An unsteady groan escaped Carrie White’s lips. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears, vision flickering. Her last memory—stones raining in a relentless storm—burned into her mind, shattering glass and splintering wood as the house crumbled around her. A strange, yielding pressure pinned her. A chilling discovery beneath her hands eclipsed the pain. Her breath hitched, and an icy dread coiled in her stomach.

She gasped at the soft fabric of the nightgown and the rigid stillness of a familiar frame. A cold weight sank in her chest as realization gripped her, crushing her ribs like an unbearable force of dread. Her fingers lingered, as if denying the truth might erase it.

Her fingers traced the curtain of copper-blonde hair, now matted with dust. It framed a face with full pink lips stained blue, and eyes remained shut in a final, unnerving repose. Her white nightgown, once delicate, clung to her slender frame, covered in the same grit and debris that littered the surrounding floor.

Carrie screamed as she shoved the weight off her body. Her breath came in ragged pants as she waited for movement, but only silence grew.

​“M-Mama…”

​Her mother lay on her back, swallowed by silence.

“Mama, please, say something!” Carrie’s voice shook as she dragged herself toward the woman. She shook her, but nothing happened. A sob tore through her as she embraced her mother’s body, burying her face against her scalp in anguish. Tears blurred her vision as they traced silent paths down her cheeks. What happened? Why won’t Mama wake up?

Her thoughts faltered as warmth spread between her fingers. Carrie raised her hand, staring at the crimson smear. Her breath caught as the sharp, metallic scent of blood thickened the air, pressing near her.

The warmth on her hand. It all came roaring back to her: the desperate fight for survival. The gleaming knife flashed in the dim light, slicing through the air before finding its mark. Her mother’s dying breath lingered, engulfed in silence.

The girl shivered, shielding her mouth. No, no, this isn’t real. Mama is fine. She has to be. She took slow, measured breaths, fighting nausea. Carrie rested her forehead against her mother’s, pressing her eyes shut.

“She deserved it.”

The words slithered through her mind, curling like smoke. Carrie flinched, her body rigid. No, that wasn’t-- Her head whipped around, scanning the shadows.

“H-H-Hello?” Her chest tightened, each inhale shallow and forced. She strained to listen, but silence remained.

Heat burned under her swollen eyes. I’m having a nightmare. I have to wake up. Mama will be alright.

“Deny it all you want, but this is reality.”

The girl’s breathing grew shallow as she studied the debris surrounding her. The wreckage formed a cage as the shattered house walls converged. Memories clawed to the surface, dragging her back to the Prayer Closet. The familiar despair of that place seized her, a second skin that made her tremble.

Still clinging to her mother’s lifeless body, Carrie rocked back and forth, gripping cold skin as if warmth could still return. Her eyes darted, following a flicker of orange light that pierced the darkness—an exit. The realization hit her like a physical blow. Was that salvation? Was God waiting for her?

Holding her breath, Carrie hung back, her eyes fixed on the shifting glow ahead. The orange light pulsed, casting eerie shadows along the jagged walls. It should have been a beacon, but a heavy, chilling unease engulfed her. What if this wasn’t salvation?

Her mother’s warnings echoed through her thoughts, thick with venom. Sinners burn. The unsaved suffer. Perhaps the light wasn’t an escape but a passage to fire and torment.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. The weight of her sins burdened her soul. Girls like you will suffer this fate.

The light wavered, glowing brighter for a fleeting second. It beckoned Carrie forward, but she stalled.

No matter what lay beyond the flickering glow—salvation or damnation—it was still a choice.

A fresh sob rattled her chest as she pressed one last kiss to her mother’s temple. Her hand brushed Margaret’s hair, recalling each detail like a prayer.

Mama, you once said faith is salvation. Obedience is purity. Suffering is a test. You told me that every day, and I believed it. I followed, obeyed, and prayed. And yet, when I bled and begged, you raised your hands against me. He did nothing.

But God noted our deeds, and He will not forget. Goodbye, Mama.

I hope He gives you the peace you never gave me.

Her body throbbed with exhaustion as she pushed herself up, staggering. Muscles protested, but she stumbled forward, arms outstretched, searching. Her fingers met something solid and smooth, though jagged rubble poked from its edges. She slid her hands along its surface, drawing strength from its unyielding presence.

The light lured her in, a beacon in the gloom.

Carrie grunted as weariness gnawed at her limbs; her fingers sank into the structure. Each step dragged, weighed by grief and exhaustion. Her body ached, each movement a fight against gravity. The world blurred around her as the darkness pressed close, whispering that she had no strength.

Almost there. My limbs hurt, and my breath feels tight—just a little more.

