Born In Flames

by Candace Knoebel

  The hospital bed felt lumpy. I looked down and noticed my arm resting on top of a crisp white sheet. The overhead fluorescent lighting blinked rapidly a few times then straightened itself out. Hospitals, I thought with a grimace.

  Then I shot straight up. “What have I done?” I asked as panic rose inside me. How was I not in handcuffs right now?

  “What do you mean?” Fenn asked, confused.

  “The bus, the accident, it was entirely my fault,” I whispered to him.

  “You must have hit your head pretty hard.” He laughed. “There was engine failure which burned the brake lines. How could you have caused that?”

  “No, Fenn.” I grabbed his arm and pulled him close. “Mr. Creepy was there, on the bus, and I kind of got mad, and well you know what happens when I get mad, and long story short, magic shot out of me and into the dash which caused the engine failure. All those people—hurt because of me.” I broke off, suddenly overwhelmed with guilt.

  “Relax,” he said as he rubbed my back, “no one was seriously injured.”

  “Mr. Creepy must’ve erased everyone’s memories,” I stated.

  “Well, at least he’s done something right,” Fenn reassured.

  I cringed at the memory of bone poking underneath my skin, but it wasn’t anymore. Now there was large bruising covering the skin. “But this wasn’t…” I started as the doctor pulled the curtain open.

  “Ah, I see you’re awake now, Miss Megalos. I’m Dr. Portel. How are you feeling?” he asked while extending his hand towards my good arm. His hand felt cold and clammy, and I instantly wanted to rub my own against the bedding. With a splash of hand sanitizer. I really hated people touching me.

  I smiled awkwardly, noticing the smile lines that creased his hazel green eyes. Silvery white hair offset by his olive toned skin matched his sweet and wise grandfatherly voice. For a moment I felt myself slip into his comforting gaze, but the long white jacket adorned with probing trinkets brought back the reality of where I was. I hated anything doctor related.

  I sat up, my hand moving to the side of my head where I had smacked it. I tested the sensation with the tips of my fingers. Although it was a little tender, there was nothing there—no bandage, no lump, no sign of any damage taking place. A strange feeling sank in. “I’m feeling good actually. What kind of medication did you inject me with?” I felt no dizziness, no sudden need to spew my empty stomach.

  Dr. Portel started to laugh. “We haven’t given you anything, Miss Megalos. We haven’t needed to. We took X-rays and CT scans while you were unconscious and they all came back normal. The funny thing is, the man who was first on the scene swore up and down that your arm was broken and that you most likely had a concussion.”

  I shrugged my shoulders dismissively, not knowing how to answer. The truth was, my arm was broken. I felt the bone snap, but how could I tell him that when now, my arm was clearly not broken.

  “I don’t remember,” I stuttered, “it all just happened so fast, you know?” A classic, wellused, yet believable sort of lie. I looked over to Fenn who was rubbing the back of my hand. His eyes were so sympathetic. “How long was I out for?”

  “A few hours. That in turn alarmed us and led us to doing the CT scan, but we’ve seen patients react like you before. Usually a lot of trauma to the head can cause a person to respond to a minor concussion the way you have.”

  “I don’t remember anything,” I said, barely audible, watching my pulse on the monitor. Could it show a lie?

  “Well, we can keep you overnight if you feel you need the observation, but if you are feeling fine, you can be discharged. There’s no real concern for you to stay.” He looked at my medical records, shaking his head. “That guy swore…” he muttered under his breath while walking away.

  “I want to get out of here, I hate this place,” I admitted to Fenn. He started helping me up. I instantly frowned as I felt the uncomfortable breeze from the back of my hospital gown. Let’s add humiliation to the recovery process, I thought, rolling my eyes.

