Don't own the universe, obviously. Or any characters you'll recognize later on. You know the what's up.
So...yeah. This is a thing. A long, monstrous thing. Much of which is actually written already because I get a little too into my daydreams...don't judge me! Ahem. Anyway. There's plenty more where this came from if anyones halfway interested in staying tuned. Reviews are appreciated, but I ain't beggin' for 'em, I'll post either way for now because it's mostly written already. Hope yah enjoy!
...
It's so...so cold out here. Cold and dark. Carol James Fletcher had run for so long she can't even begin to remember her way back. It had felt so good to just let go, but now she's good and lost and oh God what if no one ever finds her out here, what if her mother is so angry she won't even...
Shivers travel down her body, intense, almost crippling. The fevers back again probably, maybe that's why she's so cold. But she doesn't feel so sick right now.
What had they even been fighting about this time, anyway? The eleven year old can't remember. She just remembers the anger. The white hot rage that had consumed her thoughts until she'd stomped out of the house and flown off into the woods. Why had she gotten so angry? She doesn't feel any anger now. Now she just feels scared and cold and alone.
So scared. Her heart feels like it's trying to pound it's way out of her ribcage. Still shivering too, but not sick, not coughing, this feels...different.
She hears...things. Grass and brush rustling, as though something is skulking through the night. Perhaps something with teeth. Something that might want to eat a lost little girl right up. There's a reason she's been told to stay away from the woods that surrounds her house, especially at night. A strange itch starts up in her knuckles as she grows more on edge; she can't explain the sensation, nor can she explain why her fists clench like they do in response to it.
But the moon provides her with a suprising amount of light; she can see pretty well, and there's nothing around. Nothing that close to her.
She dries her tears as best she can and tries to think, but it's hard. Her teeth chatter. All she wants is a warm cup of her mother's favorite chamomile tea..sitting by the fireplace with a fire going bright, nice and warm and...
Wait. She smells..she smells that. A fire. Like a campfire, the pleasantly sweet smell of burning pine wood. She doesn't even have to think about it; her reaction is instinctive. She gets to her feet and lifts her nose a bit, sniffing at the air. Her feet begin carrying her back through the trees around her, in the one direction she hadn't tried going yet.
It's a good hour before she emerges out of the trees and finds herself at the very edge of the clearing that marks the grounds of her mother's large cabin. Sure enough, all the lights are on and there's smoke trailing up out of the chimney.
How had she smelled...?
Confused and shivering in her bare feet, with a twig sticking out of her hair and mud smudged on her arms and cheek, she wanders over and slips in through the back door...
"Carol James...!"
...
"...Fletcher, that is enough."
"But...Mom, I really, really don't want to keep doing dancing!"
"I know, you've made that very, very clear, but your Grandmother..."
"Who cares what Grandma thinks! I'm not that great at it anyway, I want to do..."
"Carol!" Her mother's snaps, voice raised now, and Carol knows better than to interrupt her again. "I know that you want to try hockey. You are my daughter. So I have decided that you will do both," Carol's eyes widen, her mouth opening again in her excitement, but her mother talks over her, "or you will do neither. Is that clear?"
Carol's mouth snaps shut again as she nods vigorously.
...
Oh, God. Grandmother is right there, in the front row. Dressed, impeccable as ever, in Prada and Coach with hair neatly done and her face painted on, Carol Fletcher the elder looks like she belongs in a fashion magazine. Certainly she doesn't belong here, in a public school auditorium, waiting for her grandaughters dance competition.
Grandfather, on the other hand...she smiles as he spies her and waves jovially.
"Is that her?" Carol's only friend on the dance team, a tall and lanky blonde, comes up to peer out from behind the stage with her.
"Yep." Carol nods towards the rich woman in the front row, then shakes her head. "She's gonna hate my guts when she sees how terrible I still am at this."
"But you're not that terrible." Her friend sounds confused. "Actually, you're one of the best in our class."
Carol bites her lip, shaking her head. "To impress her, I have to be the best."
"Well then," her friend shrugs, "guess it all depends. Just how bad do you want to impress her?"
If Carol does impress her grandmother, the old woman has promised to not only stop bothering Carol about hockey, but also to finance the diner that has been Joan Fletcher's dream for years.
"You have no idea." Carol murmurs back to her friend.
.
The whole auditorium shoots to its feet and cheers for Carol. The judges give her a near perfect score. No one else quite matches up. As the last girl walks off stage looking heavily disappointed, Carol lets out a sigh of massive relief. It's over.
And Carol won.
.
Her grandparents meet her back stage, her grandfather holding a lovely bouquet of colorful flowers and an envelope.
Her grandmother is beaming with pride. "My darling, you have far exceeded any expectations I had. You were impeccably poised. I've just got done telling your mother we'll have to throw you a party for your birthday coming up, something a little more - erm, mature for you, since you're turning thirteen." The old woman cups Carol's cheek. "I'm so very proud of you."
"We both are. You were stunning, sweetpea. Simply marvelous." Her grandfather plants a kiss on her forehead as he hands her the bouquet and the envelope.
Carol nods, smiling as she smells the flowers. "Thank you!"
As the pair walks back off, Carol shoves the flowers aside without ceremony and tears into the envelope. Could it be...just possibly...is she so lucky?
