Message-ID: <19990126035427.20757.qmail@hotmail.com> From: "Carol S. Belyea" Date: Mon, 25 Jan 1999 19:54:27 PST Subject: A Shining Star . . . . Chapter 4 Chapter Four She bolted upright from her restless sleep. Her curls thrown about her shoulders and she found herself panting. She couldn't see, due to the pitch blackness of her surroundings. The stillness she felt around her was nearly unbearable. The sound of her own breathing scared her. After a moment, her breathing finally calmed and she swallowed the forming lump in her throat as she realized where she was exactly. The crip's house. Carlie took one slow breath and let her eyes adjust to what little light was provided by the window in her room. The moon wasn't out but some faint illumination from the street lamps outside was enough for her to make out what she thought was the door to her bedroom. It was closed and locked and she feared opening it. Her ghosts from the past wouldn't let her open her door very easily and she fought with those phantoms everyday of her life since her nightmares began. "Crip" had ordered them a pizza that night. He had to bring a slice into her room because she probably wouldn't have gone to get it herself anyway. Al left her alone immediately afterwards. He knew she needed space but Carlie didn't care. But that wasn't entirely true. Maybe she did feel at least something for him. She could have run away anytime she wanted to and yet something inside her told her to stay. He had the same eyes as her grandmother. His mother. Carlie had briefly risked looking into his eyes and could've sworn she saw her Nana. In a split second, a softened look on her face turned into a sour one and she let a curse to him slip past her lips. The cussing managed to buy her a lot of time alone. She was alone now and she saw her opportunity. Besides, she couldn't go back to sleep if she wanted to. Standing, the hardwood floor was cold under her bare feet but she didn't care much. She tiptoed to the door, slowly unlocking it and turning the knob. The springs inside the doorknob mechanism made noises of straining and her heart quickened at the sound. She hoped it wouldn't wake her uncle. He didn't seem like the kind that would do anything too drastic but she still didn't know what kind of person he was exactly. She wasn't able to get a good look at the man's house yet since she'd spent all of her time in her room. She was starting to feel a little cabin feverish even but she fought not to let it overcome her. As quietly as she could manage, she made her way out into the hallway. Her hand outstretched to touch the wall, she felt picture frames as she walked along, being careful not to knock them to the floor. She saw the doorway leading to the kitchen as she entered the living room. Her tummy rumbled a bit so she went for it. Forgetting herself for a moment, her feet slapped on the floor as she moved and she heard someone stir in the room. Fear choked her, for she was certain that three-year-olds didn't snore so deeply. She found herself unable to move any further. Sprawled out on the couch was a slumbering Admiral. Carlie couldn't tell at first if he was awake or not. She dared herself to find out. As she approached the couch, she felt a rug under her feet. There was no coffee table to bump into yet she collided with another object. It was still dark so she couldn't see what it was. She touched a part of it and her hand came in contact with a tire. She gulped, realizing what it was. Urging herself onward, she bent over to get a closer look at Al's face. He opened his eyes slightly. Carlie didn't notice until his eyes opened up wide as they focused on her. He screamed. So did Carlie, jumping back and tumbling backwards into the wheelchair. Al reached behind him to turn on a lamp. As soon as the lights came on and she looked down to see what she was sitting in. She screamed again and leaped back onto her feet. "Carlie?" Al said, rubbing his face and sitting up. Carlie was still trying to regain her breath. Passing a hand through his hair, "Jesus, Carlie. You almost gave me a heart attack." "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I . . .," she swallowed and rubbed her stomach. "I think I'm going to throw up." Nausea overwhelmed her and she covered her mouth, running into the hallway bathroom. Al sighed and threw back the blanket that covered him, transferring into his chair. After a few minutes of regurgitating what little food she had in her stomach, she noticed Al by the door with an empty glass in his hand. "Didn't want it to spill all over the floor." He said softly, indicating the glass. He held it out to her and, hesitantly, she took it, casting her eyes away. "Thanks." She whispered. Al raised his eyebrows a bit. "Well, at least we know you have manners." Carlie ignored the comment, washing out her mouth and filling the glass with water. Not finding the courage to look at him, she took a few sips from the glass before speaking