Story My Name is Caroline

[Faith Eliza Cord]

(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)

 

[Nivrad00]

D'awww!


There, see? I d'aw'd, and it's only been two chapters. Darn it, now I'm going to have to stop disliking Caroline!


More!

 

[Faith Eliza Cord]

Obliged, lol.


(Then: Thirteen)


When I opened my eyes I was still curled under our blanket, one hand gripping my pillow, my hair covering my eyes. I started to sit up slowly, one hand rubbing sleep out the corner of my eyes, and shiver; even though it was barely fall, the mornings and nights were cool. Soon we wouldn't be able to sleep outside anymore. I didn't mind motels, which meant getting to sleep in a bed and watching cable TV, but I would miss the feel of open possibilities and tranquil thoughts that always came from sleeping outside.


My father is by our fire from last night, gathering up the empty water bottles and other items we had left sitting from the night before to take back to our car. When he sees me watching him, he turns and smiles at me. He's always awake and cheerful in the morning, and seems to want me to the same way. It can be very irritating.


"Good morning, Caroline of mine…while I'm gathering all this up, why don't you go get yourself ready for the day?


Which meant finding a place a little ways out of his sight to use the bathroom and get dressed, and spend some time alone, if that was what I wanted to do. When I was younger, he wouldn't let me out of his sight when we were out in the open, even for that, even if he didn't look at me the whole time. But I was older then, and we both knew I needed more privacy for that kind of thing, at thirteen, than I had when I was eight or nine years old. He always tried to make some time ,every day where I could be alone, a ways apart from him for a while, as long as I was within his earshot, just in case.


I pulled myself to my feet and took a roll of toilet paper and a change of clothes, shuffling off with them out of the space of clearing we had slept at for the night and entering further into the woods. I did what I needed and dressed, fast as possible in the slight chill of the morning, and then began to walk around, yawning occasionally, but the more I moved, the more alert I was becoming, and I was enjoying my time and freedom to just be, apart from his almost constant presence.


I listened to the chirping of birds above my head, to the rustle of moving branches as squirrels ran across, to the breaking of twigs and crackle of leaves beneath my feet, and I smiled. These were my favorite sounds, soothing to me in the wave that white noise was soothing to other people. On impulse, I pulled myself up into the first tree I saw with branches low enough where I could do so and leaned back against its trunk, marveling to myself how different everything looked if you just slightly changed your perspective.


After about ten minutes I heard my father call my name, and I shouted back for him to come and mind me, smiling to myself as I imagined his puzzled attempts to do so while all the while, I was dangling several feet above his head.


My grin widened when he came into view a few minutes later, turning in circles with a somewhat bemused frown and the beginnings of a worried crease forming in his brow. He shook his head, calling for me again.


"Caroline? Are you moving away from me?"


I bit the inside of my cheeks to keep from laughing as he began to move forward, away from me, picking up the pace, his strides larger now, faster.


"Caroline, you know you're not supposed to move out of my earshot-"


"I am in your earshot," I called down to him, letting myself laugh now, and moving my arm in a broad wave. "I'm right here."


He turned quickly, lifting his head, and finally found me, a grin breaking over his face, but there is still worry mingled with the relief and amusement in his eyes.


"I forgot I had a monkey imp for a daughter instead of a young lady," he said, but he was still smiling, and his tone was teasing. "Come on, Caroline of mine, let's get going."


He watched as I made my way down the trunk, reaching to steady me as I descended the last few feet, his hands on my waist. Slipping his arm around my shoulders in a half hug, he kissed my forehead quickly before giving me a slight push forward.


"The car's loaded. Ready to start our next adventure?"


"Always," I replied, and we walked side by side, heading back out into the open. Back among the others


(Then: Eight)


I was almost glad when Lewis called me Caroline, when he told me that I was his, because then I was sure that it all must be some mistake. I knew I didn't know him. I had never seen him before in my life…this was all just a mistake, and if I told him, if I set him straight, maybe he would just let me go. Maybe he would even be happy that I'd let him know he was wrong, that I wasn't really this Caroline…if he wanted that Caroline girl so bad, if he loved her that much that he was willing to steal her, then maybe he would just let me go. I prayed that my earlier thoughts of not correcting him in case he got mad at me were just me being scared as I swallowed, biting my lip, and looked up into his eyes, still pressing against the door, wanting to pull away from his touch on my cheek.


"But….I don't even know who you are…I think…I think maybe you made a mistake. I'm…I'm not Caroline…my name is Maddie…I don't think I'm the right girl you wanted…."


His eyes got all dark then, and he sighed, looking at me like he was really sad for a minute, his mouth turning down a little at the corners. He kept his hand on my cheek for a few more moments before taking it away, taking a deep breath before he spoke to me quietly.


"You don't remember me, do you, Caroline? I guess I couldn't have expected you to…it's been so long since you saw me, and you were so little…"


He sighed again, rubbing his hand briefly over his temples, and when he looked at me again, he spoke gently, like I talked to my dog Maxie when it was thundering out and he just wanted to hide under my bed. I thought I knew how Maxie felt now…I wouldn't have minded hiding under my bed then. Hiding anywhere, as long as it wasn't near this man.


"My name is Lewis Danson… your name is Caroline Danson. Sweetheart…I'm your father."


I stared at him, my eyes wide, and shook my head just a little bit. I didn't believe it, not for a minute. My father was home, my father was in bed asleep, or maybe he was at work now, or else maybe he was hurt, maybe- but no, no, I wasn't going to think that. I couldn't think that. I didn't know where my father was, but I knew that this man, this Lewis, wasn't it. He was wrong. He had me confused with some other girl, and I needed to set him straight so he could take me back, so he could let me go, and he could go get her instead.


"No…no, you're not," I almost whispered, still shaking my head. "My dad's home…you're not my dad. I'm not Caroline…I'm Maddie."


The man who had called himself Lewis Danson shook his head again, and he reached out again, gently touching my hair. When I shivered, my eyes fixating on his hand, his lips tightened, and he looked like he was upset. I was scared that I had made him mad at me after all and I said quickly, "I'm sorry, I'm, I, I didn't mean to make you mad, I'm sorry…I just, I'm not her, I'm, you need to go get that other girl, I'm not…"


I broke off, biting the inside of my cheeks, feeling tears rising behind my eyes, but I didn't want to cry. He might get even more mad at me if I cried. I could feel my held back sobs in my chest, and I held my breath, trying to force them down. Lewis got this look on his face like he wanted to hug me, but he still looked really sad at the same time, his forehead wrinkling. He kept his hand lightly on my hair and spoke to me softly, but I could hear from his voice that he was upset, and that he really believed what he was saying.


"Sweetheart, I know you don't' remember me…I know this is hard, I know you're scared. But you need to listen to me. You need to listen so you can understand….everything isn't the way you thought it was. You aren't who you think you are, who you've been told you are. Listen to me, honey, listen to me and you'll understand."


Lewis breathed out again, and he was leaning towards me a little as he went on; I was really trying to listen, even though I knew he was wrong, even though I knew he had made a mistaken, even though it was really hard for me just to concentrate on not crying. Even though he was wrong, I still wanted to hear what he was going to say.


"Those people you were living with, Caroline…they aren't your real parents. Your real mama died when you were only two years old, honey…and those people, they took you from me. I'm your real father…I'm the one who should have had you all these years, I'm the one who should have been looking after you and loving you. I didn't get to have you all those years, I didn't get to look out for you, Caroline. But I never stopped searching for you, I never gave up hope that I would get you back. And I never, ever, not for one second, stopped loving you."


I stared at him, my heart beating wildly in my chest; his words had struck me so hard, stunned me so much, that I forgot about crying and just watched him. What he was saying…that couldn't be true. That wasn't true. My mom, my dad, they would never have done that…they wouldn't have. It was a mistake….what he was saying was a mistake. I wasn't this Caroline girl. I wasn't…I was Maddie.


