That is all I know of Caroline’s life so far, and I doubt that I will ever see more. It is her life now, and it is private.
Caroline’s tale is one of many that it has been my privilege to see. There are others, some more gruesome, some more violent, some more bland and common place, and some more extraordinary, but I wrote this one down because it touched me. It connected with me. The monster, he connected with me, and Caroline too. Caroline is a friend of my sister’s, and when I first met her I liked her a great deal. Caroline is a kind person, one very generous of spirit, and I think it was her open trusting nature that allowed me to see so deeply into her past. But I would not have been able to write the last part of her tale if it had not been for my sister, Julie. Julie and Caroline work together in a bar in the centre of town,
Just a few hours ago Julie came bursting in through the door of my bedroom in such a state of excited panic, that it tired me to even look at her. It was late evening but my curtains were still open. I love the night sky. I love the stars, I love the clouds and I love the moon. But most of all I love the eternity of it all, the deep never ending velvet blackness which looks from our tiny little planet so smooth and empty, but which is in fact filled with so many wondrous things. There is so much out there that we will never see, and it fascinates me greatly to think about all the things that I yet have to discover.
I had been writing for most of the afternoon and the evening, finishing off a research paper I have been working on for the past year. I work in a laboratory at the other side of town, for a scientific research company. Most of my work is classified - the details and the discoveries we have made, but I am allowed to talk generally about what I do. When Julie burst in to my room I was deeply engrossed in my work, and while her sudden arrival was not exactly unwelcome, it was still a little like a commercial break when you have been enjoying a very entertaining movie.
“Victoria, Victoria! You will never guess what!” Julie screams at me, running this way and that, like a mini cyclone over my bedroom floor.
My carpet is green with brown swirls. I do not like it. It reminds me too much of other things, earth and soil and grass. Those memories are bad.
“What is it? What do I have to guess?” I ask, trying to hide my weariness with a smile as I turn from my work to look at her. Then Julie collapses on to the floor at my feet in a flurry of arms and legs, not because she was ill or feeling faint, just because she is rather dramatic sometimes, especially when she is excited and desperate to talk. Julie is my older sister by four years, but I think she sees me more as a maternal figure, someone to seek counselling and advice from on all sorts of matters, mysterious, emotional, perplexing, and academic, like an easily accessible Oracle. She often asks me what the winning numbers for the lottery might be, and even sometimes about things in the newspaper or on television, especially murders and robberies. But I can’t do that sort of thing, I can’t solve crimes, but then again I have never actually tried. Maybe I will one day. I don’t know.
It is difficult for me. I have seen so much violence and cruelty in my life that the thought of bringing any more into my mind makes me feel weak and nauseous. However, even though Julie knows I can see things others can’t and it fascinates her to distraction, she has learned to curtail her curiosity, because she knows there is only so much I can tell her.
“You were right Victoria,” Julie says, her voice and actions a little calmer, as splinters of moonlight shine over her drumming fingers. Her fingers are long and elegant, as are her limbs. It is a genetic characteristic that fortunately we share.
“Right about what?” I ask.
“About Caroline.”
“Ahh,” I reply.
