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Chapter Three: Merry Christmas Caroline

Caroline Chambers had become addicted to the glow of the red circle.

She tightly held onto the comfort it offered, perhaps more than ever while she sat alone in a cold and unfamiliar room. It was a room she never could have imagined herself in, and still wasn’t entirely sure why she occupied it now. Other than the chipped white walls, linoleum flooring, and an uninviting table, there was nothing to look at except a door. A door she was desperately hoping would open to reveal someone who could explain what was happening.

The absence of clocks and windows made it impossible to tell time. She wasn’t even sure of the day. But about an hour earlier, Caroline’s own screams had brought her crashing back to reality. Between the ocean waves cascading around her and the distant shape of police officers running down the beach, the disorientated state she first awakened to had only deteriorated further. At some point during the chaos and confusion, she had found her way into a fresh set of clothes. Her long hair, almost dry, still smelled of salt and seaweed. Another scent lingered in the air too, something slightly more pernicious.

Caroline nervously placed her hands on the table. The cold metallic surface sent goosebumps racing up her arms, which was less concerning than the handcuffs that bound her wrists. She had known they were there. She remembered the sound they made as the officer snapped on each cuff just tightly enough to be uncomfortable. She could even feel her bony wrists chaffing against the harsh steel. But seeing them now, attached to her, was still like watching a movie starring someone else. Had she really done something so wrong?

With her sense of isolation and confusion only deepening, Caroline crept toward the red circle’s light that filled her mind’s eye. It was warm. It was home.

Caroline was not a social butterfly, and though her general reluctance to interact with just about anyone, including her parents, teachers, and classmates, left her feeling alone, she had not been actively seeking a solution to this problem. Perhaps because she didn’t view it as a problem in need of solving. The depth of the emptiness growing inside of her had not become wholly apparent until that black pit had been replaced with something tangible. To her own astonishment, Caroline had made a real connection with another person. Someone special. Someone different. Someone who hadn’t grown up in Farrow Point like everyone else she knew.

The red circle called to her again. Every minute she spent away from it—and from him—felt like lost time; like wasted potential or a promise unfulfilled. She never felt more alive than when its soft light filled her basement.

Things changed for Caroline almost a year ago.

Had it really been that long?

On the Christmas morning of 1998, the birth of God’s son was far from her mind. Although it had been several years since she cared about receiving gifts—a childhood joy that sadly waned with the discovery that, like most things in life, the holiday was a big fat lie—this particular morning had been different. Because this year she had asked for something specific.

For the past few holidays her younger brother Jack had served as the family’s alarm clock. Caroline was not an early riser, and that held true on Christmas without exception. The typical routine involved Jack bursting into her bedroom like an unshackled monster, bouncing off the walls and onto her bed. His adrenaline-fueled rampage would lead to him jumping up and down dangerously close to Caroline’s head until her eyelids bolted open.

But last Christmas she’d slept an hour at most and was more than eager to wake both her parents and brother before a sliver of sunlight had revealed itself to the residents of Farrow Point. By early morning she had already snuck into the living room multiple times, attempting to verify the size of the box underneath the tree. It looked about right, but she couldn’t let her mind wonder another minute. Had her wish been granted or not?

“Jack you need to get up,” she had whispered loudly in her brother’s ear. With one hand she gently shook his shoulder and with the other turned on a lamp. He grumbled and whined at first, barely cognizant if not still asleep.

“If you don’t get up Santa’s going to come back and take your presents away,” she teased. The lighthearted threat didn’t belong to any established mythology about Santa Claus, but she was desperate. Caroline wasn’t even sure her brother still believed in the jolly gift-giver. At the very least he must have noticed their parents had the same taste in wrapping paper as Santa’s elves.

“What do you want?” he grumbled.

“It’s Christmas Jackie!”

“Stop. Don’t call me that.” He looked at her with a face as stern as a nine-year-old could muster. She knew he was only pretending to be angry, and within seconds his unconvincing frown broke into a smile.

“What time is it? Aren’t mom and dad gonna be mad?”

“They’ll survive. Dad’s up earlier most days for work anyway.”

On cue, faint beeps from the microwave rang out downstairs, indicating their father was already reheating a cup of coffee.

“See they’re up. Let’s go!” Caroline yelled excitedly. She knew he had to be excited too. His morning would consist of unwrapping and organizing the assortment of action figures and videos games stacked below the convincing branches of the family’s artificial tree. But she could tell he was slightly hesitant to embrace her enthusiasm; Caroline was self-aware enough to understand that her behavior was unexpected, if not completely at odds with the moody teenager Jack had come to know and eventually accept in recent years. This Caroline resembled the big sister from the first half of his life—not only cheerful and jokey, but excited for the day ahead. Even she doubted it would last beyond the holiday break; her return to Farrow Point High School was only a week away after all.

The establishment was highly regarded in an idyllic sort of way by both faculty and students, but Caroline viewed the place as a devilish pit brimming with angst and drama. Feeling like an outcast was supposed to be normal for her age, or so she was told. But it didn’t help when everyone else at school acted like they had the next few decades of their lives already sorted.

