Faith Eliza Cord
Four Thousand Club
(the story of my rp character, Caroline Danson, from Street Kids and Make sure to lock the doors at night. Will post a couple of chapters a day since it's already written)
My Name is Caroline
(Then: 13)
I once tried to count all of the stars from where they stretched out over my upturned face in the inky night's sky, lying on the forest floor on my back, my head resting against my father's shoulder, my body curled snugly under his heavy arm. I counted until my eyes drooped and I was sure I had missed some, and counted others twice, but I was determined, back then, that I could do it one day, when I was older, wiser, and more alert. I thought then that I could do almost anything, and that if I couldn't, my father could.
It's funny how when you are a child, there is nothing that you can rule out as impossible. I guess if you were born knowing how many limits there really are, though, it would be hard to want to ever grow up at all.
"It's beautiful, isn't it, Caroline?" my father asked me as I pondered this, and I nodded. I was older then, thirteen, almost fourteen, but I had not lost my appreciation for the beauty and mystery of the stars we had long considered made for only us.
"Do you see any constellations?" he asked me, turning his face slightly towards me, and his beard brushed my face, scratching my cheek. I didn't pull away. I had gotten to where I liked the feeling of such accidental contact, almost as much as the deliberate physicality of his arm around my shoulders, my knee against his leg where we lay together. It was comfortable, casual, and somehow, it made me feel safe. Like he would never willingly let me go.
"Show me," I said, although he had taught me all that he knew, and we both knew I could find the constellations perfectly well on my own, maybe better than he could, because I had better vision.
Nevertheless, he took my hand in his, his rough, callused skin warm against the softness of my own, and he raised my arm with my index finger sticking out, moving my hand with his to trace the outlines in the sky.
"Gemini…Castor, Pollux…Virgo…Big Dipper, Little Dipper…those are the easy ones, anyone can see those…and there's Andromeda…"
I followed our hands with my eyes, my breathing even, relaxed, almost in sync with my father's. When it's just the two of us, his eyes are soft, warm, like a man who's in no hurry to leave the present moment. Like a man who's found his peace. It's only with others, when we're out among the rest of the world, that his eyes darken and his jaw tenses, his voice dropping, terse and strained, and he can't let down his guard. I don't blame him. He's afraid of what they might do, of what they could take from us. I'm afraid too. I don't think my father would survive, if they were to ever take me away. Sometimes, I'm not sure if I would either.
We are not like others, my father has told me. We are different. Better, in some ways. They do not understand us, so it's best to not let them see enough to realize what they are missing. Because people always envy what they don't have, and envy is the cause of terrible deeds. He tells me this, and I know it to be true. My father is the only person I know who has never lied to me.
"Which star is the brightest, Caroline?" he asked me, and I pointed one out, a particularly large one that was probably actually a planet, maybe even a planet that had already been dead for thousands of years before I was born. There isn't much you can count on for certain in the world. Even the stars deceive you when it comes down to it.
"I think so too," he agreed, and when I shivered slightly, a light breeze blowing forward a few strands of my long dark hair, he pulled me closer against his side, sharing with me his warmth.
"Make a wish, Caroline," he said softly, and even though I was almost fourteen, old enough to not believe in my own personal power when it came to things like wishes, I did it anyway, staring without blinking at my chosen star, in the hope that if I didn't look away the whole time, maybe, just maybe, it would bow to my command.
I wish that I'll always have this….I wish I'll always have my father. I wish that nothing will ever take this away.
(Then: Eight)
I was eight years old when it happened. I opened my eyes that night, awakened out of a dream by a soft noise beside my bed, and there was a strange man beside my bed, standing over me with a knife in his hand.
I was so shocked at first that I was sure that it was just a dream, that if I closed my eyes again I would wake up and he would be gone. But I couldn't make myself close my eyes. I just stared at him, and it felt like I couldn't even move.
"Come with me," he said, his voice soft, and he looked really serious, not mean, just like he could maybe use the knife if I didn't listen. "I don't want to hurt you, or anyone else in the house either. So come with me. Come with me, and don't make a sound."
All I knew in that moment was there was a man I'd never seen before in my room, a man holding a knife, and that I was scared, really, really scared, of what he might do to me, to my parents. So I stood up. I didn't scream. And I followed him.
The man took my hand as he lead me out the back door, first stopping and gesturing for me to pull on my flip flops that were laying there by the welcome mat. His hand was large and rough, and sweating just a little bit, like maybe he was nervous too, maybe he was as scared as I was. He was still holding his knife in the other hand, and I looked at it, swallowing, feeling like I couldn't breathe. I hoped that my parents would hear him walking with me, would come running and take me back, stop him from leaving with me. When they didn't come I thought that maybe he had already hurt them. I didn't notice that the knife wasn't bloody or even very sharp, and I didn't think that
because their room was on the second floor of the house and mine was on the first, they probably wouldn't have heard anything even if we hadn't been moving so quietly. I was only eight years old, and I just didn't get it. I didn't understand.