timidly. "Are you angry?" Confusion crossed Al's face. "Angry? Why would I be?" The girl shrugged slightly. "I dunno. For waking you up, I guess. It happened once with my dad and I should've known better to never do it again." "What happened?" With an expressionless look on her face, she emptied the glass of water and responded bitterly, "Things I can't seem to forget." In all reality, Al was exhausted. His concern for his niece added to his fatigue. But after what she had just said, he couldn't leave her alone just to go back to sleep. Even though she didn't admit it, it was obvious to Al that she needed to talk to someone. Pausing a moment for consideration, Al spoke up again. "So, couldn't sleep?" Still staring at nothing of her interest, she nodded, "Something like that." Al only nodded, not wanting to push her too far. Whatever was wrong, it was buried deep within her soul, and he understood more than anyone what kind of hurt that would bring. "Well, first night in a strange place'll do that." Carlie still couldn't find it in her to look into his eyes again and she wiped her face with a towel as an excuse for avoidance. "Yeah, well. I should know, huh?" "Yeah, guess so." Al paused, still avoiding the blunt tack he was tempted to take. "Anything I can do to help?" Her head began to feel as if it were swelling up when she heard the offer. It had been a while since anyone had been so kind to her and she didn't know how to react exactly. Softly, she asks, "Can I have some milk?" Al held back a sigh of relief. Her attitude is much more reserved, less abrasive. But he wasn't sure if that was entirely a positive sign. "Sure. Getting hungry?" She never seemed to be looking at him as she spoke to him. Rubbing her stomach, she exhaled slowly, "I don't know if I can hold anything down after praying to the porcelain there." Al laughs lightly. Kid's at least got a sense of humor, he thinks. "Don't blame you. Maybe you can try some crackers when you're ready." He took a moment of silence, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. As both niece and uncle go into the kitchen, he wonders just how far he should go with her. It was the first time she had indicated she needed to talk. But, if there is one thing he understood, it was demons. "You sick or just uncomfortable?" Briefly risking a glance at him before looking at the floor, she bit her lip and answered with more compassion than intended, "I'd be lying if I said I was sick." Al nodded slowly again. He opened the refrigerator, snagging the milk. "Anything on your mind?" he asks slowly, carefully. Sitting herself down at the table, Carlie folded her hands in front of her and stared at her fingers. "Did you really want me here?" The question took him by surprise. He held the milk carton in his hands, momentarily forgotten as he tried to think of a proper answer. "Of - of course I do." She had, he decides, been tossed around enough. Been unwanted enough. She shook her head and shrugged a bit. "I don't understand how you can do it. How can you take care of me if you're a crip?" Obviously, no one bothered to teach her proper conversational terminology. You just don't say those kinds of things. But how was Carlie supposed to know not to bite the hand that feeds her when that's all she knew how to do? He stiffened slightly. Not that he could help it. "I've done perfectly well taking care of myself.... Besides, it's nice to have someone else around." She raised an eyebrow half-heartedly, picking at a hang nail, "Been hard bein' a crip, huh?" Al takes a deep breath, calming himself. Without thinking, he mutters to himself. "Could do with some manners, though." Carlie didn't hear him, her concentration being on her hands. She thought about what he said about having someone around. It made her wonder. "What about the runt? John what's-his-name. Seems you've had him around a lot." "That's a long story." His voice was tight as he spoke those few words but he didn't apologize for it. There was no need. "But, yeah, I'm fond of the little squirt." An uncomfortable silence fills the kitchen. Al took this time to pour the milk she had asked for into an empty glass and set it down in front of her. Carlie didn't know what else to say to him. Her curiosity does arise though when she glances down at a wheel. "How did it happen?" He hesitated, not certain if dredging anything up in his own heart would help her, or just satisfy her curiosity. He finally resolved for simplicity. "I got shot." Impulsively, she gave him a scoffing look and huffed. "People get shot in Brooklyn all the time and they never end up like you do." Al could have sworn he felt an icy chill breathe down his neck as she said those words. It hurt. How could she say something like that to him? "Body bags?" He asked, deadpan. Sarcasm seemed to be seeping into his words to cover for his frustration. Carlie detected this with an ease that was almost frightening. It was a skill that most people acquired in their later