It takes Peter two weeks of frantic searching to find her. And never once had he considered giving up. Not this time.
It was only when a dark haired youth, hanging around a rough estate, a few miles from Coronation Street had recognised her, swearing he'd seen her hanging around with some men, just days earlier.
Peter's heart had sunk, he had no idea what state she was in and who these men were. After asking around he was eventually directed to a derelict building, old and run down, and wholly uninviting.
He'd knocked on the door, rusty and peeling with paint, but got no answer.
So he'd kicked it in, not that it was hard to break open. He'd called her name, scrunching his nose up at the mere thought of her being here. But alas, he had found her, unconscious in one of the empty rooms, just a mattress in the corner.
'Carla, oh my god, sweetheart, Carla' he'd shouted, rushing to her side, shaking her, gasping when he saw she was bloody and bruised, her arms mottled with puce coloured strokes.
When the ambulance arrived, he refused to let her out of his arms, he stroked her hair, letting his fingers massage her scalp as they assessed her and put in an iv catheter, reassuring him she was alive, but in dire need of hospital assistance.
It was only when they questioned him if he knew if she was a drug user, gesturing to the needles discarded on the floor that he was unable to hold back, retching and vomiting in a corner of the room.
He shook his head furiously, 'She wouldn't, not Carla' he said indignantly but the tears in his eyes told a different story.
By the time they'd made it to the hospital it felt like forever, the minutes felt like hours, the coffee cup in his hand now cold.
'My Barlow?' a gruff voice called, Peter's head shooting up in response.
'Would you like to come through?' he said, beckoning Peter who nodded, grabbing his jacket and following the Dr until they came to Carla's room.
The Dr paused, putting his hand on Peter's forearm to get his attention before entering the room.
'Mr Barlow, whilst Carla is stable, I must make you aware she had sustained some serious injuries. Along with several broken ribs, we believe she has some internal bleeding, it looks as though she has been attacked'.
'Internal bleeding? Attacked? Is she okay? Is she going to be okay?' the urgency in Peter's voice resulting in the Dr interrupting him.
'As we have managed to stabilise her bleeding, she is no urgent danger, however, once the operating theatre is free, we will be taking her up to investigate where this is coming from, we are aware she had a kidney transplant quite recently, therefore it is our priority to establish exactly where the bleeding is coming from'.
'No urgent danger? She was half dead!' Peter's voice was louder than he'd intended.
'I can assure you, Mr Barlow, Carla is our top priority.. I must add, there is a slight complication, of a sensitive matter we need to make you aware of'.
'Mr Barlow, traces of diamorphine, heroin, were found in Carla's blood, enough to suggest this is a very recent.. she must have taken it recently' the Dr spoke gravely.
'Look, just get her better, make her better, please' Peter urged him.
The Dr gave Peter a sympathetic smile, before allowing him into the room.
'I know it can be a bit of a shock..' the Dr could see the unsettlement in Peter's eyes, the way he scanned her body, watching her chest rise and fall thanks to the ventilator she was attached to, the repetitive sound it made filling the room.
Checking her OBs, the Dr made a quick exit, saying he'd be back shortly, wanting to allow Peter time with his girlfriend, who was hanging on despite her grave situation.
'Oh Car, darling' Peter whispered softly, stroking her cheek, wires and tubes preventing him from kissing her lips.
'What happened to you?'.