  Luckily a nurse brushed the curtain aside and handed me a large bag that held my belongings. The pendant sparkled under the fluorescent lighting. “Here are your things Sweetie. We took them right before we decided to send you for a CT. That necklace sure is pretty.” She paused to look at it. “Make sure you sign these papers before you leave,” she finished with a smile. She set a clipboard down on the edge of my bed.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, pulling my pants from out of the bag. She smiled softly and then slid the curtain shut,

  “So did he give you this necklace?” Fenn asked, handing it to me. I smiled and slid it back around my neck. He turned his head away so I could slide my jeans on underneath my gown. I inched them up slowly, still bracing against the expectation of pain. Nothing came, no shooting pains through my arm, no dizzying headaches. It was a miracle.

  “Am I completely, horribly rotten if I say no?” I asked, pausing mid-pants to glance at the necklace. My hand reached up instinctively, and when I clutched it, my hand warmed to the core. “It was on the ground in the aisle, next to him. Is he even here?” I asked nervously.

  I definitely did not want to give it back.

  “He’s not here. Somehow he managed to sneak by everyone before the ambulance showed up.”

  “Well, I guess the necklace is mine for now. Let’s get out of here.” Fenn nodded and took my hand. No jittery feelings surfaced, only comfort, thank God.

  I woke late the next morning to the sound of Fenn’s shower and the sun peeking through the dark curtains. I felt unnaturally good curled into my cozy blankets. Actually, I’d never felt better in my life. My whole body was roaring with life.

  I pinched myself…nope, not a dream. The bruises on my arm were gone, and touching my forehead proved the tenderness had disappeared as well. Not normal.

  What a strange night.

  I slowly sat up, in case there was some pain that I hadn’t noted, but there was nothing. The weight of the necklace bumped my chest from the movement.

  Oh yeah, about that. I wonder if it has something to do with my rapid healing. Of course Mr. Creepy would be the only one with the answer, and I wasn’t sure I was quite ready to deal with him again.

  I replayed yesterday’s events over and over again, reminding myself that I needed to tell Fenn about Gwenevere and then stumbled over another issue I had yet to address—the Fenn kiss.

  Lost in the memory, my fingers climbed up my chin and ran over my blushing cheeks. They trailed back down to my lips where I let them linger, thinking of his lips pressed to mine.

  Thankfully my thoughts were interrupted by him coming out of the bathroom, in a towel of all things. Steam billowed behind him in curling mists, carrying the scent of bar soap. In that moment, he was unaware of me, and I found myself staring at his perfect body. I still didn’t know how he managed to have perfectly chiseled but slim muscles when he did nothing physical besides play his guitar.

  “Oh, you're awake. Feeling okay?” he asked, disconnecting my eyes from his body. I nodded and he gave me a small smile while still clutching his towel and reaching for his stuff right outside the door. “I thought you’d still be sleeping…forgot my clothes.”

  “I’m feeling great now,” I said, amazed.

  He was blushing, either from the steamy shower or from my presence. Either way it didn’t help my feelings any. I jumped out of bed and quickly walked over to his clothes, handing them to him with a little too much eagerness in my step. Our fingers brushed against each other, sending a jolt through my body. It took a great deal not to gasp.

  “Sorry,” we both said. I plastered a dopey smile on my face while he ducked his head back around the door and closed it. Can we say awkward? I knew this wasn't going to be easy. I walked over to the bed and fell onto my back. Maybe this wasn't such a good position to be in when he comes back—all splayed out. I sat up but wasn't satisfied with that position either. A bed was simply not good.

  I got up, defeated b
y my mixed emotions and walked over to the window, opening the slightly dusty curtain. My eyes squinted at the burst of midmorning sun.

  Turning away and waiting for my eyes to adjust, I got my outfit ready.

  “So, no bruises, huh?” he asked dressed in khaki shorts and a graphic tee adorned with skulls.

  “Yeah, it’s really weird, like nothing even happened. I think it may have something to do with this necklace.” I ran my fingers around the edges of the vines that encased the ruby.

  “Hmm…well, now you have my super healing powers, just like you asked for,” he added with a smirk. “Even your horse knick is gone.”

  “It has to be the necklace then,” I repeated.

  “I’m glad you’re okay though. Lord knows I would’ve hated having to cart you around everywhere all broken and battered. Spoon feeding is not in the cards of our friendship,” he teased playfully. For a brief moment the awkwardness disappeared, the ease of our friendship returning.

