Carla's Cide - The Fragment
Then everything was bright.
Carla blinked and looked around. She was out in the sunlight. She squinted and used a hand to shield her eyes, gazing skyward. Yup, definitely a sun. Mid-afternoon if she wasn't mistaken.
Lowering her hand, she observed her surroundings. She was standing on a street, beside a row of quaint wooden houses. In front of her, there was a road, and over that some shops. People were walking past her, looking busy and care free. Some were shopping, some were just strolling with dreamy looks on their faces. She herself was dressed in casual clothing; not ones she currently owned, but comfortable all the same. Everything was pleasant. Warm and pleasant. And somehow, all strangely familiar.
Carla looked at the stores across from her, curious, struggling to remember. There was an Italian restaurant, "Barratolli's". Next to that, a newsagency. There was a paper stand out the front and people were putting in coins to take one as they pleased. She hadn't seen a stand like that in a long time.
Looking quickly to make sure no cars were coming, she ducked across the road and tried to casually walk towards the papers. No one gave her a second glance. In fact, they ignored her completely. She came to the stand and peered through the glass, trying to read the date. It was small, by perfectly legible.
"April 6th, 1992."
Carla recoiled, stepping away from the stand. 1992? Fourteen years ago? What the hell was she doing here? And finally, it dawned on her.
She was home.
This street, these stores... she recognised it all as the city she'd grown up in with her family. Long before she'd run away and met Ben, and before she'd lost contact with her old life and everything about it. This street had been not far from her house; they'd lived on the city outskirts where things slightly resembled that of a small town. Quaint and old fashioned in a way. Somehow, she was back again. But why?
Could this be the whole 'life flashing before your eyes' thing? She'd heard about that often. But technically, 'flash' suggests a second, not a complete re-creation. She was almost living this.
So why was she back? Did this date have some sort of significance in her life? To be honest, she couldn't remember much of her childhood at all... she would have been, what? Six? Yes, she would have been six in 1992. It seemed far further back then she could recall.
A man was walking towards her. He seemed intent on picking up a paper from the stand. Carla put a hand out to indicate she'd like him to pause.
"Excuse me -" she started. The man didn't look up. He didn't even react. Instead, he kept walking straight at her.
"H-hey, wait!" she stammered. She tried to move backwards, but he was walking too quickly. She squinted her eyes shut, bracing for a collision.
The man passed straight through her. Carla could on stare opened mouthed as he fished a coin out his pocket and put it in the slot. Then he took a paper and continued on his way. Carla still hadn't moved.
"Ok," she breathed. "So they can't see me or hear me. Guess this really is just an illusion."
She brushed off her body, feeling awkward and a little violated. It wasn't every day you had a stranger walk through you. She looked up the street, wondering if the man had sensed anything. Anything at all. And then she froze.
Coming towards her, walking in that quick half-skip that young people often have, was a small blonde girl. She was wearing a chequered one-piece uniform, and had a backpack on. Carla put a hand up to her mouth in shock. It was her. A six year old Carla, tottering happily along, returning home after a day at school.
'No way!' Adult Carla thought. 'What is this?'
The girl was drawing close. She was humming a tune Carla didn't remember; perhaps a popular song of that day and age. Kid Carla seemed oblivious to her surroundings, and just kept coming down the street.
'And I thought I was going crazy before,' Carla scoffed to herself. She moved off the sidewalk and leaned up against the paper stand. The girl walked past, not even glancing her way.
'Amazing...' Carla shook her head. But what now? Was she supposed to be seeing something here? If so, she didn't know what.
"Miss! Little miss!"
A man's voice suddenly called out near Carla, making her jump. It had come from the alley between the restaurant and the newsagency. A sudden shiver went down her spine as she recognised the similarity between it and the place where she'd abandoned her stolen goods, only three days early. A stupid thought, really, considering this was a whole different city.
"Miss, yes you there. I need help."
