Time was running out, so he was killing everything he used to be.

It was to be short-lived and messy, just like he had been his whole life. As he prepared for the massacre that was to follow, what could he do but reflect on how he'd come to be here?

The interrogations. The accusations. He had grown tired of them, could bear them no longer. No more 'Oh, is it true? Oh, you poor thing… I'm so sorry', no more 'Is it true?... Really?'. Each piteous putdown throbbed like a stubbed toe; each whispered aside stung like a snakebite.

No more 'It's your own fault'.

He needed it all to end – finality. Glorious finality. It was time for big brother to take the reins and come shining through – and to do that little brother had to die. This was the solution, he knew it – not the best one, certainly not the only one – but it had taken tragedies to bring him here, and he was happy to let the voice of desperation take over.

And he'd been doing so well. Getting on with the others, lulling himself into a false sense of security. How that had worked.

It began.

Calculated. Methodical. Merciless.

Rip the heart out and chuck it away; he's beyond that. Is this right? Does he need a shadow – surely that means double the possibility to be noticed? Can this be good? Brain. He never needed this one. Never used it. Slash – cut his brain out. Find the soul, stab that till it leaks out. Hermit. Kill him. Can I? No evidence, no remains and nothing left. Spiritual. Mouth – he used it enough – hollow it out. Like the innards of a pumpkin. Reassemble, bring to the boil, and serve.

Surely this was for the best?

Wasn't it?

And just like that: back to square one.

THE DUMPING GROUND: RENAISSANCE
Chapter 1: "Fitting Room"
(Back to the Beginning, Part 1)

Carmen added a generously heaped teaspoon of sugar to the swirl of caramel-coloured tea and passed the painfully-pink mug to the teenager sitting on the opposite sofa.

And so they sat, on threadbare sofas, just staring at each other as steam rose from the mugs. They sat, and sat, and sat, neither wanting to have to be the one to begin the conversation. A deafening pendulum counted the silent seconds.

"… Well there's definitely a reason this is called the quiet room," Carmen joked, prompting a small murmur from the teenager, more to show recognition than amusement.

She decided to try something different. Putting down the mug, she began, "I thought I would be brilliant at this. Careworking, easy. Been through the system already? You're sorted. But I was wrong, and there was so much that I had to learn. And then I realise that you have to learn. All the time, you have to make the worst mistakes or say the worst things, and just learn from it. Because it's all practice for people like you. A spanner in the works. Somebody so extraordinary, somebody who does something so extraordinary that it takes everything you've got to cope."

The teenager looked up at Carmen; Carmen thought she sensed a flash of appreciation glinting in those eyes. And then the monotone reply came: "You always have to learn."

Mike stood facing the closed door of the bathroom; he was shouting at it over the deafening din.

"SASHA, GET OUT OF THERE!"

"WHAT, BECAUSE YOU WANT ME TO? FAT CHANCE!" came the angry reply. Water began to seep under the door and out onto the carpet; Mike groaned in frustration.

An exercise book tumbled down, knocking him on the head. Mike craned his neck up into the attic to see what on earth was happening. Jay and Bird appeared at the top of the ladder to the attic, Jay's grinning countered by Bird's furious expression.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING?" screeched Mike.

"I'M GONNA KILL HIM!" yelled Bird.

Suddenly, Elektra was beside Mike, evidently flustered. "NO, YOU'RE NOT, OR I'LL KILL BOTH OF YOU! NOW, COME DOWN!" she ordered. "OW!" she yapped as she stepped on a forgotten, crumbling pile of Lego bricks.

Carmen stormed onto the landing, not even noticing Floss, who was curled into a foetal ball on the floor, hands jammed over her ears like chunky headphones. "WHAT'S HAPPENING?" she demanded.

Suddenly, a small dark shape came scurrying past. A gerbil, whizzing along the floor. Of course, the robot gerbil toy. Of course, right now, at this time. Tyler sped along the landing, frantically trying to catch it. Kids screamed and shouted everywhere.

