The Litany of Harriet Part 2

Part VI: Attacking the Problem

Harriet kicked off from the floor and her legs started whirring around. She flailed desperately, trying to get herself to run, but she couldn’t. Her padded cell started tilting and gyrating endlessly. She closed her eyes, but it looked the same as when she opened them. Pulling herself up, she noticed 5 golden blobs on the opposite side of the room. Although the room was revolving, and everything was a blur, Harriet noticed these moving creatures. The room shook and suddenly, there were more of them. They started to advance on Harriet, although their heads were turned backwards. They intimidated Harriet, but she couldn’t figure out why—they were so questionably creepy and eerie. Their heads spun around and immediately, it struck Harriet like a silver hammer. The bright blue eyes. The silky fur. They were her old, dead, ratty dog. 8 despicable Peppermints, stalking towards Harriet, as if hunting for prey. Their eyes drilled holes in Harriet, and she started to bleed. Thick, dark red liquid poured out of her arms and she moaned. They swept closer, growling, as Harriet tried to cease the rapid flow of her blood. Buzzing filled up the room, and the padded cell was closing in, getting smaller, pushing the Peppermint gang closer. The pillows soaked up the puddle of blood underneath Harriet, which made the cushions grow bigger.
“GONE! DEAD! HE HATED YOU! HE LEFT YOU!”
Harriet could now feel the warm, putrid breath of her dogs and smell the metallic smell of the blood, and started to suffocate. The room was still spinning rapidly, but that was the least of her problems. She curled up into a helpless, defenseless little ball and started to cry.
Suddenly, everything stopped.
Her body went limp.
Her ears rang.
Silence.
Silence.

She looked up, expecting hell. No. It was Steven’s apartment. Her grin opened and turned into a chuckle. Ha! She was back! Peppermint was gone! She checked her arms for blood. Nope! She stumbled towards the office, still weak from her breakdown. She peered at the clock. 12:42. Ugh. The Spinning had started up again—every 12:34. Damn. At least she didn’t have it for another twelve hours, though.
She was getting ready for bed, brushing her yellow teeth, when she heard 4 quiet knocks on the door. It startled her; she hadn’t interacted with someone since 2 days ago, when Steven left. She froze, listening for more signs of potential interaction, and then tiptoed to the door, and put her ear to it. There was one last round of knocking, followed by silence, and then the pitter-patter of footsteps on carpet, walking away. No! Harriet couldn’t let this person leave without a conversation! Harriet swung open the door and burst through. She saw a woman press an elevator button across the hall.
“WAIT!” Harriet called out.
The woman froze and slowly turned to Harriet. She gave Harriet the “shush” sign and calmly walked over to her. It took a while; the hallway was long, and the woman was limping—although young and healthy, the woman’s legs were in terrible shape.
“Hello,” the woman said. She was beautiful, maybe 20 years old, Asian, and wearing a deep turquoise jacket, over a cute, chartreuse little shirt. Her pants were a spicy brown—almost like cinnamon, and she wore white boots. Her outfit almost entirely covered Harriet’s history—turquoise boots, cinnamon coffee, and white pillows. It made Harriet cringe, but smile, at the same time.
“Uh... hi,” Harriet grimaced at her own awkwardness. “You knocked on my door?”
The woman laughed.
“Yeah. I’m Carrie, by the way. Nice to meet you. I came to see you about your husband.”
“Boyfriend,” Harriet corrected her. “Also, nice to meet you too. I’m Harriet.”
“I know. I know. Anyway, you’ll get your husband back.”
“Boyfriend.”
“Right. Steven, right?”
“Ugh, yes. He left.” Hearing his name coming from someone else’s mouth was weird to Harriet.
“Right. Well, you didn’t lose him. We’ll get him back. Promise.”
Harriet gave Carrie a doubtful look, and then chuckled, condescendingly.
“He’s dead. Gone. I know he is. And if not, then he left me because I’m crazy.”
“Stop. C’mon. Be more positive.”
Silence.
Harriet’s eyes pushed out some tears, but her eyelids shoved them back in.
There was another silence that sliced through the moment and left a sharp pain in the air.
Carrie put a hand on Harriet’s shoulder.
“Don’t be miserable. Don’t wallow in your own misfortune. The key to happiness is about attacking the problem.” This very well might have been the single cheesiest moment Harriet had ever experienced. Harriet laughed and said, “Okay. We’ll get together tomorrow at... is 3:00 okay for you?”
“Sure.”
“Great.”
“See ya.”
And that was that.