She pulls out a card, some mass-produced congratulaTori horseshit with a flowery poem her grandmother might well have never even read through (though Carol does, and decides it was probably picked out by her grandfather). But that's certainly not what makes Carol's eyes go wide as her heart starts to fluttering in her chest.
No, what really excites Carol is the check hidden in the fold of the card with a dollar amount hefty enough to put a down payment on a house.
...
"Yes! That's my girl, Carol!"
Carol stops dead on the ice for half a moment, eyes scanning the crowd with frantic abandon. Had she really just heard...? No. It couldn't be. Her mother is supposed to be having date night with...she'd said she couldn't get away, she...
She's right there in the front row. Eyes lit up and a smile tugging at her lips even as she gestures for Carol to get her head back in the game.
"Don't look at me, go, go!"
...
Carol can't stand him.
She's thirteen, going to be fourteen soon, and understands plenty well that this intense sort of gut feeling she gets about things might not be exactly normal. But then again, there's a lot about her that isn't normal. The way she can hear things miles farther away than anyone else can hear. The way she can see in the dark without a flashlight. The way she can smell things...like when there's a bear or a wild cat straying a little too close to the cabin she and her mother live in.
(It's also far from normal that she can traipse out quite fearlessly to scare whatever it is off herself. Even farther from normal that she doesn't always have to scare it; just has to form a certain sound in her own throat, and the animal will trot calmly off as though she'd just asked it nicely.)
There's also the way her eyes glint gold when she's upset. It's a miracle no one important has noticed that one yet, though Carol's gotten good at keeping her temper in check (at least in front of those that matter, that is).
She can also smell when someones been drinking, even though they're trying to cover it up with cologne and copious amounts of minty mouthwash.
She thinks, at first, that the mouthwash may be what she's smelling on him. So she pays closer attention to how the same brand of it smells when her mother uses it. And the answer is no. Ma smells like mouthwash. He smells like something a hell of a lot stronger than the tea he makes for himself and Ma.
Carol can't stand him.
His smile is too wide, his words are too sugary. He's a lawyer. So maybe these things are just par for course, but...but...
She tries to tell her mom. "Ma... please. Don't..don't let him... Just wait, just..."
"Carol, you wouldn't understand, your grandmother..."
"I know how grandma is but he's...I think he's..."
"He's what? Carol James, will you just spit it out?"
"I...I smelled something on him. A couple times. Acohol, Ma."
"How could you possibly smell that?"
The conversation had ended there. Carol couldn't risk explaining. Couldn't risk her mother finding out just how not normal Carol is. She can't be sure how the older woman would react, and the thought of finding out only to have it go all wrong turns her stomach.
Within a month, Joan Fletcher has a big, polished diamond adorning a certain finger on her left hand.
Within two, the wedding is planned.
Within four, he's already moving in.
(That's about when the fights start. He can't stand Carol, either.)
...
"Where've you been? You were supposed to be home an hour ago."
Carol's upstairs in her room, and their voices are hushed, but she hears. She hears everything.
"I had some work to finish at the office."
"I called."
"I had the phone switched off. Screens distracting."
Something slams down on the kitchen counter a little harder than it should've. Her mother swears. "What the hell are we doing here if you were just going to...to..."
"To what?" His tone is condescending. "What have I been doing? You're tired. Not thinkin' straight. Where else would I have been if not at the office?"
Carol knows the answer to that. She can sense lots of things her mother can't.
Dinner is ready ten minutes later. Carol makes her way down to sit quietly at the dining room table, passing him up close as she goes. He pays her no mind. She sniffs the air discreetly, taking in his scent. It's perfume this time, mixed with wine. If he'd been at the bar, it would've been vodka on his breath. Wine and perfume means something else entirely.
Carol's mother has never worn perfume.
She wants to say something. Anything. Her stomach churns and she barely touches dinner, just stares down at it quietly so as to avoid looking at him.
She's not even fourteen. She shouldn't even know what 'hate' really is. But there's no denying this.
She absolutely hates Him.
...
She blames herself, at least somewhat, when all is said and done and she can think on it more clearly.
Carol's own hatred for her stepfather had translated into her simply disappearing most nights after school, finding other things to do. Sneaking out, too, after dark when she should be in bed, going to places no young teenager with half a brains worth of common sense should probably be frequenting. Hanging out with a crowd of older kids her mother would not approve of in the least.
She knows he and her mother start having arguements too after not too long. But she allows herself to believe that's her mother's problem. The thing is, she's afraid. Not of him. Well, a little bit of him, of what he could be capable of. But afraid of herself too. Of what might happen if he...
It never occurs to her, it really doesn't even halfway occur to her that he might...
She's young and just doesn't know.
And then she does come home one rare night after school and he's not around but Ma is. Ma is shaky and smells of salty tears and she won't look at Carol, but Carol catches a glimpse anyway.
"Mom." She can't help it, the edge to her voice. "Ma, look at me. Look at me!" She grabs the older woman by the arm, forceful.
Her mother's cheeks are shiny with tears. The streaks on the left side trail from an eye that's already swollen and bruised down to a lip that's split and raw.
"Jesus Christ, Mom." Carol breathes, truly in shock.
Her mother's mouth moves, but no real words make it past. She collapse into a chair, head in her hands as she's overcome with sobs. On the table next to her, Carol notes, are some kind of papers. A closer look proves them to be...