But what if it wasn't a mistake…what if he was right? What if they really had taken me away from him and I just didn't remember?


No. No, no, that wasn't right, it wasn't true…he just thought it. It wasn't true…I would know if it was true…


"I know you don't believe me right now, Caroline, and I don't expect you to…I don't expect you to love me, or to remember me," he said softly, still looking into my eyes. "I don't expect you to call me Dad. We have time for all of those things, now that I have you back. For now you can call me Lewis. But I want you to know that I am so, so glad that I finally have you back. I want you to know that I'll never hurt you, Caroline, and no one will ever be able to lie to you or take you away from me again. And I want you to know that I love you."


I was still just staring at him. I couldn't think of anything at all to say. Even if I told him I wasn't Caroline again, he wasn't going to believe me…as young as I was, I could see by that point that nothing I said would change his mind.


And this scared me…because if he was so sure that he was right, maybe, just maybe, he was…


"Why don't we find a hotel room now, Caroline?" Lewis said, as he turned back to face the front, starting up the car. "I know you're probably tired. You'll feel better in the morning, and as soon as you understand how everything needs to be, once I've made sure I've explained everything you'll need to know, then we can start having fun, start getting to know each other again. Okay?"


I didn't say anything. I think maybe I nodded, but I was so confused that maybe I just thought I did. As he drove away, I sat there, staring down into my lap, my stomach knotting painfully, my throat so choked I could barely swallow. What if he wasn't wrong…what if he really was my dad? What if I really was this Caroline?


(Then: Thirteen)


My father looked straight ahead as he drove, carefully concentrated on the traffic ahead, although as early is it was, there wasn't much for him to worry about. I watched him from the passenger seat, leaning my head against the window, and smiled. It used to bother me, at first, all this time that we spend driving, without ever seeming to find one place to call a home. I used to hate having to sit so still, to be so careful, to always be watching, just in case something were to happen where my father would have to stop, and questions could be asked that would be difficult to answer. I hated how every day was the same, always in motion, never settling anywhere or with anything, never able to just be normal, like all the other girls my age, and all of their families.


But then, I grew to love it. It was not really tedious at all. Maybe we were always driving, but we were always in different towns, different places, seeing and doing different things, and every day I never knew where I might end or, who I might see, or what I might do. We didn't have to be so careful once I was older, and could take care of myself and know how to behave. I couldn't imagine another way of life, and I didn't want it. I didn't want to be like other girls, or to have a family like theirs. This is what was mine, and it's all I wanted. I may not have had a house, but I had my father, and he was the only home I needed.


My father was never grouchy in the mornings, but he was quiet, respecting my need for time to wake up slowly, my preference to speak little until an hour or so had passed. We didn't say much when we began our driving for the day, but we were content. It was peaceful, soothing, to drive with my father as the morning sun rose higher overhead, feeling the warmth of its ray warm my cheek through the window, to look over him and know that whatever happened, whatever this day brought, it would be okay, as long as I was with him.


Eventually I sat up and rolled down the window, enjoying the way the wind whipped my hair in a tangle around my head and brought the smell of car exhaust and fast food wafting inside the car's interior. My father reached to turn on the radio, and we listened, quietly at first, and by the third song, we had begun to sing. My voice rose over his, higher, more technically on tune, though his was more confident, and I closed my eyes for just a moment, happiness swelling in my chest.

 

[Legendless]

Hot damn that was awesome. Can't wait to read more.

 

[Faith Eliza Cord]

Thanks


(Then: Eight)


We arrived at a hotel much later, so late that the sun was rising overhead. As we pulled into the parking lot, Lewis told me to stay in the front seat while he went around to the trunk of his car. He returned with two large suitcases and opened one. I noticed that it was blue plastic, a child's, with flowers on the front...did he know that blue was my favorite color? He pulled out a pink hooded sweatshirt that looked like it would fit me and held it out to me; I had caught a glimpse inside the suitcase and saw that there were more clothes for a little girl about my size, and I had caught a glimpse of some kind of brown stuffed animal as well.


"Put this on before you come inside with me, Caroline. Pull the hood over your face, keep your head down, and hold my hand…and don't say anything. Just stand with me as I talk and wait for me to be finished, okay?"


I put the sweatshirt on slowly, my hands fumbling as I pulled the hood over my face. Lewis looked at me closely before he took my hand, holding it firmly in his as he took me inside the hotel lobby. He never let it go, not for one second, the whole time that he spoke with the woman at the front desk. The whole time we stood there my heart beat so fast I was afraid that he and the lady would hear it, and I half hoped, half feared that she would look down at me, that she would ask me what was wrong, that she would somehow figure out what was going on. "Little girl," I imagined her asking, "are you all right?" And then I would pull away, then I would scream, "No, nothing is all right, I'm not Caroline! This man, this man took me, he says he's my daddy, but he's NOT, he had a knife and he threw it away but he might have another one and he won't let me go, he says he loves me but he doesn't know my name and he won't let me go! Take me back home, don't let him take me anymore…I'm not Caroline, I'M NOT CAROLINE!"


But she didn't ask me, and I didn't say any of that. I stared at my dirty flip flops and I bit the inside of my cheeks, almost hard enough to draw blood, and the lady barely seemed to notice me at all. And as Lewis took me into the elevator, wrestling with the suitcases with one hand because he wouldn't let go of me with the other, I had to concentrate very hard to keep the words from spilling out of my mouth.


In the hotel room Lewis finally let go of my hand and spread the suitcases out on one of the twin beds, beginning to take out some loose clothes that I guessed he was going to change into to sleep in. I stood there in the middle of the room, not moving, not sure what it was that he wanted from me now. I wondered what my mom and dad were doing then, if they knew that I was gone yet, if they had called the cops, if they were as scared as I was. But what if they really weren't my mom and dad? Then what, what would happen then?


But they were, of course they were. All of this was a mistake…maybe it wasn't even real, maybe it was just a dream. Maybe if I just went to sleep I would wake up and I'd be in my own bed, and my mom would be telling me to get up and go to school, and then I'd go to school, and get on the bus to go to daycare, and then-


"Caroline, I brought some clothes and a few toys for you for tomorrow. I wasn't sure about sizes but I think they'll be okay," Lewis said, looking up at me with a soft smile. "You look tired, why don't you try to go to sleep?" When I didn't move, he took a step towards me, kneeling down in front of me so he was more on my level.


"I know you're scared, Caroline of mine…I know you're confused, and I'm so sorry that it has to be like this," he told me quietly, not touching me, just watching my face. "But I will never, ever hurt you, and I want you to understand that. Okay? So why don't you try to sleep now."


Somehow the way that he sounded and looked so nice made it worse, and I almost burst into tears right then and there. I would almost have liked it better if he'd been mean and yelled at me…it would have made more sense. It would have been what I would have expected out of this situation.


I backed up, going over to the bed without the suitcases on it and drawing back the blankets. I lay there, but I didn't want to close my eyes. Lewis returned to the blue suitcase, retrieving something I couldn't see; when he came over to sit on the edge of my bed, I saw that he had a teddy bear in one hand and a picture book with a dog on the front in the other. He didn't ask me if it was okay; he just handed me the bear, and when I took it slowly, he began to read. I closed my eyes, slowly pulling the bear closer to my chest, feeling silent tears make their way down my cheeks, and I listened. But all the while, I was pretending that it wasn't Lewis who was reading to me. I pretended it was my dad, my real dad, even though he never read to me before bed before. I pretended as hard as I could, so when the story was over and Lewis smoothed back my hair, I could almost believe that it really was him


(Then: Thirteen)


"Don't give me that look, Caroline," my father said as I eyed the book he was holding out to me with undisguised skepticism. "I know what you're thinking- that it's going to be boring, and difficult to read. Actually, it's a fascinating story- why else do you think that everyone for the past five hundred years had been so enthralled by it? As for being difficult, yes, most children don't read this in school until they're in high school, probably fifteen or sixteen years old, but we both know how smart you are, and that you're capable of much more than the average young woman. I'll be reading it with you, and it's good for you to face and conquer challenges."


