“Yeah. He liked my mom alright, but he didn’t care much about me. I don’t think he really liked me at all, if you want to know the truth.” He reached over and pulled a couple of blades of grass from the ground. He twirled and studied them before casting them to his side. “Anyway, my mom figured out that my stepdad didn’t care if I got better, and boy did that make her mad. She left him, and we moved away. For a while, it was just me and her. And then she met my second stepdad, who was awesome.”
Cameron stepped a little closer to the boy. “What are you trying to say, Dennis?’
Dennis looked back up at Cameron and smiled. “I’m saying that, if you never threw that ball, my mom would have probably never left my awful first stepdad, and she would have never married my second stepdad, who was much, much cooler. Weird stuff, huh?”
Cameron nodded. “Yeah, weird stuff.”
Dennis closed his eyes and breathed deeply as if he was asleep. With his eyes shut, he said, “Anyways, it’s time to go now, Cam. Good luck!”
“Thank you,” Cameron mumbled. Dennis’ comments baffled Cameron. On one hand, Dennis’ demeanor was childish and innocent, but he also possessed an immeasurable depth of wisdom, deeper than Cameron could ever hope to achieve. As so, his tone was a distasteful mix of submission and loftiness. Regardless, he was sure Dennis couldn’t care less now that he had his liberty.
Cameron took one last look at the newly freed Dennis and turned to walk towards the fence. He exited the gate and followed the sidewalk near the street. Before crossing, he looked both ways. There was no traffic in either direction. He saw no signs of activity whatsoever—he did not see a single school employee, student, or pedestrian. The only sounds were those of the wind, his breathing, and his heart beating.
After scanning the road, Cameron crossed to the sidewalk on the other side. In front of him was a nondescript bungalow with a white picket fence bordered by two other nondescript bungalows with white picket fences. The bungalow to his front was dark blue, the one to his left light yellow, and the one to his right teal.
Cameron took a moment to consider where the ball may have landed. He concluded that there was little chance the ball was within the fences of blue, yellow, or teal bungalows, but he still peered into the freshly shorn lawns. Cameron saw no sign of the ball, and so he headed northward.
The row of brightly colored bungalows continued and he analyzed each as if he were a child searching for the prized Easter egg. He passed a dark red bungalow, a forest green bungalow, a baby blue bungalow, a candy pink bungalow, a lavender bungalow, an olive bungalow, a lime bungalow, and an azure bungalow. All of the bungalows had identical white picket fences and none contained the ball within their boundaries.
As Cameron was about to consider other alternatives, he saw the house. It was a simple, dilapidated brown bungalow with a gray picket fence. Near the fence was a sign that read “BEWARE OF DOG.” A doghouse sat on the back-right corner of the lawn, and across from the doghouse rested the ball.
He observed the lawn for several minutes and listened. He did not hear a single crackle, growl, or bark. All he saw was blackness as he tried to look inside the door of the doghouse. He even tried peering into the depths of it from multiple angles, but he could not see the glow of any eyes within. Satisfied with the results of his initial investigation, Cameron took a moment and thought of the possibilities beyond that fence. Was the beast waiting for him? Would it rip him to shreds? Will Carrie soon find his shredded remains? None of these alternatives were as terrible as a life without Carrie.
Thinking of Carrie, Cameron breathed deeply and walked towards the fence. It went up to his chest. He placed his hands on the top, pushed down, and propelled himself into the air. He landed with both feet on the fence, and after stabilizing, he hopped down onto the tall grass.
Cameron stood motionless, paralyzed with uncertainty and fear. He looked at the doghouse. Darkness within. He tiptoed towards the ball—with each step, Cameron lifted his foot high and brought it softly down to the earth. The walk took at least four times as long as it should, but eventually he arrived at the ball.
The sun shone off the ball’s cream-colored leathery exterior. Right in the middle of the ball, he noticed a large letter “C.”
Cameron glanced at the doghouse, and again it was unoccupied. He bent down, grabbed the ball, and lifted it to his face. There was a beauty and purity to the ball, as it contained all and no answers. He turned, still gazing at the ball’s wonder, and saw that beyond the ball stood the beast.
