Chapter 6

Carrie woke with a headache, and her mouth felt as if her tongue had been licking a cat. She wondered if she were coming down with something. Then she remembered the brandy she had consumed the night before and suspected she was experiencing her first, and hopefully last, hangover. She pushed herself out of bed and did her bathroom chores, which made her feel a little better but didn't improve her headache.

Looking in on Darrin, she found him stretched out naked diagonally across his bed. He looked sound asleep, and she wondered what time he had gone to bed the night before.

She dressed, put on a pot of coffee, and decided to walk to the Seven Eleven for some aspirin. Some Alka-Seltzer wouldn't hurt either. Deep in thought, she didn't notice the weather, and it started to rain just before she arrived at the convenience store. She had to run the last twenty yards, and even then she was wet by the time she rushed through the entrance doors.

The rain and the exercise had invigorated her, and she emitted a pleasant sigh as she wiped the rain from her face with her hands. That's when the man in front of the counter turned to her and shoved a gun in her face.

"On the floor, bitch!" he growled.

Shocked and terrified, rooted to the floor like an old tree in the forest, Carrie didn't respond. No one had ever pointing a gun at her before, and she wasn't sure what "on the floor" meant. Before she could react, the man reared back and sliced the weapon across her cheek. Like her assailant demanded, the blow took her to the floor.

Stunned, she rolled to her side and started to sit up.

"Don't get up or I'll shoot you!" her assailant shouted. "Are you stupid, or something?"

The headache bringing her to the store was nothing compared to the excruciating pain she now felt. Ignoring the threat because it hadn't registered in her brain, she finished sitting up with her legs stretched out in front of her and brought her hand to her cheek. Blood! Shocked by the blood, her senses started to revive. She could feel the throbbing pain from the blow and smell the coppery, sweet scent of the warm blood streaming through her fingers and rolling down her forearm.

Looking up through glazed eyes, she took in the scene. A grubby man, the one who had struck her with the gun, was obviously robbing the store. The Korean man behind the counter, a man she had spoken to a number of times, held a gun in his hand, too, and when the robber turned away from her back toward the shopkeeper, the Korean pulled the trigger and the weapon exploded. The loud sound startled Carrie, and she screamed. The robber staggered, and the shopkeeper fired again. The second shot hit the robber in the chest and threw him backwards. He crumpled finally, falling on top of Carrie, knocking the wind out of her briefly. When she regained her breath, she screamed in terror and tried to get away from the man, pushed at him, tried to squirm out from under him, but he was too heavy. She screamed again, a high-pitched horrified sound, even to her, and struggled mightily to get away from the dead weight crushing her - bleeding on her.

Suddenly she saw the Korean standing over them. He still held the gun, and it was pointing at the robber's head. Carrie believed he planned to pull the trigger again, that he would shoot the man on top of her in the head, and she envisioned blood, pieces of bone and brain spraying her face. The vision revolted her, and she couldn't stop screaming.

Finally, the Korean leaned down and rolled the robber's body off her. She scrambled away, scuttled back across the floor like an upside-down crab, gasping and whimpering, utterly terrified. Her back slammed into a floor display and knocked it over, which caused her to scream again.

She had to get away! She couldn't stay in the store another second. She jumped up and ran, crashing through the entrance doors, running into the pouring rainstorm. She didn't stop running until she came to the door of her home, but she didn't have her purse with her. She had lost it somewhere back at the store, and the door was locked. While jabbing the doorbell, she banged on the door. "Darrin!" she screamed. "Darrin!" Over and over she screamed his name while ringing the doorbell and beating on the door. Terror still filled her eyes, and she kept looking over her shoulder expecting to see the robber after her, which didn't make sense, even to her befuddled mind, but that's what she expected nonetheless.

Upstairs, Darrin finally roused. He'd been sound asleep. Fuck, he thought. What now? The fucking doorbell kept ringing, and someone - no not someone. Carrie! Carrie was calling his name. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes with his fists.

"Darrin!" The doorbell rang. "Darrin!" Carrie pounded on the door.

She sounded terrified! He jumped naked from the bed and rushed through the loft and down the stairs. He threw open the door, and Carrie fell into his arms sobbing.

My God! What happened? She's soaking wet! She's bleeding! Covered in blood!

"Carrie, calm down. It's all right. You're safe now. You're safe." I've got to stop the bleeding, he thought. She has so much blood on her. What the fuck happened? Where is she bleeding? Her face! He saw the ragged cut on her face, and looked for more damage. She needed to go to the hospital. "Let me dress. I'll take you to the hospital."