It must have been really late, because not one car passed us as you took me outside, as he walked me down the street. Of course, I lived in a cul de sac then, so it wasn't like a lot of traffic usually goes by there unless someone's coming home. I don't know how far the man walked with me. It probably wasn't too long. It was hard for me to keep up with him, to keep walking at all. I was only in a nightgown, a green one with Kermit the Frog on it, and I was cold. My legs didn't seem to move normally, and my heart was beating so hard I thought it might just break. I'd heard people talk about broken hearts before, and I thought that maybe it could really happen, that it could happen to me. I kept looking around, hoping really hard for someone to see us, someone to stop us. But they didn't.
We just kept walking, and neither of us said anything. The man just kept pulling me along, still holding the knife, and I followed, pretty sure that wherever he was taking me, he was going to kill me or something.
He had parked his car in the parking area to a little duck pond park area a ways away from my house, and he unlocked the passenger side, letting go of my hand, but standing close as he told me to get inside. I did, shaking pretty bad by then, thinking that he was going to drive me off to wherever he was going to kill me. I didn't run, or scream, or try to get away. I was afraid that if I did, the man would come back and kill my parents, if he hadn't already, if I didn't do what he said.
The man got in on his side of the car and looked over at me, and he smiled. I thought as I looked at him that it looked so real…like he really was happy to see me, happy to have me with him.
"Buckle your seatbelt," he said, "I don't want you to get hurt."
I did what he said, my hands shaking so much I could barely do the clasp. We started to drive without talking, without turning on the radio or anything, and all the time I was so scared I was afraid I would throw up. He didn't tell me where we were going, not yet. He waited until we had been driving for a while, until I didn't know where we were and had stopped trying to figure it out, until I had stopped looking at every car, every building, hoping that someone would see me, someone would realize that I wasn't supposed to be there with him. We drove long enough that I must have fallen asleep, even as scared as I was, because when I woke up and started paying attention to where we were going again, the man had stopped in a field in what looked like the middle of nowhere to me. He turned to me then, giving me a gentle smile, and I shrank back against the door, my breathing sounding funny.
"Did you sleep okay? I know it's been a long drive…it'll be morning in just a couple of hours, and we'll have to move on again. But I thought we would stop for a little bit."
I didn't say anything. I don't think I could have. I was still waiting for him to kill me, even though he had put the knife on the floorboard and not made a move for it since he had gotten in the car.
Looking at me, the man frowned, looking really worried and upset, and kind of like he was mad, but not at me, at yourself.
"You're afraid of me, aren't you? I'm sorry…I know you don't understand right now. I know you must be scared, and I'm so sorry for that. But this is how I had to do it, Caroline. I wish it could have been different, but this is the only way I could get you back."
I thought maybe that this was all a mistake, maybe he had taken the wrong girl, and that if he would just realize that I wasn't this other girl, that I wasn't Caroline, that he would take me back home. But I didn't tell him that. Instead I just asked in this really small voice, "Are you gonna hurt me?"
The man shook his head, looking like he couldn't believe I would think that, like he was upset at the thought. That confused me, and I bit my lip as I waited for him to answer.
"Oh no, never, I would never hurt you, Caroline. I'm sorry about the knife, I know that scared you, didn't it? But I had to make sure you would come with me. I didn't have time to explain it then, in the house. But no, I would never, ever hurt you- look."
The man opened the car door and threw the knife outside, as far as he could while still sitting in the car. I watched him, still pressing my back against the door. That didn't make me feel much better- just more confused. He looked back at me and smiled again, his voice still soft…loving.
"See? It's gone now, Caroline. I'll never do anything to hurt you, I want you to understand that. I couldn't do that. Not after all this time trying to find you."
I watched him, still thinking that he was calling me the wrong name, that he had to be mistaken, that this person he wanted, that he was willing to scare with a knife to get, wasn't me. But I didn't say that, yet. I was afraid that if I told him that he was wrong, that he might get mad. I didn't trust him…I didn't want to make him mad.
"Why did you make me come?" I asked him, so soft he probably could hardly hear me. "Why did you want me to come with you so bad?"
The man smiled a little wider then, and he reached out, cupping my face in his hand. I swallowed hard, but I didn't pull away.
