Caroline and the Unfortunate Circumstance
By S. Arallion
Disclaimer: All characters in this story are owned by their respective copyright holders—namely, not myself. Anything you don't recognize is my fault. I make absolutely no profit from my use of these characters and am eternally grateful to the creators of "Caroline in the City" for coming up with such an enjoyable place to play. (And, by the way, I'm also grateful they never came up with a scenario like this one… I definitely enjoy the carefree Caroline on T.V. ) ~~Arallion
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The clatter of his tray of paintbrushes falling to the floor woke Richard from his unplanned doze. His head shot up from the table and one hand grabbed for where the brushes should have been, when his eyes blearily found them scattered all over the floor. Groaning softly, he straightened his glasses and slid off the stool to his knees.
He picked up the tray and stopped. There were voices, out in the apartment by the door. Julia's, he could hear clearly. The other was so faint, he thought he could almost be imagining it. Hesitating another moment, he heard Julia's slightly condescending tone of dismissal. It must have been a neighbor... he thought sleepily, picking up a handful of brushes and inspecting them for damage.
A neighbor? At this time of night?
Richard abruptly woke up. There was something fundamentally wrong with that thought, in his neighborhood. Neighbors generally kept to themselves, for fear of getting involved in something illegal. That, and it was 3 a.m., if the clock on the windowsill was correct. He didn't know anyone who might come calling at 3 a.m..... unless....
When the door to Richard's studio flew open, the dark haired Italian woman in the kitchen jumped slightly. She composed herself rapidly, however, and turned with a lazy, seductive smile on her full lips. "Oh, you are awake, my sweet. I am making some tea to help me sleep, would you like some too?"
Richard looked at her suspiciously, and then slapped himself mentally for the unworthy thought. It really had been his imagination. "Ah... certainly, thank you." She favored him with another of those smiles that staggered every man she met, and turned back to the stove.
"You know, Richard dear, you should really try to get more sleep. You are getting those terrible dark bags under your eyes again..." She glanced sidelong at him with a smoldering look as he wandered over to the neon-lit window. "Perhaps you should ask for a little... vacation time?"
"Maybe," he muttered, staring out through the murky panes of glass into the night. It was raining again. It figured, he thought. He didn't hear the whistle of the teakettle or Julia's soft call, and only noticed when she swished up to him and pressed the warm mug into his hands and her warm body to his side. "What kind is it?"
"Orange spice."
It smelled better than it tasted, he grimaced ruefully. Story of his life. He drank it dutifully. "Thank you."
"Mm-hmm..." the sultry response came as Julia moved back to the bedroom.
Richard turned to watch her go. Everything was graceful about Julia. Even sleepy, at 3 a.m., she managed to strut around the apartment like an heiress. Which, of course, she was, or might have been if not for him. Still, most people would have given up the act and shuffled around in slippers once in a while. Julia never shuffled. It was almost annoying, at times.
"Julia?"
"Hmm?" The sheets were rustling. He knew she was straightening them out so she could climb in and start rumpling them all over again.
"Who was at the door?"
Dead silence for a moment. Then the rustling started again, a little guiltily, he thought. "At the door? I don't remember anyone coming by tonight. Did you have a dream, sleeping on your easel, caro mia?"
He could have had a dream, and he had almost convinced himself of that. But he had been picking up paintbrushes, not sleeping, when he heard the voices. Either he was right or he was in need of therapy again. "Julia, right before I came out, you were talking to someone."
There was no response save for more rustling. The suspicion he'd chided himself for earlier came back and pounced with claws extended. He stalked towards the door. "Julia, who was at the door?"
She turned on him immediately, defensively. "What are you implying, Richard? Perhaps it is my business and not yours." Her dark eyes were flashing a huge warning, which Richard found himself ignoring. It must be a side effect of the bad seafood, a small cynical voice growled in his head.
Voice or no, Richard would not be deterred. "Julia, I am not going to play this game with you. Who was it, and why were they here?" His eyes locked with hers, and for once she had to look away.