"It's a book, Dad, not Mount Everest," I muttered, and he laughed, shaking his head.


"Yes, and I believe you could face Mount Everest and leave it bowing at your feet, Caroline of mine. Sit down, and let's get to it."


I sat beside him on the bed of the motel room we had reserved for a few days' time, sighing with a decided lack of enthusiasm. I had watched Shakespearian movies on TV before, and once even saw a theatrical version of Macbeth, but the thought of sitting down to read it, without the help of actors' tones of voices or facial expressions to help me figure out what was going on, I didn't think I'd have a clue. Still, my father thought I was capable of this, and I didn't want to disappoint him.


He slid his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in close to his side, and opened the book so that it rested on both our laps, and I settled against him, looking down at the words.


"Now, just as a backstory, there were two families in Verona, Italy at the time, the Capulets and the Montagues…"


The first act dragged; it was difficult to get the hang of their phrases and way of speaking, and even to understand how to read a play versus a book. But by the middle of the second act I was starting to really get the hang of how to read it, what was going on, and my father was right, it was pretty interesting. He intended to finish for the day with the second act, but when he started to close the book, I put my hand over his.


"We don't have to be anywhere today, do we? Let's read one more act, at least…"


He looked at me with amusement sparking in his eyes, and I knew he must be thinking that he had been right, but he didn't say so. One thing I love about my father, just one among many, is the way he never says I told you so.


We continued to read, and I grew so absorbed that I barely noticed the weight or heat of my father's arm around me, my leg pressed against his thigh. In the end one act was not enough, and I asked to finish the entire play. By the time we had closed the book, over four hours had passed, and my backside was numb from sitting. I sat with my face still and pensive, my mind still swirling with the vivid images of what I had just read. My father watched me with a gentle smile, a smile that was pleased and proud, almost awed, a smile I saw almost every time he looked at me. A smile that told me how much he loved me, how disbelieving he was that I was his. Every time I saw it I wanted to live up to that smile, to make sure that I never gave it reason to go away.


"Do you believe in fate, Dad?" I asked him, turning my face up towards his so that my hair brushed his shoulder and part of his face, my eyes meeting his gaze. "Like with Romeo and Juliet…do you think that some things really are just meant to be?"


He considered the question with his forehead forming lines, tilting his head back just a little, so his chin brushed the side of my head. When he answered his words were careful, thoughtful; he always took my questions seriously, even back when I was still a little girl.


"I believe in hard work and effort, Caroline. I believe that if you want something in life, you can't wait around just hoping it will happen, because nothing is ever handed out to anyone in this world. I believe you have to work and strive and sacrifice, and sometimes you have to give up all you have to receive the one thing you must have more than anything."


I knew he was talking about me, about everything he'd done to make sure we could be together, and I nodded, my face as serious as his. He looked down at me then and he smiled again, softer now, reaching to cup my cheek.


"But I do believe in fate, too. I believe that some things are meant to be, if you do work for them…because I can't conceive of a world where it wasn't intended for you to be back here with me again."


I nodded, leaning my head against his shoulder, and he pulled me into his lap, kissing my cheek and hugging me close. Leaning back against my father's chest, I felt the steady temp of his heartbeat against my back and breathed in the slightly salty, sweaty smell of him near, and I thought that fate was an amazing thing.


(Then: Eight)


It was soon after this that it began to hit me that maybe, just maybe I would not be found, that maybe no one was even looking for me. As Lewis was driving on the interstate, on our way to a destination that was never made known to me until we arrived there, a cop car pulled behind him. I saw that Lewis's hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he tensed, telling me quickly to pull up the hood of my sweatshirt, to not look out the window or into the side mirror. I did as he asked, my heart racing; I was afraid not to. He might maybe crash the car or something, right into the cop car. Even as I did this I was wishing that I could roll down the window, that I could stick my head out and wave my arms and yell out for them to stop him, for them to take me home. I didn't even know where I was anymore, I didn't even know if we were in the same state. Would they believe him if they stopped him, and he told him that he was my father, that he had taken me back? What if they did? What would Lewis do to me afterward if they did, and they let him go without taking me away from him?


The cop car passed us without anything happening, and when I finally dared to look over at Lewis, I saw that his shoulders had relaxed, that his grip had loosened on the steering wheel, and he smiled at me, motioning that I could put my hood back down. I did it slowly, without saying anything; I hadn't said very much to him at all since the night before. He spoke to me quietly then, even as he kept his eyes back on the road.


"Thank you for listening to me so quickly without questioning me, Caroline. You see, we have to be very careful around other people, especially the police. We're not doing anything wrong here…but they might not understand. You see, sweetie, the people who took you from me, they're probably going to be trying very hard to get you back. They have a lot of money, a lot of power, and they're going to be looking for us everywhere, and the police are going to believe them when they say that they never took you from me. They won't believe me, and they'll try to take you back. Cops are like that, Caroline…you're young now, but you'll learn how the world works, and then you'll understand. Sometimes the people who are supposed to be there to help you end up hurting you the worst. They'll try to take you away from me, Caroline, and I won't let that happen, not again. Not when I just got you back."


I didn't know what to think about that. I'd always been a little afraid of cops, just because they were usually big men who had guns. They made me want to be very quiet and very good around them, and they made me feel nervous even if they smiled at me, like they were watching me, just waiting for me to be bad so they could take me to jail. Would they put me in jail too with Lewis, if they caught him? I had gone with him…I hadn't told him no. I hadn't tried to get away…what if they put me in jail too?


After what happened with the cop car, I started to look around a lot more, as much as I could without Lewis noticing that I was. I was looking for one of those posters they put up for kids that are missing with my face on it, on poles or billboards or somewhere. I didn't see anything, but maybe it was too soon. Part of me was scared that maybe I didn't see anything, though, because what Lewis was saying was right…maybe he really was my dad, and there wasn't going to be any posters of me, because he really had just taken me back, that he really hadn't kidnapped me.


Kidnapped…that word hadn't occurred to me before, but it was all I could think about after seeing the cop car. I had seen movies where girls were kidnapped before. Usually it meant that the kidnapping guy wanted money from their parents, and usually the girls would be able to trick the kidnapper and get away, and everything would be okay. But I was too scared to even try.


We drove around for a long time again that day, and Lewis stopped at some fast food places and got us stuff to eat through the drive through. He let me have the boy toy I wanted instead of the girl toy because I liked Matchbox cars better than plastic Barbies that don't even move their legs and arms, and he even bought me a milkshake. I didn't know what to think about that either…if he really wasn't my dad, how come he was being nice to me? Was he just crazy? He didn't seem bad…but crazy people weren't this nice, were they? Unless he was just tricking me for some reason…I just didn't know.


He kept talking to me the whole time we were driving, asking me what kind of movies and toys and games I liked, what colors and books and foods. He wanted to know everything about me. If he was bad or crazy or mean, he wouldn't be asking me all this, he wouldn't even care…right? So he must really think that I was his daughter Caroline…or maybe he really was my dad…but that didn't make any sense at all.


That night when we went into the new hotel room he read to me again when I was supposed to go to sleep. But I just pretended to sleep. Really I just shut my eyes and I waited a long time, a really long time, until I was pretty sure he must be asleep too. Then I opened my eyes and got up really quiet, going over to the TV, and turned it on. I was going to look for myself on the news. He had said they would lie about me, but I had to know. I had to see. I wanted to see my parents…maybe I would see my parents, at least their pictures, and I really, really wanted to.