Her mother wants a divorce. And the bastard beat her for the thought.
Carol staggers back a few steps. She tries to conjure up some comfort for the older woman, but she can't, not right now. Right now she feels an anger building, hot and raw. It burns through her veins like fire, like nothing she's ever quite felt before. Her mother calls to her, sounding desperate, worried, but Carol barely even hears her. Heart pounding in her ears, she storms back out of the house and makes a phone call with the small, simple cell phone her mother had bought her. She knows a friend who'll help her out...
And she knows just where he'll be. There's a bar a little closer to town...
Her friend asks her questions, trys to keep Carol talking. Carol explains, but won't be persuaded to abort her new mission.
What do you think you're gonna do? Her friend tries to get her to think it through.
Carol doesn't know. She just knows she has to do something.
Her cell rings, several times, her mother trying desperately...but Carol finally shuts the phone off. Her friend hesitates to leave her, but Carol insists. She waits for hours. Until it's so late it's early, and most of the bars other patrons stagger out. And then, finally, he does too. She doesn't mind having waited. It just means there'll be no one around to see - the bars closing staff will be busy cleaning the place up. There's music still being played inside. No one will hear.
He's drunk. Doesn't see her as he staggers to his car. He'll likely crash himself into a tree in the dark, end up dead anyway with any luck, but something about this ending doesn't sound as satisfying to Carol.
Something inside her won't be happy unless she finishes this herself.
It's not like she's intending to try and hurt him physically. Fighting fire with fire gets no one anywhere and she knows it, and violence is never the first solution she'd come up with for anything, she's only fourteen.
(It just so happens that for some reason that she will never quite be able to fathom, people are always looking for a fight with her.)
"Hey! Dickhead!" She snarls at him as she trails a hot path across the parking lot. And she doesn't sound like Carol at all. Her voice is low and rough, and the language she's using is hardly the sort her mother taught to her. "You wanna explain to me just what the hell you thought you were doing, roughin' my Ma up like that?"
Leaning heavy against his stupid little sports car, he turns to her and stares with owlish, bleary eyes. "You? The hell 'r you...?"
Her feet carry her a few steps closer to him without her giving them any conscious permission. Her fists clench. "I oughta call the cops!"
He scrubs a hand over his face. "You're not gonna do that."
"Just try an' stop me!"
He's got a look in his eyes...too calm. Icy. "I could be good for you, kid. Not much you wouldn' get away with if you just played a little nicer with me. What kinda rich kid doesn't want a lawyer for a father anyhow?"
"You are not my father." She spits. "You're gonna let my Ma go, or I'm gonna tell my grandpa what you did to her. He always believes me. He'll take care of you reeaal quick!"
"You won't."
"Watch me."
Anger. It's so abrupt. His features contort all at once, something cold and hard and mean surfacing behind his eyes. He's coming at her, reaching for...
Metal glints in the light of the few lamps lining the bars parking lot. He's got a knife. He's got a knife? Oh Jesus. He won't hurt her, right? He literally can't. Well, no, she doesn't know that for sure, just has a striking suspicion at this point, just a hunch based on...
And what's he intending to do anyway? Cutting Carol up wouldn't help him any, but...but he's drunk and she'd just threatened him...and...and...
And if that knife does hit home, he'll see the wound heal. If it heals like she thinks it will. Even drunk he'll recognize Carol for what she is. Can she afford...? An image flashes in her mind of her Ma hunched over the kitchen table, shoulders shaking with her sobs as she holds her bruised face in her hands.
In the few seconds it takes for her stepfather to stagger a few short feet closer to her, something in Carol snaps. Instinct takes over, protective; anger washes over her mind. Something wild and untamable surfaces for the first time, and for the next few moments she remembers nothing.
.
Her stepfather never makes it close enough to do her any harm. He's drunk as a skunk but the change in her - in her stance, the set of her shoulders, the look in her eyes - it's impossible for him not to sense the sudden danger.
His stepdaughter is a short, scrawny, somewhat horsey, very awkward young teenager with a tendency to hide bashfully behind her hair when upset. Standing before him now - that's not his stepdaughter. There's a determination there, in the way she holds her chin up and stands straight to face him, and the gleam in her eyes is...well, it's downright...
PredaTori.
It doesn't process in enough time for him to back down, though.
The time in between feels like hours. Really,, it's only a handful of seconds before she screams, an angry, primal sound, and pounces.
.
Only minutes pass. It must be only minutes. He's still alive, though fading fast.
Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God.
"Shit." She breathes the word, staggering back a few steps, staring down at her...
Her claws are still extended and coated with blood. Blood. It's everywhere. What has she done? He'd been coming at her..with the knife and..and...she'd...
He'll bleed out long before an ambulance could possibly get to him. They're simply too far out from town.
Tears spill over to stream down her cheeks. Self defense. He'd had a knife, right, so it was just...
He's staring at her as he chokes on his own blood. At her hands, the razor sharp spikes of bone still extending out of them. "Little fuckin' freak." He croaks.
Her first thought is to run. Just book it until she can't keep going and only then call her friend to come get her. But she can't go home like this, blood on her hands and splattered a bit on her blouse, and if she just leaves him...
No one'll know she was ever here, though.