Part VII: The Worst Day in Harriet Sullivan’s Life, Ever

The day Steven disappeared started as a completely normal one. Harriet woke up. She ate breakfast. She noticed her arms were looking better. She took a shower. She went to the 30-minute graphic design class she had been taking. She went home and displayed what she had just learned; she had gotten a job, designing websites—a real paying job.She went shopping. She tried on turquoise boots, and as she did so she realized it was 12:33. She ran into the changing rooms to hide herself, and waited for the spinning to start—but nothing happened. She looked down at her boots and thought to herself, “Maybe this is it!”. She bought the turquoise boots and named them the “Special Boots.” After her shopping spree, she went to get cinnamon coffee, and when she came home, Steven was gone.
Harriet burst through the apartment door, ready to announce the loss of Spinning and gain of turquoise boots. She didn’t 100% expect Steven to be home; he had work until 3:00, but sometimes he would come home early. She called to him, a smile plastered to her face. She took a sip from the cup of cinnamon coffee she had bought, and started towards the office. He was not there. She sighed, still cheerful, and decided to surf the web.

5 ½ hours later, he hadn’t come home. Harriet was beginning to worry about him and reached for her cell phone, deciding to call him. With each number she pressed, the more she knew what was about to happen. He wouldn’t respond. It rang once. There was a pause... and then another ring. It rang 4 more times before Harriet slammed the phone down and screamed. Where was he? She paced back and forth, surprised that the spinning had not started. And she spent the next hours of her night waiting.
But he never came home.

Part VIII: The Search Begins

“Uh... Carrie?” Harriet tapped a small woman with silky black hair, wearing a blue shirt, on the back. The woman spun around and examined Harriet. It was not Carrie.
“Yes?” the woman said, confused. “Do I... know you?”
Harriet was befuddled, and looked sideways at the woman.
“Oh... I thought... you looked... um, right. Well. Bye.” Harriet cursed at herself and resumed waiting in the cramped coffee shop that she was so familiar with. It reminded her of Steven. She took her seat in the corner of the coffee shop—by the window, on the cozy brown leather couch—this was where Steven and her always sat. After much fidgeting and impatience and sighing, Harriet abruptly stood up and strode over to the counter, where she bought another cinnamon coffee. As she did so, she thought to herself, “Why am I doing this? Cinnamon coffee is going to do nothing but make me more anxious,” but nonetheless, she bought the cinnamon coffee. She sat back down on the couch and glanced at her watch. 3:45. Great. Nice job, Carrie. 45 minutes late. Suddenly, as if on cue, the door swung open, the little bell jingled, and Carrie paraded in, blowing air on to her frozen hands. She looked up, scanned the room, and ordered a cinnamon coffee.
“My favorite.” Harriet appeared behind her. “Steven’s too.
Carrie’s startled expression turned into a smile.
“Hello to you too,” Carrie said.
“Hah! Uh, hi.” Harriet grinned. She was so glad to have a friend. She hadn’t had a real interaction with anyone for most of her life, and so she had forgotten how good a friend felt. “Come sit down with me.” Harriet added. She gestured towards the couch in the corner. They shuffled to the couch and settled in. Carrie immediately started.
“I have found something.” Carrie declared.
“Um... alright.”
“About Steven, that is.” Carrie explained.
“Oh! Okay,” Harriet was excited. She leaned in closer.
“When I was leaving your apartment the other day...” Carrie began, “...I found something. The corner of it was sticking out of the carpeting next to your door. Look. This.” Carrie picked up her chic, smooth leather purse, dug around for a while, and eventually produced a crumpled piece of notebook paper, smothered with scribbles and numbers and letters and splotches of coffee and whatnot. The piece of paper was in terrible condition, limp and ripped, with torn edges covered in ink hanging off of the soggy outline. The writing resembled a 2-year-old’s attempts at writing, re-done by a mental patient. It looked like a poem Harriet would’ve written, during the Spinning. This is what it said: 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 BABE RUTH

