The Fireproof Girl

by Loretta Lost

  And then I really wake up. I am hyperventilating as I turn to the side and see Zack lying there, hugging a machine gun like a teddy bear. His eyes are wide open in surprise at the sound.

  It was just a dream. I curse and hit the steering wheel.

  “Hey, shh,” Zack says, reaching out to rub my back. “You okay?”

  “No,” I say angrily, pressing my forehead against the wheel. “No, I’m not.”

  Today is my brother’s funeral. It’s a terrible day to wake up. Most bad days consist of not wanting to get out of bed, but this day is so bad that I don’t want to get out of the car—and I want to kick Zack out, and put this car on the bottom of the ocean. Then I want to go back to sleep.

  It is also the funeral of my best friend. Someone I abandoned and neglected for years. I’ve always heard people say that death will make you regret the time you’ve wasted, holding grudges, not appreciating your loved ones—not spending enough time with them. I regret everything. I regret it so much that it’s burning a hole through my insides. Cole’s time here was so short, and I had the power to make him far happier than he was. If I had been just a little stronger… we could have been happy.

  Today is the funeral of my husband.

  Sudden images come to mind of the old Indian practice of sati. Hindu and Sikh women would throw themselves on the burning funeral pyre of their dead husbands, in a gesture of undying loyalty and love. I always considered it barbaric, but then again, it’s easy to consider such things barbaric before you actually have a dead husband. Today, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Maybe if I had been a better wife, a present wife, or a goddamned wife at all, Cole would still be here.

  Don’t I deserve to die for that?

  Thoughts and feelings from my youth come rushing back to me. Thoughts I banished years ago, at his request. I promised Cole I would stop considering suicide—but haven’t I been emotionally dead for years? Letting my hand dangle off the car seat to where my purse sits on the floor, my fingertips brush the cool metal of the gun. Cole died to gunshots.

  Wouldn’t it be poetic and fitting if I chose the same fate?

  I believe that Miranda would get everything that Cole left to me. That’s good. She has children. I could ask Mr. Bishop to draw up some documents quickly, and leave this car to Zack, along with all of Sophie’s belongings. I suppose I’ll need multiple wills for multiple identities…

  “Sophie,” Zack says, running his hand over my hair soothingly. “What are you thinking?”

  I hesitate before responding. “Do you know what sati is?”

  He blinks at me. “Yes. What the hell?”

  “Just… a thought.”

  Zack pauses and stares at me for several moments, his brow growing creased. “Do you really hate me that much? Am I really such a pathetic second prize that you would do that to me?”

  Turning to gaze at him, tears prick my eyes. I never really considered his feelings in all this. How much has Zack suffered due to my inability to trust others or open my heart? Am I currently doing to him what I previously did to Cole? What kind of monster would I be to leave him now? But wouldn’t he be better off without me?

  “Listen, Soph,” Zack says, clearing his throat. “It’s almost morning. You need to get some coffee and breakfast in you. You’re running on empty and your emotions are running high; of course you’re going to think about crazy shit. Let’s put the brakes on that until we’re fed?”

  “Sure,” I mumble.

  “Are there any breakfast places within walking distance? Actually, it might not be safe to walk. We could always take your Hyundai.”

  I glance over at my beloved old car. It was the first vehicle I ever purchased, and I have real memories of driving it and spending endless hours behind the wheel. Often with Cole beside me. Unlike this ridiculous flashy sports car, I have an actual emotional attachment to that little beater.

  “Also, weird question, Soph. Do you have any idea what you’re going to wear to the funeral? I didn’t bring anything black.”

  “Oh, shit,” I murmur, rubbing my eyes with one hand. There is a very classy black dress in my walk-in closet in Cole’s house. Every time I needed to be taken seriously in a professional situation, that was my go-to outfit. I can even picture exactly where it is in the closet, because Cole let me design those closets myself. I frown, glancing at Zack. Cole has some black suits that might fit Zack, but I’m not sure how I feel about raiding his wardrobe.