The beast’s appearance was unnatural—Cameron could not have turned away from the doghouse for more than a few seconds. It was as if it had materialized out of the air. But regardless of how it arrived, it was there, and it looked angry. The lips of the beast peeled back and saliva dripped from its fangs. Its brow furrowed and its eyes glowed with a murderous green tint. Its muscles tensed, ready, and it dug its nails into the dirt. Its low growl rumbled through the air like a passing freight train.
Cameron knew what came next, but could not accept it. So he ran. He turned and sprinted towards the fence; hopping over it, his foot caught the top, and he face-planted onto the concrete sidewalk. Dizzy, he pushed up to his feet and continued to run.
Behind him, he heard a loud crash; the beast had plowed through the gate, leaving a large hole in the wood. Cameron ran fast, but part of him knew the flight was in vain, for the beast was relentless.
Cameron sprinted across the street and through the gate into the field. He hoped to find the door through which he walked to arrive here.
Step by step, Cameron sensed the beast closing. Its growling grew nearer and nearer, a deep guttural sound laced with anger. He ran past third base when he heard footsteps behind him.
Then, with a crunch, his forward momentum came to a crashing stop. His right leg stopped moving and he fell on his side to the ground. Looking back, he saw as the beast sunk its teeth further into his leg and felt the crackling sensation of his ankle ripped away from his leg bone.
Cameron screamed in agony, which did not faze the beast as its teeth moved up his body. He felt terrible streaks of pain stretch over his face, hands, and body. The beast’s blade-like claws tore through his skin like butter. It chewed into his stomach and scratched through his chest. Blood and slobber flew from the beast’s teeth as it shook its head with each bite. He closed his eyes as teeth came down over his face.
Pieces of his body and soul were torn from him, and he was powerless against the evil ripping him apart. He tried desperately to think of Carrie, but soon all that filled his mind was anger, panic, and fear. The whole ordeal only lasted a few seconds, but when it was finished, he felt alone and no longer whole.
When Cameron opened his eyelids, he first noticed his vision was lacking. He turned his head to the left and saw the shredded remains of his left eyeball.
He continued to hold the ball in his left hand, but he felt an odd tingling in his right hand. Soon he realized that, where there had once been five fingers, only three remained.
VIII.
Dank, hot air that smelled of feet stung Carrie’s eyes. She tried to look around, but could see nothing in the thick fog distorting her vision.
To slow her racing heart, she breathed deeply; heat rushed through her nose, stinging her throat before it warmed her lungs. Gagging, she bent over and exhaled. Lower to the floor, the air was cooler, the fog less dense. She went down to her hands and knees and enjoyed the colder air; drops of moisture fell on her like light rain. And though her vision had not cleared completely, she saw enough to know that she knew the room well.
The reflection from the clean, gray linoleum floors always made her body appear disfigured. The walls were off-white and in dire need of a paint job. The benches were a tacky shade of yellow and the material was chipping. Metal lockers lined the walls, half of which were bright yellow, the other half forest green.
Carrie was in her high school locker room, a place
she hadn’t thought about in years.
Beyond the lockers was the shower area. She remembered there were about twenty shower stalls, each small and muggy. From that direction, she heard the faint sound of running water and figured that must be the source of the fog, for she remembered how when multiple girls would shower, the mist from the hot water would hang in the air and make the stalls seem even more constrained.
Before proceeding, Carrie stalled for a moment to clutch her stomach. The pains of hunger were rushing against her intestines, and her belly was in full-throttle flux. She thought she could even sense the efforts of her body to find the limited storage units of fat that clung to various parts of her musculature. She assumed it had been at least twenty-four hours since she last ate, and though she had gone a day without eating before, the hunger now clinging to Carrie’s guts was unyielding. And the steam from the shower was only making her symptoms worse.
Carrie screamed, “Hey, please turn off that shower!”
No response.
“Come on,” Carrie pleaded. “Turn off that shower. You’re filling the whole room with steam.”
