Page 15 of Fire Fight

I shove the bottle into my pocket with the other treasures, then stride to the window, slipping out the way I came in,escaping to the familiar comfort of my car. A few minutes later, I park near the public jetty. Climbing into the back bench seat, I take a lighter from my pocket.

The flame calms me. My eyes focus on the bright point, absorbing the colours from blue through the cleanest white to sunshine yellow tinged at the very edges with red.

I spin the wheel, light the flame, close the lid, repeat. When I’ve regrouped, I return it to my pocket and lie back, eyes closed.

Along with the headache, another image thumps in my mind, edges so sharp it makes me bleed.

My mother’s body, curled on its side, the essence that made ither,gone forever.

And clutched tightly in her stiffening fingers, a pill bottle with the sticky label removed. A label I found near the top of the trash.

The same name.

The same prescription.

The same girl behind it all.

A girl I will torment until her eyes are as dead as my mother.

CHAPTER FIVE

CADENCE

The scentof fresh coffee tempts me awake on Sunday morning. I roll over, gradually becoming aware I’m freezing. During the night, I pushed all the bedclothes down to my feet.

I haul them to my chin, snuggling inside their cocoon of warmth for a few minutes longer while my grogginess slowly dissipates.

A pinch of disappointment sneaks into the wonder of my new living arrangements. Before arriving here, I told myself I wouldn’t use the pills. Even if the flashbacks last night were rough, I’m both ashamed and alarmed at my growing dependence.

Monday night, I promise anew. Tonight, I absolutely need to get some rest with the prospect of school looming. But tomorrow, the worst will be over and, given the expense of my new school, there’s a big possibility it won’t be much of a ‘worst’ at all.

The few remaining tablets can be in case of emergency only.

Once they’re gone, I refuse to get hold of more.

After a few minutes scrolling on my phone, I drag myself out of bed and head for the shower, turning on the two rows of jets for my back—a delight I mastered the control of yesterday. I drag my sleep shirt over my head… and freeze.

Strange marks decorate the length of my torso. Black ink with smudged lines.

I touch the top of the design with trembling fingers, shock slowing my brain until I’m stupid. It’s not till I face the mirror I understand they’re words.

Even with the reflection backwards, it’s easy to read the block capitals.

CAUTION. FLAMMABLE.

Bile surges in my throat and I lean over the basin, retching, producing nothing but burning spit in my mouth.

I stagger back to my bedroom, the rush of blood in my ears drowning out every other noise. My chest is heavy, breathing short and shallow as my dull gaze bounces in all directions.

Nothing appears disturbed. The window is down and as Arnold said yesterday, an alarm would have sounded if someone came in that way.

The wardrobe.

I retreat to the bathroom to grab a curling iron, the first thing that resembles a weapon.

A surge of adrenaline gets me to the double doors, then I pause, choking as my throat closes. I should go downstairs and get help. Not face a potential attacker on my own.

But what would I tell them? Someone broke in and wrote on my chest. I stare down at the gaping sides of my shirt, bunching it closed.

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