Kid Carla stopped her humming and looked towards the alley. She seemed confused, but not afraid.
"Hello?" she said in a cute, high voice. "What's wrong, Mister?"
Carla watched as a middle aged man in a business suit came out onto the street. His hair was thinning and showing signs of grey. His face was bright red. It looked like he'd been running hard.
"Ah, thank you for stopping," he huffed. "I've lost my puppy."
"A puppy!" Kid Carla cried eagerly. "You have a doggy?"
"Yes, I just bought him. He's very cute. But he got frightened by a loud car and jumped out of my arms. He ran down into the alley, and I can't seem to find him."
"I love dogs," Kid Carla squealed cheerfully. "But Dad says I can't have one until I get more re-spon-sa-billy."
The man in the business suit smiled and chuckled quietly.
"Well," he said, "I need a good pair of eyes and a kind voice to help me coax my scared pooch out. If you help, I'll let you pat him for awhile. How's that sound?"
"Great!" the excited young girl cried. "He can't be far away."
She ran into the alley and disappeared from Carla's view, calling out "Puuuuuppppyy" as she went. The business man smiled and began to slowly follow her. Carla immediately felt the hairs on the back of her neck go up.
Wait, this wasn't right. Surely the girl's mum... well, her mum, had told her to never go places with a strange person. This man in particular seemed suspicious. She left the paper stand and walked quickly into the alley. The girl and the man were already half way down.
"Puuuppy!" Kid Carla called. "Where are you? Hey, Mister, does he have a proper name?"
"Not yet," the man replied. "He's brand new, like I said. If you find him, maybe I'll let you name him too!"
"Awesome!" she cried, putting her hands up to her mouth in excitement.
"How about we try over there. Behind the dumpster?" The man gestured further down the alley, where an old rusted 'Mega-Dump' sat alone. The evening light wasn't shining that far down. And there was a dead end only a few meters beyond it.
Carla felt her instincts going crazy; some sort of imbedded, maternal desire to protect the child, even though said child was herself.
"Hey," she yelled at the man. "Hey you. Get away from her. I'm warning you."
The business man ignored her, instead continuing to follow the girl. He had one hand in his pocket. Kid Carla was still oblivious.
"Puuuuppy. Puppy?" she called, running behind the dumpster. "He's not here, Mister," she called after a few seconds.
The man didn't answer. He was moving quickly now, closing the gap between him and the girl.
'Oh, Jesus, no!' Carla thought. What the hell was he doing? Whatever he intended, it wasn't good. She had to stop him!
"Stay where you are!" she screamed. She raced down the alley and tried to tackle him around the waist. Instead, she fell straight through him, landing on her face in the dirt. Thankfully, there was no pain to feel.
"Are you sure?" the man asked, reaching the dumpster and standing over the girl. "Oh, that's a shame. Oh well, maybe we should try this."
He pulled his hand of his pocket, and something long and shiny came with it. It glinted in the little light there was. Carla saw her young self stare at it inquisitively.
"Is that one of those dog whistles?" she asked.
"Not quite," he replied. He put the object down closer, and both Kid Carla and her adult self saw immediately the sharp blade that flicked out of the silver box. The girl opened her mouth to scream, but the man was faster.
Thrusting an arm out, he grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the wall. Her scream died in her throat. Her eyes looked wild with terror.
"Try and scream again, and you'll regret it," he hissed. He brought the blade up close to her face so that the tip almost touched her nose.
"Leave her alone you freak!" Carla screamed. She scrambled up and lunged at the man again, trying to kick his legs out from under him. As expected, she passed straight through.
Kid Carla was starting to sob now, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hands were clinging to the man's arm, but had little effect. He was far stronger then her.
"Now listen," he scowled at her, "we're going to be playing a few little games. If you do each game properly, I might let you go. Do you understand?"
Kid Carla stared at him, her eyes watery with tears.
"Do you understand?" he growled, slamming her against the wall again.