A draft swept across her sweat-drenched skin, chilling her as she struggled. Her feet scraped against the debris with each slow step. She inhaled, forcing herself forward, her chest tight with exhaustion. The orange glow wrapped around her, warm and fleeting. Closing her eyes, she let it caress her one last time.

Then she opened them.

Hell was not expecting her. But neither God nor Heaven awaited her.

Night hung over the quiet suburbs, a breeze wafting through the sleeping world. Rows of streetlights gleamed, casting shadows against houses nestled beside each other. Behind her, the ruins of her one-story blue home lay scattered across the lawn, tangled with rubble.

A burning odor stung her nostrils. She turned. Flames flared in the distance, smoke curling into the sky.

Her lungs seized for a moment.

“What have I done?”

“Don’t you remember? They pushed you too far, and you punished them,” the voice said, thick with contempt. “They had it coming.”

Carrie stared at her dust-covered hands. She gasped as the grime coating her skin blurred into red. Blood-soaked memories of Prom Night returned: screams and burnt flesh, a powerful pulse surging through her veins. Her fingers trembled, a phantom sensation of power and ruin clinging to them.

As the revelation struck Carrie, her chest ached. She stumbled back, a sharp pain searing through her foot. Gasping, she jerked away, a glass shard glinting in the grass. She crouched, pulling it free, blood welling at the wound. The streetlight flickered. Raw, humming energy pulsed in her veins, sparked by pain and fear. As her dread intensified, the flickering light responded in kind, growing brighter and more frantic.

Her breath quickened as the power seized her ribs. Every nerve-ending screamed at her to run, yet her mind twisted with visions—fire, destruction, faces contorted in fear. It pressed in, crushing her with judgment.

Distant sirens echoed as Carrie fled through the backstreets, their cries like ghostly shadows pursuing her. She stayed in the shadows, slipping between alleys, pressing herself against walls when headlights swept past. She ran until the asphalt gave way to towering trees and tangled roots.

Pausing at the forest’s edge, she turned, breathless, gazing at the town. Flames and smoke ravaged the skyline. Her throat tightened. Tears clouded her vision. Then, she stepped deeper into the darkness, vanishing into the trees.

The night air murmured with the sound of shifting branches, their twisting limbs casting restless shades along the path. An owl’s cry broke the silence, consumed by the night. Moonlight streamed through the canopy, silver streaks cutting through the gloom to guide Carrie forward.

Mud coated her bare feet, thick and cold, each step pressing the sludge further into her skin. Thorny vines lashed at her tattered gown, tugging, resisting, their sharp edges dragging against her flesh. She wrenched free with a wet squelch, the fabric tearing in protest, jagged holes exposing her bruised legs to the night’s chill.

A sudden pull knotted her back. Carrie gasped as she halted, spine rigid, the ache spreading like a warning she couldn’t yet decipher. She reached behind, pressing her fingers against the gash until deep crimson blotted her skin.

The wound pulsed with each movement, the slow seep staining the once-pale cotton in uneven streaks.

Pain flared along her left arm, the gash raw and stinging. The wound on her right leg throbbed in tandem, a dull pulse beneath the filth encrusting her flesh.

Why Mama? Why would you hurt me?

“She called it ‘maternal love,’ but it was nothing more than a heinous sin: playing God.” The voice carried a sharp edge of disdain.

The girl’s jaw tightened, but she kept walking, refusing to let the words sink in. She stumbled through the last tangled roots until the trees yielded to a vast, open expanse. The wind carried sulfur from dried seaweed, and waves crashed against the shore.

She dreamed of this place—of salt and warmth, of waves kissing her skin. But dreams didn’t matter now.

Shivering, exhausted, and bleeding, Carrie collapsed onto the sand. Shadows stretched over her, pulling her under.

***

A glimmer of light flooded her vision, snapping the thread of oblivion. Carrie blinked, her eyes adjusting to the stinging brightness. Dim lamps cast a soft glow over a cream-colored ceiling.

Carrie bolted upright, pulse racing. A cot? Where was she?

Beside her was a bulky oak desk with a reading lamp perched on its surface. Against the wall, two more desks sat—one with a TV. Dazed, she glanced down, and her eyes widened.

Pink silk pajamas replaced her ragged nightgown. No trace of blood or mud remained. She stroked her fingers over the fabric, her mind racing. How? Who?

Across from her, a man sat cross-legged. His eyes remained closed, and his palms were in prayer.

Time etched subtle creases into his face, each marking years. His smooth scalp caught the morning light, giving it a sheen under the window's glow. A thick henna robe draped over his frame, concealing him. His hands, lined and spotted, bore the marks of a life well-lived.