  I think that would make this day even worse, if that is possible. Walking into Cole’s closet, and being surrounded by all his clothes and all the memories of times he wore them. Remembering what each garment meant to him? The bold ties he wore on days when he felt nervous, before a big presentation. The casual sweats he wore around the house, for eating white cheddar popcorn and watching martial arts movies. The ridiculous costumes he wore for cosplaying his favorite anime characters. The warm pair of pajamas he would wear for when we drove up to his cabin in the mountains. I’m not strong enough to handle all that right now. It would break me.

  “We can go shopping after breakfast,” I tell Zack quietly, grateful that he reminded me. After all, Annabelle’s going to be at the funeral, and it’s probably best if she doesn’t see me looking like I’m homeless again. I also need to talk to the detective, so wearing normal grieving wife attire could help expedite that. Clothes are so important for facing the world.

  I guess I would like to have a new dress—especially if it ends up being the last dress I ever wear. I’ll need some shoes, too. I find myself imagining the particular outfit I should wear before shooting myself in the head. Should it even be my head? I think, if I’m wearing the right dress, it won’t matter where I shoot myself. It will still be stylish. What would make a really great fashion statement? The perfect death dress is hard to find, and should be shopped for months in advance and pre-ordered, like wedding dresses.

  Where do I go to shop for something like that? I’ll have to look it up online.

  My fingers are caressing the gun in my purse, but I suddenly pause. Lucy would be so upset if I used her gifts for self-destruction instead of self-protection. What is wrong with me? Why am I thinking like this? I promised Cole I would never think like this.

  “Soph?” Zack says, putting down his rifle so that he can reach out and grasp both of my hands. “Will you look at me for a sec?”

  I turn to the right, looking at him, but not really seeing him.

  “The lawyer mentioned something about a semen sample. Cole had his sperm frozen?”

  No. Not this. Shutting my eyes tightly, I hold my breath for several seconds before responding. “He wanted kids,” I say finally, choking out the words. “He wanted them so much. He had no family remaining. Neither of us did.”

  “Sophie, if you wanted…”

  “No, no, no,” I say quickly, interrupting and squeezing his hands aggressively to try and stop him.

  “If you wanted to use his sample…”

  “Zack, please!” I beg, my voice breaking. “Please don’t.”

  “I would understand. I would understand if you wanted to keep him alive like that.”

  I burst out crying. My breathing is short and shallow as a violent sob shakes my shoulders. I clench Zack’s hands so tightly that my nails dig into his skin, almost drawing blood.

  “I would be here for you,” Zack says. “Always. I just want you to think of good things, okay? I want you to think about life, not death.”

  Tears are sliding down my cheeks. I fight it. I fight it so hard, but it conquers me. All the emotion that I’ve been holding back comes out in a flood, and I don’t know if I can ever stop this onslaught. Turning back to the center of the car, I rip my hands away from Zack and slam my fist into the center of the steering wheel, causing the horn to blare again.

  The loud sound causes my body to tense up, and my tears slow down. I punch the horn again until my tears abruptly stop. I breathe, trying to regain composure.

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nbsp; “Sophie,” Zack says, reaching for me again, but I push his hands away.

  “Just shut the hell up!” I hiss, turning the key in the ignition. Why not drive this car? It is a car. It’s also a special occasion. They say you only get married once, but that’s not always true. What is true, is that Cole’s not going to have any more funerals. Might as well drive there in style.

  “Fuck this,” I say, slamming my hand up to hit the garage opener on the sun visor of the Bugatti.

  “Wait!” Zack exclaims as I push the shifter into gear. “Everyone’s going to be looking at this car, so you should probably let me put the rifle back in the trunk…”

  But the car is already rumbling to life under us, and I am already peeling backwards out of the garage. Cole is dead. So is Scarlett Hunter, and Serena Powell. What the hell does it matter what Sophie Shields drives? She’ll probably be dead soon, too.