I got scared when the sound came on, but I turned it down real fast, looking behind me to where he was sleeping, and it looked like he hadn't heard. When I found the news channel I sat there for a long time, but I didn't see anything about me. I went back to my bed with my heart feeling sick and heavy, even though I tried to tell myself that it had only been one day. Maybe I would be on tomorrow…maybe they would find me tomorrow. They had to.


But when I hugged the teddy bear Lewis had given me, closing my eyes, I heard him speak to me quietly, and I knew he hadn't been sleeping after all, he really had been listening even if his eyes were closed.


"Caroline…you're going to trust me one day. One day you'll know the truth…I'm just sorry that you don't' right now, because it makes everything harder. But even if you don't trust me yet, even if you don't believe me yet, I want you to know that I'm glad you're with me, Caroline of mine," he said quietly. "I'm glad I have you back. And I won't ever let you go away from me again now."


But that was what I was afraid of…that was why I lay awake in bed for the next two hours, holding the bear tightly, wondering who it was that had been lying to me. Because Lewis really sounded like he was telling the truth

Then: Thirteen


He started like he always did, with shifting around in the bed a lot, like he couldn't get comfortable. I could hear the springs of the mattress creaking in his cheap motel bed, and it woke me up like it usually did. I actually didn't sleep as well in motel rooms as outside, even though we had beds. There was something about being inside a closed in room that made everything too small and close to me, and it was much too quiet.


My father was asleep, I knew, but he kept twitching around in his bed, to the point that his blanket slid off onto the floor. I rolled over to face him, in my twin bed across from his, and watched, waiting, my shoulder tensed, frowning. I didn't like to watch him when he started to dream. I didn't like to hear him afraid…I never saw my father afraid, except in the middle of his dreams.


I wanted to go wake him up, but I knew it wouldn't matter. He wouldn't wake up, even if I shook him until his head was snapping back and forth, until he was ready to. I had tried before, to wake him up when the dreams got really bad, but he couldn't do it. He always woke up at the same point, he said, and nothing I did was going to change how soon he could. Still, even though I knew that, every time I saw him start to dream, all I wanted to do was go over and make it stop for him, make him know that it wasn't real and we were both okay.


He started making noises next, grunts at first, and his breathing got louder and faster, almost panting, like he was running hard. Then he made sounds that were like cries, his body twitching more before actual words came.


"No…no, don't, I didn't, no-"


I shivered, pulling my blankets tighter around myself as I watched him, my stomach sinking, my heart thumping loudly in my chest. I hated the way his face changed in the dreams, how it twisted in fear, like he was a different person, someone younger, weak. I hated how he sounded, so desperate, so not the fun, confident person that I knew my father was, the person who would give his life and freedom just to get me back and keep me safe from harm. The person my father was when he dreamed was not the person I knew at all other times…and when I watched him, I felt unsafe, even afraid.


He only dreamed about once or twice a week, but it was always the same, how he reacted, how disoriented he was when he finally awakened. I asked him once, when I was younger, if he had the same dream every time too, and he had told me yes with such a somber look in his eyes that I should have known to be quiet. But I asked him what it was he saw anyway. My father turned to look at me then, with such seriousness and sadness in his eyes that I had gone cold, because for the first time outside of his dreams, I had seen fear there too. He touched my face, stroking his fingers down my cheek, with such gentleness, like I was the softness, most precious thing he had ever felt before, like he could break me if he handled me too carelessly.


"I dream that you need me, Caroline, and someone is keeping me away from you. That you are reaching out for me, calling for me, and they're holding you back, not letting me break away and go to you."


His voice had been soft, almost shaking, and he continued to cup my face, before drawing my head to his chest. I had hugged him fiercely as I promised him.


"They won't get me, Dad. I won't ever let them take me away from you again."


Now I waited as his words became faster, difficult to understand, and he sat up fast in bed, his chest heaving hard, sucking in air like someone had been keeping him from being able to breathe. His brow was sweaty, and he reached out with a shaking hand to turn on the lamp between our beds, turning towards me hurriedly, his eyes seeking mine out, making sure that I was still there, that I was okay.


"Caroline? Caroline-"


"I'm right here, Dad," I said quickly, and I got out of my bed, coming to sit on his bed with him and taking his hand. "It's okay. I'm right here."


His eyes drank in my features intensely, as if he were hungry for validation of my words, and he squeezed my hand hard, almost hard enough to hurt. His other hand reached to touch my face, sliding down my cheek to press against my neck, and I felt my pulse jump slightly as his thumb covered my throat.


"You're here," he whispered, almost to himself, and then he shook his head a little, said more firmly, in a voice more like the father I knew, "you should go to sleep, Caroline, I'm fine."


"I know," I told him, but I didn't move back to my own bed. I usually didn't, after his dreams.


Instead, I lay down with him, my arm around his waist, my head against his shoulder, letting him feel for himself that I was there, that I was okay, that if they were to take me away, they would have to pry me apart physically first. My father wrapped his arms around me, letting out a slow sigh as he pulled me close, and when I felt him fall asleep a few minutes later, he felt relaxed enough now that I could sleep too.


I hated to pity my father his weakness, his fears. It made my own feel that much more real and frightening, and lessened the differences between us, making it where I had to doubt that he really was always in control, that he really did always know the best thing to do. So instead, I told myself that they were a sign of strength, that the only way my father would ever be weak was when he was asleep and couldn't control himself. We didn't show it on the outside like everyone else, my father and me. We were different. We were stronger.


Still, as protective as I felt when I lay drifting off again in his arms, sometimes I worried about my own power, that the very possibility of my being gone could strike in him such fear. It was me who made him weak, even though he always insisted to me that it was me who made him strong.

​

 

[marmar158]

mind = blown


keep up the good work!

 

[Faith Eliza Cord]

Thanks only a few chapters left


Then: Eight


It took me almost two weeks to work up the nerve to ask Lewis if I was going to go to school; what I really wanted to know was if we were always going to live like this, for as long as I was with him. Not that I would be with him for long, I told myself over and over, whenever doubts arose, whenever I thought of home and family and all I'd left behind the night that Lewis came for me. They would come and get me soon…of course they would…they were just taking a while because we were moving so much, that was all…


I didn't mind not going to school. What I did mind was not knowing from day to day what would happen, where we would go, what we would do, what Lewis might ask of me, if he might suddenly change, suddenly do something to hurt me or scare me. Ever since the night he took me he hadn't said or done anything to hurt me, or even threatened to, and I hadn't seen him with a knife or gun or anything else like that. But I couldn't forget the knife from that first day, and I couldn't help but be afraid that he might be hiding something else like that, ready to use it if I didn't listen, if I made him mad. But that was confusing to me too, because he was never mean…even when he took me, he acted like he was sorry about the knife later, like maybe he didn't even know it would scare me.


Every day was kind of the same, but kind of different. We would drive around a lot, buy gas and food and clothes or toys or books for me, and every time Lewis would have me come in with him just like he had in the hotel that first time, with my hood up and my head down. Sometimes we would sleep in our car at night, and sometimes Lewis would get a motel or hotel room. Sometimes when I went to sleep I would hear Lewis leave the room, and I would sit up, my heart pounding, and I would think and wonder where he was going, what he was doing, and I would look at the door and the telephone, thinking hard about leaving, about calling someone for help. But I was never sure when he would come back, if he might catch me, and in the end I always just stayed in bed. He always came back with money though- I would watch him with my eyes open just a little bit, and he would take it from his pocket and put it in his wallet, and I would wonder if he had a job or something. I didn't know how he could have a job though since we never even stayed in one place, at least not that first week.


When I finally got around to asking if I was going to go to school in the motel room one night, before I was supposed to go to sleep, Lewis just smiled at me and messed up my hair, sitting on the edge of the bed. I was getting a little more used to him doing stuff like that now, but I still kind of tried to move away, or else pretended he was someone else doing it, usually.


