Burning from the Inside (4/4)

Was it a nightmare? Or wasn't it?

Addison Hall was on fire. I've never had one start while I was sleeping. And the thought that I'm a hazard even in my sleep—well. No need to make myself livid. It wouldn't help. Especially since I'm pretty sure it was only a dream.

And yet, that steady blaring sound certainly sounds like a smoke alarm. I would expect it to be louder than that, if it were really an emergency. Sure, I woke up, but what about the heaviest of sleepers? Maybe the batteries are low, or something. Maybe it gets steadily louder the more smoke it detects. That might be it.

I suppose I should at least get up and see whether anyone else is awake. In case I'm not able to get back in, I pull on my socks, skirt, and shirt, but not the blazer. Can't say I'd mind if I lost that to a burning building. Then they couldn't make me wear it.

When I open my door and see maybe a third of the other students drowsily standing in their own doorways and looking confused, my heart starts pounding. I don't know why I wasn't taking this seriously until now. What if we're all in danger? Why are they all just standing there?

We. Maybe we're all waiting for someone to go first. Fine.

I head for the stairwell. At the second floor, I can hear footsteps on the stairs behind me. There's a bunch of people in front of me, too. For some reason, I'm pushing past them into the hall instead of continuing down the stairs—

Oh. Oh god. That's definitely a fire. All I can see is the smoke rolling out one of the doors, but even that's enough to make my heart jump up my throat.

My body's moving toward it of its own accord, almost like that first time Esmé took me to Moore Hall but the other way around. What am I doing? I'm only going to make this worse—

No. No, I have options now. If I do nothing, the dorm still burns.

Inside the room stands Eddie in a lavender tie-dyed tank top and shorts about half as long as my boxers, beating the flames with her blazer like a woman possessed. The curtains. The curtains are all that's on fire so far. This is salvageable.

It takes me a second to get past my own instincts. They're like an invisible wall between me and the flaming curtains, all there to stop me from grabbing them with my bare hands. But I do. And it's a little uncomfortable, sure, but I'm not exactly in agony. My eyes and nose hurt worse from the smoke.

After a few seconds my arms feel watery, but it's a warm kind of watery. I can't feel my grip on the curtains. My hands aren't my own. It's like they're just tools I'm holding on to, somehow.

I feel like I don't have bones, except maybe below my knees, and they're all that's holding me up. And like I could explode. Like everything soft inside my skin is doing the solid equivalent of boiling. It doesn't hurt, but maybe that's just adrenaline. Oh, god, how much pain am I in for when this wears off? How much longer do I have to—

Everything goes dark. The fire's out. My leg twitches, and the walls and ceiling race away from me—

Ow. That was the other wall.

"S-September?"

My eyes adjust. I can see Eddie staring at me, still like a woman possessed. Maybe possessed is a bit strong. Her eyes look glassy and hard, but not quite as much as before.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

Automatically, I nod. I really don't think I am, though. Come on, September. You have to actually communicate. Shake your head. That's it. "Not really."

"Did you hit your head?"

Shaking my head comes a little more easily this time.

"What about your hands? Do you feel dizzy? Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," I manage. "Doesn't hurt."

"What do you mean, it doesn't hurt?"

"I mean," now my mouth feels like it isn't part of me either, but at least it's working, "I don't feel good, but it doesn't hurt. I'm not injured, I just—I absorbed the fire, and it's doing a number on me, okay?"

Eddie stares down at me. Blinks a few times. Breathes heavily through her nose. "What do you need?"

That's an excellent question. "Uh—I don't know. A heat sink that I can't burn. But it has to be big. I usually fill a sink full of water, or touch bricks or something, but I don't know if that'd be enough—"

"What about a bathtub?"

"Where are we going to find a bathtub?"

Eddie grabs my arms and tries to pull me up, then hisses in pain and lets go. "Holy shit, September, how the hell are you so hot?"

"I'm not hot. You're hot." Oh god, oh no, what the hell, I was doing so good, why did that have to come out of my mouth? I'm not even attracted to Eddie specifically, it's more like a general quality she has. It's more intimidating than anything else. The heat is definitely cooking my brain. How bad does a fever have to get before it causes permanent damage?

"No, September, that's coming from you. Can you stand up?"

I'm so relieved she didn't understand what I just said I somehow manage to convert the feeling into enough strength to get back on my feet. "I don't know how well I can walk."