"No, don't leave me!"

He picked her up and bounded up the stairs to his bedroom. Laying her gently on the bed he pulled on his jeans, skipping his underwear. He pulled on a t-shirt over his bloody chest, bloody from when Carrie had fallen into his arms. Slipping his shoes over his feet without socks, he felt his pockets. Yes, he had his keys and wallet. He picked her up and hurried as fast as he could. It was still raining hard, and he was soaked like Carrie before he could get her into the passenger seat of the car. Wracking his brain, he tried to remember where an emergency room was located and finally remembered. As he drove, he kept glancing at Carrie. She was still sobbing, curled up in the corner by the door. He kept touching her trying to reassure her, muttering silly words like you're going to be all right, it's fine, you're okay, whatever he could think of that would calm her. Nothing he said helped.

Ten minutes later, he screeched to a stop under the canopy to the entrance of an emergency room. Leaving the car running, he ran around and opened the passenger door. Carrie had been leaning against the door, and he had to catch her before she fell to the ground. He pulled her up and into his arms and carried her inside.

A man and a woman took her from his arms and placed her on a gurney. He tried to follow as they wheeled her away, but a fat nurse grabbed his arm.

"We'll need information for admittance, sir. She's in good hands now."

"But..."

She eyed him. "Is that her blood all over you, or are you hurt, too?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Have a seat. Thank you, sir. The injured woman, what is her name?"

The admitting nurse asked question after question, and Darrin answered them when he could, and the mundane necessity of completing hospital forms brought him back from his own terror. His hands started to tremble, and he kept looking down the hall where the doctor's had taken his sister. He needed desperately to know how badly injured she was. And anger started to fill him again. Someone had harmed her. His anger increased until he realized he'd never felt such rage. He wanted to find whoever had hurt his sister and kill him. His trembling turned into tremors, and he had to sit on his hands to hide his shakes.

Finally the questions ended, and the nurse pointed out a seating area and instructed Darrin to wait. "A doctor will speak with you as soon as possible."

A half-hour later, he remembered he'd left his car with the engine running in front of the emergency room. He walked outside and found the car still running with passenger door wide open. He parked and locked the car and hurried back inside. A doctor standing in the waiting area walked up to him. "Darrin Cannon?"

"Yes."

"Your sister will be fine. She had quite a scare. From what we could gather before we put her to sleep she walked into a robbery at a convenience store, and the thief pistol-whipped her. That's the only injury she sustained. She wasn't rendered unconscious, and the tests indicate she doesn't have a concussion. Unfortunately, the proprietor of the store shot the thief, killing him, and he fell on top of your sister pinning her to the floor. She couldn't get out from under his dead weight, which traumatized her mentally. We stitched the cut on her face, but we'd recommend a plastic surgeon to minimize the scaring. Also, she should consider therapy to help her with the mental trauma."

"When can I see her?"

"Right now, if you wish, but she's asleep, will be for at least another hour. We can release her to your care when she regains consciousness."

"I'm fine, Darrin. I just have a headache." She chuckled. "That's what caused all my troubles in the first place. I woke up with my first-ever hangover and went to the Seven Eleven for some aspirin, which reminds me. I left my purse at the store. That's why I had to wake you up to get inside."

"I'll pick up your purse later," Darrin said as he pulled the car in front of the overhead door. He jumped out and raised the door, and then pulled the car inside. By the time he'd closed the door, Carrie was halfway up the stairs.

"I'm going to get out of these clothes and take a bath," she told him from the top of the stairs. "Do you want to shower first, wash off all my blood on you and..." She grimaced. "... the other guy's?"

"Let's get you settled first. I'll wash up in the big sink in the studio later, and then pick up your purse. The police will probably want to talk with you, too."

When Darrin stepped into the Seven Eleven an hour later, the police were still there. He noticed the floor had been mopped and was happy the body had been removed. He nodded at the Korean shopkeeper. "Hi, Mr. Kim. My sister left her purse here this morning."

"Yes, yes. I have it!" He turned and squatted, opened a cabinet and pulled the purse from inside.

"Thanks, and I need some aspirin. She has quite a headache."

"Is she okay? I worry about her."

"She's going to need plastic surgery."

"Oh, so sorry. I will help. I have liability insurance. I already talked with them." He rummaged in a drawer behind the counter and pulled out a business card. After writing the information on a piece of paper, he handed it to Darrin. "Call them. They will help."

Maybe, maybe not, Darrin thought.

