Carrie was here. I could sense it. I felt her
presence as if she reached out and touched me, though
when I looked around I saw nothing but the crates. "Carrie!" I called as loudly as possible. "It's me, Cathy. Don't hide and keep quiet because you're afraid! I've got your dolls and Dr. Paul is with me and so is Chris. We've come to take you home, and never again are we going to send you away to school!" I
nudged Paul, "Now you tell her that too."
He abandoned his soft voice and boomed,
"Carrie, if you can hear me, it's just as your sister says.
We want you to come home with us to stay. I'm sorry,
Carrie. I thought you'd like it here. Now I know you
couldn't possibly have been happy. Carrie, please
come out, we need you."
Then I thought I heard a soft whimper. I raced
in that direction with Chris close at my heels. I knew
about attics, how to search, how to find.
Abruptly I drew to a halt and Chris collided
with me. Just ahead, in the dim shadows created by the
towers of heavy wooden crates, still in her nightgown,
all torn, dirty and bloody, gagged and still blindfolded,
I spied Carrie. Her spill of blond hair gleamed in the
faint light. Beneath her a leg was twisted in a
grotesque way. "Oh, God," whispered Chris and Paul
at the same time, "her leg looks broken."
"Wait a minute," Paul cautioned in a low voice,
clamping both his hands down on my shoulders when I would heedlessly run forward and rescue Carrie. "Look at those crates, Cathy. Just one careless move on your part and they will all come crashing down on
both you and Carrie."
Somewhere behind me a teacher moaned and
began to pray. How Carrie had managed to drag
herself down that close passageway while blind and
bound was unbelievable. A fully adult person couldn't
have done it--but I could do it--I was still small
enough.