Smoke catches in the back of my throat. Even though we’re a fair distance away, the heat from the blaze warms my bare legs. In front of the Holts’ house, Nate’s mother sobs hysterically into his father’s shoulder. I spot Nate a few feet away from them, sitting on the curb, his head buried in his hands.
“No!” Mrs. Holt wails despairingly. “God, no!”
An almighty power isn’t listening. The upper floor caves in, succumbing to the flames with a gigantic crack. The fire crew hopelessly attempts to put it out, but it’s no use. Even if they did, there’ll be nothing salvageable.
“Why don’t you see if Nate’s okay?” Mom asks, gently nudging my ribs. “You were his date for the Harvest Ball.”
Both Dad and I look at her aghast, but for different reasons.
“I told you, we’re just friends, Mom,” I say. “He won’t want to?—”
“She’s not going anywhere,” Dad declares, putting an end to the matter.
We’re spared an argument by a neighbor crossing the street to speak to Mom.
Nate’s shoulders shake. When he looks up, I see his eyes are puffy and his face is streaked with soot. He’s bleeding from scrapes on his arms, likely from scampering down the side of the building. I should feel sympathy for him. That’d be a normal emotion, right? Yet, seeing him sob makes a twisted part ofme happy. After how he treated me this evening, it’s what he deserves.
A limo speeds past us, out of place among the emergency vehicles, and stops beside Nate. Oliver jumps out. He pulls his friend to his feet and bundles him into the back like a hero. Everything always works out okay for people like the Holts. Their houses can burn, but they have enough power and money to rebuild. Pasturesville’s social elite have each other’s backs, no matter what.
Nate departs with Oliver, leaving his parents to clean up the mess.
“Over here,” a firefighter calls the assembled neighbors into a huddle.
“Following our initial assessment of the scene, there appears to have been an electrical fault,” he explains to the group. “It was a freak accident, and the Holt family had a narrow escape.”
“How awful,” Mom gushes, reveling in the drama.
I zone out as he continues talking, watching the Holt mansion crumble in the background.
Three hours later, we’re finally given the seal of approval to return home. The fire still smolders, but they’re confident it has subdued enough to be of no risk to our property. Others still mill around, clearly disappointed that the ordeal is over, and a reporter from the local newspaper arrives to take photographs for tomorrow’s front page.
Dad kisses Mom on the cheek woodenly, for the benefit of anyone watching from the sidewalk. “I’m heading to work.”
“But it’s a Saturday,” Mom says.
“I have a lot to do,” he insists. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
She nods, then turns her attention to me as we make our way back inside. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetheart?” She rubs my shoulder. “Between the fire and food poisoning, your final Harvest Ball didn’t turn out how you expected.”
Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I insist. “Just cold.”
“At least you don’t have school in the morning,” she says, kissing my cheek. “Sweet dreams.” She smiles sadly, like there’s more she wants to say, but decides against it. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
I drag my body upstairs. I reek of smoke and head straight for the shower. It takes a while to wash away the stench. Ash has soaked into my pores and burned my nostrils, making it hard to shed the smell entirely. When I collapse back into bed, sleep envelops me.
I’m not sure how long I’m asleep for—maybe a few hours, maybe only a few minutes—but creaking floorboards and the overwhelming stench of gas rouses me.
Someone is in my room.
I keep my eyes closed. I already know it’s them. I listen intently, only hearing one set of footsteps. Whoever it is, they’re alone.
I stay paralyzed, curled on my side with my back to the wall, facing away from the intruder. They move around my space, opening my closet and my drawers, rooting around inside. They’re not even attempting to be quiet.
“I know you’re awake,” a chilling British voice whispers. “I can sense it.”
I say nothing.