"You're a smart girl, Caroline of mine…you don't need that. School is just a way for society to keep tabs on youth anyway…there are much better ways for a person to learn. Anything you need to know, you can learn from me, or just from living life itself…so here, why don't you read aloud to me tonight? If you're really worried, then we can start working on academics together at night before bed…I can work with you on math and reading. Pretty much everything else they would teach you in school is just a waste of your time anyway."


He circled my shoulders with his arm lightly as he handed me a book. It was a chapter book, a lot fatter than the picture books he'd been reading to me, and he smiled at me again, even though I still pulled away from him just a little bit when he touched me. When he asked me again to read aloud to him, I messed up on some words, not because they were hard, but because I was nervous. After I got through reading one chapter Lewis smiled again and kissed the top of my head, still keeping his arm around me.


"Good job, Caroline of mine. What did I tell you? You're too smart for all those other kids in school anyway."


Even after he pulled away and I was tucked in, I still kind of felt like I could feel where his arm had been touching my shoulders and where his lips had touched my head…I always could for a little while after he touched me, and it made me feel weird. In a bad way…like I was still kind of scared…but in a good way, just a little bit, too. I kept thinking that my dad never listened to me read to him before I went to bed. I thought how Lewis must have really loved the real Caroline, and that it was too bad I wasn't her. Probably…probably I wasn't her. Because sometimes, especially when Lewis did stuff like that, I really wasn't sure if I really did know anymore.


It was maybe a couple of months before I really knew that no one was going to find me, that no one was going to take me away from Lewis. It was hard to know the exact time, but I knew that every Sunday Lewis would have me read the comics in the newspaper, so I kind of could guess by how many times I remembered reading comics. I had been looking whenever I could, and I never saw my picture anywhere on the news or on posters or in the newspaper, or anywhere else. I was still ducking down when cops passed by and they never even slowed down. I think mostly though, I just knew. And I was starting to think that maybe Lewis really was right…maybe I really was his daughter. Maybe I really was Caroline.


Why else would he take me away like this and not even ask for money from anyone or try to hurt me or anything? Why else would he even want me so bad that he would just keep driving like this and not even stay anywhere more than a few days? Why would he buy me stuff and be nice to me and read to me and tell me he loved me and how smart and special I was, why would he tell me I was his, if I really wasn't? I thought and thought about it until my head hurt and my stomach felt sick and I just couldn't see any other reason why he would do that, unless it was real…unless it was true. So I really was Lewis's little girl…my parents really weren't my parents, they really did steal me away from him. I really didn't have a mom…and I really was Caroline.


Caroline. I said the name to myself a bunch of times in my head, trying it out, trying to see if it really felt like me, like it really might be me after all. But I was so used to hearing Lewis say it now when he was talking to me that it almost did feel like it was already my name, and all I could think was that if I really was Caroline, if I really wasn't Maddie, then those people who said they were my parents were bad, they lied to me, they took me away from him when I was all he even had. How could they do that? How could it really be true?


I thought about it all the time until another Sunday came, and that whole time I watched Lewis really close, and I thought that maybe I did look just a little bit like him…and I thought that he really did act like my dad, more than my dad had, even, or the man who pretended he was my dad anyway. And when Sunday was over I had made up my mind…Lewis was my dad. He had to be. It was the only thing that made sense, and once I believed this, I felt so bad I could barely stand it. But I didn't want to tell him I believed him. I didn't know how. And so I waited and I didn't say anything about it… but when he touched me, I didn't try to pull away. And when he smiled at me, sometimes I smiled back. And I didn't think anymore about running away, or hope that when we passed a cop car that they would see me and stop me before I ducked now. In fact, I started to get scared that maybe they might and I would be taken away from Lewis, from my real dad, before I could even let him know I knew the truth now.


Before I could let him know that maybe I might start to love him, just a little bit, if everyone left us alone


Then: Thirteen


"I think it's time, Caroline, that we have a talk about sex."


I looked over at my father quickly, surprised. "Dad, I got that memo back when you started giving me all those books with graphs when I was ten. I'm almost fourteen now, and I've seen movies. Not the porn movies, but still movies…I think I've got it."


"I know you understand the mechanics of sex," he insisted, shaking his head as he glanced over at me, "but there's more to it than that, and I want you to understand what you need to know to be happy. You're becoming a young lady now, and as smart as you are, and mature, I remember what it was like to be a teenager myself. You're a beautiful young woman, and already there are too many men to count who are looking your way when you don't notice, wanting to take from you whatever they can get. Someday soon you're going to see a young man and you'll think that maybe you don't mind giving it to him."


My face was flushing, my eyes darting away from him, not wanting to look directly at him when he got into this kind of talk. This was like the time when I was eleven, and my father decided that it was time I bought my first bra. He was never one to beat around the bush, and it had been an awkward and embarrassing conversation a lot like this one.


"Caroline, we've already talked about what will happen when you're becoming a young lady, how your body starts to change so it can grow up to look like a woman's and have all the parts that work to feed and give birth to children. I've been noticing lately that it looks like you're beginning to develop breasts, and I think today it's time we go to look for your first bra," he had said outright back then, just like that, and it hadn't ended there. He had taken me straight to Wal-Mart and told the sales lady there that I needed a bra, him, a man, my FATHER, and even told her it was my first one. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, and then later, when we were home, he had launched into another uncomfortable lecture.


"Caroline of mine, you'll always be my little girl, but right now, you're becoming a beautiful young woman, and it's nothing for you to be embarrassed or ashamed about. Everything about the body is natural, exactly how it's intended to be, and you should never feel that yours is any less than perfect."


It was nice and everything, but it's still embarrassing for your father to talk publically about your barely existent breasts when you're only eleven. And at thirteen, talking to him about my future sex life was no different.


"Dad, they are not, no boys are looking at me," I protested, shaking my head, even as I wondered secretly if any of them really were, and if they thought I was pretty. "And anyway, I don't want to have sex, okay, I'm not like that. I wouldn't do that, especially with a guy I just saw for the first time! It's not like we really ever get to know anyone."


"You say that now, sweetheart, but things change, and when you're fifteen or sixteen you might not feel the same way, so we need to have this talk now, to make sure that never happens," my father insisted, and the only thing I could be glad about was that even though we were parked in a public parking lot, sitting in our car, at least we weren't out there walking around in public where other people might hear. "Boys certainly are looking at you. It takes all my control not to hit them when I see them looking at you like a walking pin-up. And some day, one of them might say exactly the right words to make you change your mind."


He looked at me seriously, his voice growing intense, so I couldn't look out the window or do much but squirm in the passenger seat as he went on.


"Caroline…do all you can to stay away from boys. A lot of girls, girls older and wiser than you, think they can understand boys, that they can reach out for them and not be struck away. All boys want from you is your body and what it can do to please them. They'll take everything you give them and leave you nothing but pain, because your body is all that they have use for…they don't care anything about your mind or your heart or your soul. You're better than that, Caroline. The one thing you could ever do to disappoint me is to give yourself to someone who is beneath you."


He paused, and I licked my lips, my stomach suddenly tight. The way he was looking at me made me scared suddenly, thinking about what he was saying, and all the things that boys could do. I had never really thought about it before, about all the ways that something that seemed as gross to me now as sex could end up hurting me in ways that would hurt my father too.


"You stick close to me, and I'll protect you from them. I'll keep you safe. They can hurt you in ways I know you can't comprehend. Physically, yes, but emotionally as well, and god help the boy who hurts my Caroline."


He reached out for me then, taking my shoulders in his hands and squeezing lightly as he leaned forward to kiss my forehead, and then he started up the car, backing out of the parking lot. I sat quietly, thinking…he had not asked for my promise, but I found myself speaking up to give it anyway.


"I will, Dad. I don't care about them anyway."