The girl nodded her head vigorously, making tears spray in all directions. Carla felt tears welling up inside her as well. She was helpless. Why was she seeing this? Was she in Hell, and this was her eternal punishment?
"Let her go, you sick bastard," she said weakly. She was feeling ill in the stomach, and fell back against the wall, doubled over. "Sick... freak."
"That's good," the business man said. He took the knife away from her nose, and pointed it downwards, running it along the side of her dress. "First thing; let's see what we have -"
A loud bang suddenly rang through the alleyway. The man in the suit, Carla and the girl all jumped and looked back towards the street. The business man let out an angry growl.
About halfway up, a door in the wall had opened. It seemed to be a back entrance to the Italian restaurant, and at that moment, the chef had come outside. He was wearing the full cook's attire; white apron, big puffy hat. In his right hand he had a meat cleaver which he was using to scrape pieces of food off a big wooden chopping board. He hadn't seen the people staring at him a few metres down the alley.
The business man thrust the knife under Kid Carla's chin.
"Make one sound and it'll be your last," he whispered. The girl just stared back at him, too afraid to even nod. Carla could see in her eyes how badly she wanted to make the chef aware of their presence. It must have felt so close... yet so far away.
The business man held his breath, watching the chef with a wicked intensity. The chopping board was clean now, and it was mere moments before he went back inside. So close... so close.
A rat came squealing out of the door, running into the alley and down their way.
"What in the...!" the chef cried in a heavy accent, followed by some words in his own language. "Where did you come from?"
He raised his knife and made to chase after it... and finally saw the man in the suit, attempting to conceal himself and somebody else behind the old dumpster.
"Eh? Who's there? Whatta you up to?"
The business man swore under his breath and forced Kid Carla towards the ground.
"Don't move a goddam inch," he whispered. Then he came out from behind the dumpster. "Ah, hey there. Sorry, I'm a bit lost. My dog ran away, and I've been searching everywhere for him. Thought I saw him come down here."
The chef narrowed his eyes and pointed the cleaver towards the dumpster.
"Whhooo have you got there?" he asked slowly. "I thought I saw somebody else."
The business man scoffed, making a face as if it was the silliest thing he'd ever heard.
"Someone? Who else would be there? It's a festering rubbish pit. I guarantee I'm alone."
The chef stared at him suspiciously, then began to move quickly down the alley. The business man stepped back in surprise.
"Hey, wait just a -"
The chef pushed past him and spotted Kid Carla cowering against the wall. She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes. She didn't utter a word.
"What..?" the chef gasped. He looked from the cowering child, to the man that had been assaulting her, and back to the child again. "You some kind of sicko?"
The business man immediately brought up the switchblade and brandished it in front of him in a defensive stance.
"Stay the hell out of this," he growled. "I'll cut you if I have too."
"You'll cut me?" the chef almost chuckled. He raised his own knife, the enormous cleaver dripping with the remains of some pre-prepared meat product. "I'm doubting that."
The business man sneered and took a step backwards.
"Fuck you," he said. Then ran forward with his knife raised.
The chef moved aside in time to avoid the first lash out, but the second one caught the side of his chest. He fell against the dumpster with a mighty clang, sending dust up in a cloud.
"You... bastard!" he snorted. He raised the cleaver and brought it down in a large, overhanded swing. The businessman easily dodged it.
Unfortunately for the chef, he was unable to bring the cleaver up in time, and so found himself toppling forward. The man in the suit spun as the bigger cook staggered past, and imbedded the small switchblade into the back of his neck. The chef fell like a stone, his head landing inches from Kid Carla's feet. Her mouth opened as if to scream, but no sound came out.
Carla, however, could scream, and she did so. It was horrific to watch, and the feeling of helplessness left her close to vomiting. She couldn't believe what she'd just seen. It couldn't have happened. It wasn't real.
The business man was breathing heavily, but otherwise seemed uninjured. He gave the body a kick, just to be sure, before bending down to grip the handle of the knife. It had locked in pretty tightly; perhaps caught between two of the chef's vertebrae. He had to put a foot on the man's head.
