Have you experienced incest, abuse,
being molested?
Have you had trouble with relationships, or your identity?
Struggled with lack of feeling or
having too many feelings?
Carly Remembers
is a story about these struggles --
a psychological thriller that weaves a story of a woman's journey through recovery from sexual abuse and incest. Inspired by real-life therapy.
Carly Remembers challenges denial and lack of discourse surrounding survivors and their stories despite being universal.
Have you experienced incest, abuse,
being molested?
Have you had trouble with relationships, or your identity?
Struggled with lack of feeling or
having too many feelings?
Carly Remembers
is a story about these struggles --
a psychological thriller that weaves a story of a woman's journey through recovery from sexual abuse and incest. Inspired by real-life therapy.
Carly Remembers challenges denial and lack of discourse surrounding survivors and their stories despite being universal.
As Carly slowly cracks open her eyes and glances around, she finds herself in a shabby broken-down room at a flea bag motel with yellowish peeling wall paper surrounded by poorly hung curtains and a thread bare rug whose colors faded years ago. Through the cracked window, the harsh smell of urine, garbage and sweat invade her nose. She is half kneeling, half laying across a bed and half naked, wearing only her bra and panties. Her short black skirt, beige halter top along with her black high heels are haphazardly strewn across the floor.
A man, whose shirt is off, suit jacket and tie lying on the end of the couch, growls, "You picked the wrong fucking man," as he attempts to tie one of her arms off on the headboard.
She shivers.
He taunts her, "Have you read the news, about the serial killer the police are looking for?"
"Um...y-…yes," she stutters.
"How do you know that isn't me?"
As distress grips Carly, like the man’s iron clutch, she forces a hard swallow, recalling the headlines, chiding people to beware of a serial killer.
"Does that scare you?" The man menacingly asks.
Carly desperately struggles, trying to break past the man and run as her adrenalin spikes.
"You fucking bitch," the man yells as he swings his fist, hitting the woman across the jaw with the full force of his body weight, slamming her against the wall. She attempts to rise up, but her head spins and she stumbles.
In a seeming frenzy, he kicks at her and strikes her again, stomping her left arm and smashing her head with his fist.
She hears a crunch, feels a sharp pain in her ribs and gasps for air.
She falls unconscious.
…
Confused as she awakens, Carly feels utterly exposed and helpless as she senses she is blindfolded, gagged and lying on her stomach in a semi-kneeling position, spread eagle, with her arms bound together. She feels a sharp pain in her left side. Her left arm feels like there is a razor blade sticking in her elbow. Woozy and terrified as dread overwhelms her mind and sense eludes her, she wonders, how did I get myself here?
Everything fades to black once again.
…
Carly awakens and gasps as the man uses the tip of a blade to menacingly outline her spine.
"I could just fillet you like a fish." He makes several shallow cuts across each of her legs and up her thighs, slicing up and around to her back.
Carly yelps in pain, letting out several desperate muffled pleas for the man to stop, her words are buried inside the gag. Rage seethes inside her as she continues writhing around, desperate to break free.
The man's apparent blood lust is interrupted by his cell phone ringing. "Hey...um...can't right now, I'm in the middle of something. Um, okay, be right there."
"Don't go nowhere, darlin'." The man leaves abruptly.
The woman can hear the heavy plodding of man’s steps as he descends the stairs outside.
She renews her struggle, knowing she’ll never leave the room if she can’t free herself. I have to get out of here! Twisting one of her wrists in an almost unbearable angle, she frees herself from the bindings. Feeling dizzy, her left arm and side searing with pain, the woman looks down at herself. So much blood! I have to get the out of here! She grabs her purse and throws on her skirt and blouse, while blindly stumbling away for her life.
CHAPTER TWO
BROKEN AND BLOODIED
Harold glances up from his place perched atop a chipped metal stool in front of the small flat-screen television hanging from a broken metal bracket in the corner of the New Brunswick 7-Eleven. An old rerun of an entry from the Death Wish trilogy fights through poor reception, blurred with static.
Bored and drowsy, Harold glances at his watch: 10:17. Oh man, 43 minutes to go.
Bob, the night shift manager, who proudly displays a name tag reflecting his title on the front pocket of his white, short-sleeved, button-down work shirt, leans on the counter behind the register, the old wood groaning under his three hundred pounds. “Harold, why don’t you go out and walk the lot for trash. It’s about that time. I’ll mop up.”
“Okay.” Harold sighs, straightening his legs, wincing at the pop in his knee and creak in his ankle. He yawns, stretches his arms toward the ceiling, hearing another pop in his neck that rattles down his spine. He runs his hands over his head, through hair thinning faster than it can replenish. At least the cool air will feel nice and help him get through the end of his shift.
He shuffles past the newspaper stand—the lotto’s only fifteen million today, not worth the effort—and in front of the cash register, where he notices a harsh look from his manager.
The door chimes on his way out into the night. He begins his survey in the usual spot, at the far corner of the front parking lot, looking for trash, hoping to find some money dropped by some poor, unfortunate soul. Maybe I’ll find another $10 bill.
Harold strolls around, scanning the ground. Near the dented green dumpster, resting against a brick facade, he notices a wrinkly unidentified bunch of papers and rushes over.
Bummer. Only a hot-dog boat smeared with mustard and a plastic Big Gulp with half-melted ice, swarming with ants. He pulls a black trash bag from the frayed back pocket of his blue Dickies. He picks up the refuse, wishing he’d remembered to wear his rubber cleaning gloves, and sticks it in the trash bag.