Fighting against dizziness, she massaged her forehead; while doing so, she sensed liquid on her right temple. When she pulled away her hands, she realized blood covered her right hand. She found the source of the blood right in front of her: a trail of blood ran across the locker room towards the shower stall area.
After wiping her bloodied hand against her clothes, she crawled. She felt like a commando in one of those stupid movies that only came on late at night, crawling through a humid forest to avoid incoming gunfire.
She followed the blood past the lockers and into the shower area. It continued for a while, but then sharply turned into a shower stall. This specific shower stall was the one farthest away from the locker area. The steam billowed up from the top of the stall like a mushroom cloud.
The air was clearer near the stall, so she stood. A teal and tattered curtain covered the shower. It looked like every other curtain that shielded the stalls. She pushed aside the curtain and stepped in. To her right, three white, long towels hung on a rack. In the middle of the stall stood Gretchen, a knife in her right hand, blood flowing from her wrists into the drain below.
“Took you long enough,” Gretchen said. She wore the same outfit, save one additional accessory: a silver locket rested against her chest.
“Hey,” Carrie said, “where did you get that? Give it back. It’s mine.”
“Well then, come and get it,” Gretchen said. She rotated the knife back and forward as it glimmered under the florescent locker room lights.
For a while, the girls just stared at each other as the water poured. Sweat beads formed all over Carrie’s body as her heart pounded against her chest. Her stomach turned with hunger, and the humidity of the stall blurred her vision. There was little time for delay—she had to disarm Gretchen, and soon.
“Gretchen,” Carrie said, “give me the knife. Please.”
“Nope,” Gretchen replied. “You can take it over my dead body. Or yours.” She lifted the knife and flicked it towards her in a beckoning motion; as she did, a smile crept across her face, a smile of spite and anger. “Which will it be?”
“Gretchen, this isn’t you. This isn’t who you are. Come on. Drop the knife. I’m done fighting.”
“Yeah? That’s it? You’re at your end. No more?”
“Yeah. No more. I’m done. I don’t have anything else.”
“I know that feeling.” Slowly, she looked around the shower with distant eyes. “I had that feeling in a place like this. Almost this exact place. It all came crashing down, hitting me like the shower water, you know? Every little insult. Every push. Each was another drop of water hitting me, over and over. Do you know what that’s like? Do you have any idea?”
Carrie couldn’t find the right words, so she just shook her head.
“Yeah,” Gretchen sighed. “I didn’t think so. People like you never do. Life’s just one big game to you, and I’m just one of your prizes. And that’s why I did what I did.” Raising the knife, she said, “With this. In a shower like this. And you know what’s weird? It felt good to be the one hurting something, even if it was myself.” She lowered the blade and caressed the locket with her free hand. “But now, I finally have something to hurt you back.” She lifted the locket from her neck, raised the knife to chest level, and placed the necklace on the blade. “So come and get it, Carrie.”
“Okay,” Carrie said. “If that’s what it takes.” She took one step, stopped, and then took another. As she approached, she noticed Gretchen’s eyes widening. When Carrie was only a couple feet away from the knife, she saw that Gretchen’s hand trembled. Soon, Carrie was so close that the tip of the blade touched just below her throat, and she felt a drop of blood slide down her body.
“What are you doing?” Gretchen asked.
“Do it,” Carrie replied. “If it will make it all better, then do it. I deserve it. I was terrible to you, I really was. And not a week has gone by in my life that I haven’t thought about all of it. About you. I’m so sorry.”
A few seconds later, the pinch of the blade disappeared as Gretchen stepped away and lowered the knife; the locket fell off and hit the shower floor with a clank. She dropped the knife and knelt in a praying position. The blood surrounding her body kept enlarging, and she was motionless. Blood spotted her matted hair. Red stained the unicorn on her shirt. Far from the menacing being that chased Cameron and nearly drowned Carrie, this Gretchen appeared meek and hapless. She was the Gretchen that Carrie once knew years before.