She grabs her bathrobe off a hook and throws it at me. "Wear that and put your arm around my shoulders."

I do what she says, and she starts pulling me down the hall. I don't see anyone still here, but a few of the doors are closed. How many people managed to sleep through this?

Eddie hauls me down the stairs and knocks on Mrs. Stinson's door. She's our dorm supervisor. No one answers, but the door's unlocked. It opens to a room somewhere between an office and a living room. There are two doors off to the side, and one of them's a bathroom.

With a bath tub. I use the sink to prop myself up after Eddie lets go. As soon as she turns the water on, I'm in the tub before I know what I'm doing. The water around my legs feels cold enough to burn. I settle for sticking my head under the faucet until the water's deep enough to submerge my body entirely.

Okay. Okay. That feels better. Whatever temperature the water even is, I've adjusted. I'm still shaky and weak, but not like before. In a couple minutes, I may or may not need to throw up. It's that kind of feeling. I keep my head under the water until my lungs feel like they could explode out of my chest.

"That water," Eddie says while I hack and cough, "was bubbling. When you first got in. Did you notice?"

I shake my head. The bathrobe's at her feet. I somehow managed to lose it between the sink and the tub. Wonder what else my body is capable of doing without my participation?

"That's how hot your skin was," she adds, slowly, like she's only just figuring it out herself. "And you're all red, but—how's your skin feel? Itchy? Dry?"

I shake my head again, and my hair drips water right in my eyes. "Normal? I dunno. We'll see when I get out of the tub."

"How long do you need?"

"Don't know. I feel better now. Just weak. Do you know if there's a bucket anywhere?"

"Why a bucket?"

"I might need it. To throw up in. Just in case."

"Uhhh—" Eddie turns in several circles, looking all around the bathroom. Then she sees the cup by the sink with the toothbrush in it, takes the toothbrush out, and hands it to me. "Good enough?"

"Yeah, should be."

Neither of us says anything for a few minutes. Hesitantly, Eddie steps closer to the tub and dips her fingers in the water. A couple seconds later, she yanks them away. "I only ran cold water."

"Like I said. Heat sink."

"Okay, well, I think you need more. Can you pull the plug for me?"

It takes about three times as long as it should for me to find it and get it out, but I manage. Eddie turns the cold water back on as high as it'll go. It helps.

She sits on the toilet with the lid down and doesn't say anything.

I don't know how much time passed before this question occurred to me: "How did that fire start, Eddie? Did you wake up and it was just there, or—" I don't want to actually accuse her of starting it.

She shakes her head, then cranes her neck to glance out the bathroom door. "It was my fault. I was burning a candle, and I didn't mean to fall asleep, but—" Eddie looks back at me and shrugs.

"Oh thank god." It wasn't me. For once, it wasn't my fault.

"What do you mean, 'thank god'?" Eddie looks hilarious when she wrinkles her nose like that.

"Not 'thank god' for the fire, I mean. Um." Damn. How do I get out of telling her? Wait, no, it's pointless to try and keep the secret from her now. "Normally when these things happen, it's because of me. I leak heat as much as I absorb it, and I couldn't control any of it until this year. It's never happened in my sleep before, though. So I guess I was afraid I'd have to start worrying about that, too."

"Huh. Emma was right."

"Wait, what? So she actually was—"

Footsteps. I plug my nose and slide back under the water. As if I can hide under here. Like they can't see me if I can't see them. Dumb. At the sound of voices, I come back up.

Mrs. Stinson looms right in the middle of the doorway, in her bathrobe, scowling down at Eddie.

"—and sie had heat stroke symptoms, so I brought hir in here to cool down. There was no way I could have gotten hir all the way to the infirmary, Mrs. Stinson."

Mrs. Stinson turns to look at me, and it's like someone pumped my veins full of concrete. "September? Is that what happened?"

"Is that—" My mouth is moving, but it's not working so well any more. "—what. What?"

She takes a few steps toward me and reaches for the back of my neck. "Yowch. Okay, I believe you on that, Eddie. But you're not out of the doghouse yet. The only sign of fire the fire brigade found was in your room."

<<>>

"You know, the biggest difference between you and September? Is confidence. And sie's catching up to you."

I don't think I'm meant to hear this. That was Esmé, talking to Eddie. Sounds like they're on the landing between this floor and the next. We were supposed to go back to his dorm together to help him pack after the club meeting, so I don't know why he'd expect me not to be in earshot.