Harriet stared at the piece of paper. She looked up at Carrie, baffled. Carrie flung back a look that said “Yeah, I don’t get it either.” Harriet opened her mouth, as if to say something, but then closed it again.
“Who’s Babe Ruth?” Harriet asked. Carrie laughed and then, upon realization that Harriet had absolutely no education and honestly didn’t know, said, “Oh... right. Babe Ruth was a baseball player in the 1920s. He’s really famous. He played for the Red Sox.”
“Oh. Okay... but why is he on this piece of paper?” Harriet responded.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out—was Steven a baseball fan?”
“Not particularly, maybe a little, I don’t know.” Harriet dug through memories of him, in her head, trying to remember if he liked baseball. She couldn’t think of a time when the subject really came up.
“Babe Ruth. What the hell?” Carrie was visibly frustrated.
“I’ll find out more information on him tonight—I just learned how to use Wikipedia.” Harriet was quite proud of herself on this matter. She hadn’t seen a computer in her life before Steven showed her one. She actually hadn’t seen a lot of things—the last time she was out, living in the world was in 1971—just before she was taken away to the mental institution.

Later that night, Harriet sat in front of the computer, determined and desperate to find out more about Babe Ruth.

Babe Ruth - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Babe_Ruth
George Herman Ruth, Jr. (February 6, 1995 – August 16. 1948), best known as “ Babe”
Ruth and nicknamed “the Bambino” and “the Sultan of Swat”, was an …
Early years - Major League career - Personal life - Legacy

Harriet clicked the first search result.

She skimmed through the entire article, looking for anything special—clues, hints, secret messages, anything. She read it through multiple times, before coming to the conclusion that Steven had done nothing. She pounded her head against the desk. She leaned back, stretching her arms and scooting her chair back. Hopeless.
She looked at the photo of Babe Ruth in the sidebar of Wikipedia. She studied that, too, until she finally decided that she would give up. It was then that something caught her eye. See, that always happens—just when you give up and declare yourself hopeless and miserable—that’s when you find something. She squinted at the bottom right corner of the picture. A minuscule “#6” was scratched there, in permanent marker. Someone had taken a Sharpie and numbered the photograph #6. She looked closer. Yes! Was that the clue?
This was it! Steven had led her to this page to find that! Right?

But why? What was the significance of a little tiny “#6” in the bottom corner of a photograph of a random famous baseball star? And who put it there? Steven couldn’t have done it. Could he have?
She clicked the photo. It took her to a page with information of the photo.
Full resolution‎ (2,623 × 3,456 pixels, file size: 5.2 MB, MIME type: image/jpeg)
Description
Babe Ruth, full-length portrait, standing, facing slightly right, in baseball uniform, holding baseball bat. Facsimile signature on image: "Yours truly "Babe" Ruth."
Date
23 July 1920, registered as part of a series of 8 photographs of Ruth under J242488–J242491 on the 3 August 1920[1]
Source
*
This image is available from the United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs division under the digital ID cph.3g07246.
This tag does not indicate the copyright status of the attached work. A normal copyright tag is still required. See Commons:Licensing for more information.
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Author
Irwin, La Broad, & Pudlin.
Other versions
Restored version of File:Babe Ruth unrestored.jpg. Rotated and cropped. Dirt and other artifacts removed. Selective unsharp mask. Levels adjusted and color balanced.



“23 July 1920, registered as part of a series of 8 photographs of Ruth under J242488–J242491 on the 3 August 1920.” Great. Steven didn’t write it. Thanks, Steven.
And just like that, all of Harriet’s hope flooded out of her body. She went limp, and fell asleep.

