Let's try something different … It feels as if I am starting something well out of my league and I haven't got the 'feel' for this story yet. Still I like to explore where this goes and feedback is very much appreciated. The story is about Carmen Bachman, daughter of 'The Cleaner' (played by Stephen King) to whom we were first introduced to in S3. To give you a fair warning, I am currently working two jobs and handling family issues so I am pressed for time, so updates will come as they do.

Richard Bachman thoroughly enjoyed the rare moments he spend with his daughter. This night was one that could go in the books as a one to remember. He hadn't expected her when she showed up unannounced with a bottle of red wine under her arm and a box of chicken wings dangling in a plastic bag from the other. His thin lips formed into a smile, only his daughter would pick a rich, classy, not to mention expensive, full bodied Bordeaux to accompany a sleazy dinner consisting only out of chicken wings and chili sauce. A barbaric combination in his opinion, but so suitable to what was his daughter.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. She was attacking the meat covered bone, tearing the meat of with her teeth as if she was a predator feasting on its latest kill. Once she had undone the bone of the meat she caught him watching her and shrugged before disposing the remains of the chicken wing in the fire pit that was burning in front of them. The flames dancing in the darkness of the night, creating the most sinister shadows and reflections.

He leaned back and allowed himself to be swept away by the sounds of in the hall of the mountain king. He had a passion for classical music, a love she shared with him. He didn't know many thirty-five year olds that would refer to the classical masterpieces as kick ass-ical. She was weird, awkward to say the least but definitely controversial, still he was a proud father.

As a child she worried him tremendously the way she was void and detached from life and all things living. He remembered when he asked her what she wanted to be when she was older. He wished for answers like animal doctor, nurse or superhero. Instead she would look at him and roll he eyes as if he was asking her the dumbest question ever. With determination in her voice she informed him at the age of eight that when she was older she wanted to become dead.

For years he had blamed himself for his daughters' disturbances, she was brought up without the love of a mother. He tried to keep her mother in their lives, but she just didn't want to understand how much he loved her. It frustrated him beyond believe causing for their relationship to be on both ends of the scales. Incredibly violent at the one end and sensually loving at the other. Unhealthy as it may have been their relationship had been balanced, unhealthy but balanced. It wasn't until Carmen was born that their marriage had gone from bad to worse, his wife got caught in this symbiotic relationship with the child. It took him a few years to see it, recognize it and to understand it, but his wife didn't exist as a separate human being next to the child. She pulled Carmen into her own chaotic inner world and Carmen couldn't separate herself from her mother to grow into an independent individual. Bachman had taken matters into his own hands when Carmen didn't get room to exist and had become hollow and empty, just a shell without contents. He had feared he had been too late, she had always seemed void and detached from life, incapable of loving and being loved. He wasn't really helpful either, it takes a certain person with a certain personality to do the job he does.

He always thought that honesty was the best way forward, children know more than adults give them credit for and with his profession he didn't want her mind to fill in the blanks. So at an early age he told her that he was a cleaner. When 'Eek' the cat died he had shown her what his work entailed. Together they had watched as the flesh bubbled and burned off the bones in the bucket with acid and she had been intrigued with how easily the body had dissolved.

When she was twenty she had been engaged to a guy, he never thought he was right for her. He didn't gether, a father knows these things. He knew she had to go through life's experiences to become what he always wanted, a strong independent individual with a heart. He watched as his daughter tried to be someone she was not. She started to wear colorful clothes and dedicated her life to being a domestic homemaker. It pained him to see how she sold herself short and centered her life around her fiancé, but he had faith that one day she would stand up and chose her own path. A couple of years later she had come home telling him that her fiancé was gone. He had asked her when he would come back but one look at her face had made him regret ever asking that question.

One dies for another one to be born, it was his way to justify whatever happened to her former fiancé. After the failed relationship Carmen went back to school, studied as if her life depended on it and became an entrepreneur. She started her own business offering 'crime and trauma scene clean up services', following in her old man's footsteps. She had built a solid business and even employed a few men. She had taken some psychology and sociology courses to develop her emotional side.
In essence they did the same thing, but he operated in the dark and shady part of the world where she had a legit company, being called after the fire department or police had left the scene. He hardly ever had to deal with people who were suffering or grieving, but she had willed to make a name for herself for being one to clean up a scene and do it fast and respectful so that people would be thankful and grateful for her services. She wanted not only to clean up the mess but clear the way as well so the grieving could begin for those who were left behind without being traumatized any further by being confronted with the horrible sight of where their loved one had left this world.

Bachman took the remote of the stereo and skipped to his favorite opera.

"Dad!" she exclaimed and for a moment he recognized the child in her. "Really?" She sighed as the first sounds of Carmina Burana found their way outside to the porch.

His lips pressed into a thin line with the corners slightly curled upwards when he saw her mumble to the words as if she was praying. O fortuna, velut luna . He loved this opera, he loved the story and he loved his daughter.

The pair listened to the orchestra, refilled their crystal glasses with the royal blood red fluid and enjoyed each other's presence every now and then tossing another chicken bone into the fire.

"You need to talk about it?" Bachman asked after a hour of pleasurable silence between the two of them.

She shook her head. "I just need my dad."

He nodded and didn't press any further. She never was much of a talker, nor was he so he could relate to that. Sometimes it was enough to be around people who were like minded, who understood without asking questions or needing to hear the answers. He outstretched his hand for her to grab it.

Carmen looked at her father and put her hand in his. The warm calloused fingers wrapped themselves protectively around hers. He always had a knack of knowing what she needed. She loved being with her dad, she didn't need to explain herself. Here with her dad, she could be the daughter and let him take care of her.

He rubbed her hand. "I am proud of you Carmen."

She smiled, she knew he was proud of her not only because of her ability to set up a business in a field where only a few dared to go. He was proud of her as a person and it felt so good to hear someone say it out loud. She had worked hard to set up her business and she was handling it fine, but every day she was confronted with the hard truth that life was short and volatile and lately she felt that life was passing her by. She sighed deeply and stared into the flames zoning out, overthinking that cold and empty feeling that had buried itself inside her soul.

"Have the courage to life, anyone can die." Her dad said as he squeezed her hand briefly and with that he hit the nail on the head.

Another one bites the dust, and another one gone, and another one gone, another one bites the dust. Bachman let go of his daughters hand and reached into his pocket to dig for his phone and shot his daughter an apologetic smile.

She couldn't help but chuckle unsure if he was apologizing for the interruption of their night together or for choice of ringtone that was blaring through the night. She couldn't hear the full conversation but caught the tail end of it when he came back outside.

"Care to join me on a job?" He asked as he put his phone back in his pocket. "Work side by side with your old man?"

"Painting and carpentry?"

Bachman nodded. Painting meant cleaning and scrubbing the scene spotless, carpentry was their code for disposing of bodies. His bodies never left in a handmade coffin, nevertheless they still referred to it as boxing or carpeting.

She got up from the lawn chair and stretched her arms above her head. "You can do the painting, I am dying for some carpentry, they never leave any bodies for me at a crime scene."

"That's my girl." He said with a proud grin.