years. Carlie was but a young girl. She narrowed her eyes at him. She really wanted to hurt him now; revenge for his sarcasm. "Actually, they get up and walk away. But that obviously didn't happen in your case, did it?" He inhaled sharply, suddenly sitting very erect in his chair. "Guess not." There was no way he could look at her after what she said. He stared at his hands, fighting the emotions coursing over him. The last thing he was going to do is let her see how much her words were affecting him. Again, Carlie could easily detect his feelings by what his body language was telling her. The pride of actually being able to hurt him was a little too overwhelming for her and she smiled despite the situation. "I did it, didn't I? I really hurt your feelings." Al wanted to scream at her, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" But as he began to reply with the same harshness as his thoughts, he reconsidered. He turned away from her, quietly saying, "I need to go back to bed. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" She was never really able to hurt anyone's feelings before, since all her life it was her feelings being hurt. Most of the time, she would beat the crap out of people instead of trying to hurt them emotionally. Her abrasive style of dealing with strangers was a hard habit to get rid of. The consequences for deliberately hurting his feelings ended being a tight knot in her stomach. The few morals her grandmother had taught her had begun to sink in and she had to stop him. "Wait a minute, will ya?" He stopped, more from reflex than any desire to, but still faced away from her, poised in the doorway out of the kitchen. "Do you need something else?" His voice was quiet, devoid of anger, but also devoid of anything else. And it shook a little. She stood, approaching him and finally looked at him. Not as if she liked him or anything, but because she felt she had to. "Yes." "What?" His voice was steadier, but just barely above a whisper. She was a little hesitant at first. But as she thought about her next phrase, she grew confident and it shone in her face with a slight smile. "I need . . . to apologize. I realized I was really just testing you and I didn't mean anything I said. I'm sorry." What was she? A shrink? She figured she'd have to start staying away from those people. She was starting to sound like them. "Did I pass?" There was no humor in the words, none in his dark eyes. He just wanted to leave, to go back to bed and slip into oblivion. She lowered her eyelids in disappointment. She was so confident that it would work. She whispered, "So the 'I'm sorry' bit doesn't work for you either, I guess. Right?" "It's not that simple, Carlie." He stared intensely at the wall, as if it held all the words he was searching for. Raising her voice out of her surfacing anger and frustration, she practically screamed at him, "Then how the hell can I make it simple, damn it!?" Her anger drew out his own and he finally turned back to her. "Well, damn it, you can't! You can't just - tear into someone for the hell of it, for your own personal amusement, and then say 'oh, I'm sorry' and expect it all to go away. Things don't work that way, Carlie! Don't you get it? They don't. There are consequences, dammit!" Abruptly, he stopped, wiped his face and clenched his jaw. She stood very straight, almost defensively, in response to his words, forcing her emotions back. Her voice was shaky and quiet when she speaks up once more. "Then what do I do? I said I was sorry but no one . . .," She shook her head, "No one ever taught me anything else. I thought an apology was enough." "Well, you were wrong." was what he wanted to say, but he swallowed the words back. She was at least making an effort and he had to recognize that. "It's okay, Carlie. What's done is done." His voice was a little tighter that he had intended. She knelt in front of him so that she was not towering over him. With all her heart, she looked deeply into his eyes, trying to find her Nana. Her expression turned into one of hurt feelings. "I know I can't take back some of the things I said just now. I have to admit, I got some pretty bad influences on the street these past few years. I'm not sure you forgive me though. I wish you'd consider it." A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he patted her arm briefly. "I'm sorry, hon, of course I do." The touch she felt on her arm made her pull back quickly. It sent a chill through her body and she couldn't identify exactly why she reacted in that manner. "Please . . . don't touch me." She managed in a tiny voice. Al immediately took his hand back, concern registered in his eyes. His voice automatically became gentle and soothing, his own distress long forgotten. "I'm sorry, baby... Are you okay?" She stood once more and faced away from him, waving off his concern. Massaging her head to soothe away surfacing demons, she lies, "Yeah. I'm fine. Really." "You're lying." He