the crossover you didn't know you needed

chapter 3: a bucket of blood

Once Carrie had finished her breakfast, Pamela set her empty plate and glass on the counter.

"Jason should be back in about an hour or so," the woman informed the girl. "I'm sure you can go out with him some other time, if you'd like to. For now I think it's best if you just stay here. The police will be looking for you."

Carrie hadn't thought of that. In her frenzied rage of prom night, it hadn't crossed her mind that the police would come for her. Were there even any police left in Chamberlain? She faintly remembered a cop car exploding and a crazed grin on her face.

Oh God, what was wrong with her? Why had she done that? Why had she done anything that night, why hadn't she just—

"Carrie, dear, is there anything you'd like to do? Something to calm you down a little bit, perhaps?" Pamela interrupted, noticing the girl's fearful expression.

Carrie didn't respond, so she added, "Do you have any hobbies? Baking, painting, sewing.... anything like that?"

"I sew," Carrie said.

"That's just wonderful, I have an old sewing machine of mine in that closet over there." She pointed to a linen closet in the hall. "It's very high up, though, and Jason isn't here right now, so it may be a bit difficult getting it down."

"I can do it," Carrie offered.

She opened the door with a flex, and brought down the sewing machine easily, setting it on the table with a clunk. She looked over to Pamela anxiously, worrying the woman might have changed her mind about her after she'd seen her power in action.

Much to her surprise, Pamela smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Carrie."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Voorhees,"
Carrie replied politely.

"Do you know how to use this model?" Pamela asked.

Carrie nodded. "I have one just like it at home," she said.

"Perfect. I have some old patterns and fabrics lying around here somewhere, I'll go find them for you. Feel free to make yourself at home."

Carrie nodded as the woman left and wandered into what she assumed was the living room. Two cozy armchairs sat beside a crackling fireplace. Carrie sat down in one of them, relaxing in the comfort of the seat and the warmth of the fire. Noticing a radio on the table beside her, Carrie reached over and turned the tuning dial. Finding a song that sounded pleasant, she floated the sewing machine over to her.

"Alright, I've got some patterns for you here, I hope you don't mind if they're a bit old-fashioned," Pamela announced, entering the room with her arms full. She set a plethora of sewing patterns and fabrics beside the radio and then sat down across from Carrie, holding knitting needles and some wool that had previously been obstructed from view because of all the patterns.

Carrie sifted through the patterns until she found one she liked- a beautiful long skirt. Using her powers, she quickly pinned and cut the pattern pieces into the fabric she chose. She began sewing, and to her surprise it did calm her down. The machine whirred gently in her hands.

Pamela hummed softly to the music as she knitted a pink sweater. It seemed as if she were knitting words on it, too, though Carrie couldn't tell what they were.

"You know, my son is single," Pamela said, breaking the comfortable silence. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind going on a date with a sweet girl like you."

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Mrs. Voorhees. I'm sure he's very nice, but I don't really think romance is something I'm ready to pursue right now," Carrie murmured.

"Well, why not, dear?" Pamela persisted.

"The last boy I liked died because of me." There was guilt in her eyes and grief in her voice as she spoke.

"I see. Did you...?" The question was sympathetic, though it still stung.

Carrie shook her head, "No, he was my prom date. When they poured the blood on me it was in this- this bucket that they'd tied to the rafters. And there was a bucket above his head too, but it just fell and- and killed him."

She had barely known Tommy, that night was the most interaction with him she'd had in her life, but still she couldn't help but grieve for the boy. He had never been anything but kind to her. He was always the golden boy everyone admired, even in death.

"I am so sorry, Carrie.... I had no idea.." Pamela trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"It's okay. You didn't know." She focused again on the pieces of fabric she was sewing together.

The room settled into silence, and they carried on that way for a good while.

"Why did you help me?" Carrie asked softly.

"Pardon?" Pamela looked up at the young girl.

"Why did you help me?" Carrie repeated. "You could have just left me there to die. Why did you bring me here?"

Pamela considered the question for a moment, before simply answering, "Because you had that look in your eyes."

"What look?" Carrie asked.

Pamela looked at her morosely. "The look of someone who has felt more pain than anyone ever should."

"Oh." She fell into silent despair yet again.

"I've finished this sweater!" Pamela announced cheerfully, trying to change the subject. She held it out in front of her and Carrie glanced at it. It was pink and the words Prom Queen were written across the front in yellow letters.

"Why does it say Prom Queen?" Carrie asked.

"Because it's for you, dear! Go on, try it on."

Carrie carefully took the sweater and shrugged it over her head. It was cozy and fit perfectly.

"Thank you Mrs. Voorhees," she smiled. "I love it."

Pamela beamed, "I thought you would."

A loud knock sounded at the door. Carrie jumped and Pamela rushed to the door. "Jason's back!"