"The detective wants to talk with her," the Korean said and nodded toward a man in a short-sleeved shirt talking with a uniformed officer. Mr. Kim hurried around the corner, and as Darrin moved by him, he handed him a large bottle of aspirin. "Free," he said.

"Thanks."

Darrin introduced himself to the detective and told him about Carrie. "She's home now. The hospital released her. Mr. Kim said you wanted to talk with her."

"Yes. When would be a good time?"

"Give her an hour. She's cleaning up now. She was covered in blood from head to foot. When I opened the door to let her in our home, she damned near scared the life out of me. Is the bad guy dead? If he's not, I'll be happy to help Mr. Kim finish the job."

"He's dead."

An hour later, the detective and his partner, a man Darrin had not met, arrived and took Carrie's statement. Darrin listened to her story and decided the doctor had probably been correct about getting her into therapy. He suggested as much after the police left.

"I don't need therapy, Darrin, but I do need a plastic surgeon. Call that insurance company. Plastic surgeons don't come cheap."

A half-hour later, Darrin knew the insurance company would do nothing for Carrie. After searching through his address book, he dialed again. "Tom, it's Darrin Cannon... Yeah, it's been a while. Listen, my sister is living with me, and this morning..."

Carrie listened to Darrin describe what happened to her. Before the conversation ended, she deduced the party on the line with Darrin was an attorney. Darrin hung up and turned to Carrie. "That was a friend of mine, Tom Wilson, a personal injury lawyer. He took your case on contingency and will stop by later with a contract. If anyone can get action out of the insurance company, he can. In the meantime, go ahead and make an appointment with a plastic surgeon. With the show coming up next month, we'll be able to afford whatever it costs, even if the insurance company doesn't come through."

Carrie's eyes brightened. "Oh, thank you, Darrin. I've been worried about two things - scars being least of the two. The other is Dad. We'll need to tell the parents what happened, and they'll drive to Vegas tomorrow. Mom will mother-hen me to death, and Dad will demand I move. They'll be more troublesome than the cut on my face."

Darrin groaned. "You're right."

"I'll call them. Maybe, I can make them realize I'm fine. Hand me the phone." She took a deep breath and dialed. "Hello, Mom."

"Well, speak of the devil. Your Dad and I were just talking about you. Were your ears burning?"

"No, but my cheek is. I don't want you and Dad to get in an uproar, but I had a problem this morning. I went to the Seven Eleven to buy something, and walked into a robbery in progress. The robber pistol-whipped me. I'm fine, just a few stitches, but I thought you ought to know."

"Oh, no, Carrie! Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine. Really. I don't even have a headache." She rolled her eyes at Darrin. "Darrin took me to the emergency room, and a doctor stitched my cheek and released me. It was no big deal."

"Just a sec, sweetie."

Carrie put her hand over the phone. "She's telling Dad now," she said to Darrin.

"Carrie?" her father said a few minutes later.

"Yes, Dad, how are you?"

"I'm fine. We'll drive down tomorrow. You can't live in a neighborhood that dangerous. I was against you living there from the start."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Dad, you'll be wasting a trip. I'm fine, and I will not move. I'm eighteen. I can make my own decisions now. I'm not your little girl anymore. I have a good job, and I'm saving more than I would if I'd gotten the lifeguard job. I'll be able to go to college like I planned, so I will not move! Let me talk with Mom!"

"He's full of 'I told you soes'," Carrie said with her hand over the mouthpiece again.

"Carrie, I won't be able to stop him," Her mother said. "We'll be driving down tomorrow."

"I won't move Mom. He's wasting his time. Did he tell you what I told him?"

"No. He just cursed and gave me the phone."

"I told him I was eighteen, that I wasn't his little girl anymore, and he couldn't make me do anything I didn't want to do. I mean it, Mom. I'm not moving. I have a good paying job, and I'll be able to start school this fall. Besides, I've become Darrin's agent. I didn't tell Dad about being Darrin's agent, but I'll tell you now. A prominent art gallery will be showing six of his paintings in a three-man show next month, and get this, Mom, they'll be priced at $10,000 each. The gallery owner expects to sell all six of them within a week. As Darrin's agent I need to work with the gallery and make sure everything is just right. My share from the show is $7,200, and Darrin will make four times that amount, and as his agent, I set up a one-man show to take place within a year. Darrin will make at least $100,000 from that show, and I'll make $25,000, or more, which will take care of my college education if I'm careful. Your son and my brother is a genius, Mom, and he needs my help as his agent. I will not abandon him at Daddy's whim. Explain all this to Dad, please."