And the bar is a real hole in the wall. Lord knows why he likes the place so much but they're surrounded by woods on every side out here. It wouldn't be hard to...
She's turning her own stomach, thinking it through so coldly as she was about to. She's lightheaded now, her knees going weak, and she nearly collapses, nearly puts back what little is left in her belly.
Oh God. What to do, what to...
No. No, she knows exactly what to do. She takes out her cellphone and dials a number.
.
"Jesus f-ing...what the hell...?" Tierney Doran is her name. An older girl, out of high school and not around as much, but still loosely running with the same group Carol does. She's a mutant, too, by some strange stroke of fate, super strong. This won't be the first time she's had Carol's back. "I mean...just...Jesus." Her eyes widen as she stares at the corpse slumped against the pricey red sports car in the corner of the parking lot.
"He-he had a knife." Carol stutters, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. "I don't...I didn't...I was scared. I was just, I didn't, I wasn't going to...it just happened!"
Tierney eyes Carol up, scowling. Heaves a heavy sigh. "Stop blubbering, kid. Keep your voice down, someone in the bar could hear you."
"But - but what am I go-going to...?"
"You're gonna listen to what I tell yah and do exactly as I say."
"Maybe I should just..just...I killed him, oh my God T I really killed him, I...
"He pulled a knife on you after beatin' yahr Mom half to hell. You knew what you wanted when you told me to bring you out here. What men like him deserve. Look at me, kid." The older girls green eyes are hard, and her tone brooks no room for arguments. "You sent him to rot in hell because that's just what he deserved. Now I'll get you out of this but you gotta tough it up for me. If you don't your mom might have to watch you go to prison. There's no choice, I'm sorry."
Carol closes her eyes and conjures up the image again of her mother...her eye so swollen and purple, her lip split wide and bleeding...the anger returns, and clarity with it this time. She nods. "Ok. What do I do?"
Tierney turns to eye up the corpse again, shaking her head. "You're gonna owe me for this. You really have no idea. Alright, here's where to start..."
...
It's late by the time Joan Fletcher falls asleep. Carol isn't back yet and still won't answer her phone. Joan opens a bottle of wine, sips straight from it, paces the living room, back and forth and back and forth, so many times it's a miracle she doesn't wear a hole in the floor..until, finally. It's late. Two in the morning. At least, she'll be pretty sure...Carol texts her, short, sweet. Needed time to think. Sorry Ma. Back home soon. I love you.
She knows she got the text.
It's not much. But Joan is exhausted. Her bruised eye throbs to spite the wine, swollen nearly shut, the pain getting worse as time goes on. She wanders to the kitchen, fills a baggy with ice from the freezer, walks over to sit on the couch and just breathe a moment. Just...just for a moment.
And then there are birds chirping.
Her eyes flutter back open. She'd fallen asleep, laid out on the couch. There's a blanket resting over her shoulders, one that Carol usually sleeps with. On the table a foot away, a glass of water and some aspirin have been set out, while the over half empty wine bottle has vanished. All signs her daughter had indeed come home at some point.
There's no sign of her husband.
She pops the aspirin, downs the water and gets to her feet. It's morning, early. The sun shines outside, bright and beautiful. Birds chirp and flutter about. A squirrel scurries up the large old oak tree out in the front yard, chased merrily by it's mate. A beautiful spring saturday morning. Makes the events of last night seem surreal, distant.
Feeling calm and oddly detatched for the moment, Joan wanders upstairs.
Still no sign of her husband. Their bedroom door is left wide open and the light flooding the room sheds over an empty bed.
Carol's bedroom door is left open too, but only a crack. Joan wanders over and nudges it open, blinking...
The door creaks.
Carol stirs awake, sitting up in bed. "Mm. Ma?"
Joan just stares at her. Something...something here just doesn't feel right. "Carol. When did you get...?"
Her daughter takes a moment to answer, scrubbing a hand over her face sleepily. "Ah. 'round eleven. Erm." The fourteen-year-olds voice is thick with sleep. Almost gruff. "Little after, maybe. You...were sleepin' pretty hard. Didn't seem to hear me."
The wine. Joan doesn't usually drink so much, it probably was enough to put her out pretty hard. "Eleven? I got a text, though. It was..it was later, around two."
Carol just blinks at her, an eyebrow raising - oh Lord, she looks like her father when she does that. Usually the easy comparison would be endearing, but this time...this time the look is a little different. Something about it is extrememly off-putting. "I didn't send any text, Mom."
"But I was sure you...I couldn't have been asleep that long. Where's my..." Giving her daughter no time to respond any further, Joan spins around and darts downstairs frantically. She searches everwhere on the lower floor. The kitchen, the living room, all over the floor, in the couch cushions. Her phone is no where to be found.
After a few minutes, Carol wanders down and sits herself on the bottom steps of the staircase, leaning forward with arms on her knees, eyebrow still raised as she watches her mother. Finally, hungover and sore from the beating her husband gave her and feeling frustrated, Joan comes to stand before her daughter with hands on her hips. "Would you care to give your mother some help?"
"Ah. Actually, if you're finished." Carol answers, sassy, and produces her own cellphone. "Since you never turn the ringer off." She punches a few buttons on the small piece of plastic in her hands.
