The Fireproof Girl

by Loretta Lost

  “Are you okay?” she asks, her eyes darting down to my wounds with concern. The machine tracking my heart rate starts beeping rapidly, and Scarlett jumps off the bed. Only then do I see that she is also wearing a hospital gown, and there are bandages on her head, neck, and legs. “I’m going to get the nurse,” she whispers, before running from the room.

  “Scar,” I croak out in a miserable rasp. “Scar!”

  But she is already gone. I allow myself to cry out in pain and writhe in the bed, letting out a low, pathetic whimper. “Scar…” I murmur softly, missing the warmth of her body beside me. One of my hands grasps the sheet where she was just lying, and I twist the fabric up in my hand. I realize that there is a metal railing on the other side of my bed, and I clench it tightly with my fist, until my knuckles turn white. I see a kaleidoscope of colors all over the ceiling.

  “Scar…”

  “Good evening, Cole Hunter.”

  I am drugged and dizzy, and it takes me a minute to realize that someone is speaking to me. It is a man’s voice. I open my eyes, and try to move my head, but I am way too groggy after surgery.

  “Do you know who I am?” the man asks.

  Blinking slowly, I try to focus my vision and lift my head to see him. He is a tall, slender blonde man with a bit of grey at his temples. I feel like I have seen him before… somewhere. Is he a teacher at our school? A social worker? Oh, man, I really don’t want to deal with a social worker right now.

  “Can we talk another time?” I ask, my speech slow and slurred. “I’m in pain.”

  “No. I like right now,” he says, moving closer with the hint of a smile. “I’ve come a very long way to meet the boy who burns down houses.”

  “I don’t… I didn’t…” Groaning, I turn away from the man and shut my eyes. I just want to sleep. Is he from the press? I really don’t want to deal with a reporter right now—especially one intent on making me out to be a boy arsonist.

  “You see, my name came up in the investigation. Quite a lot, actually,” the man tells me. There is a slight clicking sound on the floor as he moves closer, and I realize that he walks with a cane. “Can you tell me why my name came up so much?”

  Turning to look at him with frustration, I try to grab the railing of the bed to sit up, but I feel so weak. I feel like I am still missing most of the blood in my body. I sigh, and it still hurts way too much to exhale, even jacked up on a ton of morphine. “I don’t know,” I tell him weakly. “Why? What do you want?”

  “I want to know if you’ve heard of me,” the man says, leaning over my bed. “You certainly seem curious enough about my activities.”

  “Look, mister. I am not curious, and I don’t give a flying—”

  “But you do. A little bird told me that you’re simply fascinated with me.”

  I pause. Does he mean to say…

  “Benjamin Powell. That’s my name.”

  My eyes grow wide. I am too drugged to keep it cool and avoid displaying shock and horror.

  “I see. You do know who I am.” The man reaches out to touch my shoulder, and I flinch. “Do you happen to know anything about a young lady named Serena? She’s my daughter, you see, and I can’t seem to find her.”

  Clamping my lips shut tightly, I glare at the man. “Who said—I was curious about you?”

  “There was a laptop computer at the scene of the fire, and while it was damaged, they were able to retrieve some information. It turns out that my name was one of the most frequent searches made on that laptop. Can you tell me why that might be?”

  Oh, shit. I really fucked up this time.

  Scarlett was running back through the fire to collect that laptop, and I stopped her. She knew that there was evidence of her identity on there. And it’s evidence that I put there from frequently digging into her past, and digging up information on this monster. Now he’s here, standing before me, and I wish I’d run back through the fire for the damned computer.

  But how did he know about that? The investigation wouldn’t have been released to the public, would it? No, but a hacker could easily access that information. This man has money and influence, and he could easily get someone to search police databases for information that might lead to finding Scarlett.

  Did I just blow her cover? I’m an idiot. I need to try and fix it.

  It might not work, but I’m desperate. I have to say something.

  I cough weakly. “There is a girl I know named Serena. She has light brown hair, almost blonde? She’s very smart?”