"That's my girl," he smiled, as he took an exit onto the highway, weaving in between two fast moving cars to merge in with the crowd. "That's my Caroline…"

Then: Nine


"Have you ever been camping, Caroline?"


I shook my head. In the front seat Lewis smiled as he pulled the car up to the woods we had stopped in front of, getting out and pulling out a couple of blankets and a pillow from the trunk that I thought looked like the ones from the motel we'd stayed in the night before. He got out the fishing poles he had bought from Wal-Mart earlier that week, and I understood then why he must have bought them.


"Well then it's time you went, isn't it?"


He took my hand in his and swung it a little as he led me into the woods, the blankets and pillows in his other arm. All the time I followed him he was talking, pointing out trees and flowers and other plants and telling me what they were and about animals that lived all around where we were walking. I listened, and all the while I was watching everything he pointed out to me, I was watching him too.


I was nine by then. That's what Lewis said anyway. I was pretty sure I would have still been eight if I was Maddie, but now that I was Caroline, Lewis had told me that my other birthday hadn't really been my birthday anyway. Really I was nine, and he'd gotten me a cake and ice cream and presents and even sang me happy birthday. That had just been a couple of days ago, so I thought maybe that was why we were going camping.


Maybe it was another thing to do for my birthday.


We ended up going to a little creek that was right there in the middle of the woods, and even though there wasn't really any fish other than little tadpoles ones, Lewis showed me how to bait a fishing pole and cast it out anyway. We ended up eating beef jerky and hot dogs instead of fish, and he showed me how to make a fire then in a circle of rocks and put it back out when we were done with it. When we laid on the ground on the blankets that night, I looked up at the trees over our heads and the little pieces of stars and sky peeking through, and I listened to the sounds of the little creek near us and all the birds and other animals calling out all around us, and for the first time, I wasn't afraid. For the first time since I was with Lewis, I felt happy…and I didn't want to leave.


"Good night, Caroline of mine," Lewis said to me from the blanket next to mine, turning his head to smile at me, and


I took a deep breath, waiting for almost a whole minute before I answered him back.


"Good night…Dad."


It seemed like a really long time before he said anything. I heard him swallowing kind of loud and make this noise almost like he was choking or something, and then he sat up and looked at me. It was dark out, but there was enough light from the moon and stars that I could see his eyes were kind of shiny, like maybe he wanted to cry.


"Caroline," he said quietly," you don't know how long I've wanted to hear you say that."


I started to sit up too then, frowning, because the way he was looking at me made me think he was sad or upset, and I was starting to get worried. But then he leaned over and hugged me for a really long time, his voice sounding all weird like he still maybe wanted to cry or something.


"Good night, Caroline. I love you."


I didn't say I loved him too yet. But I did hug him back, and I practiced saying it in my head. Because I knew one day I was going to.


Then: Thirteen


"What was she like?"


My father looked over at me quickly; it was the date of my mother's death, twelve years after, and I knew he must be thinking about her. Every year, on that day, he got really quiet, and even when he smiled at me, and talked to me in the same way he did any other day, I could always tell that he was sad, that he wasn't here in the moment with me, so much as back in the past with her.


"Who do you mean, Caroline?"


"My mother," I clarified, though I knew he knew perfectly well who I meant. "Tell me about her, Dad…tell me what she was like."


I had never asked about her before, even though it had been almost six years since I came to live with him again. Somehow it had seemed like a story that would be too sad, would be too hurtful for him to tell me, and I didn't want to make my father depressed. But he always spent this day sad anyway, and maybe part of the reason why was because he never spoke about her. Maybe he thought that since I didn't remember her, and never got to know her, I would be sad if we talked about it, hearing about what I never really had. But I didn't think I would be. I couldn't imagine having any more than I had now with my father.


And anyway, maybe it would be good for him to talk about her. Maybe he needed to, like a person does in therapy. He couldn't forget her, so maybe it was better if he remembered her out loud, like almost making her seem a real person again. A lot of times, if you never speak about someone, then after a while it starts to become like they never really existed at all. That's what it was like for me with the people who called themselves my parents, the people who took me from my father. By the time I was thirteen, I could barely even remember their faces, and I couldn't imagine how there had ever been a time that I had thought I belonged to them instead of my father.


"Caroline," my father said in surprise, frowning slightly, and he looked over at me, searching my eyes. "Are you sure? You never asked before…I thought…"


"Yes," I nodded, and I scooted closer beside him, leaning my shoulder against his. "Tell me about her. "


He circled my shoulders with his arm, his hand slowly smoothing down the side of my head, and took a deep breath, looking past me instead of at me, his eyes a little unfocused. When he spoke, his voice was soft, slow.


"She was a real lady…gentle, sweet, smart, one of the sharpest ladies I've ever seen. She was everything I could have wanted in a woman…I didn't deserve her, and we both knew it. I never did know why she loved me."


When he paused, I waited, almost holding my breath; I had always wondered, never dared to ask, and now I was finally beginning to receive some of the answers that had so long floated in my mind. My father stroked my hair again, picking up the story with his voice a little louder and stronger than before.


"She was beautiful…you look just like your mother, Caroline, the very image. And her name, of course, was Caroline too…Caroline Alicia Danson, just like you. She loved to read and write poetry, to listen to music and go for long walks…she played the piano, and your mother was so smart, so gifted, that I doubt there was anything she couldn't do if that was what she wanted."


He paused, his fingers still sifting through my hair, then looked down at me for the first time, his voice serious, soft.


"She loved you so much, Caroline. And she would have been proud of you…so very proud of the girl you've become."


I nodded, thinking of this woman forming in my mind, this woman with my name and face, this woman who had been my father's world, until she was taken away from him, just before I was taken away too. Thinking of this now, it's a wonder to me that he didn't just give up then, just stop even wanting to live. How could life do that to my father, to take away all of this family, all at once?


He seemed to know the direction of my thoughts, because he smiled down at me, his voice gentle, his hand pausing against the side of my head.


"Some things in life just don't out how we'd like…sometimes life is cruel, and a person can't understand how it's possible for him to keep going, to continue from the hand he's been dealt. But there's always a reason. I don't know why my Carolines were both taken from me, sweetheart. Maybe I never will. But I know I have you back, and you're everything I could have hoped for and more. You're my entire world. And I have hope that one day, the three of us will all be together again…maybe sooner than we all think."


He squeezed my shoulders, rested his chin on the top of my head, and I turned towards him, my arm wrapping around his waist. I didn't know what I believed about heaven or God, but if there was any truth to what was said, it would be a cruel God who didn't allow my father to have us all back with him once and for all.

​

 

[Faith Eliza Cord]

Then: Nine


"Why did they do it?"


We were lying in bed in our motel room, the lights turned off, the shadows twitching lazily over the walls and above my head, and though it was past midnight, late for a nine-year-old to still be up, I could not fall asleep. It was something that had bothered me, ever since I had accepted that Lewis was my father…ever since I had first decided to call him Dad. If Lewis was my father…if the people that I had thought were my parents weren't…then who were they? How did they find me? And why had they ever lied to me? Why had they ever taken me away?


Lewis rolled towards me, facing me; we were in the same bed, a kings size, because there had been no rooms available where we could each have our own. He sounded groggy, like he had been on the verge of sleep, when he responded. He had just come back a few minutes ago from how he left at night sometimes, and he sounded tired.


"What do you mean, Caroline?"


"Those people…the ones who took me. The ones who said they were my mom and dad," I said softly, biting down on my lip, curling my legs up to my chest under the blanket. "Why did they do it? Why did they lie to me…why did they take me away?"


I heard Lewis clear his throat softly, and when he answered, his voice was softer, more alert, careful.


"Well…sometimes, sweetheart, people who are sick in the head think they need something that other people have. They think that they want it so much they don't care what it takes to get it, or if it's wrong for them to take it. They lie and cheat and maybe even convince themselves that they're telling the truth, because they want it so badly. Those people who called themselves your parents, that's what they did, Caroline of mine. They saw you, and what a beautiful, perfect little girl you were, and they wanted you so badly that they didn't care what it took to get you. Even if it meant they had to steal you away from me."