Joan's favorite ringtone echoes against the walls. Coming from upstairs, if she didn't know any better. She tears past her daughter and up to her bedroom. The phone is set on her nightstand.
She snatches it up just as it stops ringing, and starts scrolling through her text messages. She hasn't recieved any...not since much earlier the previous day.
Not even from Carol.
"You ok, Ma?" Her daughter asks, much gentler now. She's stood in the doorway to the bedroom, arms crossed, looking wary .
"I got..it was two in the morning. I remember. I never would've fallen asleep if I hadn't heard from..from you, I don't..." Joan scrubs a hand through her tangled hair.
Carol's crossed the room, now. Slips an arm over the older woman's shoulders, gently pulls the phone out of her hands. "C'mon, Mom. It's early, you should go back to sleep, let the aspirin kick in. I'll make breakfast, come get yah when it's ready."
"But..but I don't understand. Where's...?"
"You care where he is? After what that bast..." Her daughter's voice...just for a moment it goes harsh again. Gruff, hard and mean, too much to belong to a girl only fourteen years old. And then a moment passes after she catches herself, and she's calm again, gentle. Just Carol. "He's probably passed out on a barroom floor somewhere, it's fine. We'll worry about it later. Sleep, Ma, please, you look like death warmed over." God she sounds...she's only fourteen, she shouldn't be having to sound like this.
But Joans head is pounding something so terrible she doesn't have the strength to argue any further. She allows herself to be led over and tucked into bed.
She's asleep near as soon as her head hits the pillow. When she wakes again some time later, she remembers nothing of seeing her daughter earlier. Her head feels better, as do her bruises, but she feels almost...
The rest of the day is a blur. She only remembers her head feeling as though it's floating detatched from her body.
Her husband never returns, of course.
...
Carol makes the winding trek back through the thick of the forest once. Because she has to be sure in her own head that she hadn't simply been dreaming.
Tierney had known what she was doing. The site is undisturbed. The Earth filling the hole has settled some, in fact, and if no one had found it yet it was highly unlikely now that anyone ever would.
Did I really just get away with...with...?
The thought won't even finish itself.
She leaves, and never visits the sight again.
...
"Carol...you, ah...that, that night...I mean, you didn't...?"
Silence. Carol has to build herself up a bit for it, the way she turns finally and looks her mother in the eye and lies through her teeth. "I never saw him, Ma. I swear to God."
From there on, she'll never quite remember the meaning of the word 'innocent' again.
...
The diner thrives, as does Joan Fletcher. The tragedy sparks rumors, of course. But most wouldn't be surprised if Joan or her quiet, skittish daughter were the ones to do the deed. He was an awful man, that pompous, smooth-talking lawyer with his fancy sports car and expensive suits. The kind of guy that would be more likely to run an old lady over instead of help her across the street. No one had liked him. None mourn in his absence.
It doesn't sit right with Joan; she could never wish anyone dead, but she has a feeling he is dead. And she can't bring herself to believe Carol - her sweet little Munchkin, the same girl that once dragged a fox with a broken leg up out of the woods so she could try to nurse it back to health...that same little girl couldn't possibly have been behind anything. Even if the events of that night were hazy in Joan's memory, no matter how sketchy things seemed. Carol's just fourteen and she...
She's her father's daughter, through and through.
But Joan can't allow herself to think like that. Carol had never even met the man. Certain similarities notwithstanding, Carol couldn't possibly be capable of anything so sinister. It's just not possible.
So Joan keeps her chin up and just moves on. Eventually, the buzz dies down, and life simply moves on with her.
.
The day is a lovely one. The sun shines down bright from a near cloudless sky. The Fletcher mansion is buzzing with activity - the lawns must be manicured, the bushes all pruned, the gardens tended too, as the luncheon guests will be arriving shortly. Inside the lovely brick fortress the kitchens are noisy full with an extended team of assistants for the cook, whose being well made to earn every dollar she's paid on this day. The ballroom, dusty as it has grown from rare use, is being deep cleaned and polished with special attention, though the rest of the homes bottom floor is receiving a similar treatment, of course. Everything must be spotless. The lady of the house would have it no other way, and is well known for firing staff on little more than a whim.
Said lady has just entered the room where Carol has been stood before a mirror, staring blankly at her reflection for some time now.
"Oh my..." The older woman glides across the room, slow and graceful, setting aside a shoe box in favor of eyeing Carol up a moment. "You look..."
Carol braces herself. I look..Short. And stupidly awkward.
"...beautiful, my darling. Absolutely stunning." She adjusts Carol's wild mane of brunette curls a bit, sets them to falling more freely over her shoulders.
Carol lets out the breath she'd been holding. "Thank you, Grandmother."
"Though I suppose the skirt could have been a few inches shorter." But oddly enough there's no malevolence in the older woman's voice as she keeps talking. She's in a good mood for once, it seems. "I do apologize for that, my dear, I should have had you out here to better check the fit a week ago. But ah well. These should help." She picks up the shoe box she'd brought in with her and hands it off.
Carol opens it, and can't help the way a single eyebrow shoots up at it's contents. It's a pair of heals. At least four inches high and pencil thin, colored the same lovely shade of violet as the blouse Carol's wearing. They might help her look less short, but they won't help with the awkward part. Carol hates heals. "Thank you, Grandmother. They're gorgeous." But she smiles pretty and plays nice. Because she'd promised her mother she would.