Jack was too young to fully grasp her chief complaints—that is on the rare day she’d feel like sharing. Her tales of woe often revolved around inconsequential interactions, like the time she received a judgmental glare from a cafeteria worker, or when a classmate told an off-color joke that went on to occupy too large a space in her mind long after it had been laughed off by everyone else. The incidents were small, but many, and they added up to cement one conclusion: she didn’t belong here. But she supposed figuring out where one didn’t belong was the easy part. Finding out where one did? No, that always required a bit of a journey.

“Jack! Come on!” she called on her way out of the room. The slightly frustrated command threatened to reveal a shade of the Caroline of late. It was enough to make him rise from bed.

Caroline actually skipped down the stairs while Jack shambled behind her like a zombie trailing its prey. Any temporary anger caused by her brother’s slow pace was replaced with joy by the time she reached the living room.

“Oh my god,” she said in awe. “I didn’t actually believe this would happen.” She was standing in front of an oversized box covered in festive wrapping paper, its dimensions so wide it was unable to fit under the tree’s decorated branches, so encumbered with ornaments that they sagged toward the carpet. Their father, a nice but unremarkable man named Paul, was comfortably seated on the worn leather couch nearby. Caroline was almost too distracted to notice him there, let alone his beaming smile.

“Jack, you didn’t have to get up yet,” their mother Sylvia announced with concern after emerging from the kitchen.

“Of course he did,” Paul declared with unexpected enthusiasm. “We don’t open anything until the whole family’s awake.”

“It’s fine,” Jack mumbled. “I’m awake now. So what did Caroline get?”

“Don’t worry Jack,” Paul reassured. “It looks like you have a pretty big pile this year.”

“I’m not worried about that. I just wanna know what’s got her so excited. What’s in the box?”

“It’s what I’ve been waiting for. The only thing I’ve ever really wanted,” she explained dreamily, almost unconsciously responding to Jack’s inquiry.

“Well go on then pumpkin. We’re all here now,” said Sylvia.

Caroline was routinely annoyed by her mother, but she couldn’t deny the woman was perfectly normal and loving. She just hated being called nicknames like pumpkin, and her mother knew it. Sylvia didn’t do so maliciously; it was just one of those habits formed during the early years of parenting that never went away. Despite the appropriateness of the nickname for a girl who was born in late October, Caroline had no affinity for pumpkins and certainly didn’t resemble one. She was pale and lanky, not orange and round. But on this morning, the allure of the box and what waited inside was so powerful she barely registered her mother’s words.

“Go for it kids,” encouraged Paul. The man was equally as loving, if not more reserved. As she grew older, Caroline could tell he kept a lot inside. In that way they were very much alike, so she found it difficult to fault him.

Caroline stared at the perfectly wrapped box, praying to something or someone that the contents inside wouldn’t disappoint her.

The nervous excitement she felt while tearing that first piece of wrapping paper bubbled to the surface now as she waited in the interrogation room. Is that what this was? An interrogation room? Did she do something worthy of being interrogated?

The room’s heavy door swung open, ripping away her memory like a used tablecloth after a nice dinner. In walked a man she recognized. The chief of police. She thought his name was Harlow but wasn’t sure if it was his first or last. But she knew him as David’s neighbor, not from any previous experience dealing with law enforcement—she had none.

Wait. Wasn’t she with David last night? Was he here too, in the next room maybe? Her questions continued to accumulate without answers.

“Miss Chambers.”  He settled into a chair on the other side of the table. “I’m Chief Clarence Harlow. How are you feeling?” The question didn’t sound like a forced nicety. He truly seemed concerned.

“I’m not sure why I’m here,” she said, her voice trembling. “I can’t remember what happened.”

“I’ve heard. The good news is Doctor Swan said you don’t have a concussion or any other signs of injury.” Caroline had almost forgotten about the doctor’s brief examination half an hour earlier.

“She said I’m medically fine.”

“Medically fine,” he said with a grunt. The sound may have more closely resembled a laugh under different circumstances. “Aren’t we all?” Caroline didn’t understand the chief’s joke, if it was one. She wasn’t sure he did either.

“Chief Harlow,” she began with trepidation, “am I under arrest?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and instead shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“Did you do anything wrong last night?”

“I don’t think so,” she answered, hoping the sincerity she felt carried through in her voice. “And if I did…I really don’t remember.”

“I see.”

“You don’t believe me.”

The chief looked taken aback, even a little hurt. “Caroline, I have no reason not to believe you. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”

She couldn’t fault him for that. Caroline wanted an explanation just as badly, probably even more so.

While they talked, she massaged her bound wrists. The cuffs had made them sore, but the pain was no worse than a pebble in a shoe compared with the trauma dealt to her psyche.

“Those were mostly for your protection,” Harlow said. “You were screaming and flailing around earlier, and we didn’t want anyone else to get hurt, yourself included.”

“Anyone else?” she asked, beginning to dread what lay in wait alongside the dark road their conversation was traveling down.

