The Blues of Atlantis | ✔

Chapter Nine

Smoke pummeled into the dark sky. The sparks from the flames lit up the surrounding area like a massive fireworks display. The entire third floor of the building was engulfed in flames. Firefighters struggled to get control of the fire, trying to prevent it from jumping to the next building. A few of the men dedicated themselves to dousing the surrounding buildings with water.

Crowds of people stood on the opposite side of the street. Some were in their pajamas and wearing housecoats. Others were still in their street clothes. There was a young woman who had a child perched on each hip and another hugging her legs. All three of the children were wailing loud enough to wake the neighborhood.

Jason watched as a firefighter scaled a ladder to reach the man that was waving his arms from his third story balcony, flames dancing dangerously behind him. A spark landed on his sleeve causing a panic, sending him over the balcony railing. The crowd gasped as the man fell to the ground, landing awkwardly in the bushy shrubs that lined the front of the building.

Two firefighters ran over to him, and pulled him away from the building just as a portion of the roof collapsed, landing in the exact same spot. News crews arrived on site and were setting up their cameras to film the action.

"We should go," Tom said, sitting on his hands.

"Just hang tight. I'm going to see if she's here." He climbed out of the car and started walking towards the solemn crowd. The smoke-filled air clogged his airway. He brought his hand up, covering the lower half of his face. His eyes stung as he wandered closer to the group.

There was a plump, gray-haired woman sitting on the seat of a walker, talking on her cell-phone. "Yes, dear. I'm fine." She paused a moment, apparently listening to what the speaker was saying. "Thank you. I'll see you soon."

"Excuse me, ma'am."

She looked up at him, giving him a lopsided smile that didn't reach her eyes, one of which had a gray cloudy look. "It's sad. I've lived here for thirty years."

"So you'd know everyone who lives in the building then?"

"I was the first tenant that ever moved in." She pointed to a corner unit on the first floor, her fingers crooked with age. "That's mine. The nicest gentleman used to live across from me. Mark. Mike. Matthew." She went silent for a moment before clapping her wrinkle-skinned hands together. "No. Martin. That's it. I remember now. Oh, he had a gentle soul. Very sweet.

"Cool. I was wondering if you know a girl named Nerina?"

The elderly woman pulled at the hairs on her chin and then shook her head. "No, can't say that I do. If you are looking for a girl, the one with the children is single. She could use a strapping young lad like yourself to make a good, honest woman out of her."

"Thanks, but no thank you," he responded politely. "I'm looking for a specific girl. She might be a little out of the ordinary."

"A strange, sweet kid moved in upstairs a while back, but she's taken I'm afraid."

The sound of that perked his interest. "Can you tell me what is strange about her?"

"You know, I could never understand why young people want to dye their hair white. It goes gray soon enough," she said, shaking her head.

"Her hair's white?"

"White and blue last I noticed. She's a tiny wisp of a thing, too, and always so pale. I—" The woman hunched over, hacking up a storm. "Sorry, dear. My lungs and smoke don't mix."

He nodded at her, scanning the crowd for anyone who had that description. The closest person was that woman crazy enough to have three kids, and even then her hair was blond, not white. The old woman gripped his arm as she started wheezing, her face pale.