"You're quite welcome. I've got another pair for later tonight, as well. That dress should fit perfectly. Come now." She coaxes Carol away from the mirror with hands on her shoulders. "I promise, you do look lovely. Our lunch guests should arrive soon and you're the hostess. You should be there to meet them. It is your birthday, after all."
Carol is sixteen today. She can think of many fun things to do in celebration of this. None of them involve forcing herself to make small talk with all the snot-nosed high-society folks she'll be forced to meet today.
None of this even makes sense. Carol's mother is the least favorite of her Grandmother's children, and Carol herself is illegitimate. Her grandmother had generally just taken to pretending Carol didn't exist. Why is she being so generous now, with two lavish parties in one day and a college fund all set up?
But she dares not complain. Keeping the peace always comes first. For the sake of Carol's mother if for no other reason.
So she puts on the heels, and glides down the stairs and out to the gardens. She sits herself daintily at a table, sips cutely from a cup of tea (though she hates tea), refuses most offers of food (though she's starving), and smiles politely (though she likes none of the people she is speaking to).
Just until he comes out of the wood work, and it all becomes crystal clear.
"Carol." Her grandmother calls her over. "Won't you come here, my dear?"
Carol smooths out her skirts a bit, adjusts her hair, takes a breath, and clicks-clacks her way across the brick-work patio to her grandmother's side. "Yes, grandmother?"
"I've got someone I want you to meet. Kelly Montgomery. Kelly, this is my grandaughter, Carol."
Kelly Montgomery is relatively short for a guy, but broad in the shoulders and clearly in quite good shape. He's dressed neat in a finely tailored suit, but wears no tie, and there's a wide brimmed hat atop his head. His blue eyes take in Carol's short but increasingly well-endowed frame with more curiousity than anything else, and a dazzling smile graces his lips. "Carol. It's nice to meet you." He doffs his hat, holding it over his chest, and oh dear sweet Lord but his voice is deep as a double bass and richer than the triple chocolate cake they'll be having at the ball later on. "Your grandmother's previous discriptions of you did you little justice." He continues, oblivious to the fact he's literally melting her like butter.
A strange sensation runs its way down her spine. A shiver. She can feel her cheeks heating up, but manages to choke out a response. "Th-thank you. Uhm, it's a pleasure to - to meet you as well. Though," she glances at her grandmother, a touch sour, "you seem to have been better informed than me."
"Well..."
Her grandmother interjects quickly. "Kelly's mother had told me that he was hesitant to come. My answer to that was that you and he would almost certainly get along famously. Kelly here spends the majority of the year on his father's ranch, helping to tend to it, and I'm told he too plays hockey." Though the old woman still cannot help blanching in distaste at the sound of it. She clears her throat softly to cover it. "Anyway, I thought it might be a pleasant suprise for you, Carol."
What's the catch? There has to be one. Carol will be sure to ask later. For right now... Kelly holds out his arm for her to take. "Would you walk with me?"
Carol takes his arm, offering him her first genuine smile of the day. "I'd love to."
They wander a ways away, meandering a bit. The grounds of the Fletcher estate are large and lovely this time of year, all green bushes and colorful flowers.
Kelly clears his throat softly. "You can relax now. I doubt your grandmother can even see us from here."
Carol lets out a soft giggle, a little nervous. "True. Ah. Sorry. I mean, if I seem...uptight. It's not you, it's just my grandmother..."
Kelly stops beneath the shade of a large old oak tree so they can face eachother, holding up a hand to stop her. "It's alright. I'm about ninety percent sure that my mother arranged this for a reason, though I can't imagine what it is, but I can only assume you're thinking your grandmother's in on it, too."
His tone is a little more informal, so she drops her facade halfway as well. "Yep. Sounds about the just of it. Erm - not that - I mean, you seem -," she blushes, as there are many words that come to mind when thinking of a discription for the young rancher, and none are words she can use when playing the polite and pretty role she is now, "just, it's nothing against you. That's all."
There's a smile playing at his lips, and his eyes sparkle with amusement. "Hey, I get it. Family can be difficult. My Dad's pretty laid back, but my Mom gets all uptight and picky about what girls I bring around. Not that I bring around many." He says the last bit as an afterthought, not deffensive at all, and in fact he's not even looking at Carol anymore. He's looking over her shoulder, reaching out a hand to... Oh. It's a red rose, from one of the bushes artfully planted about the tree. He holds it up. "No thorns. May I?" He gestures to her hair in it's half-updo. She shrugs and tilts her head a bit in consent, and he tucks the rose gently behind her ear, burying it just so in her brunette waves. "Beautiful." He smiles, admiring his handiwork. "Ah, not that you needed any help, of course, Ms. Fletcher."
Carol blushes again. Usually the sound of 'Ms. Fletcher' would send her to scowling - what is this, the eighteen hundreds? - but his kind and gentlemanly manner is so clearly genuine. She smells no lie on him and her animal is preening internally at the attention. "Hey now, you, ah, you don't have to - I mean. Carol is fine."
