Preface
Lily had never believed in fate before. She didn’t think of Karma, she had no opinion on religion. She lived in the real world; there were no fantasies she dreamed of, no books she longed to escape into. She didn’t want for fame, or super-powers or unrealistic and unattainable qualities.
But she believed in fate now. Was it fate that had delivered her to this path of life? She wasn’t sure. If it wasn’t fate it was Karma. Or God. Or whoever was in control of the pathetic humans who thought they ruled. Humans didn’t rule. Lily knew. Humans would never give her this… this curse. The images painted behind her eyelids, the ones that haunted her, followed her as, for the second time in her life, she ran blinded through streets and alleys, searching for nothing, no-one, because, like before, no-one had lived to guide her, to help her. Not anymore.
The fire burned.
2. Fire and Dark
I woke. It was night time still, and my back was thick with a cold sweat, plastering my pyjama top to my shoulder blades. The fan stood whirling in my room, the curtains flapped gently with the breeze that circulated, but waves of heat still purged my body.
It was too hot. Much too hot. Too late to take a bath? Yes. I could at least wash my face. I pulled off my sticky top and threw it vaguely in the direction of my linen basket. There was a muffled thump as it missed my target and hit the floor. I needed to practise that. The duvet on my bed felt thick and smothering, so I struggled my way out and picked through the mess strewn about on my floor, feeling through the dark.
I hit the wall with my finger tips and jammed the light switch up. For a moment I was blinded. My vision swayed and blurred. Head rush. I sat down on the floor, gently feeling my way. The room was boiling, steamy almost. I pulled the electric fan towards me by the thick, clear plastic cable that attached it to the wall. But the plastic burned with electricity, and then the fan stopped altogether, just as the lights went out. Confusing…
Power cut? Fuse blown? Just my luck really. If it wasn’t the lights going off in the middle of the most humid night I could remember, there was always something that was going to trip me up.
After a few tries I managed to open the door to my room and stepped out into the corridor. I could see more clearly, due to a strange eerie light that made me think of UFOs and aliens almost immediately. I crept down the hallway, checking in each room as I went. Mark, Phoebe and Justin were still motionless in their sleep.
Mark and Phoebe weren’t my real parents of course: I had been adopted since I was five. Still, had no earlier memories than those of Phoebe and Mark telling me to call them mommy and daddy. They were from Fremont, CA.
Neither was Justin my real brother, he was Phoebe’s son, though not Mark’s. We truly were a weird kind of family but honestly, they were all I could have ever wished for. I loved them just as much as I would’ve if they were my real family. So it was nice to see them safe and not abducted by aliens. I shivered, then laughed at my wild imagination. Like I needed more drama in my life.
The hallway wasn’t long.
The strange light flickered up the stairs as I descended, and I could see definition in the shadows now, they were like long dragons tongues, licking the raspberry coloured paint off of the walls. The inferno was hotter now, and as I rounded the corner I saw, as a jolt of fear shot straight to my heart, why.
Fire. Fire. Fire! Unbearable heat and flames slavering up and down the furniture, caressing the table, the chairs, the lattice blinds on the charred French doors. Consuming everything it could. The smoke burned in my mouth. I coughed, choking under the soot and ash.
Round the corner, up the stairs, down the corridor, open the door. It was always my brother who I would go to first. Always Justin.
“Justin! Justin!” I screamed at him, shaking him awake, tears streaming down my cheeks. He stretched and sat up.
“Lily? What is it? What’s -” he noticed my state, “Lily what is it? What’s happened?” He was alert now, rising out of bed, checking me, making sure I was ok.
I was still shrieking, “Fire! Justin, go! Move, now, fire, go!” Stringing together lines of incoherent words, shaking his shoulders, torn between the twin desires to save my family and save myself. They were both just as powerful as each other, and I was so, so, terribly ashamed of it, but too scared to acknowledge anything but fear.
Justin jumped; he took a double take, and then launched himself into action, shoving me headfirst through the door. I ran into the next bedroom, sobs wracking my body, convulsing in terrible lurching movements. Justin bounded in ahead of me, waking first his mother, and then his step-father. I admired his collectedness, he was brave and calm, completely in control of the situation.