  “Mm-hmm, sure. You know you would’ve spoon fed me. And liked it.” I stuck my hip out, flicking my hair over my shoulder in confidence. When he joked like this, everything felt right again.

  “Yeah, maybe. It’s all yours,” he said with torment clouding his eyes that shot to the floor. My hope sunk. It was painfully obvious, the effect we had on each other. I headed to the bathroom so I could wash the weird night away. He moved and made sure not to look at me or touch me.

  “Thanks,” I said almost too quickly went through my routine—brush hair, wash face, teeth, dress, smell good, and then a quick once-over in the mirror. I don’t know why I was in such a hurry. When I was finished we still wouldn’t know what to say to one another. That stupid kiss. Well, I shouldn’t say stupid because I thought it was great. Either way, it had certainly strung up some kind of roadblock between us.

  I stepped out of the bathroom, tucking the necklace inside my shirt and taking in a breath for confidence as I found his beautiful blue eyes. He was fiddling with the remote, flipping endlessly for something on TV. When he saw me he tossed the remote to the edge of the couch and stood, moving toward the kitchen.

  “So about that historian,” I quickly babbled.

  eagerly. I morning

  “Yeah, about that. I called him before you woke up this morning and asked him if he had anything on dragon lore and map reading. He said that was his specialty and to come in whenever we’re ready, that he’d be there all day. Maybe he’ll see something we missed,” he informed as he looked up at me.

  “Cool,” I replied casually.

  “Mily doesn’t need the car back until later, so after we’re done, I’ll take it back since you can’t handle that on your own.” He stood at the sink, turning to throw that last remark with an impish grin before turning back to the dishes.

  I squinted in sarcasm, lips turned up with a fake smile. “Ha ha ha, good one.” I was grateful for the attempt at humor.

  He was chuckling to himself as he pulled out the mug I’d bought him from the cupboard. He must have made coffee while I was in the bathroom. My nose jolted to life, picking up on the sweet smell wafting through the air. I loved that the room smelled like a coffee shop. Maybe I could revel in my urge to pick up a good book and just relax for the rest of the day.

  “Would you like some?” he offered.

  I smiled and said, “No thanks,” then sat next to him at the table. I cleared my throat. “I umm-I crossed over to our realm last night while I was waiting for the bus.”

  He stopped mid-sip to shoot me a questioning look, so I kept on.

  “Strangest thing happened…this lady named Gwenevere, who was married to Zordon, I think committed suicide. Remember in the prophecy it says ‘the other marked for revenge?’ That must be what it means…if she died, then he must want revenge for that. Maybe he blames me? Maybe he found out that I was with her or something?”

  I stopped mid-thought, tapping my chin. Something was missing. Some detail that I overlooked. I scrunched my nose, trying to remember what it was that was dangling on the tip of my tongue.

  My finger shot up into the air. “What a minute, she told me that he would stop at nothing because he was after revenge. That was before she died.” My shoulders slumped in defeat. “That means he couldn’t be after revenge because of me or because of her death. Now I don’t know what to think.”

  “Wait, she talked to you?”

  “Yeah, weird, right? I think it may have something to do with using my Oraculus, but I’m not sure. That was something I was hoping to ask Mr. Creepy about, but you know how well that turned out.” I sighed. “A part of me doesn’t want anything to do with this, you know? It’s almost too much to take,” I admitted quietly. “Do you think that makes me a bad person?” I looked at him, seeking his approval.

  His face softened. “I think the opposite, Rory. That letter and Eve said you have a choice to make, and it’s your choice alone.” He paused, seeming to struggle with his thoughts. Then he sighed as well, as if caving in to whatever was bothering him. “To be honest, I’m not real sure I even want you to continue with all this. I mean, with what’s happened so far…who knows how much worse it can get.” He trailed off, worry replacing his confidence.

  I sat there for a moment, considering what he had just said. It was starting to sound like a good idea. Especially after seeing what I would be returning to.