Now he smiles again, and holds out a hand as if to take hers. She tucks her fingers into the palm of his hand and he lifts them to his lips, brushing a feather light kiss over top of them. "Kelly Montgomery. There. Now we've done the introduction right." He waits until she's caught her breath and taken her hand back, and then offers her his arm again. "We'd better get back around to the party. Don't want someone thinkin' we're foolin' around. You mind if I accompany you for the afternoon?"
Cheeks still flaming, Carol's grinning like an idiot and knows it but she just can't help herself. "I'd like - I mean, I'd love - I mean, yes, please do."
Oh God.
She likes him.
.
They steal time to talk in between Carol performing her duties as hostess. It should prove difficult, but he's so calmly confident that it's easy as could be. He asks her questions, always picking up their conversation as though it had never been interrupted, and they talk about a wide variety of subjects. Even hockey - they both love it and it's the only subject he blushes at - she smells his arousal - the fact she plays it turns him on.
After the much calmer party in the gardens is ended Carol's grandmother is quick to come and whisk her away, as preperations for the nights main event must be started in earnest now.
"Will you be coming?" Carol asks Kelly, hopeful.
Kelly gives a sheepish smile. "I'll be honest, I ah, I wasn't plannin' on it, it'd be hard to find a tux in a hurry, but..."
Carol takes the rose out of her hair and ducks in close to him - too close - the animal picks up his scent - oh God oh God - but she keeps her cool and tucks the rose into the lapel of his blazer, patting it gently. "You must come. Please."
Naturally, he agrees.
.
Oddly enough, her grandmother hadn't cared much what sort of dress Carol wore to the 'ball'. Nothing too low cut in front, nothing backless, generally just nothing sleazy. Those were her only rules. A girl must first and foremost be as comfortable as possible with her own image in the mirror, she had said. It was Carol's mother that had expressed a quiet wish to see her daughter, just once, in a proper princess ball gown.
Carol doesn't often deny her mother anything. But she did this time, and she's glad of it.
Her grandfather had actually helped her pick out the dress she wears. It's nothing too bedazzled. The material is silky, flowing down gracefully to accentuate her curves where they naturallly occur, and the neckline is cowled, swooping down just far enough to be teasing but not scandalous. It's colored a lovely shade of royal blue, with a line of shimmering glitter trailing down each side, and once she puts the matching heels on...
Her grandfather declares her to look grown-up pretty. Like a million bucks, he says.
Her mother tears up at the sight of her.
Her grandmother looks her over with a more scrutinising eye and still declares her to be the 'belle of the ball'.
And then Kelly walks in.
Oh. Oh, God. Oh, that is just not fair, Carol thinks.
He's wearing a tux. He'd said he didn't have one with him but he must've been lying or something becaues it fits him like a glove. Just right. And he just stands there smiling, all broad shoulders and dark hair and...
"Never felt too comfortable in one of these, I gotta be honest with you." He tells her. "Feel kinda ridiculous, actually. I'm really just a simple farmboy, I swear."
Something takes over Carol. Something she doesn't seem to have any control over. "Well, yah could've fooled me, handsome." She doesn't talk like that. Well, no, she does, sometimes, but not here, never with these kinds of people. "I ought to thank yah, actually. It's about time I got some eye candy for myself."
The words seem to leave her lips without her concious permission, and she regrets it internally in an instant. An apology begins to form itself...
But proves unnecessary, because he's grinning now. "Ha! Had a feelin' earlier that you had more fire than you were lettin' on. Sounds like I was right."
"Well, I..." Carol splutters, thrown pretty far off guard.
He holds out his hand for her to take. "Hey. It's a good thing, I promise. C'mon, lets dance, beautiful."
.
"Just eat the cake. It's really good!"
"But my grandmother..."
"It's your birthday, beautiful. Who cares what Grandma thinks?" He's truly bemused.
Carol eats the cake. He's right. It's to die for.
.
"You let the old hag talk to you like that? You're mother lets the old hag talk to you like that?" He's frustrated.
"I-I mean, she's my grandmother. An', well, techinically the company and all the money is hers, so...so it's her rules we gotta play by."
"You gotta learn to speak up, Beautiful. It's only gonna get worse if you don't, trust me. You don't have to be her little clone."
Carol decides she'll continue playing hockey, though her grandmother continues to protest. Her mother is clearly torn, but eventually gives in and agrees.
.
"But I thought she put money away for you to go to college."
"She did." Carol slams a fist against the wall, her frustration getting the better of her. "I knew there had to be a catch. I get it now. It's just another way for her to trap me here. The moneys still under her control, she won't give it to me unless I pick the college she wants and only go for what she wants me to go for. God, she's such a nasty old bitch!" She snarls at no one and kicks a bucket. The horses stir in their stalls feet away, whinnying at the sudden noise.
Kelly gets to his feet and comes to wrap his arms around her. "Take it easy, Beautiful. It's ok. You know all you gotta do is tell her 'no', right?"
Carol thinks for a moment. "But...the money..."
"You got your own way of working up some cash." He points out.
She snorts, turning to look up at him. "I thought you didn't approve?"
"I don't, exactly. But you're your own person. You can do things however you want."
She blows out a breath, resting her head against his chest a minute. "I suppose...you have a point. I don't really need her, do I?"
"Nope. Not really even a little."
When next it comes up, Carol calmly tells her grandmother that she knows exactly where she'll be going after high school, thank you very much, and no she will not be needing any help. Her grandmother is furious, naturally. "You ungrateful brat! I suppose I'll just have to stop sending those cheques to your mother, I'm sure you'll change your tune quick enough then."