  “Yes. That would be her,” says the mayor.

  “Okay, yeah. She told me about you, and how she ran away. So I looked you up. I promised her that I wouldn’t tell…”

  “Where is she?” Benjamin asks, leaning forward. “Where does she live?”

  The wheels are turning in my brain, but not as fast as they normally do. He really doesn’t know yet? He hasn’t figured it out? I guess Scarlett Smith was an actual person, and when Serena assumed her identity, she was very thorough. If he hasn’t seen her yet, there’s still a chance…

  “She goes to a Catholic school downtown. Our Lady of… something. I took her out on a few dates. What’s this about?”

  “You took her out on dates?” he nearly roars, and his eyebrows lift hideously. “Where did you take her?”

  “I—I took her to the movies. For ice cream. Why? Is Serena in trouble?”

  He sneers at me, and reaches down to grab my arm that’s been recently stabbed. “You fucking pervert! Stay away from my daughter. Do you hear me?”

  I wince at his grip. “Yes, sir.”

  “Where does she live?” he asks me. “Where did you pick her up?”

  Taking quick, shallow breaths, I clench my teeth together. What kind of a grown man gets upset about a thirteen year old girl going out for ice cream? Oh, yeah. Rapists. Rapists do that. “We just met at the mall,” I gasp out, trying to sound like a dumb teenager. “But I think she said that she lives near her school? Our Lady of… whatever.”

  “Good,” he says, turning away and walking to the door. But he pauses, and turns back. He looks at me thoughtfully, before stepping close again. “I don’t want you ever going near my daughter again. She’s a good girl, and she doesn’t need any teenage dirtbags putting their hands all over her.”

  “I didn’t do anything like that.”

  “Mhmm,” he mumbles, reaching out and touching the bandage on my chest. “Let me tell you something, boy. I have friends everywhere. Friends on the police force, friends who are judges, friends who are doctors. Don’t be surprised if you find yourself sent to prison and locked away for a very long time. So you better never speak to my daughter again, you hear me? Leave her the fuck alone, or else.”

  “What if…” I mutter angrily. “What if I’m not scared of you?”

  “Then you’d better think about that pretty little sister of yours,” he says ripping the bandage off my wound. “I saw in the news that you were injured protecting her? Well. Let me assure you. If you piss me off, I will have her killed, and there will be nothing left to protect.”

  With that, he slams his fist down into the stab wound that I just had surgery to repair.

  I scream loudly at the pain as blood starts trickling out between my stitches.

  Benjamin smiles at this before turning to walk away. “Have a good evening, Cole Hunter.”

  I press the bandage back over the wound and grasp the railing of the bed to help me sit up. Wincing, I rip the IV out of my arm. Some blood squirts out in the wake of the needle, but I ignore it as I watch Benjamin leave the room.

  Staring hatefully at his back, I know that I’ll have to do something about him someday. But that day is not today. I am too wrecked by Mr. Brown and the fire. And I need to think of Scarlett. I push myself off the bed and walk through the halls of the hospital, heading in the direction of her room. As I press on my chest wound, a trickle of blood is seeping between my fingers and leaving a path of droplets behind me, like breadcr
umbs.

  My steps are unsteady, and often the blood hits my feet, or I step on the trail of blood. I am still dizzy, but I need to find her. Glancing behind me, I try to make sure that Benjamin isn’t following me. I find that I have to pause, and lean against the wall, for I am out of breath. It is difficult to breathe.

  When I do this, I hear a crashing sound coming from somewhere nearby. There aren’t many people walking around the hospital at this hour, so the sound startles me. I look around until I see a supply closet. Glancing around the hospital to make sure no one is nearby, I take a step toward the closet, then I pause. I quickly walk down the hall a bit further, and turn a corner, so that the trail of blood leads somewhere else.

  Then I wipe my feet off on my ankles before returning to the supply closet, and trying not to drip any blood on my way there.

  “Scar?” I say softly, outside the door, before turning the knob. When I open the door, I see that she is huddled in a corner, holding a broken broom handle out as a weapon.

