Carrie | Liz Allan

PROLOGUE: TOO LATE

Before Liz knew what was happening, she was flung backward through the air, out the door of the crumbling house, and landed roughly on the asphalt road, tumbling along the ground until she came to a stop.

Despite the numerous scrapes and bruises on her body she'd received from both the fall and the traumatic events of that night, the pain had barely registered the entire time, not even now, as she sat up, helpless to do anything but watch the White household burn down and crumble apart within seconds until all was quiet. A hand over her mouth, Liz slowly stood, praying for something—anything—to happen and bring her back out from the flames and devastation.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, mixing with the blood stained there, most of it not her own. Her body shook as she stumbled forward, tripping over the nearly floor-length dirty, tattered, once-beautiful prom dress she wore, her legs threatening to go out from under her. She stopped a few feet away from the remains of the house, wondering where the body of Carrie White laid under all that rubble, and an overwhelming wave of grief overtook her, pulling her under. Liz hadn't realize she had fallen to her knees until she felt them hit the hard ground.

"Carrie!" she found herself screaming, though it was pointless to hope for an answer. "Carrie! CARRIE!"

There was no other sound, her own voice echoing back to her, taunting her, forcing her to face the reality she wish wasn't true.

"Are you ready to start, Miss Allan? Miss Allan?"

Liz blinked as she came out of the memory, staring at the man sitting before her. Her mother stood by the doorway, ready to send him away if she thought he was pushing Liz too hard. It was a sheer miracle she had managed to convince the woman at all to even let him through the front door. Ever since that night two weeks ago, reporters had come flocking to her and everyone else alive, asking questions. Asking what had happened, asking about her.

Asking about Carrie White.

It had been one right after the other, pestering her those first few days with her mother constantly shooing them away. She was already considering moving them again to escape all the attention and publicity. So far, it was actually worse than the time it was revealed of her father's crimes, but Liz wasn't ready to leave just yet.

Those entire two weeks, Liz hadn't answered a single question asked of her, avoiding everyone like the plague. But she hadn't been ready then. She was ready now, to talk, when Mr. King, a journalist looking for a story just as all the others, knocked on the Allans' door. Doing this, Liz was hoping to feel that weight lift off her shoulders, for her to have some sort of justice by having her side of the story told, not all the others who painted the story of a monster, of someone who was never a human being. Never a real, living, breathing person with hopes and dreams and fears.

If they were going to ask about Carrie White, it was best if they asked someone who knew her.

"If you want, we can do this another time," King said tentatively, as if she were a fragile thing that might shatter if prodded too hard. He was a tall man with graying hair who easily towered over her even sitting, his eyes watching her in concern through the lenses of his glasses.

Liz cleared her throat, taking a deep breath before speaking. "No, no, it's no problem, sir," she said, forcing a smile. "My mind was just...somewhere else."

"I understand you've been through a traumatic experience, and I wouldn't ask you to relive it all if it weren't so important to me that I get the whole story," he sighed, leaning forward with his brows furrowed. "This event involving Miss White, if it doesn't push forward the motion for the identification of all mutants and enhanced, nothing will. Everyone else, they've asked about just the night of your prom and the 'Killer Prom Queen,' but I want to hear about Carrie White, the one you knew and the one you witnessed during prom, to see how the victim could become the victimizer. I'm sure it's a story that wants and needs to be told."

"That's what you meant when you said you were different from the other reporters?" Liz asked hopefully.

"I guess you could say that." King leaned back into his chair again, and dug through his bag for the tape recorder he'd need to record everything she would tell him. He set it down on the small coffee table separating the two of them from each other. "So, from what I've heard from the others I interviewed before today, you and Carrie White were close?" he asked.

"Carrie had tried to keep me at arms length—because she was scared, maybe, of what I might think of her if I knew the truth—but yes, I cared about her a lot," she sadly smiled, folding her hands in her lap. "I still do. She was my friend, after all."

"What kind of person would you say she was?" he questioned.

Liz was quiet a moment. "Um, thank you," she said suddenly, a real small smile on her lips. "Most people don't really think of her as a person. Like she was always waiting for the day she could kill them all." She shook her head with a frown. "That wasn't her. There were moments where I could tell she wanted to hurt someone—and anyone would consider that with what people put her through—but she didn't, not on purpose. Her gift was...unpredictable. She was very shy, quiet, not a trouble student but not a model student either, and she was so sweet and innocent."

"What changed?"

"I think you know what changed."

"I want to hear your take on it. Spare no details, and you can take a break at any point you need one, I mean, I have time," he shrugged. "The beginning would be best."

Liz looked away, biting her lip. One might think she was thinking of that night, on prom, that supposed to be perfect night turned into a nightmare. Thinking of all the destruction and chaos. But, no, she wasn't.

She was thinking of the girl now gone from the world. That sweet, innocent girl who never did anything to anyone. The girl with a smile rarely ever seen, of how happy Liz would feel whenever she got her to show it, of those dark, dark eyes that too often held so much pain and fear. Of the happiness and tears of joy in those eyes when she got up on stage with that tiara in her blonde hair, looking so pretty.... Of the hurt, betrayal, and humiliation in them when the blood covered her from head to toe. Of the tears running down that sweet face before Liz lost her forever.

She thought of the tragedy that was Carrie White.

Liz hadn't realized she had begun crying until she heard Mr. King's voice, so distant in her faraway mind.

"Miss Allan?"

She shook her head and wiped away the tears from her eyes, swallowing thickly. She gently picked up a white rose sitting in a vase by the windowsill and breathed out slowly. As she cleared her throat and sat up, she prepared herself like she would whenever she would get ready for a class presentation, her voice coming out clear and strong. "So, it started like this..."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Prologue up, and I'm really excited to write what happens next. Anyway, Mr. King, in my mind at least, is played by Stephen King, as my way of giving him a small yet significant role since he is the one who wrote Carrie, kind of like how Marvel has Stan Lee make a cameo in the Marvel movies.

So we're starting from the end, and we're going to build up to how we got here as the book goes on. Also, this is an AU that takes someplace after Spiderman: Homecoming, just so you know. Hope you like it, I guess. 😊