Cold Fire [SAMPLE]

[32]

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The sun is hot, beating down on me with a strength that has me yearning for the cool refuge of shade, but there is none in sight. Around me, the places that should be in shadow are filled in with light, as if the sun is coming from every angle at once. I wipe a hand across my brow, sweating.

“Hot today, huh?” Sarah asks, appearing suddenly beside me on the deserted street. I look sideways at her and nod, squinting in order to make out her features.

“You want to go to my place?” she asks. “It’s nice and cool inside.” Again, I nod, and she takes me by the hand, pulling me across the empty road as I look at the ground, shielding my sensitive eyes from the sun.

When we reach the other side, I look up, and there stands my house, its garden full of blooming flowers, its lawn neatly mowed, its fence graffiti free. Sarah pulls me right up to the front door, which opens before we even get the chance to knock.

“Sarah, darling,” my dead mother says, barely acknowledging my presence. “Come on inside.”

I look at Sarah quizzically and lean over, whispering, “I thought you said we were going to your place?”

When I pull back, she’s frowning. “This is my place,” she says and let’s go of my hand, walking inside. I follow her in.

“Oh, honey,” my mother says, grabbing Sarah by the shoulders. “You’re sunburnt.”

 I stand just inside the door watching them, my heart punching the walls of my chest every time I breathe.

“I’m fine, mum,” she says, rolling her eyes.

My mum smiles, saying, “I’m glad you are,” and pulls her into a hug.

And then, as they embrace, Sarah looks over my mother’s shoulder at me.

And winks.

When I wake, there’s a horrible feeling in stomach. In slithers and slides, like it’s alive and waiting to strike. And then it does, sudden snapshots of my dream flying through my mind, making my stomach revolt and roar until my insides feel broken. I stare at the ceiling and wait for the feeling to pass – for the horrible last image of Sarah winking to fade from my mind.

But it never does, and in the end, I just get up and get out of bed anyway, getting on with my life as I always have, constantly pushing, pushing, pushing away the pain.

A mirror on one of the walls reveals that my hair is a mess. I don’t have a brush, so I run my fingers through it repeatedly until I look semi-decent. I check my breath and nearly gag. Not too much I can do about that.

And then I sigh, because there is something I can do.

Just do it, I tell myself, meeting my icy eyes in the mirror. Go in and come out. It’s just a house.

But it’s not just a house – not anymore. It’s a living, breathing thing that threatens to break me every second I’m near it.

I have to choose. Stinky breath or a trip home?

Damn it.

My decision made, I walk downstairs, where, conveniently enough, Caden and Rand are already awake and ready, finishing off their breakfast.

“What time is it?” I ask, searching the walls for a clock.

“A little after nine,” Rand replies. “Did you sleep well?”