—Ten Minutes Earlier—

After smiting the Devil with her surprise ambulance, Carrie hobbled as far away from the building as she could. She felt no pain in her ruined arm, although an odd pressure in her side punished her attempts to run. She kept going until she could hold its distant figure between her thumb and index finger (on her left hand, of course).

Then she crushed those digits together.

Flex.

*KA-BOOM*

The heat and pressure of the explosion may have been muffled by layers of trees, but it still agitated the exposed bones in Carrie's right arm.

The pain hit her all at once.

(OH MOMMA IT HURTS TOO MUCH IM BROKEN SOMEBODY FIX ME)

Carrie would have screamed, but couldn't. A sharp pain in her side punished her when she tried, forcing the scream inside, shaking apart her inmost being. The pain crested before leveling off and dropping, taking every other part of Carrie's mind with it. She could feel her body giving up, pushed far beyond its limits until it burnt out like a lightbulb. Her consciousness momentarily shot into focus by the unbearably loud impact of a wrecked ambulance wedging itself between two trees, ejecting something heavy and dark onto the ground, but she couldn't see what it was before the light took her away…

…But not to heaven. It pulled her back and forth between being and nonbeing, coming and going in waves. As scary as nonbeing was, it didn't hurt. Being sent her back until the pain crested and pushed her away in a sadistic tug-of-war. Each time she returned something changed in the unmoving environment. Sometimes the wind brought the stench of the burning lab, sometimes it didn't. Sometimes the Devil was there, sometimes he wasn't. Contrary to her expectations, Carrie actually dreaded being alone worse than being in the presence of her tormentor.

(please god im so alone)

But what else was new?

Then another light came, a different one than that brought by the pain. It was the loudest light Carrie had ever seen, its roar tearing through the forest and whirling through the trees.

(is that you jesus im done please take me away)

Something lowered from the sky, and other things came with it. They looked like people but Carrie couldn't touch their thoughts. It was like they weren't real.

(not angels not shiny enough)

But they were real enough to grab her and put her on some sort of bed, every movement of her arm sending a march of broken glass down her nerves.

(what are you where are you taking me god please say something im sorry im sorry im sorry)

Flex

Nothing. She couldn't touch anything, but she could at least reach for the sparks of someone else's mind, some way to prove there was anyone else in this forest besides the not-men.

She reached far enough and found someone.

She didn't know who it was, only that he was searching for something.

The gun; the infernal weapon that embraced Carrie and then mauled her. Just like her mom. Like Sue. Like everyone she'd ever known.

The gun meant something to this man. It did not maul him. It had something attached to it that belonged to the old man who read bedtime stories.

A rosary.

Icons of saints.

(what)

At first Carrie thought she was remembering her mother again, but these weren't her thoughts. The rosary hung right on the gun, clear as day while the man intently searched for it.

A man with a big red hand made out of stone.

(trying to confuse me again)

But she knew when people were lying. She perfected that in the hospital. It gave off a special, nervous charge. That didn't come from the Devil.

She had no energy to think of what it meant. The light dragged her away again as the swaying of the rising bed ground Carrie's mind into silence.

Carrie still wasn't in heaven. It was white, sterile, cramped and full of machines.

(hospital again)

But she blew it up. She saw it blow up. Was it a different one?

(or was i just dreaming)

But no, there were the not-men. The not-men were the only ones to see Carrie for a long time. She flexed, but everything was bolted to the ground, including her right arm. It was surrounded by rings with cables going into her skin. Every finger even had its own rings and cables.

(doesnt hurt)

So it couldn't be some sort of punishment, although not knowing what it was proved to be punishment enough.

Her life consisted of sleep-

(nightmares)

-and tests, some of which made her flex and move things while others just had her repeat words or solve logic puzzles. Not knowing anything better to do, she complied. One time the not-men tried to put a tube in her mouth. She flexed, shoved it away. That caused a wave of liquid peace to surge into her veins, making it so she couldn't flex but didn't care. In time she learned that this would happen whenever she pushed a not-man, she'd get this rush. The not-men caught on and stopped getting her "morphine."