"Because you're mine, Caroline," he said, looking straight at me, still holding his hand against my cheek. "Because I love you. And because I wanted you back."
(second chapter soon)
My Name is Caroline
(Then: 13)
I once tried to count all of the stars from where they stretched out over my upturned face in the inky night's sky, lying on the forest floor on my back, my head resting against my father's shoulder, my body curled snugly under his heavy arm. I counted until my eyes drooped and I was sure I had missed some, and counted others twice, but I was determined, back then, that I could do it one day, when I was older, wiser, and more alert. I thought then that I could do almost anything, and that if I couldn't, my father could.
It's funny how when you are a child, there is nothing that you can rule out as impossible. I guess if you were born knowing how many limits there really are, though, it would be hard to want to ever grow up at all.
"It's beautiful, isn't it, Caroline?" my father asked me as I pondered this, and I nodded. I was older then, thirteen, almost fourteen, but I had not lost my appreciation for the beauty and mystery of the stars we had long considered made for only us.
"Do you see any constellations?" he asked me, turning his face slightly towards me, and his beard brushed my face, scratching my cheek. I didn't pull away. I had gotten to where I liked the feeling of such accidental contact, almost as much as the deliberate physicality of his arm around my shoulders, my knee against his leg where we lay together. It was comfortable, casual, and somehow, it made me feel safe. Like he would never willingly let me go.
"Show me," I said, although he had taught me all that he knew, and we both knew I could find the constellations perfectly well on my own, maybe better than he could, because I had better vision.
Nevertheless, he took my hand in his, his rough, callused skin warm against the softness of my own, and he raised my arm with my index finger sticking out, moving my hand with his to trace the outlines in the sky.
"Gemini…Castor, Pollux…Virgo…Big Dipper, Little Dipper…those are the easy ones, anyone can see those…and there's Andromeda…"
I followed our hands with my eyes, my breathing even, relaxed, almost in sync with my father's. When it's just the two of us, his eyes are soft, warm, like a man who's in no hurry to leave the present moment. Like a man who's found his peace. It's only with others, when we're out among the rest of the world, that his eyes darken and his jaw tenses, his voice dropping, terse and strained, and he can't let down his guard. I don't blame him. He's afraid of what they might do, of what they could take from us. I'm afraid too. I don't think my father would survive, if they were to ever take me away. Sometimes, I'm not sure if I would either.
We are not like others, my father has told me. We are different. Better, in some ways. They do not understand us, so it's best to not let them see enough to realize what they are missing. Because people always envy what they don't have, and envy is the cause of terrible deeds. He tells me this, and I know it to be true. My father is the only person I know who has never lied to me.
"Which star is the brightest, Caroline?" he asked me, and I pointed one out, a particularly large one that was probably actually a planet, maybe even a planet that had already been dead for thousands of years before I was born. There isn't much you can count on for certain in the world. Even the stars deceive you when it comes down to it.
"I think so too," he agreed, and when I shivered slightly, a light breeze blowing forward a few strands of my long dark hair, he pulled me closer against his side, sharing with me his warmth.
"Make a wish, Caroline," he said softly, and even though I was almost fourteen, old enough to not believe in my own personal power when it came to things like wishes, I did it anyway, staring without blinking at my chosen star, in the hope that if I didn't look away the whole time, maybe, just maybe, it would bow to my command.
I wish that I'll always have this….I wish I'll always have my father. I wish that nothing will ever take this away.
(Then: Eight)
I was eight years old when it happened. I opened my eyes that night, awakened out of a dream by a soft noise beside my bed, and there was a strange man beside my bed, standing over me with a knife in his hand.
I was so shocked at first that I was sure that it was just a dream, that if I closed my eyes again I would wake up and he would be gone. But I couldn't make myself close my eyes. I just stared at him, and it felt like I couldn't even move.
"Come with me," he said, his voice soft, and he looked really serious, not mean, just like he could maybe use the knife if I didn't listen. "I don't want to hurt you, or anyone else in the house either. So come with me. Come with me, and don't make a sound."
All I knew in that moment was there was a man I'd never seen before in my room, a man holding a knife, and that I was scared, really, really scared, of what he might do to me, to my parents. So I stood up. I didn't scream. And I followed him.
The man took my hand as he lead me out the back door, first stopping and gesturing for me to pull on my flip flops that were laying there by the welcome mat. His hand was large and rough, and sweating just a little bit, like maybe he was nervous too, maybe he was as scared as I was. He was still holding his knife in the other hand, and I looked at it, swallowing, feeling like I couldn't breathe. I hoped that my parents would hear him walking with me, would come running and take me back, stop him from leaving with me. When they didn't come I thought that maybe he had already hurt them. I didn't notice that the knife wasn't bloody or even very sharp, and I didn't think that
because their room was on the second floor of the house and mine was on the first, they probably wouldn't have heard anything even if we hadn't been moving so quietly. I was only eight years old, and I just didn't get it. I didn't understand.
