❝ PICKET FENCE! ❞ → GRAY ✓

→ ii.iii

Act Two, Scene Three

→ ❝ i didn't ask for this! ❞

As soon as she could wrench her feet from the spot, Carol had disappeared up into her and Michael's room before her legs could collapse underneath her. The adrenaline coursing through her veins left no time for tears, not yet, and she wanted to get to a safe space as fast as she could. There were footsteps echoing some thirty steps behind her (they were heavy and forceful: definitely male), and a voice she had known for years was shouting after her, but her blood was pounding so hard in her ears that it made understanding the sounds almost impossible. Everything sounded like a rumble of thunder to her, and she wanted to get away from it as quickly as possible. She wanted to get away.

Carol's fingers shook as she locked the bedroom door behind her, and before she could even manage to move away from the door, her body finally gave up and sent her falling to the floor, landing in a crumpled heap in the darkness.

What was happening? Her breathing was shaky as the pounding in her head slowed down and nothing but her heartbeat remained, pumping away as she tried to calm her breaths down. Tears rolled rapidly down her face like rain on a stormy day, incessant and numbing as her body tried to process what had just happened. What was happening?

"Carol, please," she could hear Michael begging on the other side of the door, and imagined him pressing the side of his face against the wood, trying to get as close to her as possible. "Carol, sweetheart, please let me in. Let me explain, please."

Carol wasn't sure that she wanted an explanation, not when the graphic scenes of the night were still fresh in her mind. "Go away," she hiccupped, though she knew the feeble sound couldn't have been heard between her sobs. "Go away."

Part of her wanted to be alone to feel safe and secure after the violent events that had just unfolded, however Carol knew that - in that moment - the only place she could feel safe was in Michael's arms, tightly holding on to the fragments of Henry Johnson that were still scattered inside Michael Gray. She was conflicted; she didn't want to go anywhere near him after he betrayed her trust and left her to unknowingly wander with killers, but she didn't want to be anywhere other than his embrace. God, it made her heart ache much more than her throat did as each sob wracked her body; she had never felt pain like this before and was almost sure she never would again. After a while, Carol didn't whether she was crying for Michael or for the murders she had witnessed.

Suddenly afraid of the dark and the monsters Michael could help it to conceal, Carol wanted to turn on a lamp and shuffled slowly towards the little table that it sat on. Drained of all energy, she made it no further than three pathetic shuffles before she gave up and lay her back against the nearest wall, wiping her nose and her eyes while they charged on with little sign of surrender. Processing her thoughts suddenly became difficult and her memories became jumbled like unkempt film spools, and Carol was left struggling to breathe as all she could picture was Michael kicking and beating the man before his face became little more than a bloodied mush.

Before Carol knew it, morning had arrived, the grandfather clock was chiming eight, and, she was still slumped against the wall, knees tucked up to her chin and her arms hugging her legs tightly. She wasn't sure how long she had slept for (or even if she had slept at all), but her stuffy nose and puffy eyes that stared back at her as she looked into the vanity mirror told her enough about the extent of her shock the night before.

Splashing some water on her face to cool herself down, Carol quickly got ready for the day ahead and pulled the only black dress she owned over her head. She wasn't sure why she had chosen to bring a black dress with her, but part of her was glad she had; Grace was a good woman and Carol wanted to honour her as well as she could.