From behind the curtain of her hair, she said quietly, "All right. It was Caroline." She heard the slow whoosh of air as Richard let out his held breath, and braced for his next question.
"What did she want?"
This was not going well. Julia essayed a pouty look from under her lashes that was guaranteed to turn men's knees to mud, but the irritable glint in his eyes told her it wasn't working. She sighed. "She wanted to talk to you. She needed you for something. That girl, always needing y-- Ouch, Richard, let go of me!"
He had grasped her upper arms firmly while she was speaking, and his grip had tightened as she continued. "What did you tell her, Julia? Why didn't you come get me?"
The grip wasn't slackening any, despite her complaint.
"I told her you were asleep. Which was true. And that you shouldn't be bothered. Which is also true." She couldn't keep the snippy edge from her voice in the last comment, and Richard raised an eyebrow. He relaxed his hold on her, and she pulled away huffily.
"Sorry," he muttered, raking a hand through his tousled blond hair.
"I should think so," Julia grumbled in reproach. She fluffed her pillow violently and slid between the sheets. "Turn out the lights if you are intending to stay up all night."
Richard nodded absently. Why had Caroline been in his neighborhood at this time of night? It didn't make sense. She had gone straight home, with that Trevor character... he couldn't repress an indignant shudder, despite his worry. What was going on? "Julia, did she seem... all right... to you?"
Julia rolled over in bed. He couldn't see her face again-- why did she always do that? "I don't know, Richard. She always looks sickly to me, you know that. Good night."
The suspicion jangled in his head again. "Julia, you are avoiding my question." He moved to the other side of the bed, so that she was facing him again. "Tell me. Was Caroline all right?"
The dark hair fell over one eye, but the other was glaring at him furiously. "What difference does it make? She is probably safe in bed by now. Why do you feel you must worry about her so much?"
Richard threw his hands up in embarrassed exasperation. "I don't know. Why do I have to pry this out of you? There was something wrong, wasn't there?" The hair covered Julia's face again, and Richard climbed onto the bed and pushed it gently out of the way. She was tense as a harpstring, and pointedly not looking at him. His heart began to pound. "There was something wrong. God, Julia, what was it?"
"I don't know," she repeated bitterly, finally realizing that he wasn't going to let this go. "She looked like, perhaps, she had fallen down the stairs. Or something. She didn't make a lot of sense."
Richard stared through her for a moment, shocked blue eyes wide. Then he exploded into motion, bounding off the bed and reaching the phone in two long strides. "She didn't make a lot of sense? Fallen down the stairs? Julia, how could you?"
"Richard, what are you doing?" she snapped, in the tone that she only used as a last resort to get his attention, climbing out of the bed after him.
He looked at her, and she suddenly wished he hadn't. It was like being doused with ice water. "I'm trying to take care of my friends. Maybe someday I'll have time to explain that to you." His attention turned to the phone. "Damn. She's not there yet."
Shaken, Julia gathered the remnants of her shattered dignity and pointedly turned out the light in the bedroom, closing the door. Richard spared her less than half a glance, though, as he flipped through his address book for Del's telephone number.
"Del. Hello. No, it's Richard.... Del, shut up, I know it's almost 3:30 in the morning, and I don't care if you have an entire modeling studio in your bedroom. Look, Caroline was just here, and I think she may be hurt. I don't know, I just had to pry it out of Julia. No, please don't ask. I just called her apartment and she's not back yet, so I think we should go looking. Yes, if you would call Annie-- yes, I'll meet you there, but I'm going to walk, and look for Caroline on the way...."
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The streets were dark, and cold, and very, very wet. The rain kept blowing in unexpected directions, so that just as Richard had settled his umbrella in an appropriate spot, it changed and he was forced to stop and wipe the splatters off his glasses again. He was only a couple blocks from Caroline's building when the rain slashed full force into his face, and he blindly took cover in the lee of the nearest building. "All right, that's enough," he snapped, glancing at the sky in resigned annoyance. Wiping the rain from his glasses for the tenth time, he replaced them and squinted around at the alley.