Part IX: The Hole Returns

Harriet called Carrie the next morning.
“Hello?” Carrie’s voice was scratchy and weak, but not like she had just woken up. More like she hadn’t slept in days.
“Yeah... I found something. Whether or not it will be helpful or not is what I’m wondering.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“You know how I was gonna look up who Babe Ruth was?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“Okay. I did. And I found something on the little picture of him in the corner.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. But Steven didn’t put it there. It was numbered in 1920.”
“Oh. So why are you calling me?”
Harriet chuckled awkwardly.
“I don’t know. I thought it might be important.”
The was a sudden mood change that surprised Harriet.
“Well, it wasn’t.” Carrie snapped.
Harriet frowned. What?
“Okay...”
There was a long pause.
“Harriet, I’ll... I’ll just... see you......later.” Harriet could hear the regret in her friends voice. But why? Suddenly feeling a mood swing take plunge, she hung up the phone slowly. She shot a glimpse at her clock. 9:15. Harriet sighed and took a shower.
After her graphic design class, she decided to go shopping. She had been earning money online for web design for quite sometime now, and her income had increased greatly; giving her a very good position as a fashion shopper. After shopping greedily, she continued her Saturday ritual of getting cinnamon coffee. All throughout the day, she thought—not of Steven, but about his disappearance. She had somehow gotten over the loss of her recently-gained boyfriend. Maybe meeting Carrie had healed the bloody hole he had left. And so she thought of Carrie... until she remembered the stress in her voice. And that might have been where the hole began. The whole that slowly sucked up what was left of Harriet’s sanity. The recurring hole. The same hole that was there during her childhood, and closed up a bit when Steven rescued her. But now, it was back. It had returned. A black vacuum hole, in her life, her world, her personality. And when that whole had destroyed every last morsel of Harriet, what would be left would be just a shell. Just a brainless, emotionless, completely insane Harriet would remain.
Harriet worried. And asked. The hole in her already-fragile mind didn’t just take away, it also left marks. Marks that bothered her. Question marks. She had so many questions, so many endless questions, and that upset her so much. All these unanswered questions frustrated her, whirled around her, intruded on her day. Where was Steven? Was he still alive? How could she find out? How could she find him? What was up with Carrie? What was happening to her? Why did she sound angry? Where would Harriet’s life go? What could she do? Would her friendship continue with Carrie?
And so... for the first time in Harriet’s entire life, she began to question her sanity. Was she still sane, like she always had been? Or had the loss of Steven caused her to lose her mind? These questions started to receive answers around May 14, 2011, when Harriet had gotten a phone call.

Part X: The Search Resumes

“EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!” Harriet could practically see Carrie cheering into the phone, jumping up and down. Harriet was just as excited. It had been 2½ months since their coffee shop meeting, and Carrie hadn’t called her since. When Harriet had attempted to call her, she had gotten no response. So it was a pretty big deal when Carrie called her.
“What, WHAT?!?!?” Harriet chattered, excitedly.
“I know exactly where Steven is.” Carrie answered.
And Harriet almost fainted; in fact, she dropped the phone.
“Tell me where he is,” Harriet’s voice came out more demanding than she wanted, and it surprised Harriet.
“University of Southern California.” Carrie responded.
“...”
“...”
“What?”
“Yeah, I know, it’s weird.”
“The one in Los Angeles?”
“That’s the one.”
“Weird. Okay.”
“Let’s go get him.”
“YOU BET!!” Harriet shrieked and slammed down the phone. 20 hours, much grocery shopping, planning, and map-printings later, Harriet and Carrie were on 1-5, going south at 65 miles per hour.
Part XI: The Road Trip