"HOW DID WE GET INTO THIS MESS?" screamed Carmen.

Four months earlier

Carmen sat alone on the floor of her tiny flat, idly tugging on the frayed carpet with one hand and clutching her phone with the other. She had definitely learned about life the hard way: she had learned that infinitesimal council allowances counted for nothing financially, she had learned that everything in life was too expensive, and she had learned that she was going to have to spend her life living on the bare minimum.

Initially she had trained as a careworker, inspired by the home in which she had transitioned from ditzy diva to sensible grown-up. But she had soon tired of learning the most effective ways to stack a dishwasher, and so she had attempted to set up a costume business. But then the universe gleefully threw a spanner in the works, and now Carmen was left staring her life in the face; she was just a pathetic eighteen-year-old in a pink smock, surrounded by mannequins that glared down at her like she was a stupid little girl.

Her phone buzzed enthusiastically, and she scrambled to answer. ".. Oh. Oh, hi… Sorry, hi! … Why're you ringing me, it's been a while mister … Of course, of course … Yeah, I'm loving life!" She nervously glanced around the dimly-lit hovel of a room. "You? … Well, much better than when I was at the Dumping Ground, at least!"

A lightbulb flashed in her brain, a bright, pulsing, excitable lightbulb.

The Dumping Ground.

The. Dumping. Ground.

Could… could she?

This was becoming more appealing by the minute.

"… Uh, I'm sorry, but I've got to go, so sorry but I've got this… uber-cool party coming up tonight, got to get ready… Yeah, promise… Bye!" Carmen threw the phone across the carpet, buoyed down by tempting thoughts. All emotions were gone, replaced by one single thought: The Dumping Ground. Could she do this? It would certainly be fitting, certainly be convenient, a way out of this half-life she was living. The key to her future lay in her past.

Could she do this? Well, at least it would be fun to try.

Carmen sat on a slowly disintegrating chair, staring expectantly at the screen in front of her. Two weeks had passed; now she was ready to tell her news to the world. A face popped into pixelated view, and Carmen smiled gleefully.

"TEE!" she beamed. "I've got big news."

"Oh, hello to you too!" smiled a waving Tee in response. "Australia's great, thanks for not asking(!) How are you?"

"Yep, great. Fabulous… so… big news?"

"Go on then," Tee relented.

"Okay, so… I'm going to set up my own Dumping Ground!"

There was a long silence that could only mean something bad.

"… Tee, please say something."

"Sorry, I'm just… just taking it in… I mean, are you really going to do this? This is big stuff. This is important."

"I know, but I think I've got everything sorted."

"But have you? How far have you actually got?"

"Well, nothing actually sorted, but, you know… plans and stuff."

"Why are you doing it, though? What about 'Carmen's Costumes'? I thought you were on the edge of making it big." Ah yes, she had told Tee that.

"Tee, you should be happy for me!"

"I am, it's just-"

"I've finally decided what I want to do. If I trained as a careworker, surely it was like fate? What I was destined to do? I've got things sorted. I can keep on with the costumes until I'm up and running with the Dumping Ground, then go full-time. I need three to four careworkers. I've done ROTAS, Tee, and I've got my eye on this land that's being redeveloped. That could be ready in seven months. I mean, if I write my plans up now – I would have done it earlier but I had my dad's funeral to go to, and-"

"Your dad's funeral?" questioned Tee, her voice brimming with disgust at the nonchalance with which Carmen announced this.

Carmen's heartbeat quickened; blood pounded in her ears. Utter, complete quiet, and then- "My dad… died… and I just carried on…"

"Oh my god, Carmen, why didn't you tell me?"

"I know, I'm sorry, I-"

"I could have been there for you!"

"Tee, life can end so quickly, so unexpectedly. I want – I need to teach people that, need to give them the best life possible. I think this is what I have to do."