His heart gave a queer lurch.
Not ten feet away from him huddled a little bundle of what could have been wet, discarded rags... except that the bundle was looking vaguely about itself with huge, disoriented grey eyes.
"Caroline?"
The rags looked at him. "Richard? Is that really you....?" The voice was so faint he could barely hear it.
"Caroline, what are you doing out here.... " Richard choked on the sentence and rushed to catch the rags, which were in the process of fainting.
She was so very light, even when soaked. He hesitated, but pushed aside the hood of her sodden coat-- not rags after all-- to see her face.
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Where are you, Richard? Del thought angrily as he and Annie paced the floor of Caroline's loft. This was not a time to be dawdling.
Annie snorted. "Julia probably put him on a leash and tied him to the bedpost."
"Oh, bad image." Del shook his head, wincing. "Remember, he called me."
"Yes, but that doesn't mean he had the final say..." Annie shook her finger at Caroline's handsome ex-boyfriend. "I know women like her. They're mean and they're sneaky. Just when the man thinks he's got the advantage, POW!" She demonstrated with a stage punch that lost a little in the interpretation, but was saved from Del's mocking laughter by a knock at the door.
"Richard, it took you--" Del opened the door and stood, shocked. "--long enough..."
Soaking wet, black raincoat draped over his shoulders, Richard looked like the Angel of Death, for all that he carried the limp and bedraggled form of Caroline as carefully as one might a porcelain figurine. His face was hard and set as he swooped into the apartment. "Del, where's your car parked. I think we need to get her to the hospital. Annie, would you go upstairs and pack some things-- you could do it better than I...." He trailed off as he noticed Del staring at him openmouthed. "What?"
"Richard, in case you hadn't noticed, you called us. What the hell is going on?" Del snapped.
The colorist's gaze met his, and Del was surprised to see an angry heat in the usually cool blue eyes. "I don't have any idea what's going on, Del. But look at this." He gently placed his burden on the nearby couch, and brushed the hood back from Caroline's pale, still face again.
Del's eyes flared open. "What the--" He moved closer, pulling the scarf from about her neck. "She looks like she's been hit."
"Oh, my, god." The flat, deliberate tone was Annie's voice, from upstairs. "Um, guys, maybe you should see this." Richard and Del exchanged foreboding looks and raced to the stairs.
There were shards of a broken vase on the floor, and the flowers that had been in them were scattered. Annie picked one up; it was trampled. The bed was a ruin, and there were dark stains on the carpet that looked suspiciously red.
"She didn't do this herself," muttered Del unnecessarily. "Maybe a burglar?"
"Yeah, with the TV and stereo still downstairs? Right," Annie spat.
"And she wouldn't have surprised a burglar alone, when she came home with Trevor...oh, geez." Del exchanged glances with Annie.
Richard turned pale. "You don't think--"
"Well, maybe she invited him in. She hasn't done it before, but..."
The artist turned positively white and leaped down the stairs four at a time.
Annie glared at Del, who didn't look much happier. "Nice going, Mr. Foot-In-Mouth. Maybe you'd better go find your car, before he decides to take Caroline to the E.R. on foot."
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To be continued…..
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Author's Note: Did I mention this was a tad bit dark? Well, hence the "R" rating… :} Reviews welcome.
This is my first fanfic, however, so I feel the need to state a few apologies in advance:
1) Apologies to anyone who feels I've misrepresented characters or situations in any way. This is somewhat of an "alternate ending" fic, obviously, and I'm sure I've gotten some things wrong—but I'm doing my best to create a decent story despite the fact that I'm not a CitC expert.
2) SINCERE apologies to all of you who love Caroline and can't bear to see her hurt. I don't like it either, but really… Richard is quite dense, at the time it seemed nothing short of a nuclear disaster would get him to open up.