It must have been really late, because not one car passed us as you took me outside, as he walked me down the street. Of course, I lived in a cul de sac then, so it wasn't like a lot of traffic usually goes by there unless someone's coming home. I don't know how far the man walked with me. It probably wasn't too long. It was hard for me to keep up with him, to keep walking at all. I was only in a nightgown, a green one with Kermit the Frog on it, and I was cold. My legs didn't seem to move normally, and my heart was beating so hard I thought it might just break. I'd heard people talk about broken hearts before, and I thought that maybe it could really happen, that it could happen to me. I kept looking around, hoping really hard for someone to see us, someone to stop us. But they didn't.
We just kept walking, and neither of us said anything. The man just kept pulling me along, still holding the knife, and I followed, pretty sure that wherever he was taking me, he was going to kill me or something.
He had parked his car in the parking area to a little duck pond park area a ways away from my house, and he unlocked the passenger side, letting go of my hand, but standing close as he told me to get inside. I did, shaking pretty bad by then, thinking that he was going to drive me off to wherever he was going to kill me. I didn't run, or scream, or try to get away. I was afraid that if I did, the man would come back and kill my parents, if he hadn't already, if I didn't do what he said.
The man got in on his side of the car and looked over at me, and he smiled. I thought as I looked at him that it looked so real…like he really was happy to see me, happy to have me with him.
"Buckle your seatbelt," he said, "I don't want you to get hurt."
I did what he said, my hands shaking so much I could barely do the clasp. We started to drive without talking, without turning on the radio or anything, and all the time I was so scared I was afraid I would throw up. He didn't tell me where we were going, not yet. He waited until we had been driving for a while, until I didn't know where we were and had stopped trying to figure it out, until I had stopped looking at every car, every building, hoping that someone would see me, someone would realize that I wasn't supposed to be there with him. We drove long enough that I must have fallen asleep, even as scared as I was, because when I woke up and started paying attention to where we were going again, the man had stopped in a field in what looked like the middle of nowhere to me. He turned to me then, giving me a gentle smile, and I shrank back against the door, my breathing sounding funny.
"Did you sleep okay? I know it's been a long drive…it'll be morning in just a couple of hours, and we'll have to move on again. But I thought we would stop for a little bit."
I didn't say anything. I don't think I could have. I was still waiting for him to kill me, even though he had put the knife on the floorboard and not made a move for it since he had gotten in the car.
Looking at me, the man frowned, looking really worried and upset, and kind of like he was mad, but not at me, at yourself.
"You're afraid of me, aren't you? I'm sorry…I know you don't understand right now. I know you must be scared, and I'm so sorry for that. But this is how I had to do it, Caroline. I wish it could have been different, but this is the only way I could get you back."
I thought maybe that this was all a mistake, maybe he had taken the wrong girl, and that if he would just realize that I wasn't this other girl, that I wasn't Caroline, that he would take me back home. But I didn't tell him that. Instead I just asked in this really small voice, "Are you gonna hurt me?"
The man shook his head, looking like he couldn't believe I would think that, like he was upset at the thought. That confused me, and I bit my lip as I waited for him to answer.
"Oh no, never, I would never hurt you, Caroline. I'm sorry about the knife, I know that scared you, didn't it? But I had to make sure you would come with me. I didn't have time to explain it then, in the house. But no, I would never, ever hurt you- look."
The man opened the car door and threw the knife outside, as far as he could while still sitting in the car. I watched him, still pressing my back against the door. That didn't make me feel much better- just more confused. He looked back at me and smiled again, his voice still soft…loving.
"See? It's gone now, Caroline. I'll never do anything to hurt you, I want you to understand that. I couldn't do that. Not after all this time trying to find you."
I watched him, still thinking that he was calling me the wrong name, that he had to be mistaken, that this person he wanted, that he was willing to scare with a knife to get, wasn't me. But I didn't say that, yet. I was afraid that if I told him that he was wrong, that he might get mad. I didn't trust him…I didn't want to make him mad.
"Why did you make me come?" I asked him, so soft he probably could hardly hear me. "Why did you want me to come with you so bad?"
The man smiled a little wider then, and he reached out, cupping my face in his hand. I swallowed hard, but I didn't pull away.
"Because you're mine, Caroline," he said, looking straight at me, still holding his hand against my cheek. "Because I love you. And because I wanted you back."
(second chapter soon)