She heard a door open and slam shut.
"Peter?" a voice called out
Her eyes fluttered but she could not open them. She groaned in reaction to the searing pain that flashed behind them.
"Carla?"
Her mouth hung limply open as she tried to respond to the voice that called to her. Her mind began to race.
Who was calling her?
Who was in the flat?
Why couldn't she move or respond?
Panic set in as she tried desperately to remember where she was and what had happened to her.
Her limbs began to shake profusely, and it was in that moment that she realized that she was lying on some sort of carpeted surface; her cheek pressed into the cushioned yet not soft material beneath her face. She let out a cry of pain as she attempted to move; a intense and scorching burn pulsing through her body and rendering her utterly helpless.
"Did you hear that?" the soft male voice asked
"They're probably both drunk off their faces!" she recognized the second voice all too well, and a shudder coursed through her, "you should have seen them yesterday, fighting over that bottle of whiskey-"
"Leanne, please!" the male voice gently scolded the snappy blonde.
Carla let out another whimper as she tried to call out to them, and she heard soft footfalls enter the room where she lay prone on the floor…
…wherever that was…
"Granddad!"
Simon's scream coursed through her pounding head and ripped into her very soul. She tried to open her eyes but they refused to comply.
"Carla! Carla!" she heard Simon drop to his knees in front of her, his little hands reaching out and gently shaking her shoulder, "please wake up! I'm sorry!" he sobbed to her, his tears splashing upon her exposed cheek. She could only groan softly as the sound of two others footfalls pounded into the room.
"Oh my God!" Leanne screeched.
Her former friend lay awkwardly splayed, fully clothed, upon the floor next to the bed, beside the overturned side table. Dried blood had oozed and stained the carpet from a wound on the back of her head as well as from a hairline gash just above her right eye; her neck and wrists littered with red finger-shaped marks, and her leopard print blouse torn and hanging limply off her shoulders.
"Where the hell is Peter?!" Ken's voice boomed angrily as he crouched down next to Carla's head
"Why won't she wake up?" Simon asked as he sobbed
"Come on Si," Leanne called to him rather shakily, "Let's give Carla some air okay?"
Carla could hear as Simon was pulled to his feet, his sobbing protests becoming muffled as Leanne presumably hugged him to her
"Uh yes, an ambulance please!" Ken said into the phone receiver, his hand gently stroking Carla's matted and bloodied hair.
Leanne re-entered the room, "you don't think-" she swallowed the lump in her throat as she gazed down on the battered and bruised woman upon the floor, "you don't think that Peter's done this to her do you?"
"No," Ken quickly answered forcefully, his tone aghast at the very notion, "Peter would never lay a finger on Carla, especially not after what's happened to her…" his fingers brushed down to Carla's neck, deftly feeling a pulse. "Yes, we need an ambulance to 19 Rosamund Street. It's a flat above a bookie's," Ken covered the receiver with his hand, "Leanne," he whispered to her, "grab that throw over the chair, toss it over her and keep her warm. I'm going to go wait outside for the ambulance."
Carla felt Ken rise to his feet, and Leanne crouch down seconds later; a soft, warm fleece blanket was laid over her and she felt her fingers being grasped with an all too familiar hand.
"Hang in there Car, help is on the way," Leanne whispered, "please just hang on…"