The knife came free in a squirt of bright red liquid, some of which splashed on the business man's sleeve. The knife swung out, trailing blood as it went, and a thin line splashed across Kid Carla's face. She didn't move. She barely even blinked. She just sat, staring at the body at her feet. At the chef that had tried to save her, and now no longer lived.
The business man made a 'tch' sound with his tongue and motioned to wipe the blade on the chefs white clothes. Instead, he paused, and seemed to get a better idea. He stepped over the body and knelt down so that he was eye level with Kid Carla. Then he drew the flat sides of the knife over each of her cheeks, leaving red stains as he did.
"Remember this," he said softly. "If you ever tell the police or anyone else what happened here, or even what I look like, I'll find you. I'll come to your house. I'll get your mum and dad while they're sleeping, and I'll kill them right in front of you. Then I'll cut you so bad that no one will look at you with love ever again. You got that?"
Kid Carla looked up at him; she didn't cry, she didn't nod. She just stared vacantly. The business man waved his knife in front of her a few times, then shook his head,
"See ya, kid," he scowled. Then he pocketed the knife and ran down the alley.
Carla tried to stand up straight, ignoring the pain in her stomach.
"Wait! Come back, you bastard. Come back!" A wave of nausea made her fall to her knees. "Wait..."
He had gone. Disappeared out on the street. She wouldn't be able to stop him, even if she could run after him. This wasn't her time or her world. This belonged to the younger her; the blood spattered, silent six year old her that now sat silent behind the dumpster. Carla crawled over to her, avoiding the body of the chef.
"I'm so sorry," she repeated. "So, so sorry." She tried to put her arms around the girl, but passed through every time. Hopeless.
As she fell backwards on the ground, choking on tears, Kid Carla stood up. There was no expression on her face. She looked as pale and stony as granite. Carla watched her step over the body of the chef and around the dumpster. She began to head down the alley, back towards the street.
"H-hey?" Carla called, confused. "Where are you going?"
Kid Carla continued to stumble along. Her backpack fell off her shoulders, landing on the ground with a thud. Carla got up and tried to go after her. The sick pain in her stomach was starting to ease.
"Wait! Don't go yet. He could still be there!"
They came out on the street into bright evening light, and Carla looked to her left and right. The people who had seen the girl's appearance were staring in shock. But there was no sign of the business man. A woman in her twenties ran up and grabbed Kid Carla by the shoulders.
"My god, what happened to you?" she gasped. Kid Carla slumped forward, her small face resting against the women's neck. She didn't say anything.
"Call an ambulance!" an elderly gentlemen yelled into the newsagency. Some other people ran down into the alley, and all stopped short when they saw the body.
"Oh my god, there's one here to. Quick, does anyone know CPR?"
Carla watched as random strangers tried desperately to save the chefs already extinguished life. She watched the young woman and others try to comfort Kid Carla and get her to speak. The sick feeling churned in her stomach.
Listless, she fell against the side of the newsagency and slid down onto the path. Her view gazed up the street, towards where the sun was slowly beginning to set.
'So this is what happened,' she thought, squinting against the light. 'This is where it all went wrong.'
She sat quietly, letting passer-by's hurry around and try their best to help. Soon enough, sirens sounded in the distance. The ambulance was drawing near.
By the time it reached them, Kid Carla was in a large, muscular man's arms. He was holding her close to his chest and barely letting anyone else get close. Only when the paramedics arrived did he finally hand her over.
"I'm a med student," he blurted out. "She's in shock. You need to do something, fast."
The paramedics pulled a stretcher out of the ambulance and lay the girl on it. Then they began to go over the usual checks. Pulse. Breathing. Response. Carla got up off the footpath and walked over to the crowd, watching as they pulled her younger self's eyelids up and done and shone a small flashlight in her pupils. She still hadn't uttered a sound.
