Just how terrifying is a witch's wrath?
Standing before a building engulfed in raging flames, holding an umbrella and wearing sunglasses, Locke finally understood. This was the chasm between the supernatural and the mundane.
No matter how strong an assassin is, they can only kill one person at a time. But the supernatural? They can reap lives by the dozen.
Behind his sunglasses, Locke's eyes flickered. He avoided the gathering crowds and stepped into the burning venue of the prom. Everywhere he looked, there were bodies—those who hadn't managed to flee in time.
"Not bad," Locke muttered to himself as he scanned the corpses. "She can still control herself."
Locke's sense of right and wrong had always been different from others. When he gave Carrie her power, he told her: With my power, you may kill. He wasn't afraid of her killing; he was only afraid she wouldn't have the courage to do it—or worse, that she would lose control and slaughter the innocent.
But based on the bodies, she had held her line. Those who lay dead were the ones who had bullied and tormented her. None were innocent.
Locke knelt down, holding his umbrella steady. He looked at Tommy, who was lying on the ground, his breathing shallow and ragged. Next to him was a thick, foul-smelling pool of pig's blood.
'Heaven's sins can be survived; one's own sins bring certain death.'
Locke pieced together what had happened. Just as Carrie and Tommy were crowned, Chris—the girl had dumped a bucket of pig's blood over Carrie's head. In an instant, Carrie had fallen from the clouds back into the pit of public ridicule.
But this time, Carrie didn't bow her head. Then, the falling iron bucket had struck Tommy's head. That was the spark. It had turned Carrie into a vengeful witch.
"You reap what you sow," Locke whispered. With a flick of his wrist, he produced a Large Health Potion. He pried open Tommy's lips and poured the liquid down.
The potion worked instantly. Tommy, who had been at death's door, was yanked back to the realm of the living. His eyes snapped open, and he gasped for air, looking at the burning chaos in a daze.
"WTF?" Tommy scrambled up and sprinted out of the venue.
Outside, Miss Desjardin sat wrapped in a blanket, sharing a silent, shell-shocked look with Sue, who had arrived too late to stop Chris's prank. When Sue saw Tommy burst out of the flames, she froze.
"Tommy!" Sue ran to him, throwing her arms around him. "You're okay! Thank God!"
Tommy looked around at the fire, confused. "What... what happened?"
...
Meanwhile, Locke walked down the street. The asphalt was cracked in deep fissures, as if an earthquake had struck. 'The wrath of a witch... truly formidable.'
Further down, a gas station was a pillar of fire. Near a red car, a woman—burned beyond recognition but still clinging to a final breath—crawled out of the wreckage. It was Chris. At this moment, her skin was charred to a deep.
She looked up at the man in the suit and sunglasses, her voice a mere wheeze. "Save... me..."
Before she could finish, her life force flickered out. She was dead.
Locke looked down at her and continued walking. She wasn't an innocent. He felt like an old mentor following the protagonist, ensuring no "innocent bystanders" were caught in the crossfire.
He had set the baseline: the innocent must not die. He hoped Carrie would maintain that boundary. So far, so good. Even Tommy, the only "innocent" who almost died, hadn't been killed by Carrie's hand but by the falling bucket.
"She's not crooked yet," Locke nodded, evaluating her much like George Stacy once evaluated him. He looked up toward her destination.
Her home.
...
"Mother!"
Carrie, drenched in pig's blood, ran into the house after venting her rage, only to find the prayer closet empty.
From upstairs, there was the sound of something sharp—an axe, perhaps—scraping the floor. Carrie slowly climbed the stairs. Everything was silent.
In the bathroom, Carrie sat under the shower, still in her prom dress. She huddled with her knees to her chest, watching the filthy red water swirl down the drain. Why? she wondered. 'What did I do wrong?'
Ten minutes later, dressed in clean clothes, Carrie stepped out. She felt a presence and turned to see her mother standing there in a white robe, clutching a crucifix.
"Mother!" Carrie ran to her, hugging her and sobbing. "Mother, you were right. They laughed at me. They all laughed at me."
Margaret White held her daughter, her voice a rhythmic drone. "I knew they would hurt my daughter. When he forced himself on me, I should have killed myself."
Carrie froze. In sixteen years, her mother had never spoken of her father.
"We slept in one bed. Pure and white. Then one night, I saw the lust in his eyes. We knelt to pray for strength, and that was when the demon took me. When you were born, I should have given you to God. But..."
Carrie pulled away, shaking her head. "Mother, I don't want to hear this."
"But I was weak. I couldn't do it. Carrie, let's pray together. Pray for God's forgiveness."
"...Okay, Mother." Carrie saw a rare tenderness in her mother's eyes. She leaned in, desperate for maternal love. "We'll pray."
"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..."
Carrie closed her eyes, listening to the prayer she had always hated, but which now sounded so sweet.
*Thwack!*
Carrie's eyes snapped open. A sharp kitchen knife was buried in her back.
"Mother!"
Margaret raised the knife again. *Boom!* Magic erupted from Carrie's body.
Locke, standing just outside, felt the surge of power. He raised an eyebrow and quickened his pace.
Inside the living room, it was a scene of horror. "Mother, no... please..."
"You know the demon cannot be killed!" Margaret screamed, advancing with the knife. "They come back again and again! You must be purged!"
*Thwack!*
"No!"
"Carrie!"
"I'm sorry, Mother!"
Lying on the floor, watching her mother try to kill her, Carrie's expression twisted in agony. She lashed out with her magic.
The room went silent.
When Locke pushed the door open, he saw Margaret White pinned to the closet door, transfixed by a dozen flying kitchen knives. Carrie lay on the floor, two trails of tears marking her face.
Through the lingering magic in the air, Locke understood exactly what had transpired. Carrie crawled over, pulling her mother down from the door and cradling her body. She pursed her lips, wanting to scream, but no sound came out.
Locke stood nearby, his voice soft. "Is your anger settled?"
Carrie didn't react.
Locke flicked his wrist, tossing a Large Health Potion toward her. "Give her this. As long as she hasn't reached Mephisto's gates yet, she can live."
Carrie stared at the bottle.
"But..." Locke's voice was like velvet. "If you save her, she will try to kill you again. Do you understand?"
Carrie finally looked up at him. "Why?"
Locke tilted his head, took off his sunglasses, and let his true face show.
Locke knelt down, tucking his glasses into his pocket. He reached out, gently taking Carrie's blood-stained hands in his. He brushed a stray lock of blonde hair from her face and smiled.
"Now, I'm going to teach you a second thing."
Carrie watched him through her tears.
"Don't cry," Locke said gently. "Never cry. You gave them a chance, didn't you? You have no reason to weep for those who didn't know how to cherish that chance. They aren't worth it."
Carrie remained silent, the weight of his words sinking in.