Carol smiles. Sweet and polite and ladylike, just like the mean old hag had taught her to. "Oh, but you wouldn't know, would you? You rarely check your own accounts, you've got people for that. And of course you'd never think to come see the diner your daughter's worked so hard to build and get running. You've got more important things to attend to. So you simply wouldn't know that we're doing just fine, and every cent of those last few cheques has gone into a savings account that Mom doesn't touch. Actually, I believe it's the last four cheques. She's getting excited. She thought we might go somewhere on my break from school, just the two of us. Hop the border maybe, Florida sounds fun. We've got passports already."
Her grandmother's face is carefully schooled. Expressionless. Which means she's actually seething. "You stupid, awkward, insolent little brat of a bastard." Her tone is icy cold. "I hope you choke on that awful, greasy slop your mother cooks at that little shithole you call a restaurant. Get out of my sight, then, I'm through with you and glad of it."
In one ear and out the other. Carol barely hears a word of what her grandmother says. She gets to her feet, smooths out her skirt, smiles politely. "Good afternoon, Grandmother. Tell Grandpa to call me, won't you?" And then she glides out of the room, chin up and shoulders back, and that is quite the end of it.
.
"Is - is this what you want?" Kelly asks it quiet, but Carol can hear it in his voice. There's anger there, and a storm brewing behind his eyes. He doesn't sound their age right now. He never really sounds their age. She knows him already, so well. It's been less than a year but they've spent so much time together. So many weekends, little dates where they'd gone horseback riding or hiking. Less than a year, and she really knows him already. "Or did the old hag finally realize I was your new voice of reason?" He plows on. "Don't tell me the only reason for this is that I broke the stupid status quo."
There are tears streaming down Carol's cheeks. No. For once, the answer is no. Her grandmother has nothing to do with this.
Someone had come across the car. The stupid, bright red little douchebag sports car He had driven. The one T had driven straight into the lake they buried Him by. T had been revisiting the sight every now and then to make sure things were still as they should be. She'd called Carol the other day and told her there'd been people digging, though not in the right spot, they hadn't found her stepfather's body.
"I'm just warnin' you so you don't panic," T had assured her, "cause the cops will come to inform yahr Ma and you. Just don't lose your head. There wasn't that much physical evidence linking you to it in the first place, and it's been long enough now there's probably none left at all. If there's any fingerprints left, they'll more likely be mine, but that's unlikely and it's for me to handle besides. You're still in the clear, kid. Just don't lose your head."
And Carol hadn't lost her head. But the problem still remained.
She wasn't ending it with Kelly because of anything her Grandmother had said. In fact, her Grandmother had recently conceded, albeit begrudgingly, that Kelly had been good for Carol. The Fletcher matriarch had actively admitted to the fact that she now had some repsect for Carol because of the backbone Kelly had helped her to grow.
No, no. Carol was ending it because the discovery of her dirty little secret was a reminder. A horrid, ruthless, brutal reminder. There's something inside her. Something - something she can't control. it shows itself now in ways that Kelly finds attractive, but that doesn't mean it's a good thing. Carol really knows it to be a very bad thing.
This is for Kelly's own good. It's that simple. Carol steeles herself. "It's got nothing to do with Grandmother. Don't blame her for this. It's... I'm just... I can't make you understand why. But I don't deserve you."
"Is this about - is this about the other thing you told me?" Realization dawns. He's starting to connect some dots, although she hasn't mapped them all out for him. "About - about the cage fights? Because...listen, Beautiful, I know what's up. There's something I've been letting us dance around, but it's totally my fault, I should've told you..."
She cuts him off, sharp. Forces her voice to sound cold, angry. "You don't know jack shit. You've grown up here. In this little corner of the world that your Daddy personally carved out for you. Where you're left to just live how yah want with two parents who dote on you, hand and foot. Yah're spoiled rotten and yah don't even know it. And yah got no idea what it is to actually be in my shoes. We're done, Kelly, that's it." The anger in his eyes fades away. It's replaced by hurt. Real hurt. Deep. Genuine. She can smell it on him, though she couldn't describe the smell if she tried. She softens some. "I'm sorry. Jesus. I'm sorry, Kelly, I wish...I wish I could explain better but I just can't. You'd hate me even more if I explained better."
"I couldn't." He says, snappy and firm. "I see you. I know you, Carol James Fletcher, and I could not hate you if I tried."
She snorts. "Don't give me that - that chick flick fairytale bullshit. I'm telling you, you would hate me. So just... kiss me one more time. Like you mean it?"
He does. Slow but hungry. Passionate but gentle. Jesus it's all the things those chick flicks suggest it should be and then some and she realizes something then and there. Even if they are just sixteen, what she'd found with Kelly was special.
She pulls away and says nothing more. Just spins on her heal and leaves. She hears him say the words. Her feral ears pick them up easy even as she's already closing the door behind her, and the tone of voice almost suggests he knows they will...
I love you, Carol.
I love you, too. Something inside Carol wants to shout back.
But she was a murderer at fourteen. The result is that she knows something he probably won't fully learn for another several years yet, if even he ever learns it.
Simply put, she already knows that life ain't a fairytale.