Carrie grabbed the towels and walked past Gretchen towards the water’s source. As she passed Gretchen, Carrie picked up the locket and put it around her neck. She kicked the knife, which skidded across the shower floor.
She then placed a single towel against the showerhead and turned the knob. After a few seconds, the towel was drenched and warm to the touch. Carrie turned off the shower, balled up the towel, and kneeled down to meet Gretchen on her level.
Carrie placed a reassuring hand against Gretchen’s lowered chin. Carrie gently pressed upwards and met Gretchen’s bewildered and frightened gaze. Her beautiful eyes were lost, tired, and afraid. The skin around them was puffy and purple, and her eyes darted in all directions.
Carrie smiled and ran the wet towel through Gretchen’s matted hair. As the towel absorbed the blood, Carrie admired the beautiful locks that remained. Carrie dotted Gretchen’s face with the towel and was careful to remove any bloody remnants.
When finished, Carrie placed the towel to her side and took Gretchen’s right hand in her left. She stood and pulled Gretchen’s limp arms, which resisted her intentions. Undeterred, Carrie continued to pull until Gretchen rose to her feet. On her feet, the blood that ran from Gretchen’s wrist poured onto the damp shower floor and crawled to the drain.
In Carrie’s right hand she held two towels. She took Gretchen’s left wrist and wrapped it with a towel, then tied and tightened the towel so it would stay put. Carrie released Gretchen’s left wrist and repeated the process with Gretchen’s right. When finished, Carrie released Gretchen’s arm and walked back two steps.
Carrie looked Gretchen up and down and marveled at how she looked much prettier than Carrie remembered. Gretchen’s hair seemed less snared and her skin shone bright. But most of all, Gretchen’s eyes gleamed with confidence.
Gretchen asked, “Why?”
Carrie finally understood the question. “I don’t understand fully, Gretchen. I always told myself that me picking on you was kids’ stuff. But really, I think I was mean to you because I didn’t know how to handle my feelings about my mother’s cancer. I was too young, too naïve. I didn’t know shit, really.” Carrie smiled, but Gretchen did not. “It was all too much. It didn’t seem fair that the person I loved most was being taken from me. I got so angry. Angry at everything and everyone. So I took it out on others. You most of all, becaus
e I didn’t think you’d fight back. It was cowardly of me. Then, when my mother passed, I realized what’s important in life and how silly I had been acting.”
Gretchen stared blankly at Carrie.
“I truly am sorry, Gretchen,” Carrie said with resolve. “I really didn’t mean to cause you any harm. I mean, I did, but I didn’t understand why. I don’t know what happened to you, but if you hurt yourself, and if you hurt yourself at all because of me, I am very sorry.”
“Please, call me Christine.”
Gretchen’s voice surprised Carrie. It sounded confident and consistent. It was undisturbed by self-doubt or apprehension. It was Gretchen Christine’s true voice, and it was beautiful.
“Why Christine?”
Gretchen smiled. “Christine is my middle name. I started going by it after I left for college.”
“Oh!” Carrie exclaimed. “No wonder I couldn’t find you on Facebook!”
“Exactly.”
“Christine…” Carrie was unsure if she should ask what she wanted to ask, but decided to proceed anyway. “Did you hurt yourself because of me?”
Christine’s eyes sparkled under the fluorescent lights of the shower. Christine stepped forward and met Carrie eye to eye. “Want to hear a story?”
Carrie’s eyes widened in confusion. “Sure, I guess.”
“The doctors told me that was I less than an inch away from death. And they meant that quite literally. Had I cut any deeper, I wouldn’t have lived. And I wanted to go deeper, I really did. I wanted nothing more than to end all the noise. But you know what stopped me from cutting deeper, Carrie?”
“What?”
“Your voice.”
“What do you mean, my voice?”
“Remember how, a couple of weeks after your mom died, you apologized to me in the lunchroom? I never forgot that. You had just lost your mother, and you cared enough to think of me. In a way, Carrie, you saved my life. So, do not apologize. Instead, please accept my sincere thanks. Because without you, I would not have met my husband or had my wonderful children.”
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