I thought about this seriously, hugging my knees. It seems hard for me to imagine that my parents ever wanted me so badly…I never felt like they had. Not like Lewis wanted me.


"But they never acted like it," I ventured, looking up at him. "They would work, and say they were too busy to play with me. I had to go to bed early, and they didn't hug me a lot or read me stories or play with my hair….not like you do. If they really wanted me, how come they weren't like you are?"


"Because they were sick, sweetheart," he almost whispered, reaching out to stroke back my hair, leaning forward to kiss my forehead. I licked my lips, hoping Lewis wouldn't move away, hoping he would stay close. "They wanted you, but they had no idea about the real prize of a child they had managed to have. They didn't know what to do with you once they had you. They didn't understand how they should treat a little girl like you…they didn't understand how to love you."


He kissed my forehead again, one hand rubbing up and down my back, and I swallowed, conflicted. Even now, it was hard to hate the people who had taken me…even now, it was hard not to love them, or at least to pity them.


"Caroline, I will always make sure that I treat you like you deserve," he promised softly. "I'll always make sure you


know that you're loved…that I love you."


Ten seconds passed, and my heart was beating faster, faster, my breath straggling, before I could do it. Before I could say it out loud for the first time.


"I love you too."


(Then: Thirteen)


I was eight when my father took me. I was almost fourteen when they took me back.


I still don't know how it happened, or how they knew to find us. My father had come back about ten minutes ago from wherever he goes most nights that we stay in motel rooms. I had long ago stopped wondering about that, or stopped trying to think about it anyway. He was my father, and I knew he was a good man. We needed money, and whatever he needed to do for it, that was what he needed to do, that was all, and it wasn't my business.


Anyway, he had barely come back and slipped under the covers of his bed before the door was flung open on us, and my world as I had come to understand it was completely torn apart.


The minute I saw the cops, something in me shut down. Over the years my fear of them had grown to something more like a phobia than just nervousness, and when I saw them come at us with their guns drawn, calling out commands for my father not to move, telling him that he was under arrest, I felt like I was completely paralyzed.


It had finally happened…all our caution, all our careful attempts at covering our tracks, and it had finally happened, they had finally caught us, they were going to take me away…


Even as they cuffed him, he was looking at me, talking to me, telling me that he was sorry, telling me that he would be okay. Even as they took him out the door he was telling me he loved me, telling me to be strong, telling me that somehow we would make them understand, somehow this would all be okay.


"Caroline," he was saying, "Caroline, listen to me, Caroline…"


As I sat up in bed, my spine rigid, a slowly dawning coldness coming over my body, one of the four cops came over to me, the one who was a woman, the one who had not cuffed my father, the one who wasn't dragging him away from me. She crouched over me, her voice soft, and she touched my shoulder as she looked into my eyes.


"Maddie…you're safe now, sweetheart. Maddie, everything's going to be okay."


But it wasn't….nothing would be okay, she didn't understand. Nothing, nothing could be okay now, NOTHING was okay.


I felt a shudder roll down my spine, then another, spreading out to my limbs until all of me was shaking and I couldn't stop, couldn't do anything to control it. Tears pressed hard behind my eyes, my heart thudded loudly against my rib cage, and I couldn't catch my breath. I closed my eyes, trying to escape the lady cop's face looking at me like she was so concerned, like she understood. She thought she was saving me…she thought she was helping me, and she was ruining me, she was ruining us both, she was wrecking our lives, wrecking everything…she was taking my father. I wanted to scream, wanted to lash out and hit her, to run to the door and grab at the cops who had him, to pull them away and run, just run, so far they would never catch us, never see us. But all I could do was sit there and not say or do anything at all, the tears pressing hard against my eyes, trying not to think of the desperation and grief in my father's eyes as they backed him out of the door.


"Maddie," the lady repeated, and I flinched away from her touch, my mind running wild with images, with the little things that made up what my father was to me, of what she was taking away from me, without stopping to become organized thought.


I thought of how he looked when he smiled at me, how his eyes crinkled up at the corners, of how his voice sounded just a little softer when he said my name. I thought of us driving at night, when people probably wouldn't see us, our window rolled down, the wind whipping my hair over my face, of how he would always let me choose which song we would listen to and sing along, even if it was something by a pop singer barely older than I was. I thought of how his forehead wrinkled when he read the newspaper, how he gave me the blue M&MS whenever he bought a pack. I thought of us lying side by side on the ground and staring up at the night stars, of the way I felt safe and free with him in a way I never had before.


I thought of how I loved him, how I loved being with him, without anything or anyone to hold us back or tie us down, and how all of this was over now, all of this was being taken away from me, my entire world changed, maybe for forever. I thought of how he had told me that I was mine. I thought all of this in one fast swirl of thought and emotion, and the tears started, breaking out from me in sobs that I think shocked the lady as much as they did me.


"Maddie…honey-" she began, her hand squeezing my shoulder, her voice soft, sympathetic, and I cut her off, my voice harsh even through my sobs.


"My name is Caroline."


Now: Eighteen


They didn't let me see Lewis, after they took me away from him…after they took me back. I wasn't allowed to go to court to testify, during his trial. I wasn't allowed to use the internet to look up articles, or read the papers, or even turn on TV. For most of the time that it took for his trial to come to a conclusion, I was almost in as much isolation from the world as he was, in jail.


It was for my protection, they said, for my own good. I needed time to recover, time to heal and process everything that had happened, the way my world had changed. I needed time to adjust to the truth, to bond with my true family and shake off the lies that Lewis had been feeding to me for almost half my life time.


It might have been for my protection, but in my opinion, it was more a result of their fear. They feared that I would somehow break, if I was reminded, that the less I knew and saw of Lewis, the faster I would recover, the faster I would accept what they told me to be true. The faster I would forget.


They didn't realize that nothing they did to me, short of death, could ever make me forget. They didn't realize that I would never want to.


There were so many people nosing into me and my life, back when they took me back. I wasn't even fourteen yet, and every day, for weeks, there were people questioning me, prodding me, trying to force me into being what I wasn't, into answering what I didn't believe to be the truth. I was examined by doctors, by psychiatrists, by trauma specialists, interrogated by the police and by lawyers, and of course, by my parents…everyone wanted to see into my mind, into my soul, but no answers I gave them were the ones they wanted to hear, and after a while, I stopped answering altogether. And that was when they decided that maybe it was best if they just kept me away from it all, just tried to let me forget.


For over a year I was kept mostly at home; if I left, both my parents were with me, watching my every move. But it was different than the way that Lewis had watched me, the way he had always been with me. This was suffocating, uncomfortable, an invasion and distortion of the love that had been in Lewis's watching over me. They were not keeping me safe, though that's undoubtedly what they thought. They were keeping me prisoner.


I didn't go back to school until I was fifteen years old. They had tutors for me, putting me on homebound, like I was a kid who was too sick, too emotionally disturbed, or too bad to go to school with the other kids. They said it was to make sure that I caught up to where I needed to be, to make sure that I was given individual attention in my learning. Again, it was because of their fear. I could have easily caught up with the other kids; I was ahead of them in a lot of areas. Lewis had taught me well. What they were all afraid of was that I would be so disturbed that I couldn't cope with the daily routine of middle school, when I had last attended school in the third grade.


And more than that, they were afraid if they dropped me off there, I would run away.


I almost wished they kept me on homebound, when they finally let me go to a public school like every other teenaged girl. The classes were easy and dull, the schedule changes confusing and unnecessary, the halls and cafeteria loud, bustling, suffocating in their largeness and activity just as much as my bedroom at my parents' house was in its smallness and quiet. I had no interest in making friends with any of the others. They all seemed so young and immature, lacking any sort of interest or understanding in anything beyond themselves and their own small lives. After the girls figured out that I didn't have designs on their boyfriends and the boys figured out I had no interest in them, they pretty much dismissed me as a quiet, weird new girl and left me alone. And that was how I preferred it.