  “I saw him,” she says, as tears well up in her eyes. “I saw him and I panicked. How did he find me?”

  “He hasn’t found you yet,” I tell her, moving forward to wrap my arms around her. “I tried to mislead him… but you can’t let him see you.”

  She returns the hug fiercely. “Oh, Cole. You’re bleeding!”

  “No, I’m fine,” I tell her, as I try to think of what I can possibly do to fix this situation. I feel responsible. After everything she did to escape…

  Looking around the closet, I notice some stationery. Pens and notepads, probably used by the nurses. Releasing Scarlett, I move over to them, and grab one of each, trying to avoid getting blood on the paper as I begin furiously writing.

  “What?” she says. “Cole? What are you doing?”

  “You need to get out of here,” I tell her, rubbing my eyes. “Look, things have changed. I said something stupid, and he threatened me. So… you need to run.”

  “Run? Where will I run to? Cole, I can’t leave you now. You’re injured.”

  “I’m writing an address, and a note for someone I trust,” I tell her. “He’s my father’s old lawyer, and he’s a really good man. Ezra Bishop.”

  “What makes you think he’ll help me?”

  “He’s the person in charge of managing my inheritance. On this note, I’m promising him a portion of my money in exchange for taking care of you, as soon as I receive the funds.”

  “Cole, you can’t do that. That’s your money.”

  “And it’s my choice to do this, Scar.” Finishing up the note with my signature, I hand it to her. “Fold this and keep it safe,” I tell her, then I hesitate. “Wait. One more thing.”

  Reaching for another sheet of paper, I don’t care too much if I get blood on this one. I scribble the note quickly, to my friend Levi, Mr. Bishop’s son. I ask him for a favor, remind him that he owes me, and add a quick threat to the end. After I write my signature, I press a bloody fingerprint into this one, enjoying the aesthetic. I think it makes it look more serious.

  Turning around with the letter, a wave of dizziness hits me and I stumble back into a row of cabinets. “Ugh,” I say, groaning as Scarlett helps me to stand.

  “Cole, you’re not okay,” she tells me softly.

  “I will be.” Folding the letter into a small square, I hand it to her. “Here, take this. You’ll want to give it to Levi, Mr. Bishop’s son.”

  “What’s this for?” she asks me.

  “He’s an expert at Krav Maga. He’s going to teach you while I get better. Okay?”

  “Cole, I don’t want to leave you…”

  “You need to. You need… you need a new identity, Scar.”

  “But I can’t go through that again. I’ve been doing so well in school.”

  “Me too. Look, Mr. Bishop is the only person on the planet my father trusted, so I know that I can trust him. This is the only safe place I know.” After saying this, I pause. “Actually, there is one other safe place.” I move back to the stack of papers and grab one last sheet. “It’s a property owned by my family, in the mountains. It’s so secluded—like two hours’ drive in any direction, from any kind of civilization. If things ever get really bad, that’s where you need to go.”

  “Cole, you’re talking like we’re never going to see each other again.”

  “We will. This is just in case.” I write down the address, and I stare at the words sadly. “You should see this place, Scar. It’s kind of like paradise. There are hot springs, and even a little geyser. When I was little, I thought it was the best place on the planet. I asked my mother why the earth was boiling, and she told me that giants were making soup.”

  “That’s adorable,” she says with a forlorn expression.

  “Yeah,” I say, giving her a crooked smile. “The hot springs were cooking pots that belonged to giants who used to live there. And when the giants left the mountains, they forgot to turn off their stovetops—the volcanoes.”

  “Your mother sounds so lovely,” she tells me.

  “She was. I still dream about her all the time.”

  “Cole, I don’t know if I can do this. I can’t leave you, injured, in the hospital…”

  “There are no other options. You have to go. I’ll write you a letter,” I tell her. “Let’s promise that whenever we get separated, we’ll write each other letters?” When she nods, I do too. “Good. I’m going to send the letter to Mr. Bishop’s house. Trust me, you’ll be safe there. Just—be careful of Levi. He’s a good kid, but he goes crazy over pretty girls.”

