Chapter 12 #3
I never found out who lost control of their fire.
There were plenty of possibilities. People living in the warehouse often started fires in the metal barrels for warmth only to then fall asleep while the flames were still burning.
It was easy to imagine one of these makeshift fire pits accidentally getting knocked over when no one was paying attention and by the time anyone noticed the fire it would be too large to put out.
Even if they did notice it quickly, without water on standby they may not have been able to do anything about it anyway.
I was only alerted to the fire when I awoke to find my storage container filled with smoke.
Stumbling to my feet, I’d tried to flee, but I didn’t get more than a few steps before I was overcome.
My lungs were already filled with smoke and ash, and the heat made my head spin.
I fell to the floor still inside the door of the storage container, barely conscious as the whole warehouse went up in flames.
That storage container was probably the only reason I lived. It protected me when the building collapsed and kept me from being crushed under the falling beams and concrete, but it couldn’t protect me from the heat.
A small part of me was still conscious when the rescue workers pulled me from the debris. I was as limp as a broken toy and I couldn’t move a muscle, but I still felt the agony in my burned flesh as I was manhandled from one person to another and finally dumped on a stretcher.
Like a movie viewed only through the flash of a camera, I caught brief snatches of what was going on around me.
Someone placed a mask over my face. Then everything went dark.
Later, another person was inspecting my wounds. Then everything went dark again.
Much later and in a different location, even more people cut into me, scraping away burnt flesh to in a search for the healthy living tissue underneath.
As the doctor’s removed the pieces of me too damaged to be saved, I wondered what they saw beneath my skin.
Did I look the same as everyone else?
Or was my inherent wrongness as obvious to them as it was to Camp Green Hill and the pedestrians who refused to give me money when I begged?
If, while they were poking around under my skin, they found the piece of me that was wrong, could I ask them to cut it out as well?
When all the poking and prodding and cutting was over, I was finally left alone.
I still couldn’t move, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
A few times people came by to talk to me.
Well, they talked at me, or in my general vicinity, but since I was the subject of conversation then I figured it was the same as if they were talking to me.
I tried to tell them my name, but it took everything I had just to create any sound at all, and my mouth refused to form the right shape.
Then I tried to tell them Eli’s name. That was the only other name worth mentioning.
The only genuinely good person I knew. My mother was the only other person I could generate positive emotions for, but now I wasn’t sure whether she was truly good or not.
No, there was no point trying to tell anyone about my mother. She was dead anyway. Bringing her up now wouldn’t do any good. Still, the noises I managed to make barely even sounded like human speech and I couldn’t tell them either my name or Eli’s name.
So, I stopped trying.
What was the point?
I had nothing worth waking up for, and everything was easier when I was asleep. I didn’t hurt any more, and I didn’t have to think about all those damned memories that were better left forgotten.
For a long time, I let myself be consumed by the blackness.
I didn’t even dream. It was like floating out in the middle of the ocean at night, completely empty in every direction without the slightest hint of other life.
Occasionally, something would threaten to disturb my peace.
When my body was moved, or someone spoke to close to my ear, a small sliver of my consciousness would return.
I caught a few names like Newt and Frankie, and even heard something about investigations and lost brothers, but I always managed to fall back asleep before I could focus on these things enough to form an actual thought.
Then, after an indistinguishable amount of time, something changed.
It was such a small change that I barely noticed it at first. A new voice appeared, speaking right next to me.
Their tone was strong yet intimate, like we were trading secrets while lying in bed together.
It was magnetic, and I instinctively drew closer, waking up more than I had in a long time.
I even tried to tell this new voice my name.
Still no luck, but after a few attempts I did manage to relay Eli’s name.
That felt right. The comforting voice and the name of the only good person I knew deserved to be brought together.
The comforting voice returned many times.
Each time it left, I feared it would disappear for good, and each time it proved me wrong.
I started to long for the moments when the comforting voice would visit and simultaneously became more aware of my surroundings.
I realized that the comforting voice was a man, who would regularly sit by my bedside reading to me or talking to me, or sometimes even helping the nurses with my care.
By now I could recognize even the slightest change in tone or shift in timber of this man’s voice, but I had no idea what he looked like.
With each new visit, a flame of desire burned a little brighter in me.
I wanted to meet him. He seemed like a good man.
I’d known so few good people in my life, I couldn’t miss out on this one because I was stuck asleep.
I wanted to wake up.
No, I needed to wake up.
I just didn’t know how.
I was about to give up and resign myself to never meeting the comforting voice.
Maybe the sound of that voice was all I would ever get.
All I would ever deserve. If I met that voice he would probably realize there was something wrong with me, and he would avoid me just like so many others had before.
Yes, staying asleep was probably for the best. Then, I could at least take comfort in that voice without any risk that he would ever know how wrong my existence was.
I might have stayed dreaming forever, but then a new voice joined the comforting voice. It was unfamiliar. I’d never met or even heard this person before, but the voice caught my attention. This voice was different than every other voice that had visited me.
It was the kind of voice I never thought I would hear again.
Young, innocent, and so happy. It struck a chord way back to the days of my childhood.
I’d sounded just like this voice at one point, when I was still my mother’s perfect child.
Before I put on male clothes for the first time and chased my mother to her death.
Back when the path of my life still seemed like a happy one.
This time, I didn’t even need to think about waking up. Meeting the owner of this innocent voice was such an instinctive need, there was simply no other option.
My eyes opened whether I wanted them to or not.