A light sprinkle of rain falls from the clouded night sky. Harold glances up, sees the faded lights of a plane on its descent into New Brunswick International, glowing through the low cloud cover, hears the rumble of its engines. He rounds the corner, strolls toward the back of the lot. He blinks a few times, gazing at something in a crumpled mass on the ground.
Is that a body?
He races over, dropping his trash bag, and scrapes his knee on the cracked asphalt crouching down to take a closer look.
A woman lies facedown, bruised, blood pooling under her head. Dressed in a short black skirt, with a torn taupe-colored halter top, and barefoot. Gashes covering her bare arms and legs, pour forth their red liquid of life. One of her arms is twisted at a perilous angle. Harold winces just considering it.
He leans up, hyperventilating, for what seems like forever. He stands, uncertain what to do, then runs back into the store.
Harold runs in yelling in rapid fire spurts, “Bob, there’s a dead girl out back! Oh my God, call someone! What do we do? Call the police? The doctor? Um, a funeral home? Quick, call 911, they’ll know what to do.”
“Jesus, breathe, man,” Bob says, his face going paler than usual. He drops his mop and shuffles outside.
“She’s over here,” Harold shouts from the corner of the lot. He peeks around Bob as they approach the sprawled-out girl. Dumbfounded, Harold stares at the girl, then at Bob.
Bob stammers, “You-You’re right, a de-dead girl!”
They run back inside the store. Bob grabs the cordless phone. He dials 911 but misdials, connecting on the second attempt. “We have a dead body here,” he shouts. “Send someone over—the police or something—quick!” Bob hangs up.
They head back outside.
Almost immediately, the phone rings.
Harold grabs the phone. “Um… 7… um… Eleven.”
A lady on the other end states, “Sir, we just received a call from this number stating that there’s a dead body at your location.”
Harold responds, a quiver in his voice, “Yes, that was Bob, the night supervisor.”
“Bob, your supervisor, is dead?”
“No! He called you all. Yes. We have a dead girl! Come quick!”
“This is the New Brunswick Emergency Response Services. Please give me your address.”
“Um…5469…wait, no, 4569 Fourth Street. Please, send someone right away!”
Harold hangs up, glances back at his watch: 10:35. He sighs, exasperated. No way he’ll be finished with his shift on time tonight.
Before I launch into my review, I would like to express my warm gratitude to R S Nichols and Reedsy Discovery for the Advanced Digital Reader Copy of Carly Remembers. For anyone with their eye on this novel, here is my personal review of the book to help you decide whether you are interested or not. All opinions offered are my own.
If you are yet to read the blurb for Carly Remembers, I want to issue a trigger warning. The book contains scenes of rape, sexual abuse including that of a child, graphic scenes of violence. This is in addition to explicit sexual content and hostage situations. In short, the book is not for the feint hearted.
This is my second time reading this novel. I am privileged to have had the opportunity to see the edited version for the second print run. When I read the first edition of Carly Remembers, I was shocked, intrigued, disgusted, and interested all at the same time. And that’s just for starters. The book had a lot going on and did not necessarily flow well at times, but in my opinion, it was still worth the read. This second time around, I did not know what to expect. I think I was expecting ever so slight amendments. By the end of page one, I already knew I was reading an improved version.
For much of the story, the protagonist, Carly McCulley, is suffering from some form of amnesia. The reasons for her memory loss are varied and complex. The entire book takes us on one hell of a trip, literally, to unlock repressed memories. Memories that are repressed for good reason.
I liked how the story was given a new and solid beginning that provided a firm major plot for the majority of the book. If the previous edition packed a punch with its opening pages, the upgraded version delivers a knock-out blow. That said, I did find the book a lot tougher to read because the story has been developed to be more graphic, whilst tightening previous plot holes. I found I was left with far less questions although at times it still felt like the author tried to do too much.
There were descriptions that could have been toned down to deliver a better effect. For example, early on in the book, Nichols writes:
Carly feels utterly exposed and helpless as she senses she is blindfolded, gagged and lying on her stomach in a semi-kneeling position, spread eagle, with eagle, with her arms bound together.
Either she is semi-kneeling, or spread-eagled, which one is it? I also felt some of the speech was immaturely formed. It contained interruptions and stammers that can sometimes be overlooked but felt contrived when reading the page. I expect this is something that will improve with practice.
Whilst the main plot deals with catching the mysterious attacker responsible for the scene above, Nichols weaves in several sub-plots. As mentioned, these sub-plots come with a range of trigger warnings that make this book unsuitable for many readers. The integration of past trauma and therapy sessions serves as a good vehicle for delivering these extra details that flesh out the story. The previous book used these same elements, but this edition is not so crass with the facts. The novel has been better crafted to offer bite-size morsels of information until the reader realizes they’ve come to the end of a satisfying meal by the end of the story.
The book is aimed at a niche market of adult readers that can handle multiple scenes of explicit content; past and present. Could the story be told with less gore? Yes, but then it would be for a different readership. Whilst I do not expect this book to be positioned at the top of a commercial bestseller list, readers that enjoy explicit scenes and depraved content only brave authors dare to tackle, will find a home here. There are still some issues with dialogue and grammar, but the book is markedly improved. Consequently, I am rounding the 3.5 rating up to a rating of 4 out of 5 stars.