ring 2 of 2005, taking into account some aspects that were shown in the film Rings of 2017. The most significant change to consider is concerning her age. Here, she was seen relatively younger due to the change of time applied to this franchise's characters. Her appearance is described a bit more based on her appearance in Rings, where she was seen younger in memories and visions.
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