Tee smiled reassuringly. Understandingly.

From: Unknown number

To: Carmen Howle

Hi,

Saw the thing in the group chat. Careworkers needed? Friday at 4 – your flat? Promise I am not a stalker/rapist/weird (maybe a lil weird but that's good right?)

Your Mystery Friend x

A few days later, Carmen sat on the carpet of her flat again, fastidiously checking little details in her notebook; she'd been convinced by Tee that by putting all her Dumping Ground thoughts into one little tacky pink notebook she'd remember it better.

There was a checklist in the book, a long list of names. Each one had been contacted by Carmen, then given a tick or a cross by their name. Carmen was pleased with all the work she had put in, and now two of those names had massive pink glitter-pen ticks next to them: two careworkers for Carmen's new Dumping Ground. Carmen was waiting for a possible third name to arrive at her flat any minute soon.

Somebody knocked on the door, and Carmen began to panic.

Right, well whoever it is, it's clearly somebody who knows me: they've got my number, it must be okay. But who, out of my friends, would want to be a careworker? Who is it? Come on Carmen, you should know how to answer the door by now. Just go for it.

Carmen leapt off the carpet and gingerly opened the door; she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the person on the other side was, at least, somebody she knew.

But still – how could she have ever predicted this?

"Surprise!" announced Elektra.

Carmen's eyes widened for a moment. Elektra was here, somebody she hadn't even seen in years, and besides, she thought that she had moved down south. Carmen noticed that Elektra had grown up to be a truly beautiful woman; she was now approaching twenty, and still hadn't outgrown the streaks of vibrant blue that illuminated her lustrous brown hair – to be honest, Carmen couldn't even discern any difference between the girl who she used to live with, and the woman currently standing in front of her.

"… No, this isn't a surprise," Carmen pretended. "… This was entirely expected…" She relented; she was just happy to see her friend again. "Hi, Elektra!"

"Can I come in then?" Elektra asked. Carmen was about to answer, but then she noticed that Elektra was already very much in the flat, and was taking off her dark blue coat and draping it over the only chair in the whole place.

"So…" began Elektra as she put her bag on the table. "What do you need careworkers for?"

"Elektra! Can't we just say hello first? Want anything to drink?"

"Well… what have you got?"

"Not much… sorry…"

"You're actually really quite poor, aren't you?" Elektra laughed. Carmen subtly glared. "Cup of tea?"

"Okay." Carmen walked over to the small kitchen area, filled the kettle with water, and let it begin to boil. She walked back to Elektra and indicated a patch of carpet. "Sorry, we'll have to sit on the floor, I couldn't be bothered getting more than one chair."

"That's fine, neither could I," admitted Elektra, as she sat down. "How have you been, then? It must have been… three or four years since we last met? You were setting up 'Carmen's Costumes'…"

"Oh. Well, yeah, it turns out costumes aren't really my thing."

"Truth be told, I did think at the time that you'd get nowhere with that."

"Well, I'm still going through with it, just until I've set up the carehome."

"Ah, yes… the carehome?"

"I'm setting up a carehome."

"Yes, I'd gathered that, thanks. But why? And where?"

The kettle boiled noisily, and Carmen rushed to it. She continued to speak as she made a cup of tea. "My dad died."

"I'm sorry."

"You're not, you never knew him."

"Well… I was being polite. I'm trying to be friendly! – can you tell?" Carmen chuckled at that. "So?"

"My dad died, and I kind of realised how important life is. Costumes aren't working and my life is quickly going down the plughole of existence–"

Elektra sniggered at the phrase 'plughole of existence'.

"– And I want to be able to make other people's lives better," she continued. "I feel like it's what I was destined to do."

Elektra paused for a moment. "… That was actually quite inspirational. So, what, you're going to set up a carehome, and be a careworker? Good for you. When it's happening? Where?"

Carmen handed Elektra the cup of tea and sat down. "Well, I've not actually presented anything to the council yet…"

"…So, does that mean nothing's official?" Elektra looked suspiciously at Carmen.

