The frigid air lapped against her neck. She shivered. A block of apartment complexes, arranged in an endless row, awaited her on the other side of the street. The bottom of her coat whipped around her calves as she waited for the last car to traverse the icy stretch of road. Once it cruised by, she realized a small child situated itself by her apartment building. A young girl sat on the steps and played with a ball, dribbling it against the concrete. Carol searched her brain for memories of the child, but her origins remained a mystery. Another car whizzed passed and sent a gust of wintry air in her direction. Carol squeezed her eyes shut. She winced at the irritation to her dripping nose. When she opened her eyes, she trained her gaze on the building.

The girl still sat on the steps, bouncing the ball as if it were an enemy. Carol looked around for signs of life. The child was alone. She wondered if the girl possessed a single friend.  Without warning, childhood memories flooded her thoughts. She remembered her isolated recesses and solitary foolery. The unfulfilled desires of her youth rekindled, and theories formed within her mind. If someone spoke a word of kindness to her in her youth, perhaps she wouldn't cower in the presence of men.

An emotion Carol struggled to name grasped her by the legs. It threatened to pull her to the sidewalk. Her vision blurred. Carol placed a hand over her coat and felt her heartbeat. She held her breath, believing that the act of rejecting oxygen might stifle the pain.  Soon, her heart relaxed, and the tightness in her chest diminished. She fought through the remnants of her blurry sight and saw the child, still playing on the steps. Carol scanned the roadway before she scurried to the other side.

She approached the stairs and their peculiar inhabitant. “Hello,” she said. “What’s your name? Mine’s Carol.”

The child lifted her head. Her stoic expression was unsettling, but her blue eyes exuded an air of familiarity. A long-sleeved shirt sheltered her torso, and her grass-stained jeans saw better days. The little girl tucked the ball underneath her arm and gazed at Carol. She examined each contrived motion of her body for elements of danger.  Carol's heart leaped into her throat.

"You can call me Charlotte," the child said.

Carol fought the urge to furrow her brows and smiled instead. “That’s a pretty name.”

“I guess," Charlotte responded. “I don’t really like it much.”

“I might have seen you before,” Carol divulged. “Are you one of my students?”

“Nope,” the girl descended the stairs in a series of skips. “I go to a special school.”

Carol knelt on the frosty pavement. “I went to one of those.”

“Yeah,” the little girl nodded. “I thought so.”

Carol’s shoulders tensed. “Aren’t you freezing out here without a coat?”

“Nope,” replied the girl as she balanced on the cracks in the concrete.

“Well, are you waiting for anybody?”

"I guess."

“Is your mom around?”

“No, she’s busy.”

“How about your dad?”

“He’s at work.”

“Do you live here?”

“Now I do.”

“Then we’d better get you inside,” Carol extended a gloved hand.

The child’s eyes darkened. A scowl contorted her once pleasant features. “My Mommy says I shouldn’t go anywhere with strangers.”

“I don’t want to take you anywhere. I want to get you out of the cold.” The child relaxed, so Carol thought of more phrases to soothe her. “I’ll keep all the doors open, and nobody’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me. I’ll go with you,” Charlotte dropped the ball and grasped her hand.

Carol attempted to smile and rose to her feet. “Come on, let’s get you warm.”

The little girl trotted beside her up the stairs. They entered the apartment complex together. The simplistic décor did not draw attention away from the dilapidated nature of the lobby. Carol strolled to a door on the side, opened it, and Charlotte followed. Her small home created a togetherness as the plentiful furnishings forced them closer. Carol observed the pinkness in her cheeks, the texture of her hair, and the brightness in her eyes. Despite the youthful exuberance Charlotte emitted, her lips remained stuck in a somber line. Although the open door caused brisk air to circulate throughout the room, Carol left it alone. She motioned towards the couch, and the child pulled herself into its confines.

“Would you like some hot chocolate?” Carol asked.

“Yes, please.” Charlotte grasped at a throw pillow and occupied herself with its tassels.

Carol gathered the ingredients for their after-school drink and proceeded in its preparation. “I always like hot chocolate after I get home,” Carol tended the steaming pot of cocoa-infused milk. “Do you like marshmallows?”

“We never did,” she heard Charlotte mumble.

Carol fumbled with the wooden spoon. She grasped it before the object fell into the sink. Carol’s eyebrows contorted as she stared at the child. “You're a strange little girl, aren’t you?”

The child continued to amuse herself with the pillow. “Everyone used to say that to us, didn’t they, Lottie? They never understood. Made us sad.”

The sound of boiling liquid brought Carol back into the real world. She gasped and yanked the pot from the stove. The milk splattered onto her wrist. Carol bit back a yell as her hand released its grip on the pot. The sensation of a thousand matches singeing her skin caused tears to well in her eyes. Her pale skin evolved into an unnatural shade of red. She grabbed her hand and stared at the child on the couch.
She swallowed. “Why did you call me Lottie?”

The child tilted her head. “Everyone calls us that. He didn’t though. He always called us Charlotte. Which is why you prefer ‘Carol’ now, isn’t it?”

Carol narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You have nightmares. You’re starting to remember.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“You’re playing dumb.”

“No, I’m not. You’re just a child, how do you know?”

The child hopped from the couch and trotted up to her. “I know a lot of things. You dye your hair. You have a little dark spot on the back of your neck. And we don’t like marshmallows.”

“Are you sick?” Carol felt the child’s forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you figured out who I am?”

“Seems like you’re the one with all the answers. You tell me who you are.”

“I’m you," Charlotte grabbed at the bottom of Carol's blouse. "I always have been. You forgot about me, but you’re going to remember now. I’m not going to let you forget. You’ve got to help me. I don’t want him here,” she released her grip and backed towards Carol’s bedroom. Her bright eyes dulled as she rubbed her hands together. “I have to get out of here.”