  As I park my car and stare at the gravestones, I swallow.

  I dreaded coming here so much that I delayed and delayed, and now the funeral service is almost over. But I am in no hurry to see my brother’s body being lowered into the earth. I am sure that Miranda picked out a very elegant box to put him in, and invited all the right people—thank god she was there to take care of those arrangements.

  It feels a little unreal to think that this is the last time I will get to see him. Or be near him. Sitting in the car, in my new black dress and shoes, I feel my stomach turn with fear and nausea.

  I can still remember the first time I saw him.

  My thoughts drift back to that day, when my social worker introduced me to my new foster family. I was prepared for the worst and trying to keep my expectations low, but the social worker was very hopeful. She spoke highly of a man she referred to as “the professor” and said that she’d recently had some success in placing another intelligent teenager in that home.

  She showed me a photograph, and they looked like a sweet old couple. A regular Martha and Jonathan Kent, or Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert—the kind of seemingly loving family that every orphan dreams about, until they actually get one. The social worker said there were lots of books in the house, and that was the only thing that made me feel like the situation could be worthwhile.

  When she described Cole, I was annoyed. She made him out to be some kind of golden boy, and I thought I would hate him on sight. I thought he would be superior, privileged, and entitled, and that I wouldn’t speak more than three words to him for the remainder of our lives in that home. But then I saw him. He looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and his bones were cracking, but he didn’t mind. He could handle it. He could handle anything.

  And then he shook my hand.

  Everything changed for me in that moment, although I didn’t know it at the time. Maybe I should have known, from the way that nature shuddered beneath me. For when the earth moved that day, so did my soul. It was like I’d always been made up of pieces; large, disjointed sections of a human mind, moving together, or apart—and I could suddenly feel the rift between them all. I looked into Cole’s eyes, and I suddenly knew a little more about what I was. My whole world was shaken up, along with my innermost essence, and I was never quite the same.

  I wish I had known; but we never really know when we are meeting the people who will shape what we become, until long after we have been shaped by them.

  At the time, I thought that what I saw in him was anger. I understood anger. His eyes were dark, with a deep, brutal, unbridled kind of rage. But it wasn’t anger at all, and it wasn’t unbridled. More than anyone I have ever met, Cole had complete rein over his emotions. He was calm. Utterly unaffected and calm.

  I was intimidated by the power of what I saw inside him. It was a new experience for me. He was not physically intimidating back then: he was barely taller than I was. He was very lean and slender at age fourteen, and he didn’t develop any real bulk until years later. But when he touched me, and the earth quivered, I swear that there was also a tiny jolt of electricity between us, carrying unspoken words.

  I think it was love. I think that’s what I saw in his eyes.

  A capacity for love far surpassing anyone I had ever met. Love, loyalty, and a devotion that would last until the very day he died. I know that he never stopped loving me. He never stopped writing letters, even if I didn’t receive them. I never should have allowed myself to believe that he stopped writing letters. I know him. Deep down, somehow, I have always known him.

  Later on, I remember looking up the earthquake online to make sure that it had really happened, and I wasn’t just imagining it all. It had. The quake had registered as a 5.2 on the Richter scale. I suppose it’s a very human tendency to assign meaning to arbitrary events, but I was absolutely convinced that the planet was somehow communicating with me. The earth was trying to tell me something about Cole, and I didn’t understand it at the time.

  Is it too late? Is it really too late for me to demonstrate that I return all of his devotion?

  I reach for my new black purse, which I had to buy to match my shoes and dress. It contains only a few items, among which are my red Scarlett wallet, and the gun and cell phone that Agent Lopez gave me. I hold the purse with both hands as I watch all the other cars that are lined up around the perimeter. I see that the people gathered around one particular gravesite have begun to leave.