Of course, even before they had put me on homebound, they had put me in therapy. It was an older woman that I saw once a week, a woman who tried, just like my parents, to convince me that what had happened with Lewis was kidnap, that what he told me was a lie, and that the way he was with me was verbal manipulation and emotional abuse. She tried to get me to admit that he sexually abused me too, but the thought was so wrong and disgusting that after that, I wouldn't speak to her for three weeks, no matter how she tried to get me to say something. I saw her for maybe five months before I finally told my parents that it wasn't helping me to talk about Lewis and remember, and that all I wanted was to forget. Since that was exactly what they wanted me to do, they agreed, and I didn't have to go back anymore. Of course, what I said was untrue, but it was one less thing I had to deal with.


All of them, the shrink, my parents, the police, the lawyers, the doctors, even the kids at school, not one of them believed me when I spoke the truth. Not one of them believed that it was my parents who were the liars, that Lewis told the truth, that Lewis was good, the best thing that ever happened to me…not one of them believed that Lewis had loved me. They said he was a sick man, that he had taken me because he thought that he wanted and needed me, even though I wasn't his- which was exactly what he had said about them. They couldn't accept the possibility that he really did love me. They couldn't accept the truth that I loved him.


And I wouldn't believe them either, at first. I didn't believe that my parents were really my parents, that Lewis really was mistaken, or deluded, or just plain lying. It wasn't possible. The man I loved, the man who had smiled at me with his heart in his eyes and told me that I was his world, the man who had held my face like it was fragile porcelain in his hand and called me his Caroline, his reason for life…this man couldn't NOT be what he said he was. He couldn't NOT be my father.


But they showed me my baby pictures, from the day I was born, in my mother's arms in the hospital. They showed me my birth certificate. They showed me my fingerprints from when I was a baby and matched them with my fingerprints at thirteen, and then to top it off, when I was fourteen, they both took a DNA test and matched it against mine.


I still tried to explain it all away. There was no guarantee that baby in the pictures was me. What if they'd had another baby named Madeline Brinkerman, another girl they called Maddie, and she had died, and they had replaced her with me? What if the Maddie on the birth certificate was that baby? What if they'd forged the fingerprints somehow? What if the man who did the DNA test screwed up, or they paid him to say the wrong information?


But as time passed, I did begin to believe them…I couldn't deny that there was a lot of evidence, and I began to believe, if not to accept, that they were my parents. And that meant that Lewis was not.


Lewis was not my father. Lewis had lied, or been mistaken, or deluded. Lewis had taken me from my real parents. It was he who had committed a crime.


But he loved me. I knew he had loved me. And even if I knew everything else too, the fact that he had loved me was all that I could bring myself to care about.


I told my parents when I started to believe that they were telling the truth. I thought it would get them off my back, get them to start trusting me more, letting me have more independence, and I was right. They got all smiley and tearful, and they hugged me and said how much they loved me, how much they were grateful to have me back. But I never felt in their touch or heard in their voices even a fraction of the love that I felt every time Lewis had even smiled in my direction.


I started to answer to Maddie then, and to never insist to them that I be called Caroline. I obeyed what they asked of me, and they let me go to school, and occasionally out for an hour or so on my own. When they referred to me as their daughter, I smiled, and I nodded as if it were an identity I had accepted as mine.


But every day I woke, I kept my eyes closed for a few seconds, praying when they opened I would see Lewis's form close to mine in bed. Every time I ride in a car, or read a book, or pass a forest or eat a bag of M&Ms, pain fills my chest and thickens my throat until I can barely breathe. When I lie awake at night, I see the desperation in Lewis's eyes as they pulled him away from me, the anguish in his eyes as he saw my shattered thirteen-year-old features, the tears spilling down my cheeks, and I wish for nothing more than to feel his arms around me, to be with him again, to be his daughter again…to be his Caroline.


I was his world. I was his world, and they took me away. And whatever the truth is, whatever is real, I want that back…I want to be with him.


The day I turn eighteen, my parents have a party planned for me, in the evening after I come home from school. One of the first things I think, before I even get out of bed, is that when I was Caroline, I would have been eighteen already. Caroline's birthday was earlier than Maddie's.


They greeted me in the morning with hugs and smiles, and my father had flowers out at the breakfast table for me. They were never like this before I was taken, back when I was a little girl. Back then, they had never been the demonstrative types of parents, never even seemed to really notice me. When I came back, though, they had seemed unable to get enough of touching me and hugging me, giving me things and paying attention to me, maybe out of guilt, maybe out of fear that it was that initial lack of effort that had made me be taken from them, made me doubt their relationship to me. Maybe they were right, I don't know. But I do know that four years after my return, it still took effort to endure their attention, much less their touches.


I intended to go to school, like always. I intended to get through the day as quickly as possible, to think as little as possible. But instead, I found myself turning in the direction of the public library. I found myself looking up on one of their computers the name and location of the prison that Lewis Danson was incarcerated at. And then, I found myself taking down driving directions, getting in my car, and heading off for the seven hour drive that would bring me there, just a couple of hours before prisoner visiting hours.


I had a cell phone, but of course, I didn't call my parents. I drove, stopping only for gas and a quick lunch at a drive through, and the closer I grew, the less nervous I was, and the more certainty blossomed in my heart. And by the time I was less than an hour away, I couldn't stop smiling.


They could keep him from me, but they couldn't keep me from him. I was eighteen now, Maddie as well as Caroline. I was an adult. It was my prerogative to make a choice…and whatever was the truth, whatever was the past, I chose him.


It seemed a very long time for me to arrive, for me to be checked in by the prison officials and searched for anything I could be smuggling in to the building. But finally I was lead into the long room of glass windows and connecting telephones, with small dividers between each set. And as I sat with shaking legs, already reaching for the phone, I waited with bated breath for him to be brought in.


He looked older than I last remembered, thinner, the gray in his hair more prominent. There were deep lines in his forehead and dark circles under his eyes, and the orange jumpsuit was a sharp contrast to the paleness of his skin. But it was him. It was Lewis. It was my father.


He looked at me with his eyes open wide, a slow light coming into the dullness that had spread across their surface, and his mouth began to tremble, tears coming into his eyes as he slowly sank into his chair, his gaze never leaving my face. I was older too now, my body taller and more mature, that of a woman instead of a barely adolescent child. But I knew that in that first split second he had recognized me, that no matter how old I was or how different I looked, Lewis would always recognize me as his.


He pressed his hand against the glass, and I set mine against it, imagining that I could feel its warmth even through the glass as tears pricked my own eyes. I swallowed, my hand tightening around the phone, as Lewis picked up the phone, his voice crackling raspily through the receiver.


"Caroline…oh, my Caroline. Caroline…"


"Hi, Daddy," I whispered, blinking back my tears, smiling even so. "I'm here. It's your Caroline…I'm here."


The end


Please comment if you read the whole thing!

​

 

[Ozmic]

I enjoyed it. Really gave a good bit of backstory into the character, as well as the innerworkings of her mind and thought processes.


Great stuff. =]

 

[Nivrad00]

I'd comment, but it's that moment when you close the book and stare at the back cover and digest for a little bit, so don't mind me.


*stares at back cover*

 

[Faith Eliza Cord]

Thanks Grin...Niv, is that good thought or bad lol

 

[Legendless]

A very interesting read Faith. Thank you for sharing with us.

 

[xJobozx]

Woh! Just read the whole thing!


It's so awesome, gave me an insight to the character Caroline, but it's weird to imagine the young, naive, almost-teenager as an eighteen year old woman O.o


Really good though!