Phoenix Reborn

by Carina Wilder

  But this was as good as it was going to get: a dark red dress, a little lipstick. After all, this was a bar, not a Hollywood gala.

  She stepped outside in her flat shoes, making her way quickly — too quickly, as she was in no rush to be early — to the bar. The air was once again crisp and clean, the sky shades of dimming oranges and blues.

  Few people wandered through Woodland Creek at this hour; most had retired for the evening in front of their televisions. So Ashling gratefully found herself alone as she strolled. She caught a glimpse of herself in a shop window and even admitted that she looked rather like a normal human being. And inside her, all felt settled for once. The usual churning of a hidden stress seemed to have been put to rest. Could it be that Hawke was responsible for this?

  After a block or so, she saw the first pedestrian: a tall man with dark hair, leaning against the wall of a closed storefront across the street. His arms were crossed before him and he wore an old leather jacket, his shoulders hunched. In his mouth were the remnants of a narrow cigar, which he extracted and threw to the ground when he saw her.

  Something in him was odd; his eyes were too prying, too eager to stare at her, and Ashling found herself picking up the pace. But he was far off, and no doubt he only looked at her because she was the only creature stirring on the street.

  As she passed him, though, he began to move. She could hear the footsteps crossing the road behind her, keeping pace. Pursuing. But perhaps he too was headed to the bar; it was only a block or so away. She could see its sign from her current location: Fibber McGee’s. So close now.

  When she was about three buildings away, a gnarled hand grabbed her left arm, stopping her in her tracks. She had no choice but to turn and face him.

  “Fire Girl,” he said, his voice rasping. “You’re the one, aren’t you?”

  “Excuse me?” she said. How did he know about that? He was too old to have been at the high school party, to remember the events from that night.

  “You don’t know,” he said, a dumbfounded expression overtaking his features. “You really don’t know what you are.”

  His fingers were digging into her upper arm now, clawing her, his eyes wild as he stared at her from beneath a mop of greasy hair.

  “I certainly don’t know who you are,” she said. “Now, please let go of my arm.”

  He dropped it, his eyes moving to focus on something behind her. She turned to see that Hawke was standing, holding the bar’s door open as he glared at the man. “Ashling,” he called. “Are you all right?”

  She looked at the man who’d grabbed her for a moment before replying. “Fine.” With that she made her way over to Hawke, who welcomed her into the building, placing a hand gently on her back.

  Her spine tingled with nervous excitement, caused both by the stranger and by the young man who was now protecting her.

  “Who was that?” he said.

  “I don’t know. He said — some strange things.” She didn’t want to bring up the word fire. No doubt Hawke remembered the party years ago; he didn’t need reminding.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t like the look of him. Make sure to call me if anyone like that tries to harm you, okay?”

  “Harm me? What do you mean?”

  “Ashling — there are things that you don’t know — “

  A man in a white polo shirt and jeans interrupted them, stepping before Hawke and extending a hand.

  “This must be Ashling,” he said. “I’m Wayne. I’m the location scout. I’ve been checking out your lovely town, scoping it for places where Hawke here can run around on screen.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, smiling as well as she could given that her mind was still focused on the stranger outside.

  Wayne invited them to accompany him to a table which he and Hawke had been sharing with two others: also producers, wanting to discuss the casting of extras, costumes and other film-related topics.

  But after a few minutes, Ashling began to get the distinct impression that Hawke was somehow in charge of the entire film, which struck her as odd for an actor. And impressive.

  “Hawke is funding this project,” said Wayne, noting Ashling’s confusion. “I’ll bet he’s been too modest to tell you that it’s his baby from start to finish, which is why we’re speaking to him about all the finer details before proceeding.”

  “I wanted to do a story of a boy who grows up in a small town and moves away, only to come back home again,” he said. “Not the most exciting pitch, I know. But they’re letting me have my way, so I thought I’d take advantage. To be honest, though, I knew that the only way that they’d let me come film in Woodland Creek is if I paid for everything.”

  “Why did you want to come to Woodland Creek?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Hawke winked at her, sending a rush of blood to places that Ashling had rarely thought of in recent months.

  “I — I’m not sure. But it all sounds good,” she replied, blushing as her eyes turned towards the table top in front of her. “Is it an autobiography, then?”

  “Sort of — though I’d say it doesn’t cover some of the more — interesting — aspects of my life.”

  Ashling closed her mouth rather than speak again, assuming that he was talking about the women in his past, or any number of other things that she’d prefer not to hear about.

  The next hour or so involved her sitting, quietly observing while the men spoke in animated tones. This was more her doing than theirs; she enjoyed quiet, just as she enjoyed watching others. She was an expert at silence. She’d spent her life studying others from a distance. And now, in the bar, she watched young women text one another as more and more entered, all gathering around the room’s perimeter to watch the famous Hawke Turner behave like a normal human being. This was the only thing that rendered Ashling uncomfortable.

