Page 66 of Neighbor from Hell
Forty-Five
LAUREN
I’m in Hugh’s sports car, that sleek yellow beast that hums with power, its leather seats cool against my thighs as we tear through the forest, the towering pines blurring into a green haze on either side. The speed is reckless, the needle flirting with ninety, then one hundred, then one hundred and fifty, two hundred, the engine roaring like a living thing, but with Hugh behind the wheel, his hands steady, his jaw set, I feel safe, untouchable, like nothing in the world could catch us.
The windows are down, the wind whipping my hair back, my hair dancing wildly, and I throw my arms out, palms open, catching the rush of air, squealing with a joy so sharp it bubbles up from my chest. Unstoppable. We are unstoppable.
“Go faster,” I urge.
I’m alive, electric, and he’s grinning, his sunglasses glinting in the dappled sunlight, his smile, all confidence and cheek, making my heart stutter. I lean forward impulsively and press a kiss to his cheek, his skin warm, rough with stubble. He turns,his gray eyes locking on mine, sparkling with mischief. Our lips meet, quick, heated, a spark that ignites something deeper. It is then that something slams into us.
A horrific, gut-wrenching jolt rips through the frame of the little yellow car, a bone-deep shock that throws me forward, my body straining against the seatbelt, my breath stolen. The metal chassis shrieks, a tortured wail of steel twisting, buckling under some unseen force, while the windshield and windows explode inward, glass fracturing into a thousand jagged shards that glitter like cruel stars.
But everything seems to be happening in slow motion, as the shards slice the air, grazing my cheek with a sting I barely register. My neck whips back, a violent snap that sends a searing, white-hot pain erupting from my spine. It radiates through my skull, my vision sparking as if lightning’s struck inside me.
We’re going to die, we’re both going to die.
The world collapses into chaos, the car flipping, rolling, each turn a sickening lurch that slams my body against the seat. Asphalt and sky blur together, a dizzying swirl of gray road and pale blue, trees and clouds smearing into a nauseating kaleidoscope, spinning, tumbling, until I can’t tell up from down, only the terror, and the deafening cacophony of destruction swallowing us whole.
The car lands, a bone-rattling thud, and suddenly I’m choking, my lungs burning, the air thick with acrid smoke, oil, and something metallic—blood, everywhere, pooling on the dashboard, streaking the cracked windshield. I turn, my vision swimming, and see Hugh, his body slumped. I turn him over. Blood trickles from his temple, matting his hair, but his gray eyes are open, unblinking and staring blankly.
He’s gone. He’s dead.
Panic claws my chest, raw, suffocating. I begin to scream the terrible shock and sorrow.
“Hugh! Hugh!” But the smoke chokes me, searing my throat, my voice a ragged gasp. My hands shake as I reach for him, my fingers brushing his still arm, cold, limp. I’m crying, tears streaming, mixing with the soot on my face, and I’m choking, coughing, my lungs screaming for air, my body trembling, my mind spiraling. But in that last, desperate moment, before the darkness closes in, a hand grips my shoulder, shaking me hard.
Urgent.
I jolt awake, my eyes snapping open, my cheeks wet, my body shaking, and my skin hot and slick with sweat. The room is stifling, the air thick, but I’m in my bed, in my cottage. The quilt is twisted around me. To my shock and confusion, Hugh is alive. His eyes are wide with fear, and his face is pale with horror, but he is alive. Feeling his hands on my shoulders and seeing him alive makes relief crash over me, so fiercely that I can’t breathe.
“Oh my God, Hugh,” I sob, throwing my arms around him. I hug him tight, and bury my face in his chest, his shirt damp, his heartbeat strong, alive, grounding me. “You’re okay,” I cry, my voice breaking, my fingers clutching him, needing to feel him, to know he’s alive.
“Quickly,” he says, his voice low, urgent. “We have to leave, now.”
His hands are firm, pulling me up. I’m confused, my mind still tangled in the dream’s terror, but I let him drag me out of bed, my bare feet hitting the floor, my nightgown clinging to my skin. What’s going on? There’s smoke everywhere. I begin to cough. We stumble to the top of the staircase, and then I see it—the downstairs is a sea of flames, orange and red, licking up the walls, devouring the new pink sofa, the air shimmering with heat, crackling with the roar of fire. My heart stops, my dream’s horror bleeding into reality, and I freeze, my hand gripping Hugh’s arm, my breath shallow, because we’re trapped, because we’re going to die, just like I saw.
“What - how?”
He feels my panic, and his eyes meet mine. “It’ll be fine, I’ve got you.” His voice is steady, a lifeline.
He pulls me back into the bedroom, and grabbing the patchwork quilt from the bed, he drapes it over us. Then he wraps his arm around me, tight, protective.
“We’ll go as one and only as fast as you can manage, okay?”
I nod and we move together down the stairs, the heat searing, the smoke stinging my eyes, my lungs burning as I choke back the coughs. His arm is a steel band, guiding me, his body shielding mine, and we run, the flames roaring, the wood creaking, the air so hot it feels like my skin will blister. We burst outside, the cool night air a shock. Hugh throws off the quilt, its edges smoldering, partially aflame, but we’re out.
We’re alive.
We collapse on the lawn, the grass damp under my legs, and he’s on me, his hands frantic, checking my arms, my face, his voice urgent.
“Are you okay? Lauren, are you okay?” His eyes search mine, wide, desperate.
I nod, my voice trembling, “I’m fine, I’m fine,” but I’m not, not really.
I check him too, my hands shaking as I touch his chest, his arms, searching for burns, for blood, but he’s whole, unharmed. Then I start sobbing, the relief and terror crashing together. I hug him, my arms tight around his neck, my face pressed into his shoulder, and I can’t stop crying, my body shaking, my eyes fixed on the cottage, flames pouring from the windows, the roof glowing, my home, my new start burning to ash.
But nothing matters except that we are both alive.