Eddie somehow managed to not get expelled for starting that fire. Esmé thinks her parents might have made an extra donation to the school. Anyway, we voted on her for president of the occult club next year, which is meeting at its regular time and place again. Hector's still treasurer. For some reason, they all wanted me to be vice president. I'm still not sure how they persuaded me.

"Is that why you're so into hir?" Eddie asks. "You trying to turn hir into me?"

"No. That's what you'd do, in my place."

"You could have told me you were gay, you know."

"I love whom I love," Esmé says, like it's a line from a play and he's rehearsing for drama club. "That's all there is to it."

"So you love hir, then?"

"That's the only explanation I can think of for the way I act around hir."

Eddie sounds scandalized. I can just about see her wrinkling her nose at him in my mind's eye. "Is that how you felt about me?"

"You'll always be special to me, Eddie," Esmé says. "But I think we're better off if I admire you from a distance."

"God, this is the bullshittiest I've seen you since we started dating. I guess you really are in love."

"Excuse me?"

"You think you're being all suave and romantic when you're like this. But you're not. It's just corny."

"I seem to recall you enjoying it not so long ago." I can actually tell he's trying to wind her up for once. How many times have I not noticed him doing that?

Well, can't be that many. Since they weren't speaking for so long. Yeah, that must be it.

"Fool me once, shame on you," Eddie says. "Fool me twice?"

"Oh. I see. I'm the villain in this story."

"Yes." And I'm starting to wonder if she likes it that way.

"Well. I'll go spread my evil influence elsewhere, then."

"You do that."

I don't even try to pretend I only just came out of the bathroom.

When he sees me at the bottom of the stairs, Esmé freezes in his tracks for a moment. Then he smiles sheepishly at me, and I know he isn't mad. "How much of that did you hear?"

"You two are adorable when you argue, you know."

He gives me a wide-eyed, furrow-browed look of concern. "Both of us? Eddie too?"

I shrug and hope I don't stutter. I know my face is turning pink. That knowledge doesn't help. "I always did think you two brought out the best in each other."

"You sound like you want us to get back together." I sound like what? "Are you thinking of breaking up with me?"

"No.`I said you were adorable when you were arguing. It doesn't matter whether you're together or not. The effect is the same."

Augh. That smile. He was messing with me the whole time. "I'm going to need more convincing than that.”

No one else is around. Not even Eddie. I think they were so sick of each other by the end of that conversation they headed for different exits. She's probably somewhere on the second floor.

I push Esmé's shoulder against the wall. Gently enough so he could get away, but he moves like I shoved him. That means he wants me to keep going, so I kiss him like he taught me to (not at all like that time in the cafeteria, by the way). "Convinced?"

He grins back at me. "I'll never doubt you again."

"Famous last words." He knows that works, now. "Are your parents going to be at the graduation ceremony?" I ask as we head down the hall. "Can I meet them?"

Esmé sucks his breath in and grabs my arm.

"What's wrong?" I ask, after a second or two of him not moving or speaking. He's trembling so hard I can feel my blazer sleeve trembling with him.

He lets go and shakes his head. Strokes my arm where he grabbed it a couple times, like he's trying to make up for hurting me even though he didn't. "They won't be there. Let's talk about it in my room."

For once, I'm the one trying to keep up with him as he marches across campus. Someone whose name I don't know starts to wave to him in the front entryway of Moore Hall, but their smile wavers when they get a better look at his face, and they lower their hand hesitantly.

Esmé doesn't seem to notice. Finally, we get to his room. I watch him lean on the door knob after he closes it and take deep breaths. Then I sit on the bed. I think I might know why he's reacting like this, and even if I'm wrong, this seems like it'll be a sit-down conversation.

"September," Esmé whispers, "I killed my parents."

I take a deep breath of my own. How I react to this is important. I can feel it. "Did you really? Are they the ones you were talking about... before? When you found out about my fire?"

Esmé chuckles grimly. For a moment, he leans on the locked door in silence. Then he drags himself away and sits next to me on the bed, but with plenty of space between us. "You're probably right, of course." His voice sounds so hopeless in its breathiness. "But I can't discount the possibility. I don't think it would have happened to them if it weren't for me."

"What happened?" Wait, maybe that's too much. "If you don't mind telling me."

Esmé sighs. "I don't know where to begin." He really doesn't, at least not for another moment. "I had what my parents called an imaginary friend when I was younger. It wasn't imaginary. Eddie can confirm that, she's the only one besides me who—"

He must not have planned on telling me that.

