Page 31 of Shadows in Bloom

“JUSTICE!” My name on his lips is a chilling scream that slices through the darkness.

Terror grips me and my throat and lungs burn as I struggle to navigate my way through the acrid smoke. To call for him would mean relative safety, to stay here would mean certain death. While death seems like the better option, there’s a tiny voice in the back of my mind reminding me that it’s time. You knew he’d come back. He always comes back.

Panic takes over and my mind spirals, forcing me back to the brutality of my childhood.

Flames licking at my skin.

The smell of burning flesh.

Horrific pain.

My screams, so raw and painful I could taste blood in my mouth.

As flames engulf my home, sparks and embers float in my blurred vision, tiny specks of orange light that dance and spin and swirl. I crawl on my hands and knees, my clothed body drenched in sweat. My hair clings to my forehead. Sweat drips down my face and neck like slithering fingers trailing across my skin.

On the floor in front of me, the heavy, crystal vase that held the beautiful, flame-coloured orange and yellow orchids, is shattered. Broken glass is scattered across the tiles along with the wilted petals that for a fleeting moment remind me—I should have known better.

The orchids are an omen—a reminder that he is coming for me.

I was foolish to ignore it.

Dragging my gaze away from the dead orchids, I focus on the way out. If I can make it to the back door, I’ll be able to escape this nightmare. But my head is screaming, you’re going to die and my heart, beating erratically, feels as though it’s about to leap from my chest.

“Justice! Justice, where are you?” he shouts, his words laced with a panic that sounds so real it fuels my terror even further. What if he doesn’t save me this time? What if this is the time he watches me burn.

The thick, acrid smoke burns my throat and I splay my body on the tiles in a desperate attempt to stay as low as possible and find an ounce of fresh, clean oxygen. Every inhale tastes like death. Every exhale, a sharp, choking sob. Fear has taken over, and I hyperventilate, sucking in lungful after lungful of toxic smoke.

Flames billow and crackle as my home becomes an inferno. The smoke alarm blares. My heart pounds and tears spring to my eyes. Panic takes over and involuntary, wailing screams leave my lungs. In the back of my mind, I’m telling myself to remain quiet and calm, but logic is well and truly gone, and all that’s left is sheer, overwhelming terror.

In the distance, sirens wail. Just a few more minutes, and they’ll be here, they’ll save me.

Before he does.

Before he does.

Please find me before he does.

A voice in my head tells me it’s too late, though. Dizziness is beginning to take over. My eyes sting, and my throat is raw from screaming.

Strong hands wrap around my ankles, and my body, weak and exhausted, is dragged backwards across the tiled floor. A few seconds later, I’m hefted into familiar, strong arms.

He found me, and he’ll never let me go.

Salem and I are one.

In my life, there is no freedom. There is only Salem, and what Salem claims as his own. Thinking, wishing, dreaming about anything else, is futile, and only serves to tease me with slivers of hope where there are none.

“Oh, God, Justice.” Salem places me on the grassy front lawn as the fire trucks pull up to douse the flames. Searching for injuries, his hands pat me down.

“Help.” I choke, cough, and grab at my throat. Every breath is like breathing fire from the depths of my smoke-filled lungs.

Salem smooths his hand over my forehead, brushing my sweat damp hair back. “You’re okay, I got you out,” he says before he leans down close to my ear, whispering, “I’ve got you, my little firebird. I’ve got you.”

“HELP!” I scream and shake my head as I try to lift my arms and push him away. “No,” I croak out, “Don’t touch me.”

Ignoring me, he squeezes my hand before standing to rush over to the firefighters, shouting, screaming, begging them to do something.

Through gritty eyes, I watch as an ambulance pulls up. As soon as the paramedic is out of the ambulance, Salem grips his arm. He stutters, then twists his fingers together, a mimicry of nervousness he’s learned from observing his victims. His voice shakes, but that’s merely another ploy he uses to make himself appear vulnerable, afraid.

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