  At one point when the producers had gone to the bartender to order more drinks, Hawke looked at her and, laying a hand across hers, said, “You okay? I’m sorry this is taking so long.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Just…is this what happens to you on a regular basis? Herds of women flocking to watch you?”

  “Not everywhere,” he laughed. “This is a small town, remember. People here haven’t figured out that celebrities don’t like being stalked. Besides which, I think they’re really watching you.”

  Ashling turned to observe and realized that he was right; somehow she’d missed it. The women in the room were either trying to find out who she was or why the hell Hawke was with her, knowing full well that she was that girl; the freak who’d burned their high school friend.

  “They’re jealous,” she thought. For the first time ever, she’d rendered people jealous.

  “They wonder why I’m drawn to you. I mean, aside from the obvious fact that you’re gorgeous,” said Hawke frankly. “Because they don’t know what I know.”

  “What do you know?” she asked, her cheeks reddening at his compliment.

  “I know what you are, inside,” he said. “I know how special you are.”

  Wayne and the others returned at that moment, laying their pint glasses on the table.

  “So, we all set?” Wayne said.

  “I think so,” said Hawke, turning to Ashling. “We all set?” he grinned.

  “Yes.” She smiled back at him, wondering if the night was ending or beginning.

  The location scout turned to Ashling. “Listen, Hawke mentioned that you know the wooded areas around here well. I was wondering if I could pick your brain for an upcoming scene, while Hawke is off working tomorrow.”

  “Um, sure,” said Ashling. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I need somewhere with a creek. Something idyllic. Anything like that around here?”

  “I know just the place,” she said, smiling. “I can show you, if you’d like.”

  “That would be amazing. Can I take your number?” He looked at Hawke, as though seeking permission.

  “It’s 555-8627,” she replied
. “You can text me a time and I’ll tell you where to meet me. Or if you’re like Hawke and use phones in the old-fashioned way, you can always call.”

  “Great, I will. Okay, you two — get out of here. We’ve kept you long enough. Have a good evening while the guys and I have a few more beers. We’re not the ones who have to look pretty tomorrow morning.”

  “True, you spoiled jackasses,” said Hawke, standing. He extended a hand, offering it to Ashling. “My lady, come with me. Let’s go for a walk.”

  As they made their way towards the exit, Ashling noticed that more young women had gathered, their eyes locked on the two people leaving the bar together.

  Perhaps it was because of that, or because of Hawke’s attentive nature, that they failed to see the man who was tucked away behind a thick column, his dark eyes fixed on the two of them as a smile spread across his thin lips.

  6

  With his hand securely placed on her lower back once again, Hawke escorted Ashling outside under the watchful eyes of the throng of female spectators. They seemed, for the moment at least, too apprehensive to approach him. Ashling was impressed; it was as though he’d erected a wall around himself and her, protecting them from the onlookers’ nosiness.

  “How do you do that?” she asked as they wandered along the sidewalk. “I would have thought you’d be inundated with autograph requests from the locals.”

  “I suppose I exude a little hostility on occasion,” he said. “When I need to.”

  “I can’t even imagine. You seem very…warm…to me,” she said, surprised at her own forwardness. “I can’t quite see you being hostile.”

  “Oh, I can be very hostile,” he said, his tone more serious than she was used to.

  “Like on movie sets when you don’t get your way?” she laughed.

  “Yes — and no,” he said, his tone stoic. “More when I need to look after something. I have a life beyond my job.”

  “Of course you do. I didn’t mean…”

  “Oh, I know. I only mean that I can be protective, if someone I care about is in trouble.” His voice had softened once again. “Speaking of people I care about — Ashling, would you come with me? I want to show you something.”

  “Sure,” she said. The truth was that no part of her wanted to do anything but accompany him. She felt a little as though she would have followed him into an active volcano, had he asked. It was a little crazy, the effect that this man had on her. But all of it was positive; he made her feel at peace, happy. It reminded her of their youth, of how comfortable she’d been with him, and excited at the same time.

  “You’re surprised, you say, at some aspects of my nature,” he told her as they walked. “But you’d be more surprised at yourself.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I believe there’s someone — something — inside you that you don’t understand yet. You may be afraid of it, but it’s there and you need to learn to embrace it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Knots tied themselves in her stomach as she considered his words. What did he mean? Did this have something to do with the incident in high school?

  “Let’s just say that you’re not alone,” he said. “That’s all you need to know for now. And you never need to feel alone again.”

  “I don’t feel alone when I’m around you,” she said softly. “Somehow, it’s like when we were kids. You used to keep me company. Do you remember?”

  “Of course I do. I liked your company,” he said. “More than anyone else’s. I loved it, in fact.” The word was laced with deep meaning. Was he saying that he’d had feelings for her, as she’d had for him?

  Ashling was flooded with warmth in that moment. With a closeness she’d never experienced, a bond formed through the simplicity of speech.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. You were so…special. And I knew it. I wanted to be around you, to look after you. I wanted to talk to you about everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Everything. And I wish I could now. But that’s probably a bad idea.”