"It will be official, when I've asked the council about it!"

"…Right." Elektra wasn't convinced.

"But I'm hoping for everything to be ready in seven months. I'm looking at this old boarding school, it's being redeveloped anyway and they're opening bids and everything."

Elektra sipped on the tea. "Carmen… this all seems lovely, you seem to know what you want, but I'm just worrying… do you have any ideas about how you're going to manage this? Any of it?"

"I'm going to… go to… the council?"

"When? That's my point. You need to have everything sorted out. Where the carehome will be, when it will open. The price you're negotiating for the land, how it'll be used, floorplans, building companies. Sample budgets, how many careworkers you'll need, what you'll pay them. You need so much stuff that you don't have. Come on, Carmen, if you're going to be serious about this, you need help."

"… From you?" asked Carmen.

"Well, I mean, together we could probably work it out."

"Now?"

"If you want to…"

Carmen thought. She did need help. And if Elektra was convinced she could help, then she should give her a chance… surely? "… Okay then. Now."

"Good," Elektra smiled. "I'm not leaving until we're sorted, then. Pull up a chair… as it were. It's going to be a long night."

And so Elektra and Carmen sat there, on the floor, armed only with a laptop each. Even if Carmen had a clock, they wouldn't have cared for the time; they sat there, unmoving but constantly talking, sitting there on the floor for hours – although it seemed like days – researching, finding things out, gazing at spreadsheets, creating posh-looking tables. When combined, Carmen's enthusiasm and Elektra's knowledge made an incredible team, as it turned out, and although it took a while, it came to a point where they had just sent off an incredibly long email to the council, crammed full of every conceivable piece of information relating to Carmen's prospective care home.

Finally, they got up off the floor, backs aching, and looked at the time.

"Carmen, it's two o'clock in the morning," announced Elektra.

"Oh yeah," yawned Carmen wearily. "When did that happen?"

"I'm gonna have to get home."

"Are you sure? You can stay here if you like."

"It's fine. Anyway, I'm not the one waiting for the council to wake up and make a decision. You do know they're not going to respond at least until the morning, don't you? If I find out you've been hunched over that laptop all through the night…"

"Do you want me to text you when they reply?"

"Yeah, then I'll come back, and we'll see what to do next." Elektra put her laptop back in her bag and put her coat back on. She walked towards the door.

"It was really nice seeing you again, Elektra."

"Oh please, call me Mandy," said Elektra in a hoarse, faux-posh voice. Carmen laughed.

"Well then Mandy, thank you. I'm actually really surprised; I thought you were always just the person who joked about and did nothing to help anybody – you've been really helpful, thanks."

"Um… Well, Imean, it's probably because I'm about as committed to this as you are."

"Oh really? Any reason?"

"Oh, we've all got our reasons, Carmen."

She headed towards the door.

"Bye then."

And with that she was gone.

Hi,

It's me. Email! Come back. Good but bad.

Carmen

Elektra stormed into the flat enthusiastically, dumping her bag and a small plastic box on the table. "So… email? Good but bad – what does that mean?"

Carmen stared at the plastic box on the table; it contained a very appetising piece of cake, gooey and chocolatey and delectable.

"Before all that though…" she ventured. "Is that cake?"

Elektra rolled her eyes. "Yes, it's for you, go on."

"Why cake though?" asked Carmen as she rummaged about in her cupboards for a spare plate.

"It's my birthday," came the nonchalant reply.

"Oh! Sorry, I forgot… actually, I don't think I knew. How old are you, anyway – mid-forties? I'm guessing mid-forties."

"Cheeky! Do you want the cake or not? Twenty, thank you. Come on, tell me about the email!"

Carmen flipped open her laptop and showed Elektra the council's reply. "Well basically, they love our proposal, and all our ideas and everything, and they think we could definitely make it work. And… you know the land I wanted? It's definitely still available, and they're fine with that being the building we use."