Mark was awake now. He shouted at us to get ahead, to go out, as he pulled Phoebe from the depths of sleep she was in.
We ran, Justin holding my hands tight. He wrenched the door of the fire escape open, thanking god aloud that we lived in a block of flats, through streams of profanities. He was letting go of my hand to open the outside door, because in his other fist he clutched tightly the house phone. He shoved me outside, and behind me I heard movements that indicated Mark, Phoebe and Justin following. I raced down the black rail and out onto the concrete street.
“Wake everyone!” ordered Mark, “knock on doors, windows, ring bells, slam post-boxes! Move, move!” Then he turned to Phoebe, who he was still supporting. She appeared to have inhaled more smoke than the rest of us; she was coughing and screaming, her voice chocked by her own spit. The love in his eyes looked as though it could burst from him. I had never before understood why Justin was so content with, not content with, but proud of his step-father, until I saw now the utter and complete devotion Mark had for Phoebe.
Justin was on the phone, knocking on doors as he spoke.
“Foxcombe Avenue, the name’s Justin Abbingdon, we need fire brigade. We live in a terraced street. Foxcombe Avenue, yes, it’s in Fairfield.”
People were emerging from their houses now, sleepy eyed mothers dragging children, fathers ordering people around, moving from house to house. The street had become crowded in a matter of seconds and there was no need for me and Justin to bang on doors.
Then the phone slipped from his hand. His terrible face fell as though he remembered something worse than the fire. And then I couldn’t see him.
All over the street there were signs of devastation. But I didn’t see the fire. I didn’t feel the corpses. I didn’t breathe the smoke ridden air. All I was aware of was the view of Justin that I could suddenly see now.
He was with Mark, and Mark seemed to be holding him back, clutching at his hand, restraining him, but hindered by Phoebe who he was still supporting around the waist. I could see what was happening; Justin was straining to get back to the house. Why? Why? Justin! Justin!
My thoughts turned to shouts; I raced towards them just as Mark released Justin’s hand. But before I could follow Justin, I was distracted by the look on Marks face.
He was staring at Phoebe’s body, crumpled in his other arm. He seemed to be shouting something, screaming something, wailing something, but I couldn’t hear. Phoebe’s eyes stared upwards, her expression was blank. Her mouth filled with ash and black soot.
Now it was Mark’s turn to be wracked with sobs, his head flicked from his wife to his son, wife to son, wife to son, and then he laid his wife down on the ground and flew after Justin.
But Justin had reached the house, he hadn’t seen Phoebe fail. He was through the door. But I was close behind.
“Justin? Justin, what are you doing?” I screamed, clutching for him. He materialised in front of me.
“The letter box,” he seemed to be saying, “The letterbox.” He pressed something into my hand, “I’m behind you, run, Lily, run!”
That was when we saw Mark pass us; he hadn’t seen we were safe, all he thought he knew was that his wife was dead out there and that we were perished in here. He threw himself into the flames.
I had never seen a body burn before. His eyes turned white. His limbs convulsed. I tugged Justin’s arm, pulling him. I was half out of the door and Justin was still breathing in great broken breaths of smoke.
He shoved me out of the door, coughing and with black tears streaming down his face, but I wasn’t letting him stay and burn. I dragged him with me, only to see as he collapsed into the arms of a fireman on the street outside, his eyes rolling, limbs convulsing, twitching in terror.
“Justin!” I screamed, clutching at him, willing him to be ok, to stay with me, the last person I had, “Don’t go Justin! No!” His eyes were still, facing blankly upwards as Phoebe’s had been.
There was no-one left. Nothing I had to do, no-one I had to save. I melted into the darkness, heat burning through me still, though this was no fire. I was wracked with guilt, shame, fear, and anger. Terrible anger. Tears streaked down my face, as I ran, blinded through streets and alleys, searching for nothing, no-one, because no-one had lived to guide me, to help me. Not anymore.
