Imaginary Stories

"Unpacking may wait," Carrie Genoise announced. She put her feet up on a wooden stool and leaned back in her chair. Inhaling gently on her cigarette, she blew a puff of smoke out the open window.

The bedroom wasn't particularly large, but it was comfortably furnished and well lit with windows facing south and east. Carrie had claimed it as her own immediately for those two windows. Now she sat in the sun, soaking up the warmth through her dark clothes. Carrie had a few odds and ends unpacked on her bed, with her trunk and bags on the floor. Blond Isabel Perkins stood by the foot of the bed, studying the pictures Carrie had already fixed on the freshly painted wall.

"Are these all Christmas pictures?"

Sending another puff out the window, Carrie allowed herself a slight smile. "Beautiful, aren't they? Clean and quiet. All those years growing up in the brothel, these were my one escape. I'd lay in bed looking at pictures such as these, listening to the noises from below. I'd dream of sleigh rides, and warm fires, and kind families."

Looking over at Carrie, Miss Perkins half-smiled at the young woman. Carrie sighed happily. "I'd kill again for just one Christmas like that."

The half-smile vanished. "'Again'?"

Carrie matched Miss Perkin's worried gaze with a glare. "Why in the world should I repeat myself? I'm certain you heard me the first time."

"No, you said — "