Blinding red and blue lights. Blaring sirens.
The air filled with the smell of copper,
and faintly,
the smell of something burning.
I’m conscious…
Unconscious.
Aware—but only
in fragments.
A dark sky above me.
Pouring rain.
Then
the darkness of my closed eyelids.
Red and blue lights.
Flashing.
Closer now…
Two men towering over me. Then,
a voice.
“Stay with me, son. The ambulance is on the way. It’ll be okay.”
The words hang
lifeless
in the heavy air.
A groan escapes my lips.
Then,
darkness.
“Hang in there, son. You’re alright.”
More sirens.
“It’ll be alright.”
Flashes.
Red and blue…
Darkness.
Empty
darkness.
Then,
the voice again—calm and composed.
“I need you to stay with me, son. Can you tell me your name?”
A croak of a voice—could it be mine?
“Jordan.”
Then,
Blackness.
*****
Startled into consciousness, I wake up all in a rush, throwing the covers off of myself and bolting out of bed. It takes a moment for me to find my balance in the dark of my bedroom, but I manage to stumble out of my bedroom and clumsily make my way to the bathroom, my vision blurred with sleep. I splash my face with icy water and then brace myself against the counter with trembling arms, breathing in shaky, heavy gasps.
Just a dream, I tell myself. Just a dream.
Once my vision clears, I study my face in the mirror. In consciousness, I’ve shed my thirteen year-old skin. I’m seventeen again. My eyes are wild, more black pupil than brown iris, and unnaturally wide given that it’s the middle of the night.
I pass my uncle’s room on my way back to bed. He’s asleep. Probably dreaming of some girl he’d met at a bar a few hours earlier.
I return to my room, now wide awake. Before I climb into bed to do what I assume will be stare at the ceiling for the next few hours, I stumble my way to my desk in the darkness—there’s no moon tonight—and slash a tally mark onto the sticky note that’s stuck to my desk—a familiar yellow in the night.
Forty-six.
*****
The next night I’m stretched out on the sofa listening to music and trying to shake my pick out of the sound hole of my guitar. Normally I’d be holed up in my little bedroom, but I thought a change of scenery would be good after last night’s episode. That was as vivid as the dreams had gotten in a long time.
The front door flies open.
My uncle stumbles into the apartment with a rush of chilly air. I hadn’t even heard his key turn in the lock over my music. A pen rattles on the glass coffee table with the weight of my uncle’s drunken footfalls when he steps inside.
It’s only midnight, and normally he wouldn’t be home for hours.
My uncle stumbles past me, then throws himself down onto the recliner across from me.
“Home early, Jeff?” I don’t expect an answer.
“Joorrrrdaaaaan,” he slurs. “Could youuuu … cooouuld you git me a—” He stops.
I clench my jaw. When he doesn’t finish, I ask bitterly, “What do you need?”
“I neeeeed—”
The pick falls out of my guitar and lands on my stomach. Triumphantly, I slide it into my jeans pocket where it can’t fall down a sound hole.
I look over at my uncle. He’s lying awkwardly stretched out on the recliner, all limbs and baggy pants. His mouth is hanging open, and his eyes are closed, his usual impudence hidden beneath drowsiness.
I grab my guitar and turn to disappear into my room, turning off the stereo on the way.
I hear a drawn out “Jorrrdannn” from the living room, but I don’t turn around to see what Jeff wants.
I shut myself inside my room and go to bed.
*****
“Jordan. Are you awake?”
My head hurts. That’s all I can think.
“Jordan?” A woman’s voice.
I open my eyes.
It’s so bright.
All I see is a blur of pale white.
“Are you awake, honey?”
There’s a face in front of me. Blurry.
“Honey, can you speak?”
The face broadens into a woman. An old woman, her face lined with thin wrinkles and framed by a fringe of grey-blonde hair. A nurse.
“Jordan, honey, you’re in the hospital.”
The hospital.
The hospital?
Oh, God.
Blood. Glass shards. A still, quiet car.
The hospital room fades into white.
My ears are ringing.
“Son, can you tell me your name?”
My parents. My sister.
The room comes back into focus.
“Where—” my voice is a croak. I swallow and taste metal. “Where are they?”
The nurse doesn’t answer.
“Where are they?”
The old woman’s mouth turns into a frown. She shakes her head. “You’re going to be okay, honey.”
“That … that wasn’t my question. Where’s my family?”
The nurse is just staring at me. Her face is sad. So sad.
“Jordan, … honey, … I … don’t know how to tell you this …—”
TheFireThatWillCatchYou 