Carrie struggled to leave without disturbing him. Her muscles ached as she shifted, each movement sharp with pain. The stiffness in her limbs pinned her to the cot, refusing to release her.

"You shouldn't move." The man opened his eyes, revealing a brilliant brown hue. His gaze carried warmth, but something lingered beneath it, something unreadable.

Carrie stiffened. "Wh-what?"

"Your injuries left you unconscious for several hours. Let me change the bandages."

The man stood. Carrie scrambled backward, pressing herself into the corner.

"P-Please..." She curled in on herself, shaking, words almost above a whisper. "Please don't hurt me."

The man raised a calming hand. "Don't be afraid, child. There are no enemies here, nor am I one. You're safe. No one will hurt you."

Carrie's shoulders relaxed, but the edge in her eyes remained. Her mother had taught her that men were beasts—ruthless, insatiable, and dangerous. Why would this man be different?

"Can I see your left arm?" he asked.

Carrie blinked, scanning his face for deception. Finding none, she extended her arm, suspicion still clouding her thoughts. As the man rolled up her sleeve, she flinched at his touch but forced herself still. He removed a thin layer of gauze covering her arm, assessing the injuries before heading to the bathroom.

Carrie lifted her arm, her muscles sluggish from exhaustion. A pull at her skin caught her attention—a row of tight stitches traced a path toward her elbow. She grazed her sutures, testing their texture, until a sudden sting forced her to recoil.

A phantom ache throbbed in her leg, sharp and unwelcome. She gripped her thigh, searching for reassurance. With knitted brows, she lifted the pant leg. Gauze enveloped her wound, clean, untouched by filth. She brushed her fingers along the cotton, its texture foreign against her skin.

Carrie shifted, a nagging pain pressing into her upper back near her shoulder. The discomfort settled deep, weaving through the muscles like an unwelcome reminder. She reached up, touching another set of sutures. She traced their uneven path, testing their presence, but a sharp sting cut through the numbness when her fingers pressed too hard.

The man returned with a bowl brimming with water, setting it atop the wooden drawer. He soaked a small rag from his robe in the bowl. After wringing out the excess water, he cleaned between the stitches.

Carrie clenched her jaw, breath hitching as pain flared. The dim lamps flickered until she calmed herself. "E-Excuse me, sir, did... did you do this?"

His face softened into a warm smile. "Yes. I stitched your wounds myself."

"Why?"

"I hope you forgive me, but I couldn't bring you to a hospital."

The man released her arm after completing his task. The moment Carrie yanked her arm away, cold shivers pierced her skin. Each breath rattled her lungs, and her heart pounded. Though the man advised her against moving, she ignored him and rushed to the window.

She peeked outside and froze.

Only the sky and the ocean remained. Light spilled through the window, shifting across the floor as the world swayed beneath it.

Carrie stumbled back, flattening herself against the wall, breath coming in quick gasps. Her body temperature rose as adrenaline shot through her system. She could call for help, but if the authorities found her, would they lock her away? Kill her?

The man lifted his hands. "Easy now."

"W-Where am I?" Carrie's voice rose, sharp with fear. "Where are you taking me?"

"I'll explain, but take a breath first."

Carrie huddled in the corner, eyes locked on him. She took deep breaths, calming her racing heart.

The stranger sat on Carrie's cot, his face calm. "I know this is unexpected, but you're on a ship heading to Tibet—better yet, somewhere close to it. Upon my arrival at the beach, I found your body. Something terrible must have happened to you, so I brought you here. Maybe you're a runaway, fleeing an abusive boyfriend or your parents. Whatever the case, I could tell you were running from something. I don't know what you've been through, but I promise you this—once we're ashore, you'll be free to choose wherever you want."

Carrie's breath slowed, but uncertainty grew. A ship? Tibet? She curled her fingers into the silk of her pajama sleeve, steadying herself against the flood of thoughts. Her gaze flickered between the door and the man. He rescued and patched her wounds. Yet, her skin still prickled with unease.

"Why?" she asked.

The man held her gaze, his expression unwavering. "Because you needed help. I couldn't leave you there."

Carrie stared, shock tightening in her chest. She'd never encountered such kindness. Still, she pictured what would happen if he took her to a clinic. Would doctors have treated her or called the police? In either case, she would never see daylight again.

"Are you sure?" Her throat tightened. "Y-You won't send me to a roadhouse or... something worse?"

The man waved his hand. "No. You deserve a life free from fear. Once I finish changing your bandages, I will bring breakfast for us. What do you want to eat?"

Carrie fell silent. She escaped her fate through the man's kindness, but the pressure of certainty bore down upon her.

She closed her eyes. "It doesn't matter."

Nothing did.

A/N: This chapter is a revised version of the original.