“You can’t go out that way.” Carol reached out to stop her, but the sound of harsh knocking stole her attention. She peeked into the lobby, but not a soul resided in the halls.

When she turned around to comfort Charlotte, she realized the child disappeared. Carol clutched her burned hand and examined the room. Her gaze settled on the couch. The pillow that attracted the child was where it rested before she fiddled with it. Carol ran her fingers through her hair. She wanted to run into the other room, but her mind considered the previous knocks on her door a priority. Carol huffed and scampered towards the door. She gazed into the bleak hallway, and a man stood before her. A man she thought she knew. Gray hairs dominated his remaining blonde locks and a few wrinkles marred his disagreeable features. Her stomach churned. Thoughts raced through her mind. When she reached out to snatch them, she grasped only darkness.

“Can I help you?” she tried to make the words sound light.

“I don’t think you remember me,” the man said, and she nodded as he did so. “But I remember you. I used to work for your father, way back when. I was in town on business and decided to pay you a visit.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m sure I’ll remember you eventually. Would you like to sit down?” Carol gestured to the couch while keeping her seared hand from his sight. “I’m sorry about the mess,” she glanced toward the bedroom door. “I didn’t have time to clean up.”

“Everything looks fine,” the man sat on the couch with a sigh. “You’re doing well.”

"You're just being a good guest,” Carol managed a smile. She strolled towards the gas stove, intent on clearing the mess she made when the child visited.

Carol watched the man as she bent forwards and reached for the pot she dropped earlier. “Would you like someth-” her words ceased when her scarred hand struck against the floor. Not a puddle of milk, or a metal pot, lay against the tiled surface.

Carol let saliva build in her mouth until it drooled from her lips. She closed her eyes and swallowed. Oxygen passed through her nostrils, and carbon dioxide escaped from her mouth. She slithered her hand across her torso. Then, she opened her eyes. Her hand appeared silken white. Carol whimpered. She spun around, her heels squeaking on the cheap flooring, and saw the man standing in front of her.

"When," Carol paused and regulated her breathing. "When did you work for my father?"

"Years ago."

"But when?"

The man tilted his head. A strange gleam coated his eyes and his lips extended into a smile that raised gooseflesh on her skin. "You remember me now?"

Carol rubbed her arm. "Just trying to place you."

"Stop pretending. It'll be quicker that way."

"What will?"

"It's not that I want to do it, you understand. I don't want to, but you've got to go. No one saw me come in, no one's going to see me leave, no one will find out I was even here. And nobody's going to connect me with you."

The man’s hands charged towards her throat and squeezed. Carol clawed at his knuckles while her lungs protested the exertion. She thrust the sharp heel of her shoe into his leg. The man yelped. He released his grip on her neck and grasped at his bleeding leg. Carol dashed towards the front door, but an abrasive hand yanked her backward.

Carol screamed. She swiped a fist at the man’s face and struck flesh with her nails. He let go of her, growling in pain, and Carol groped for means of escape. She latched onto the entryway's wooden molding and pushed herself forward. Her leg muscles contracted. They begged her to run. Carol reached the stairs, grabbed onto the railing, and tried to catch her breath. The sound of clamoring footsteps made her pulse quicken.

Carol wobbled as she faced the source of the footsteps. The man inhaled oxygen. Blood saturated part of his pant leg and threatened to ooze from the scratches on his cheek. Wildness blazed within his eyes, and he approached her with the hurried stride of a desperate man. Carol scurried down the steps. A heel from her shoe slid into a crack in the staircase. She clutched the railing before she lurched forward. Her lips trembled as she tried to yank her foot from the crevice. It refused to budge.

Carol slipped off the shoes as her body strained for the outside world. Her clammy hands remained atop the railing, and she refused to peek upward as she regained her balance. His feet pounded the staircase. She felt his hand latch onto her shoulder, his fingernails dug into her flesh, and she cried out. Carol clawed at the hand and jerked herself free. The sound of ripping fabric pierced her ears. He grasped her shirt, but another crack in the stair caught her foot. She tried to grip the railing, but his weight propelled her forwards. With the man clinging to her clothes, she tumbled down the staircase.

Particles of reality danced before her eyes. Noises, indistinguishable, rumbled in the distance. Warmth cloaked her small body, and she extended her hand until softness brushed the skin. Carol opened her eyes. She saw her living room. Carol stretched her limbs and peered at the clock on the table. The lateness of the hour evoked a rumbling within her stomach. She pulled herself off the couch and staggered towards the fridge.

As she perused the barren depths of her food storage, a persistent knocking pained her ears. A huff left her lips while she fluffed her hair and prepared herself to answer the door. She pulled back the wooden entrance. A man stood in the hallway; she raised her head to make eye contact with him. His gray hair betrayed his age more so than the numerous wrinkles on his face. Her heart leaped into her throat, but not before it sped up a thousand times more.

"Hello," the man said. "You're Charlotte McKinney?"

"Yes,” Carol rubbed her wrist. “How can I help you?"

"My name is Larry Becklund. I used to work for your father, way back when. I can’t remember how I found out you lived here,” he glanced over her shoulder. “But I was in town on business and I wanted to visit you.”

Carol looked at the man. Memories of her childhood flashed in front of her eyes. Pain circulated throughout her body, and her brain declared herself in danger. Her nervous system collapsed at the man's presence.

Carol gestured towards the couch. “Have a seat, Mr. Becklund. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She turned her back to him, traveled to the bedroom, and closed the door behind her. She removed a cell phone from her nightstand. Her fingers trembled as she dialed for emergency services. 

Charlotte remembered.