Neither Carrie nor Harriet could drive very well, and Harriet, being a crimanally insane, anxiety-ridden, 53-year-old, with the education of a 13 year old, woman, having been freed from institutionalization a little less than 3 months ago, was not prepared for the highway. Well, actually, she was less than “not prepared.” She was terrified. And she had underestimated just how scary the highway really was. Sitting shotgun, her eyes fixed on the ever-so-slightly moving steering wheel in Carrie’s hands, she clutched on to her seat like it was her small flotation device in a sea of lava. Every so often she would let out a worried whine or distressed squeal, and Carrie would laugh a little and pat Harriet on the leg.
After 3 hours, the ceaseless bleak landscape of road that extended on and on began to quiver between the lines of beautiful and depressing. Harriet enjoyed the empty, infinite desert. It made her feel free. She had never really had the chance to become free. Carrie and Harriet watched the sky change from blue, to navy, to a deep crimson, and then the sun sank low in the sky, and hung there, beaming down on the two women. It slowly descended into a parting of two mountains, dipping through the occasional branch or two of cactus, until finally it reached the silhouetted, vast sand, with little specks of sand and clumps of dirt wafting around in the gentle breeze. Harriet rolled down the window, just as the last glimpse of the spring sun left Harriet’s view.
“Stunning,” Harriet said.
“What? Oh, yeah.” Carrie agreed.
“I’m going to bed.” Harriet decided.
“NOOO, you’re not.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re going to drive.”
“Funny,” Harriet mocked.
“I’m serious,”
“I don’t know how!”
Carrie smiled.
“Why don’t you give it a try?” she grinned. She stopped the car, and beckoned Harriet to the driver’s seat. Harriet sighed and laughed, “I honestly don’t know how,” to which Carrie said, “We’re alone on the interstate. Nothing to crash into. You’ll get the hang of it.”
“Ugh. Alright.” Harriet was nervous, but she knew what she would do. She would go slowly, laugh, give up, and go to sleep. She liked to think of it as more of a joking, tedious fun task, rather than a challenge. She gripped the steering wheel and located the gas petal with her foot. She tapped on it lightly, expecting nothing, but was startled when the entire vehicle jerked forward. Harriet’s insides lurched, and Harriet yelped, “THAT’S QUITE ENOUGH FOR ONE NIGHT.”
Carrie burst out laughing and said, “Alright, you win. Get some sleep.” And Harriet did.

Part XII: The Trip Continues

Harriet woke up to possibly the all-time scariest thing you could ever wake up to: your car heading towards a cliff. She felt her insides tumbling around inside her, and realized in deep horror that Carrie was not in the car.
“CARRIE!!!!!” she screamed, frantic. She lunged forward into the driver’s seat and grasped the steering wheel, panicking and jerking it around. She found that when she pulled her hands away, a thick red ooze was left on the steering wheel. The car swerved back and forth, out of control, as it grew closer and closer to the edge of land. A sharp, burning sensation was occurring in the bottoms of her hands, and the wine-colored, syrupy substance started to show clumps of what looked like... tendons. She realized in fear-stricken shock that the palms of her hands were missing. Or, worse yet, they were still their—but stuck to the steering wheel. A sticky, thinning soggy layer of skin was glued to the steering wheel, drenched in blood from her hands. She was bleeding profusely. She started bawling in pain and horror, just as the car reached the end of the cliff. This was how it ended. Fantastic. Tears flooded out of her eyes, and she shut them tight, ready for the impact. She squeezed what was left of her hands in a fist, ignoring the indescribable pain and dripping blood. She heard the sickening squish sound of the raw tendons and bones scrap together, and a small amount of vomit was pushed up into her tender throat. She curled up into a ball, preparing for death. And then...

Screaming. Yelling. Shouting. But not Harriet’s. Carrie’s. Harriet opened her eyes to find herself curled up in a ball in the trunk, with Carrie standing over her yelling. Harriet lifted up her hand and touched her forehead, glazed with cold sweat from her nightmare. She left out a breath of relief. Now, back to Carrie.
“YOU UGLY, WORTHLESS, PIECE OF CRAP! I CANNOT BELIEVE I HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS RIDICULOUSNESS! I AM ABSOLUTELY TIRED OF IT, YOU BUMBLING IDIOT! WHY SHOULD I FREAKING SPEND MY TIME WITH A MENTAL PATIENT, FINDING HER LONG LOST BOYFRIEND IN SOME STUPID COLLEGE, WHEN I COULD BE DOING WHAT I WANT TO DO? YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE JERK! HAVE YOU EVER THOUGHT THAT MAYBE ONCE, WHEN YOU WERE WHINING ABOUT YOUR BOYFRIEND AND ALL OF YOUR TROUBLES ABOUT BEING A CRIMINALLY INSANE WOMAN, THAT I, FOR ONCE HAD A PROBLEM? MAYBE SOMEONE BROKE UP WITH ME, HUH? EVER THOUGHT OF THAT?!?!?!?”
There was a deafening silence in which Harriet contemplated all that Carrie just said.
“I’m... I’m sorry,” Harriet said in a small, innocent voice.
And Harriet watched in absolute terror and disbelief as Carrie’s face morphed into something so repulsive and disturbing, Harriet screamed once again. Carrie, now a deformed creature, zoomed at Harriet and grabbed her by the neck.