(is this purgatory)

Like her stay in the lab before, she had to measure time in units of nightmares. Forty nightmares in the domain of the not-men, a solitary figure came into her room. Usually the not-men came in groups of four, so this piqued Carrie's interest somewhat.

The not-man took off his helmet.

It was a woman.

She had black hair and a silver cross around her neck. Her brain-sparks wove a pattern somewhat similar to the pity shown her by Tommy and his mom. But this was more than just pity; it had a strength to it that pushed beyond coercion or prayer to the realm of action.

Compassion.

(sue is that you)

"Hey there, Carrie," the woman said, her voice faltering.

(not sues voice)

"My name is Liz," she said in a voice like someone who didn't particularly like kids forced at gunpoint to teach a kindergarten class, "Can you talk?"

In lieu of a response Carrie forced her way into Liz's mind.

(shes a freak just like me she makes fire killed lots of people)

Carrie started to cry.

Liz looked embarrassed. Carrie could sense her casting away some pre-planned speech and improvising, "Look, I'm not the best at this counseling thing but I fought like hell for them to let me in here. You need to know that you're safe."

(im-)

"-not safe anywhere," Carrie quietly keened.

"That's what I thought, too. They brought me here a long time ago. They helped me."

(shes not telling the full story theres so much pain even after she came)

"I won't sugarcoat this for you. You're still going to get hurt. God knows I did, but here we have people to pick us up."

Carrie searched for words and couldn't find them, so instead she pried into Liz's head. She got the sense that Liz knew she would do this and didn't object. She saw some of Liz's friends, like the blue man and-

Carrie flinched.

"I know what you saw, but it's not what it looks like. He's not the devil."

(shes not lying either)

"Nothing… nothing makes sense anymore," Carrie wept.

"Believe me, I've been there. But it gets better, just like your arm right there is going to get better."

(so thats what thats for)

"You know, sometimes when someone breaks a bone, it heals wrong. So that misshapen bone needs to be broken again and put in the right place to heal properly. I guess it works the same way with souls."

"Your soul got fixed?"

Liz chucked at how silly this conversation was going, "Yeah, I guess. At least I know that I've got others carrying crosses for me."

"I'm going to be crucified?" Carrie's eyes widened.

Liz exhaled through her nose, "No, not like that. You're a good catholic, right? Know your bible?"

(mom got mad because i knew it too much)

Carrie chose not to respond.

"Well, in the Gospel of Luke, Jesus says we have to carry our crosses. For the longest time I thought that meant we were supposed to just suffer because that would make us good somehow."

"You mean that's not how it works?"

"Now, I'm not a nun and I don't go to church that often, so you can take or leave what I have to say: we carry crosses for each other."

"What does that mean? I have to feel other peoples' hurt, too?" Carrie could practically feel the leaden weight descend upon her like the ruins of her house.

"No, not 'too.' 'Instead.' Trust me, if you keep thinking about how much your life sucks it's never going to get better. At least you can do something to make someone else's crappy life less crappy, and they'll do the same to you."

Carrie stopped crying. A tapping came from outside the door.

"I know this is a lot to take in, so I'll come back later and we can talk some more, okay?"

"Sure."

"Next time they try to feed you, just take it. It's good."

"Uh huh."

Liz left and the not-men came back. They gave her a tube and she gulped it down. She smiled.

It was peanut butter.

—End—

Author's Note: Sorry I was late in marking this as "Complete," but I really think this is a good point to end the narrative. I didn't really envision Carrie making a full enough recovery to become a productive agent for the BPRD, but likewise I couldn't bear to give the story a downer ending, with Carrie committing suicide or living the rest of her life with chronic mental brokenness. I suppose she could just be another freak in the BPRD's care, equivalent to someone living in assisted living, but I don't know if I can turn that into an exciting story.

So if you want to know what happens next, I want you to tell me. Make your own sequel. Go nuts, really. You don't even have to give me credit. I don't own any of these characters, anyway.