Harlow sighed heavily and reached for something in his pocket. He produced a single key and motioned for Caroline to extend her arms across the table.

“You’re not under arrest Ms. Chambers,” he revealed while freeing her from the restrictive bonds. “But we do have questions for you.”

The handcuffs fell away and clanged against the hard table. Gently he grabbed one of her hands and held it up closer to the light. There was dried blood lodged beneath her fingernails.

“We had it tested.” He let go of her hand. “It’s your own. The doc said there are some scratches on your head, self-inflicted.”

“I…I don’t remember doing that. I wouldn’t do that.”

Harlow didn’t respond. Instead he set a green folder on the table, tepidly running a finger along the side of it.

“What’s that?” she wondered aloud. She could have sworn tears were beginning to form in the chief’s eyes as he contemplated a response. He straightened back in the chair, took a deep breath, and any tears, if once there, dried away.

“How do you know David Greene?”

The words hit her harder than the ocean’s waves had earlier in the night; not only because Harlow’s voice carried with it a heavy sadness, but because she didn’t know exactly how to characterize her and David’s relationship.

“He’s a friend,” she settled on. “A good friend.”

“Were you two together last night?”

That’s right. We were.

“Yes,” she answered, relieved to have remembered at least one detail from the previous evening. “He came over after dinner, and…” she trailed off, searching for another tangible scrap of memory.

“And what Caroline?”

Another spark of remembrance ignited. “We were working on a school project for a long time. And then…and then we went for a walk.” A vivid flash of details briefly illuminated her foggy mind. The night air was warm and soothing on her skin. They walked down a quiet street in between yards of fallen leaves. And there, over a hill, she could see it.

“It was late. I think we were going to the lighthouse.” Her words now dripped with despair. “And I remember talking about Rufus,” she recalled suddenly.

“Rufus? Who the hell is Rufus?”

“I think Rufus was a bird.” The recollection puzzled her, and after that the memory fell apart completely, collapsing in on itself like a dying star. “That’s the last thing I remember.”

Harlow ran his fingers through the short beard sprouting beneath his chin. “Alright,” he said after they both remained silent for an uncomfortable amount of time. “There’s something I need to show you.” Caroline thought he sounded regretful. Their conversation had traveled far down that dark road now, and the bad things, the ones that always seemed to lurk in the tall grass just beyond the gravel, well, they were ready to reveal themselves.

Harlow opened the folder and plucked a pair of photographs from inside. Only the blank sides were visible as the chief studied them in his hands.

“I knew David,” he said. He was almost beginning to sound a little angry.

“What’s going on?” Where’s David?”

“I’m sorry Caroline.” He placed both photographs on the table. “I truly hope you had nothing to do with this.”

Everyone in the station must have heard the scream that Caroline unleashed upon the world. It tore through her throat with agony and pain, and it was so unlike the one she had uttered on Christmas morning that her own parents wouldn’t have recognized it as hers. Caroline shut her eyes, but the horror captured by the photographs didn’t fade from view. Once again she retreated to the small field of pleasant memories in her mind, hoping they would protect her from this new reality.

Her scream on Christmas—a playful yelp that signaled impatient excitement—came after she had ripped away the gift’s wrapping paper and opened the box. It was completely empty, but of course she knew her parents couldn’t be that cruel.

“Caroline, why did you ask Santa for an empty box you weirdo,” joked her brother. Even he must have known this was one of their father’s jokes.

“I thought I saw some reindeer tracks headed down the basement steps,” Paul said.

“Dad, the reindeer don’t come inside,” Jack said, proudly correcting his father on the intricacies of Santa’s operation.

“The basement!” Caroline shouted, ignoring them both. She knew what was waiting beneath her feet, and she couldn’t have been happier. With glee she brushed past her mother and raced down the stairs, nimbly avoiding the loose steps that might have sent her flying forward into a wall. Reaching the bottom she peered across the half-finished basement and finally saw it in all its glory. The thing she wanted more than anything else in the world. The thing she couldn’t have imagined owning just a few months earlier. She walked toward it ceremoniously, savoring the moment with each step. The stairs creaked behind her; the rest of the family had come to witness Caroline’s reaction.

The computer tower and monitor had already been set up—no doubt by her father. Paul was a fairly technologically savvy man, and he had a machine just like it upstairs. Caroline had spent countless hours in his home office, sitting and watching as he played games, sent e-mails, organize files, and did all of the other perfectly boring things one did on a computer. Caroline was enthralled by all of it. From the moment he had first brought the machine into their home and turned it on, she wanted one of her own.

Her parents had finally given in. Maybe only because her dad was sick of sharing, but she didn’t care about the reason. She had her own computer now, and nothing else mattered.

“Are you happy pumpkin?” her mother called from the stairs. Caroline simply nodded.

She knelt before the computer almost reverently, as if preparing to pray to some circuit board-laden god. Unwilling to wait a moment longer, she pressed a finger firmly against the machine’s round power button. A circle of red light appeared around it, bringing the computer to life and delivering Caroline to a new world of possibilities.