Many a girl had dumped Zachary Hanson because of Carrie. They never understood that she needed him more than they did, that she couldn't live without him, that he was her only happiness. Then again, they never really tried.
Zac was thinking about that as he entered Quiet Oaks in the exact same way as he did every Saturday morning when he was in Tulsa. It was so routine that he could have done it in his sleep.
At exactly eight a.m., he left his house in his little blue Neon Sport. He drove to the end of his block and turned left, following the road straight out of Tulsa for fifteen miles. When he pulled into the second to last parking space in the second row, it was eight thirteen. He would lock the doors, double checking them, and take ninety three steps to the front door of Quiet Oaks. That's where routine ended and reality began. Some days he found Carrie right away. Other days, it took him almost half an hour.
Today was a right away day. Carrie was in the library, reading another book of poems. He watched her lovingly as he made his way through the tables. She was so smart, his best friend. His eyes looked her over, watchfully observing her silver-painted toenails up to her narrow shoulders, her chin-length hair falling over her face.
"Morning, darling," he said, kissing the top of her head.
Startled, she jumped. "Good morning," she replied. And she smiled. She always smiled for him, even though it hurt her dreadfully. It was worth it, for him.
Zac always wanted to cry when she smiled; he knew how painful it was. When every muscle and nerve in your face was badly damaged, nothing's much fun. And that's how Carrie's face was.
Zac ran his hand over the lumpy scar tissue where freckles had once been, and cursed himself again. It had been his fault, after all...
"Carrie, it'll be cool. I promise. We have to have the right atmosphere for this. Please?" She gave in, as he knew she would. He was impossible to resist. "Thanks, babe."
So they lit the candles and set up the Oujia board, the forbidden devil's tool. Their evil grins reflected off the darkened mirror, and they swore they saw creatures in the shadows. So they played.
Things started to get a little creepy when the board started spelling things out without their hands; Carrie lost her calm.
"Oh shit!" She jumped up, stumbled, and slammed into the dresser. Candles fell, immediately blackening her pink carpet. As she whacked the flames with her feather pillow, an oblivious Zac wrote down the letters. "Zac, help me!" He finally took notice.
Carrie's hair was on fire. Her beautiful hair, her favorite feature, waistlength and golden, whirled about her. Flaming.
The rest of the night was a blur. Zac was never quite sure what had happened next. All he remembered was a cold hospital chair next to Carrie's bed, an echo of her screams, and the slip of paper. The letters on it were BURNCARRIEBURN.
"Zac," Carrie warned, pulling herself further back in her overstuffed armchair. He knew not to touch her face.
She curled her long golden legs, previously stretched before her, up to her chest. The worn Hanson sweatshirt, given by Zac as a gag gift, was looking more beaten than ever. The sleeves were stretched to their limit, a result of her pulling them over her hands. She had cut the neckline out completely, revealing her porcelin white shoulders and smooth neck. She brushed her hair behind her ears and went back to her book.
Zac remained quiet. After a year of Saturdays identical to this one, he knew not to interrupt. As soon as she had finished the poem she was on, her attention would turn to him. But not a moment before.
Finally, she slipped a bookmark between the pages and placed the book on the table. Tapping a young boy on the shoulder, she spoke, signing at the same time. "Joey, will you keep an eye on this for me?"
Joey carefully watched her lips and hands, then smiled and nodded. He spoke in a nasal voice, very rarely used. "Yes, Carrie. I will watch it for you."
She did the sign for thank you before linking her arm through Zac's. They strolled around Quiet Oaks once before coming to a stop in the garden. Zac seated himself on the bench as a barefoot Carrie danced on the dewy grass. Her abrupt stop caught his attention.
"They're talking about options, Zac." Carrie's voice was difficult to hear over the rustling leaves. "There's a surgeon in Los Angeles; they say he does wonders with cases like mine. Mom wants . . . she wants me to meet with him."
Silence buzzed between them, louder than their voices had been only a short time before. He tried to find his voice, without luck.
In the end, he made himself ask. "What would you . . . look like?" He watched Carrie watching herself in the glass window.
"Beautiful," came her voice. "Just like before the burning. Only this time, I would appreciate what I had." She slid into place beside him. "The only thing is the cost. Mom and Dad say money is no object, but we can't afford it. But as soon as it was done, I'd get a job. Maybe two, since I'd be having home school. Do you think that would be enough money?"
Joyful tears rolled down his cheeks. "Carrie, you go ahead and do it. Your parents are right. The money doesn't matter. I will take care of it myself."
"How?"