  My grip on my purse tightens. I am glad they are leaving. I don’t want to have to interact with any of the visitors who are just here out of obligation or a sense of propriety. I only want to see the people who really cared about Cole. The people who are going to stay until the very end, until the very last clump of dirt is placed over his coffin.

  “Sophie,” Zack says from beside me, and I realize that he has placed his hand over mine. “You’re not still thinking about that crazy shit you said earlier, right?”

  I shrug in response, biting my lip.

  “Don’t let yourself go down that rabbit hole. I know how you feel, Soph. Since I lost my leg, the thought has crossed my mind. More than once. But you’re the reason that I hang on, and hope for things to get better. I can’t be this fucking useless forever. And now, today… on the first day that I haven’t felt useless in months, holding a gun in my hand again, being of some service? You’re thinking this way? Please, don’t.”

  “Zack, I had a really rough childhood. I never thought that I’d get this far, go to school, get a good job working for the CIA, have a boyfriend…” I shake my head in frustration. “But I’m still really messed up on the inside. I’m just this stupid, lost little orphan with no real purpose. I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m going. And I’m not… okay. This—” I gesture out at the funeral service I’m missing, “this is just a reminder of how much I’ve screwed up everything.”

  “Guilt will make you do crazy things,” Zack tells me. “Trust me, I know. But don’t make rash and permanent decisions out of guilt. You didn’t let your brother down, Sophie. I’m the one who kept his letters from you. You should blame me.”

  “I screwed up long before that. It was my fault that letters were the only way we could communicate. I pushed him away. I put a whole continent between us.”

  “You can’t focus on that now. He knew that you cared. You need to concentrate on finding out who shot him. If you give up now, then you’ll let the bad guys win.”

  “They killed him. They already won.” Turning off the car, I sigh and toss the keys into my new purse before slinging it over my shoulder. “Whatever. I have a date with a tombstone.”

  Stepping out of my car and into the sunlight, I enjoy the fierce feeling of my new black heels hitting the asphalt. I used Scarlett’s credit cards for the first time in years, and I wasn’t sure if they would work, but they did. The black dress is elegant and simple, with a boat neck and lace sleeves.

  Overall, my outfit was designed to match the gun in my purse.

  Zack moves to my side and offers me his arm, and I shake my head
to decline. I think it’s very important that I do this on my own. Walking briskly toward the gravesite, slightly ahead of Zack, I pass many older men and women who are leaving the service.

  Only Miranda, Mr. Bishop, and Annabelle are still standing near Cole’s grave, as the casket is lowered into the grave. I see that Annabelle is covering her face with her hand as she cries softly. When I approach, Mr. Bishop moves forward and touches my arm.

  “We waited for you to throw the first handful of dirt onto the coffin,” he tells me quietly.

  I want to refuse. My first instinct is to refuse.

  But I have great respect for Mr. Bishop, who was always good to me. The muscles in my forehead are clenched so tightly that it’s giving me a killer headache. I can’t even look down at the grave without my head throbbing madly.

  We’ll all be returning to the dirt someday. I’m in no rush to put myself in an early grave.

  Cole’s words echo in my mind, from some distant, ancient conversation.

  I’m going to fight, and struggle, and treasure every moment of life I’ve got.

  Standing here, at his grave, is causing our whole lives to flash before my eyes. I can see and hear everything so clearly, as if it’s happening again right before me. It’s like a movie.

  Life is going to be great. Why not? We can do anything.

  His grave is just a television screen, playing reruns of our greatest moments.

  It hurts. Deep in my chest, where I keep everything locked away, it hurts like hell. I can feel his voice, pulling, tugging at my heartstrings, forcing me to feel all these unbearable emotions.

  It’s driving me insane.

  From a few feet to the right, I hear an annoying sobbing sound. How can Annabelle be crying so hard when she barely got to know him? They didn’t spend almost a decade together. He never got stabbed, burned, and incarcerated protecting her. He never prostituted himself to afford her basic needs. She never broke him out of prison. She never stole a million dollar car just to impress him.