said softly, drawn out of him on instinct. She huffed with a smile. "You're good." He returned the smile faintly. "Well, when you reach my age -you know, the 30's - you'll find you've learned a lot. Whether you wanted to or not." Facing the sliding glass door that led to the backyard, mostly to avoid the concern she felt was in his gaze, she explained as nonchalantly as possible, "Okay. I guess they didn't tell you what happened in my past so I suppose we should just get it over with now. My father was always abusive and controlling. He raped me when I was ten and you already know about my mom." She inhaled unsteadily, relieved that her past was off her shoulders but afraid of the reaction she would get. Al took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing himself to relax with the exhale. "That's why you had a nightmare earlier. Isn't it?" She closed her eyes, swallowing down the bile the came up from her stomach. "'Nightmare' doesn't even begin to describe it." "Yeah." Sympathy was evident in his eyes as he stared at her. "I know." Her tone became apologizing and humble again. Yet, she still didn't turn to look at him. "Hey, listen. I'm still really sorry for waking you up and all. Guess you'd need all the sleep you can get with the runt here." She finished with a turn to his gaze, flashing him a slight smile and hoping that her changing the subject worked. Al didn't return the gesture, aware that his voice had taken on an urgent tone. "Carlie, hon, you can't ignore this. It'll eat you up inside. Believe me, I know." Her tone didn't change from it's uneasiness. She frowned again. "Maybe I should just keep letting it eat me up, then." He chuckled dryly. "Sure wish it was that easy. Just...promise me you'll tell me if you need anything, okay?" Bites her lip, Carlie crossed her arms, responding softly, "Yeah. . . . yeah, okay." "I mean it, Carlie." His voice was firm, but gentle. He recalled, too well, what his life was like when he refused to deal with his own past. In spite of the bad beginning between them, he hated to think of a girl locked in similar self-destructive actions. She glared at him with lucid eyes, asking a little too angrily, "Do you? Do you know how many times people have offered they're help and then rejected it the instant I request one small thing!? Do you know what it feels like to lose everyone you've ever loved and all of a sudden live with a stranger?" Though she tried not to cry, a warm moisture managed to escape and drizzle down her cheek. "Have you ever felt the constant presence of hate and pain and suffering?" Al's expression softened further still. "Yes." was all he can bring himself to say, wondering if she would believe him. She sobbed to herself, throwing her arms up and looked up at the ceiling as if waiting for a second opinion. It wasn't long before she found herself on her knees, letting herself drain of all the rage and pain inside of her. Al was uncertain how to react to her, afraid to hurt her more than she was already hurting. He remembered the way he felt when someone first understood him. Who would have thought it would be a genius with an almost-perfect life? Instead of touching her, he leans forward and whispered vague reassurances, waiting for her to empty herself of all emotion. Without thinking or bothering to see who was with her, Carlie threw her arms around him and squeezes tightly, sobbing into his shoulder, crying, "Nana! I want my Nana!" The girl felt comforting to him in Al's arms. He held her firmly, reminded of Johnny whenever he became upset, and rocked her slowly. "I'm sorry, baby, it's okay... It's all gonna be okay - are you listening to me?" She blinked but the tears still came. She choked out, "I'm listening to you and I don't know who you are." He sighed softly and rubbed her back, mentally preparing himself for a violent reaction when realization returns to her. "That's okay - just listen. I only want to help, hon. I understand and nobody's going to hurt you, okay?" She began to respond as her sobs dwindled and she finally realized who it was that was holding her in their arms. She pulled back rapidly, looking around the room in trepidation. Running a hand through her hair, she mumbled, "I have to go to bed." He started to protest, then backed off. *One step at a time* he reminded himself mentally, letting her pull away when she needed to. "Sure. We can talk in the morning, okay?" "Yeah." She whispers nearly inaudibly before running into her room and away from him. Al released a heavy breath and positioned himself outside her closed door, preparing himself to stay there all night, just in case they should have a similar episode later. "Sleep well, Carlie." He whispered, not yet admitting to himself that this rude, always inappropriate girl had already taken her own little place in his heart. -------------------------------- *Note: I give credit to Ann Marie Tajuddin for helping out with the dialogue and some narrative in this chapter.