Carla stood over herself, looking down at the pale blood spattered face. Her own face screwed up in despair.
"You... we... never stood a chance," she choked.
There was a screech of brakes, and a brown sedan pulled up beside the ambulance. Carla looked up, and gaped in shock. That was her car. Her family's old fender bender. And inside...
"Oh my god, Carla, Carla honey!" The woman Carla recognised as her mother flung open the passenger side door and raced over to the stretcher. Her arms were wide open. She wanted to hold her baby. But the paramedics stepped in her way.
"Sorry, ma'am, she can't be touched. She's in a very delicate state."
"But that's my daughter!" she screamed in reply.
In the car behind, Carla saw the driver's side door open, and a man with blonde hair got out. Her father. He had a grim look on his face that suggested he expected the worst. Perhaps he was right too? Better to be prepared then hopeful.
The paramedics finally let her hysterical mother get near the stretcher, and she stood over the prone, unresponsive body of her child. Carla was only a few feet away, looking at a face she hadn't seen for nearly four years. An overwhelming sadness passed through her, and for the first time she realised how much she missed her family. She wanted to reach out and touch them.
"Mum...?" she called, her voice cracking slightly. A second later, her father squeezed in beside his wife. He was looking down at his motionless daughter with a look darker then a coastal storm. He was raging inside, even if he didn't want to show it.
"Dad..." Carla sniffed, gazing over at him too and feeling the painful tug of reminiscence in her heart.
So this is how it all started.
Carla sat on the edge of the stretcher, looking down at a familiar yet fourteen-years-younger face. The face she'd seen in the mirror all her life. She ran her fingers lightly across the child's hair.
She couldn't remember any of this event, but a lot of things made sense to her now. Why there was such a large portion of her childhood that seemed to be missing from her memory all together. Way she had such trouble in school when it came to developing social groups or making new friends. The friendly 'doctor' that came by once a month for nearly her entire high school life, just to 'check on how she was feeling. Wouldn't want you to get sick, after all, a kid's supposed to have fun'.
If you ever tell the police or anyone else what happened here, or even what I look like, I'll find you. I'll come to your house. I'll get your mum and dad while they're sleeping, and I'll kill them right in front of you. Then I'll cut you so bad that no one will ever look at you with love ever again. You got that?
Those words. The only thing that really struck a cord in her mind. Is that why her relationship with her parents had degraded in her later years? That fear of danger she felt whenever she was with them? Is it possible... that she even ran away from home because of it?
Now that she thought about it, maybe she had. Maybe she hadn't been running away from them because she disliked them. In fact, she never remembered hating her parents. Even when Ben asked about them she wasn't sure why she left. Maybe it was because she wanted to protect them. The business man may or may not have been caught, but those words were locked away in her mind; trapped in the part Captain Nature called 'the fragment'.
This whole event had governed the outcome of her life, right up until the final day. The end of it all, where she now lay dieing on the carpet of her living room thanks to a sleeping pill over dose. What a sad, sad course of events. In a way, she was glad it was over.
Things were starting to go dark now, as the sun set behind the distant suburban houses. The people around the stretcher began to fade, grow misty, like shadows. Soon, only Carla, the child on the sketcher, and her grief stricken parents remained.
Carla bent down and kissed the prone girl on the forehead.
"I'm so sorry," she said for the final time. "Sorry that it will all end this way."
She turned to her parents, feeling the pang of longing wrench at her stomach.
"I hope you won't think bad of me," she said. "I miss you guys. I wish I'd had time to contact you before leaving."
Then something happened that made her skin go cold. Her father looked at her; stared directly into her eyes.
"What have you done?" he growled.
Carla took a step back in surprise.
"D-dad?" she gasped.
"What have you done?" he bellowed again. But this time it wasn't his voice. It was deeper, more confident. It sounded like the voice...
Of a Hero.
"No!" Carla cried, throwing her arms up. "No, stay away! I'm not going back, I won't!"