Silence.

"Mom, are you there?"

"I'm here. Is everything you told me the truth? You're not making any of this up, are you?"

"No, I'm not that imaginative, Mom."

"What about your cheek? Won't you have a scar?"

Carrie laughed. "Darrin has an attorney friend. Tom, that's his name, is talking with the Seven Eleven owner's insurance company. They'll take care of any plastic surgery I need. If they don't, we'll handle the surgeon ourselves out of the proceeds from the three-man show. I'm fine, Mom. Really."

"Okay, I'll talk to your father. Call me back in an hour. Okay."

"You can call me, Mom. We have a phone now. As Darrin's agent, I needed a phone. I have a computer, too." She laughed. "I even have business cards. They say, 'C. Cannon, Artist Agency.'" She gave her mother the number. "Talk to him. There's really no need for the two of you to come to Vegas. If you want, I'll talk to you every day for a week. I'm fine."

"I'll call you back. Bye, sweetie."

Carrie hung up and shrugged. "Knowing Dad, they'll be here tomorrow, but I gave it my best shot."

"I know."

A half-hour later, Carrie picked up the phone when it rang.

"Carrie, it's your father. We'll be driving to Vegas tomorrow. We should be there by two in the afternoon."

"Do what you have to do, Dad, but you're wasting your time and money. You'll need a room. Do you want me to arrange one for you?"

"That would be nice, Carrie. Nothing expensive."

"There's a Motel 6 nearby."

"Perfect."

She said goodbye and disconnected the call.

Darrin, who had been listening, grimaced and said, "Perfect."

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Carrie reluctantly pulled the bandage back. She had not seen her injury and, although afraid of what she'd see, needed to know. She gasped and tears stung her eyes, including the eye that was black and blue. Her cheek was swollen and red, and a jagged cut about three inches long had been haphazardly stitched together. Ugly! She'd have an ugly scar! Would Darrin still love her if she were ugly? Their incestuous relationship had enough problems without an ugly scar to worry about.

She felt compelled to show him and test his reaction, so she pulled the bandage off and walked down to the studio.

"Darrin," she said to get his attention. He was working on one of his canvasses.

He turned to her and gasped. "Oh, my God, Carrie!"

The tears welled in her eyes overflowed and ran down her cheeks. He was revolted! She turned and ran, ran up the stairs and into her bedroom, throwing herself across her bed.

Suddenly she felt his arms around her. He pulled her up and held her tenderly. "We'll get it fixed, Carrie. I promise," he whispered and brushed her hair from her eyes. "You'll be as good as new after the plastic surgeon does his thing."

"What if he can't fix it? I'll be ugly! Ugly! You won't love me anymore!"

"Carrie! What a thing to say. Do you really think I'm that shallow? I'm in love with you, with the emphasis on 'you', all of you, not just your pretty face."

"My face isn't pretty anymore," she sobbed. "It's ugly. Scared! You were revolted when you saw me. I could see it in your eyes."

"I was shocked, but not revolted, Carrie. Your face is swollen and red, and you have a black eye. The swelling will go down; the black eye will go away, and so will the redness, and you'll be left with a little scar, a scar that will be minimized by the plastic surgeon we'll hire. I feel so sorry this happened to you, and I've been feeling responsible. If I hadn't asked you to come and live with me, this never would have happened. Dad's right in that respect."

His statement sobered her, and she wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, wincing when she touched her wound. She turned and placed a hand on each side of her brother's face. "You feel responsible? How utterly silly! Only one person is responsible, and he's dead. And don't go siding with Dad now. We have a battle ahead of us tomorrow. He wants me to move, and we'll have to stand together. Mother will back him. She has to; she's his wife. She might not agree with him, but she will stand with him. I'll need your help, Darrin. Don't you go all wishy-washy on me now. Promise!"

He chuckled. "I promise. Stay here. I'll be right back."

He returned a few minutes later with a warm washcloth and carefully washed her face. "No more crying. If you end up with a little scar, so what? The beauty inside you will shine through and no one will notice, especially me. I wasn't revolted, not by your appearance. I was revolted by what that slimy, violent man did to you. I love you, Carrie. Don't ever forget I love you! Okay?"

She nodded and kissed him. "Let me up. I need to find the right plastic surgeon. I want a good one, not one of those guys who advertise boob jobs in those sleazy periodicals. Maybe Barbara can give me a referral."

An hour later she had an appointment for the next morning with a plastic surgeon Barbara had recommended.