Page 91 of Our Little Monster
“Fuck,” Bastian cursed under his breath. I felt his hand wrap around my arm, fingers firm but gentle.
The heat of his touch seared through the fabric of my shirt, grounding me, reminding me of the here and now, not the nightmare of that night. Everything was drowned out by the roaring in my ears and the pounding of my heart.
My focus remained fixed on the man as rage swelled up within me.
“Please, wait here, love.” Bastian’s voice was a low command that allowed no room for arguing, but I was never one to listen. I looked to him now.
“Are you fucking kidding?” I exclaimed, but then I blinked, and in that imperceptible moment, Bastian moved with preternatural speed that always caught me off guard.
My heart raced. He was gone, Thorne and Nox at his heels, their presence disappearing like smoke swept away by the wind.
No one around us noticed. They were too fast to detect.
“Damn it,” I whispered, feeling the emptiness where they once stood. Frustration bubbled up inside me.
I squared my shoulders and rushed toward the bar, quickly moving behind it and then barreling through the swinging double doors to the kitchens. Stoves and fryers sat to my left, along with a large three-vat sink.
The diner’s usual clatter faded into a blur as I homed in on a groaning sound echoing from the back room to the left where the fridge and freezer were.
Rounding the corner with a haste that sent a nearby stack of menus flying, I stumbled into the room.
My eyes immediately found Mickey sprawled on the ground, her normally bright face twisted in discomfort. All the blood left my face.
“Mick, hey,” I called out, my voice laced with urgency as I dropped to my knees beside her. My fingers trembled as they brushed over her arms, her sides, seeking out wounds or bruises.
But it wasn’t the cool touch of her skin that caught my attention; it was the odd scent that suddenly filled my nostrils. A smell so peculiar and out of place that it made me pause.
Cooked cabbage. Why in the world would it smell like—
No. Sulfur.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, and my heart hammered against my ribcage.
I stood frozen as the unmistakable hiss of leaking gas filled the room. My gaze snapped to the ovens where the noise grew louder, a sinister whisper.
And then, as if summoned by my worst fears, I saw it—a flicker of orange light casting an ominous glow from the other side of the room. A zippo lighter, its flame dancing with a life of its own, sat innocently on the ground.
“Shit!” In one fluid motion, I unjammed the door, letting it slam shut just as the room beyond erupted into a fiery inferno. The sound was deafening, a monstrous roar that devoured everything in its path.
I lunged for the red fire alarm on the wall, my hands shaking as I yanked it down. The shrill alarm pierced through the diner.
Through the haze of my thoughts, I heard the screams—the panicked shouts of patrons scrambling for safety. God, please let them all make it out.
Smoke rushed in from under the door like a living thing, hungry and relentless. My shirt clung to my skin, every inch of me slick with sweat as I struggled for breath. My vision blurred with tears—not just from the smoke, but from fear too. I had to get Mickey out of here.
“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath, the word rough and choked out between coughs.
My head throbbed, each heartbeat banging against my skull with the insistence of a drum. Nausea twisted my insides into knots. The smell of sulfur still lingered.
I needed to get out, to escape this hell that had been a haven only mere moments ago. But more than that, I needed to get Mickey to safety.
My shaking hands hovered over the scorching metal handle of the door, hesitant. Then, survival instincts overrode my brain.
I looked down and saw Mickey’s jacket tied around her waist. I hastily untied it and wrapped it around my hand, then wrenched the door open and braced myself against the surge of heat.
With lungs screaming and eyes stinging, I bent down to Mickey. Her body was limp, a deadweight against my own, but I couldn’t let that slow me down.
“Come on, Mick,” I whispered through gritted teeth, the words lost in the roar of the flames.