"There's definitely a 'but…' coming, isn't there?" mused Elektra, absent-mindedly biting her thumb nail.

"But… the council are really busy, and we're really low down on the priority list. They've got more important things to do now, but they've said they'll keep an eye on that school for us, but they can't give it to us until they reach where we are on the list. And we're really near the bottom of the list."

"Right. Well, this is fine."

"What? No, it clearly isn't. It's a disaster – we're at the bottom of the priority list, and the Dumping Ground will never happen."

"Yes, it will! Don't worry! All we need to do is… be a tiny bit clever with how we talk to the council."

"How do you mean, clever?"

"Let's just say we could be a bit… generous with our cash."

"Nope, not getting you," replied an oblivious Carmen, between mouthfuls of cake.

"Bribe them, Carmen."

Carmen looked shocked. "Elektra! Isn't that a criminal offence? No! We're not doing that! And anyway, you can't bribe a city council!"

"Yeah, course you can, easy. I've done it before; they got me a bigger flat once when I'd just left the DG. You just offer them some of your spare change, and they leapfrog you up the priority list – simple! Honestly, Carmen, money makes the world go round."

"I'd prefer to think it was love, actually."

"Well, you'd be wrong. Anyway, if they love our ideas, all they need is a nudge in the right direction and we'll be good to go!"

"So 'a nudge in the right direction' in this case is just lots of money…"

"… Yeah. And before you say it, I've definitely got enough."

"I thought you said you were broke?"

"Yeah, I did. But it's taken a while for everybody to sort out my grandma's will, and now it's all sorted, turns out I've got quite a bit of money. Never knew the old cow was so minted."

"Never knew the old cow died."

"Look who's talking," retorted Elektra.

"So, we try to bribe the council, and then what?"

"Then they'll buy the land, get the companies in to turn it into a care home, and we sit back and wait. And everything's sorted."

"That seems too easy…"

"As long as they take the bribe, we're sorted. Don't worry, everything's fine. Come on, stop fretting. Finish your cake, and let's take on the council."

Carmen smiled. Elektra had a habit of making that happen.

"Waterland House?"

"Sounds like a name for a really posh toilet."

"But it's adorably gothic!"

The sun glared harshly at Carmen and Elektra as they sat on the park bench regretting the number of jackets they were each wearing; summer had arrived with a vengeance. They'd decided that their next meeting should be somewhere that wasn't Carmen's dingy, grotty flat, so here they were at the park, trying to come up with names for a carehome.

"Carmen-y and Peace."

"Carmen, where are you even going with that?"

"Because it sounds like 'Harmony and Peace'… peaceful."

"No. House of Elektra?"

"No. Howle's House?"

"No. Elektra's Carehome of Magic?"

"NO! Ashdene Ridge Part 2?"

"No. Elektra's Orphanage of Magic and Doughnuts?"

"No. Elm Tree House Part 3?"

"No. Elektra's Magic Flying Orphanage of Doughnuts and Money?"

"No. Howle's Grotto?"

"Maybe we should just not have a name?"

"Oh yeah, and how would that work, exactly?"

Carmen's laptop angrily pinged at her. She flipped the screen up, quickly scanned what was on the screen, then angled it towards Elektra and gulped. "Elektra, look – they've changed their mind. The redeveloped school's been pencilled in for flats. Not for a care home. Not for us. Our new Dumping Ground's been scrapped."

Hope you enjoyed it! It feels so odd to have uploaded my first proper chapter in four years! This chapter was written from 11 December 2015-9 November 2018. Thanks to CharlieSMarts12 and Linneagb for your reviews!

Next week's episode continues this story; here's a sneak preview:
Carmen and Elektra get the big guns in to take on the council, with an all-out banner-waving campaign outside their offices. But will they be successful?
Episode 2, "Fight For Your Site (And Party!)", is coming next Friday (25 January).