  “Okay,” she tells me softly. She moves closer and puts her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

  I return her hug fiercely. “Just be careful. Please.”

  “Am I really going to learn to fight?” she asks me softly. “I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it.”

  “You will be. I know you will. Now go, get out of here.”

  Her face looks heartbroken as she steps away from me. “Cole, you better take care of yourself. If anything happens to you, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “You’ll keep on fighting,” I tell her. “I know you will. Somewhere inside you, there’s a fighter, and she’s capable of anything. You don’t have any clue how strong you really are. You’ll be okay, Scar. No matter what. With or without me.”

  “No,” she says defiantly. “You’re wrong. Without you, I’ll just give up. So do whatever you have to do, Cole Hunter. But in the end, once the danger passes, you better come back to me.”

  “I will,” I promise her. “Always.”

  Considering that I’m handcuffed in the back of a police car, I feel surprisingly optimistic.

  The sun is shining. I’m wearing a gorgeous black dress and heels, and I feel like an aristocratic lady being chauffeured around by her driver. The backseat is rather comfortable, surely made that way by dozens or hundreds of detained criminals squirming around to soften the cushions for me. I can’t help smiling.

  I don’t really care if I end up in a psych ward.

  I feel like someone just turned on all the lights, and the world is good again. I feel like I have just been given a second chance at life. I am not analyzing it at all, but just leaning back and enjoying the afterglow of my humbling experience. I can’t remember the last time I had such hope and certainty that things were going to be okay.

  When the detective pulls up to the police station, he parks on the side of the street a few buildings away. I am curious about why he has done this. Does he want to grab a donut first? I look around, searching for a shop that sells donuts and coffee. Coffee would be nice. Somehow, for the first time in months, I don’t feel totally desperate for the caffeine. But a donut would be nice. With sprinkles.

  The detective clears his throat.

  I look at the rearview mirror questioningly, and I see that he is glancing back to make eye contact with me.

  “Mrs. Hunter,” he says in a hard voice. “I
would like to ask you a few questions before taking you in.”

  “Sure.”

  “What led you to conclude that your husband was alive?”

  I look at him with puzzlement. “What led you to conclude that he was dead?”

  He glances away briefly before looking back at me. “You were about to kill yourself, and then you stopped. You just seemed to… know something. But how did you form this opinion? Your decision—what evidence was it based on exactly?”

  “Detective Rodriguez, I didn’t even see a body.”

  “I can show you the crime scene photos.”

  The smile returns to my lips. “Have you ever read Romeo and Juliet? It seems to me that people have been faking their deaths for hundreds of years. And that’s with bodies. They didn’t even have Photoshop back then. What makes you think that photographs would convince me?”

  “You seemed to believe that Cole was dead up until a few minutes ago.”

  I shrug. “Can you blame me? I wasn’t thinking clearly. When I saw the newspapers, I reacted emotionally instead of logically. Then when I got to the morgue… I trusted Miranda’s verification of the body.”

  “And now you don’t?”

  “No. I think she’s wrong. I think that you’re all wrong.”

  “Why?” he asks me.

  Looking away from the detective, I shake my head. He has no idea of half the things that Cole and I have been through, and it wouldn’t be wise to tell him that I’ve changed my identity several times. “Why not?” I say simply. “If you can prove to me that he’s dead, definitively, then I will gladly admit I was wrong and go back to trying to kill myself.”

  “You just… you seem to have changed your mind very rapidly, based on very little information. I just want to know if you’re emotionally stable, Mrs. Hunter. I could understand if you have some kind of a hunch…”

  “A hunch?” I repeat with a scoff. “Please don’t call it that. I simply know.” Gesturing behind us, I give him a disapproving look. “You can’t belittle what happened back there. It was a lot of information. It was thousands of terabytes of information, concentrated to a point, hitting me all at once. I know.”