The Flames that Engulfed Us

Chapter 14: Fake Skylars and a Crying Sky

Lincoln looked directly at me. His gaze lingered, and for a moment I thought he would pick me up and leave all the fake Skylars in the dust. But he didn't.

He kept looking around and I tried not to cry. I don't know what suddenly hit me that tears almost ran down my face. My vision blurred and swirled with unformed eye sweat. I wasn't going to cry here. I was strong. Man, my eyes felt hot. So naturally, they started to sweat.

I let the tears roll down my cheeks, each of them hotter than they should have been. Lincoln's eyes were immediately on the girl crouched in the middle of the floor, holding her ears against her head, crying as though everything was suddenly too much.

And everything was too much. The movie came back to me. The bloody people on the bus. The fact that I was dead was no longer funny. It was all so real. This wasn't a dream. It was so real.

Lincoln always knew what to do. He started to gravitate towards me, looking like he was going to try to hold me together with a hug. Fake Skylars swarmed him, forming a crowd between us. I watched passively as he struggled to make his way through them. My chin quivered. I was really dead.

And if I was really dead, so was Lincoln. In the movies, didn't the dead person always hover over their funeral to see all their relatives give falsified statements about your goodness? Don't you watch as they lay your body to rest in a casket slowly lowered to the ground?

Lincoln. They'd probably done all that for him. Tears streamed down my face.

The thought of his skin, cold to the touch made me want to give up. His lips wouldn't be frozen in a smirk, they'd be solemn. They'd be emotionless, not in the way he used to scare people, but empty. Empty like a less terrifying version of Gary.

That was what made something inside me snap. Snot ran out of my nose and I just let it. I could have wiped it on my sleeve, but I'd have had to move my hand away from my ear. And then snot would have been all over my sleeve, and I needed to think of anything other than that image of him.

There he was, fighting to get to me even then. I couldn't look at him. Had all of our friends said something nice at his funeral? Had they all talked about what a loyal person he was? Or maybe they'd all just watched from the back. Or maybe they hadn't come at all. Maybe they just stayed at home.

And my parents. Oh, no not them. Sobs came out of my mouth. Not describable noises, just heaving, degrading expressions of the cutting pain I felt. I was losing it. everything felt messy, my face coated in tears, snot, and spit.

I looked up again. Why didn't the clustering of me feel this pain? Didn't they care at all? No. They wouldn't. This was designed be Lincoln's hell, and this was perfect. They'd used me. They'd used me as a tool, and I didn't care.

Had Emma survived? She'd been unconscious, but Lincoln had gotten her out of the window. I didn't want to know.

My voice hurt, but I didn't have to stop. I could keep going forever.

"Move," Lincoln bellowed, his voice filled with aggravation. My hands barely kept out any noise.

The fake Skylars all gasped and looked at him with big wide eyes. But they weren't pushing him back. He barreled through them, not caring that they made a dramatic show of being hurt when they let themselves fall.

Lincoln had died because of me. He'd died because I decided to help someone else, condemning us both to die. Two of us were always going to die. I only wish one of the people hadn't been Lincoln.

"Sky. Shhh. Sky. I'm here."

Moments later I felt the warmth of him around me. I pushed my head into his sleeve. This was all so much.

"We're both dead," I shrieked.

"Oh. Oh, Sky. Baby, we're here together. I've got you. Shhh. We'll figure this all out."

I clutched him, pulling on his shirt, collapsing onto my butt. I couldn't crouch anymore. Physically, I felt like I could do anything. Realistically, the tears had an appointment that was going to take a lot longer than I would like.

Lincoln's hand were on my back, stroking it. They provided a simple comfort that I hadn't even known I needed.

"We died. This is all real."

"We died," he repeated dumbly, "and this is all real."

"And," I sobbed into him, all my sounds hopelessly muffled, "it's all my fault."

"I made a choice. The consequences of that are not on you."

But he wouldn't have made that choice if I hadn't been in the equation.

"Deep breaths. Just breathe."

I struggled to do what he said. I calmed down slightly, my sobs turning to anguished moans.

"Just like that. We're dead, but that's not the worst thing that could ever happen."

"No," I hesitantly agreed, starting to snuffle. My tears weren't coming as quickly now.

"Lincoln," my voice echoed down from above, "what are you doing?"

He ignored her. He started running his fingers through my hair, patiently waiting for my outburst to subside. I tenderly wrapped my arms around him. His body felt so warm. How had I given so much thought to his dead body? He was alive enough for me right then. He was alive enough.

"We have something we want to show you," the same girl cooed sweetly. Gosh, was I really that annoying? I might have had to reconsider some life choices.

I looked up at Lincoln. He was still ignoring her. He only had eyes for me, which while I was happy about that, we needed to have a vigilant observation of our surroundings. She was obviously incensed. She stooped down so he face was right against his.

"I said, we have something to show you." She hissed, sounding less and less like a  me imitator.

Lincoln met her intense glare. He didn't change a single thing he was doing.

"No."

"You're not allowed to say no. It wasn't a question."

"I did say no because I'm not interested in whatever it is."

"Bold words, but you don't have the strength to resist us. I think the little moment you and the angel are having is cute, yadda yadda, but this is hell. You need to come and see what we want to show you."

Lincoln didn't have time to say anything before she seized his arm and jerked him away from me. I wrapped my arms firmly around his waist and struggled to stand next to him. He didn't have a choice but to move with the bizarro version of me. All the rest of them followed after us.

I gulped, looked at Lincon's shirt, and groaned. My snotty mess had gotten all over his shirt. It didn't seem like he cared right then, but it was going to be a mess to clean up. It occurred to me that my face probably looked the same, and suddenly it seemed like one of the things that the mysterious person called "they" should do.

Lincoln was right. This was bad, but it wasn't the worst.