Page 96 of Inferno
Preliminary investigations suggest a gas leak was to blame for the destruction, setting off a fire which spreadrapidly through the rest of the building. Police have yet to determine an official cause for the explosion, and investigations are ongoing. They are also looking to talk to Jack Gracewell, acting manager of the diner, who has been not been contactable since the incident.
Located on the corner of Foster and Oak in downtown Cedar Hill, Gracewell’s has been a favourite family establishment for over fifteen years.
Celine Gracewell, 43, a local dressmaker and part-owner of the establishment, was standing close to the gas leak at the time of the blast, and lost her life on impact, it has been reported. Since the explosion, neighbours and friends have been leaving tributes at the site. As city workers and electric utility experts tore through the rubble this morning, many gathered in the street to pay their respects.
Ursula Nguyen, assistant manager at the diner for ten years, was inconsolable as she laid her wreath among the others. Of Celine Gracewell, she said, ‘She was a wonderful person. Always smiling, always happy. It’s such a loss for the whole neighborhood. I’m devastated for her daughter.’
Rita Bailey, long-time resident of Cedar Hill, was visibly stunned as she visited the site to see the destruction, commenting, ‘I’m reeling. How could anyone have seen this coming? This is such a tragic thing to happen.’
Details of Celine Gracewell’s memorial service have not been released. It is not known whether the diner will be rebuilt.
PART V
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINEDARKNESS
They told me I was in shock.
I didn’t feel the shock. There was just emptiness, like someone had tipped me over and rattled me until everything fell out. My arms were red, the skin behind my wrists rising in angry blisters towards my elbows. I couldn’t feel it. I studied the white gauze as it encircled my flesh, pressing against the angry wound. A nurse cut the ends of my singed hair. They put salve on my ears. I hadn’t noticed they were burnt. They gave me tablets and I took them.
When they talked to me, their tones dipped, and I watched chapped lips moving around exaggerated syllables.Is there someone we can call?Brows creased.Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Sophie?A gentle hand laid on top of mine.Do you have someone you can stay with?
A policewoman escorted me to my house. I don’t remember what time it was when I shut the door behind me. I trudged upstairs, my brain still thick with fog. I sat beneath the showerhead, feeling cold beads sprinkle away the smoke that clung to my skin. My body was blotched with red. The shampoo lathered away the rancid scent of rotting and I emerged, naked and zombie-like, into an empty house without understanding why it was empty.
As morning dawned, grief reached its fingers inside my head and plucked me from my deadened sleep. Understanding hit me like a slash of sunlight through my curtains and I sprang into wakefulness, coughing black sludge across my pillow.
Screams ripped from my chest as the pain soared, every memory colliding at once until she was everywhere, her face etched behind my eyelids when I blinked.
I collapsed on to the floor, curling my arms tight around my knees until I was as small as I could make myself. Tears pooled inside me, blooming across my chest, but I couldn’t get them out. I couldn’t weep or cry and the tears bled inside me, icy and unshed.
I slept alone. I missed the soft padding of my mother’s slippers in the hallway, the appearance of her face at my doorway wishing me goodnight. The darkness was a gift, but the silence that came with it was crushing.
CHAPTER FORTYTHE PHONE CALL
The ceiling blurred in and out of focus. I rolled out of bed and stood in front of my wardrobe. The grief resurfaced with sharp urgency, jabbing at my sides. I sank to the ground, anchoring myself against the carpet, and waited for the tears that never came. Instead they puffed up inside my chest, pushing outwards like a thousand tiny hands.
There were voices downstairs. It was late and the sun was starting to dip. It took me a minute to recall what day it was – Saturday. I used to love Saturdays. Pots were clanging in the kitchen. Mrs Bailey was making dinner again. She wasn’t a good cook but she had come by every day since it had happened. She had rallied, and I felt bad for judging her so harshly in the past. Millie was downstairs. She had stuck by me every day and even though I could find little to say to her– to anyone – the familiarity of her accent wafting through the house brought me some comfort in the darkest moments.
I scrolled through my phone. They had found it in the parking lot after that night. They said it got separated from me in the blast – the technology somehow miraculously surviving intact – but I knew better. He had left it there for me.Don’t think about him.
I had four missed calls from an unknown number. I clicked back into the home screen. My mother and I stared back at me, flashing identical cheesy smiles, our heads touching against each other so that our hair blended into one golden halo.
The pressure on my chest tightened. I stowed my phone away and scrambled back into bed. There was no point in getting up when the day was already disappearing. I turned on to my side and stared unblinkingly at the wall. Flames started to creep into my mind, the searing hotness pulsing through my bandaged arms. I blinked until my head pounded from the effort and the flames melted away.
The house phone was ringing downstairs. A fit of coughing seized me, and I spluttered into my pillow, trying to stifle it. I came away from the fabric feeling woozy. The pressure intensified, closing around my chest until my lungs felt like they were being crushed into small papery balls. I shrivelled up, pulling my knees into my chest and bowing my head against them.
‘Are you asleep?’ Millie was at my door. I raised my head and blinked her into focus. Her hair was piled on her head, her face drawn tight with exhaustion.
‘I’m awake.’
She edged inside, the phone clutched in her hand. ‘It’s your dad again…’
‘No.’
She perched against my bedside table. ‘Soph, you need to talk to him.’
I shook my head. My voice was unsteady. ‘I can’t, Mil.’
Her face crumpled, the concern turning to anguish. ‘You need each other right now, Soph. You can’t go through this alone. You shouldn’t have to.’
