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Carrie was here. I could sense it. I felt her

presence as if she reached out and touched me, though

when I looked around I saw nothing but the crates. "Carrie!" I called as loudly as possible. "It's me, Cathy. Don't hide and keep quiet because you're afraid! I've got your dolls and Dr. Paul is with me and so is Chris. We've come to take you home, and never again are we going to send you away to school!" I

nudged Paul, "Now you tell her that too."

He abandoned his soft voice and boomed,

"Carrie, if you can hear me, it's just as your sister says.

We want you to come home with us to stay. I'm sorry,

Carrie. I thought you'd like it here. Now I know you

couldn't possibly have been happy. Carrie, please

come out, we need you."

Then I thought I heard a soft whimper. I raced

in that direction with Chris close at my heels. I knew

about attics, how to search, how to find.

Abruptly I drew to a halt and Chris collided

with me. Just ahead, in the dim shadows created by the

towers of heavy wooden crates, still in her nightgown,

all torn, dirty and bloody, gagged and still blindfolded,

I spied Carrie. Her spill of blond hair gleamed in the

faint light. Beneath her a leg was twisted in a

grotesque way. "Oh, God," whispered Chris and Paul

at the same time, "her leg looks broken."

"Wait a minute," Paul cautioned in a low voice,

clamping both his hands down on my shoulders when I would heedlessly run forward and rescue Carrie. "Look at those crates, Cathy. Just one careless move on your part and they will all come crashing down on

both you and Carrie."

Somewhere behind me a teacher moaned and

began to pray. How Carrie had managed to drag

herself down that close passageway while blind and

bound was unbelievable. A fully adult person couldn't

have done it--but I could do it--I was still small

enough.