"—this 'imaginary friend' was really nice to me at first. He could move things around without me touching them. Play games, even. I was shy as a kid." As a kid, huh? "I didn't really have any other friends like that." Esmé pauses again.

"But then he started playing jokes on me. At first, I let myself think they were kind of funny. It wasn't hard at first, especially when they were at someone else's expense. But then they started getting worse. There were a bunch of times when someone almost got really hurt, but whenever I told him to stop, he'd say, 'but I didn't really hurt them, so it's fine.' The worst that ever happened was someone's property got destroyed. A broken window here. A missing piece of jewelry there. Stains on expensive clothing. That kind of thing."

Esmé takes another deep breath. Then another. They come faster. I can see his face turning pink with shame. His lips move, but the words won't come out. Finally, he manages. "And one night, my parents didn't come home. They'd been in a car wreck. My dad died instantly. My mom within hours of arriving at the hospital. And—" he swallows.

"And the next day, h-he said to me—"

Esmé takes another breath as his cheeks turn blotchy and red, "'I made some improvements to your parents' car. Wasn't that funny?'"

Now he's staring mutely at the floor, but not really. His mind is somewhere else.

I think I need to say something now. If I want him to come back. "W-what if—" this is stupid, but I'm already saying it, "What if he was just saying that? To make you feel worse?"

Esmé's lips curve into a bitter non-smile. "I've thought about that. It's entirely possible. Equally likely as him tampering with the car. Right up until then, actually causing someone bodily harm had been a line he wouldn't cross. A line he was always pointing out to me, again and again.

“Maybe he was building up my belief in that line to see my reaction when he crossed it. Or maybe he never did, but he took advantage of a bad situation to see what I'd do. I'll never know for sure. But I can't rule out the possibility that he really did kill them, and if it weren't for the attention I gave him, he wouldn't have.

“If someone like me hadn't been around, he wouldn't have had an audience. There would have been no point. You understand?"

Slowly, I nod. "What did you end up doing?"

"I put him in a box," Esmé says, right on the end of my sentence, like he anticipated that question. "Don't ask me how I managed. I don't know. All I remember is I gathered up everything left in the house that he'd touched. A stuffed dog he'd leave in weird places, checkers, a picture frame he used to knock over. Clothes. Every last thing that wasn't the house itself. I put them all in a box, and I told him to get in. He did. Then I taped it up all over with duct tape—I mean all over, every square millimeter of cardboard covered in at least one layer of the stuff. And I dropped it in the ocean."

I don't know how many seconds it takes me to really picture that. A smaller Esmé (how old? I don't know. He looks about eight in my head), no adults in sight, gathering stuff from around the house, beloved toys included, and putting them all in a box about a third as big as he is, all with that look on his face that he has now. Taping the box. I keep picturing it from the first strip of tape and then immediately to the last, then starting over and trying to actually picture the entire process. He must've had to drag the box as much as carry it outside. "Did you live on the coast somewhere?"

"About half a mile away. Probably less. I got a neighbor to take me out in their dinghy. And I gave them a wad of cash from my mom's sock drawer to never tell anyone. As far as I know, they never did."

I can just imagine Esmé doing something like that as a kid. I shouldn't be smiling at the thought.

"You're the only person I've told any of that."

"What about Eddie?"

"Right. Eddie. The first time we met, she was eight and I was nine. That was when the 'friend' was still being nice to me. Normally, when I tried to show him to adults, he wouldn't respond. But he did with her. Our parents had friends in common. It was at some party, and there weren't any other kids around our age. The three of us were throwing a ball around in a room off to the side somewhere." He chuckles. "It's amazing we didn't break anything. Anyway, we didn't meet again until she started school here. And I still haven't told her what happened to the 'friend.'"

Again, he pauses, but this time I think he has more to say. "If she ever gets herself in trouble like I did, that'll be my fault, too. She didn't believe in that kind of thing at all until she met me."

I want to tell him it wouldn't be, but I don't think he's capable of being persuaded otherwise. Not right now, at least. Trying to do so might only make a rift between us.

"I don't think she will," I try instead. "You were a kid then, and she's practically an adult. And she has Anne for a friend. And you'd help, too. If some asshole spirit tried to push her around, she wouldn't have it. She'd do something like what you did with the box, but before things could escalate."

The ice in Esmé's facial expression cracks and melts, just a little. "Maybe. I hope so."