Harriet’s eyes shot open. She looked at the car ceiling, which was coated in sunlight, like cream cheese spread on a bagel. She sat up. Carrie’s dark, smooth ponytail bobbed up and down slightly as she drove, as the car jumped every time they hit a bump. Harriet let out a long, deep breath she didn’t even realize she had been holding. Carrie glanced backwards at Harriet. Her face seemed pretty normal.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” Carrie smiled.
“I just had a terrifying nightmare,” Harriet remarked. “It was one of those ones where you think you’ve woken up, but you still haven’t, and then something really terrible and scary happens.”
“Ooh, I hate those,” Carrie said. “Well, you’re awake now.”
“Oh really? Prove it.”
Carrie leaned over and pinched Harriet, on the leg, enough to hurt a little, but not enough to get Harriet mad. They both giggled.
“We almost there yet?”
“You bet,” Carrie replied.
“Awesome.”

Part XIII: Fall of the Search

Carrie and Harriet arrived in Los Angeles from Seattle later that morning. Google Maps said that it would take 18 hours, and it was practically correct! They pulled up in an alley, right near the University of Southern California. Without speaking, they stared at each other, smiled in unison, and flung open the car doors. They strutted down the street, and they were quite a peculiar sight. A 20-year-old woman in great shape, bouncing up and down, next to an equally ecstatic 53-year-old, who, at the moment, looked joyful, but had a pained-looking face. They swung their arms and hummed, like 2 little girls, feeling the warm air on their faces. It was quite a nice change of weather. In Seattle, where Harriet and Carrie had grown up and lived, it didn’t usually get warm and sunny until June. Down in LA, it was June every day of the year. Walking down the street, things of all kinds caught Harriet’s attention. Trash, garbage, stores, mail, people, buildings, everything.
They located the actual university, the main building, and casually walked up the steps. At the desk, in the main office, an old woman sat there, maybe 70 or 80 years old. She smiled at the two as they walked through the door. Harriet walked right up to the woman and said “Have you heard of a St—” but was interrupted by Carrie, pulling Harriet by the arm, away from the desk.
“You can’t let her know we’re here for him. She might not know about the capturing, and even if she did, she would tell us,” Carrie whispered.
“That’s right. Sorry. Okay.”
They both straightened up and calmly walked over to the receptionist’s desk.
“Where is the library building?” Harriet asked.
“Um, across the street,” the receptionist said. She had a high, nasal voice, one that could get very annoying after a while.
“Thank you so much,” Carrie said, cheerfully.
“My pleasure.”
And they left.

6 hours later, they had finally searched every single building on campus. They were out of breath. 27 trips, back and forth from and to the receptionist, trying to find out where the “study building” was and the “eating place building” was and the “place where the college kids sleep” was and all the other places, was incredibly tiring. They were out of breath and their legs hurt.
“Remind me.” moaned Harriet. “How again did you know Steven was here?”
“Uh, it’s kind of a long story,” Carrie answered, sheepishly.
“Yeah, well.”
“Look, I’m really sorry.”
“Ugh, that’s okay. I’m just—just really disappointed that Steven’s not here.” But Harriet was more than disappointed. She was devastated. She missed Steven more than ever now. And the hole kept growing wider and wider. Its radius kept increasing and increasing. And Harriet was mortified.

Part XIV: Regain of the Search

4 months passed until Harriet finally started regaining her hope. Unfortunately, these past few months had been the longest months of her life. Longer than anything she had ever experienced—and Harriet knew a thing or two about bleakness. She earned money; not oodles and oodles, but enough to keep her alive and allow her to shop a little. She drank loads of cinnamon coffee, not because she liked it anymore—she was sick of it—but because it reminded her of Steven, and just the knowledge that she was tasting something he liked to taste was good enough for her. She had not contacted Carrie at all—occasionally they would make a plan would it would never really happen. And that was her life. Until she was motivated to do something about her missing lover and she surfed the internet.
Harriet’s internet-surfing skills had come from practice. Loads and loads of practice. She had so much free time on her hands. A little too much. And that’s what allowed her to find Steven.