  Ashling turned to him, stopping in her tracks. “You can talk to me, you know,” she said. “I know I act hesitant — I’m just so used to being afraid.”

  He reached out and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. Ashling closed her eyes, savouring the moment; that touch of his.

  “You don’t need to be afraid with me,” he said quietly. “I would never hurt you.”

  Again her heart leapt, soaring inside her chest, wanting to expose itself to him. Wanting him to know what it was that he did to her. I would never hurt you. If he knew how he could break her heart all over again, he would run a thousand miles away.

  “Come on,” he said, grinning as he took her hand and began to walk again. He guided her down Main Street and turned right.

  “Are we going to the Observatory again?” she asked.

  “Yes. Is that all right?”

  “I suppose…”

  “There won’t be anyone around and we can have some privacy,” he said. “If that’s okay.”

  Privacy? Why was he looking for privacy? Was Hawke Turner going to kiss her, or more?

  Good lord, she was like a thirteen year old girl hoping for her first kiss. Of course, she’d been kissed before. But never by him. Never by such a man as this.

  Her breath went shallow as her heart unrelentingly pounded in her chest, and as they walked she tried to deepen her inhales and exhales to counteract the effect that he was having on her body.

  When at last they’d climbed the hill, Hawke pointed to the sky.

  “This is what I want to show you. Up there, far in the distance,” he said, “Is Venus. To you it looks like another star. But I can see so much more; every subtle variation in its surface.”

  “With the telescope in the Observatory, you mean.”

  “No. With my eyes.”

  “But how can you? Have you had some sort of high tech implant?”

  Hawke laughed, turning towards her and taking both of her hands in his. “You are lovely,” he said. “Do you know that?”

  “No.” She looked away, feeling mocked. But she held onto his hands.

  “Ashling, years ago you became famous in this town for your little stunt with firewood. No one at that party knew what you did, or how. No one but me.”

  “Oh God,” she said. Of course this was coming up. It had to; it was the enormous polka-dot elephant who stomped through the room. There was no avoiding it.

  “Yes. I watched the whole thing. I’ll never forget the look in your eyes when it happened.”

  “Well, that’s great,” she said, pulling away. “Because to this day I have no idea what happened, or why. I have no idea why I…” She held her hands up. Their surface seemed for a second to glow in the moonlight, orange, yellow, coursing along her skin. And then it was gone. “Why I’m a freak.”

  “Never, ever use that word. You’re special, Ashling. You know it. And so do I. You are a beautiful, special woman.”

  He put one hand on her cheek and the other on her waist, pulling her close. “You are so much more than you know. And I want so much to show you. I want you to understand what you were to me then, and what you are now.”

  She closed her eyes, letting out a slow, deep breath as she prepared for the moment. As the glow in her hands faded, she allowed herself to flatten her palms against his chest. There was no danger of fire now, other than a searing internal one.

  He was so warm, his chest so broad, strong. Protective.

  And then his sweet breath caressed her lips, his body inching, tentative, gentle, towards hers. This was happening. It was really happening.

  “There he is!”

  The high-pitched voice belonged to a young woman. Ashling’s eyes shot open, only to be blinded temporarily by an intense stream of light coming from a cell phone’s flashlight aimed directly into Hawke’s face. For a moment it seemed to her that his eyes glowed orange, bu
t perhaps it was only the temporary brightness that caused the illusion.

  “For crap’s sake,” he said quietly, pulling Ashling behind him, his hands protectively grasping her waist.

  “You’re Hawke Turner,” said another female voice. “Oh my God, it’s really you.”

  “Yes, it’s me,” he said, defeated. He hadn’t been prepared for this, and the wall that he’d seemed to erect around them was gone now; they’d penetrated, invading his space. Taking away his chance to be close to Ashling.

  And a part of her admired him for managing to retain any modicum of politeness after being stalked up a hill in the dark, but part of her wanted him to tell the women to get the hell out and go home.

  “Would you sign this?” One cocky fan had walked right up to him, a pen in hand, and pulled her shirt down, exposing the upper part of her breast.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said, still the essence of politeness. “I’ll sign your arm. How’s that?”

  “Well, I’ll take what I can get.”

  He’d etched his name into the body parts of five women before they finally left the two alone, and even then Ashling had the sense that more irritating fans were tucked nearby, hiding, waiting for the chance to pounce.

  “I should take you home,” he said apologetically. “We’re not going to have any peace here.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  They walked quietly for a time, neither daring to talk about what had been broached earlier. There was too much of a risk that they were being followed by those who would have loved to hear their private interaction.

  “I’d like to see you again,” he said when he’d brought her to her door. “Fuck it, no. I need to see you again. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Ashling bit her lip, resisting the urge to invite him in. He was being a gentleman, and she should be a lady. And much as she wanted him, maybe it was best to keep a friendly distance. After all, there was his career to consider.