  “I think I’ll base my decision off of what we find out when we go to the historian. Eve said he would ‘unintentionally’ lead us to a key. And if he can’t help us, then I’ll give up,” I reasoned.

  “I think that’s a reasonable idea,” he replied with a forced wink. I ignored the instant spark that shot through me, causing goose bumps to rise up on my skin. “That’s why I called him. I also called the diner and let them know that we’d be out for the next few days due to personal issues. They were very understanding, considering the bus accident.”

  I felt the creases of my mouth turning upward as I nodded. Then my eyes moved a little south, betraying my mind that was yelling for them to stop. When I looked up again, his eyes were on my lips. I saw myself kissing him, letting myself go, but turned my head instead.

  “That’s why you rock,” I pushed out, hoping my uneven voice didn’t give away my thoughts. “I guess we can go when you’re done with that mug. No use wasting a perfect morning,” I hurriedly added, getting up from the table and walking over to the TV. I fumbled with the remote.

  “You okay?” he asked, picking up on my inner struggle. The disappointment was apparent in his voice. This was just one problem I wasn’t ready to sort through.

  “Yeah,” I replied, and then I forced myself to turn and look at him. “Just nervous about what we’re going to find out.” I was lying. I hated lying to him. I hated lying period. He watched me, examining my face skeptically. He saw right through my lie, but thankfully let it go as he carried his mug to the sink.

  His scent distracted me from where I sat. The delicious, homely smell, caused me to again picture myself grabbing him and kissing the hell out of him. I added, “It should be interesting,” as I moved to the door where my shoes and purse sat.

  He stalked over to me and turned my shoes around so I could slide them on. How did he manage to think of half the stuff that went through his brain? Then he stood and was once again face to face with me, in the very spot where “it” had happened. His demeanor was so easy for me to read. I knew he was still thinking about it too. How could he not? We were a constant reminder to each other about what had happened. And the feelings still remained.

  I coughed nervously, clearing my throat, then turned to open the door. I ran down the stairs and jumped into the car. My eyes rested straight ahead and noticed someone staring directly at me through their motel window. A small portion of the curtain was peeled open, enough for me to see one eye and half of a nose. The person stared at me for what felt like forever so I made a contorted face and childishly stuck out my tongue. The curtain angrily closed shut.


  We both buckled up, and then Fenn pealed out in reverse. “What a weirdo,” I said, miffed. The person’s questioning eye stood out in my mind. It had a glaze to it that was almost unnatural. Where had I seen that before?

  “Yeah, he did that when I first came here to look at the motel room. The manager said that he rarely ever leaves this place.” He adjusted the rearview mirror, looking back to our room and then pulled out onto the highway.

  “So it’s a he? I couldn’t tell.”

  Chapter 16

  Fenn’s Awakening

  WE PULLED INTO THE DRIVEWAY of the historian’s, the orbed sun making its way to the middle of the cloudless sky. The grass was sated and lush from the recent storm, and butterflies fed from bloom to bloom. The breeze was steady but low, sweeping my hair off my shoulders as we shut our car doors.

  A rugged, old, two-story building built out of coarsely weathered wood sat painted in coral colors. The windows were trimmed in a darker rose color, and the light blue door seemed to fit oddly. The overhang, made of the same battlescarred wood, had all sorts of wind chimes twisting and singing in the quiet morning breeze. A sign on the front door read “Open” so we walked right in.

  An old man standing on a polished ladder in the far left corner of the room was busy putting books on a bookshelf. He peered over at us as we entered. Sunrays peeked in through the many windows surrounding the building, emphasizing the dust that glittered off the books as he put them away.

  The entire first floor was an open room, filled with bookshelves that looked pretty ancient. They were made of some type of dark wood carved with spirals and vines that whispered stories of fairytales. The scent of aged paper mixed with Pine Sol permeated the air. Classical music played softly, the old man humming along. I was home.

  “Welcome to the Public Library,” the old man said. He was wearing khaki pants and a plaid yellow shirt laden with a sweater vest.

  “My name is Bob. I’m assuming you’re Fenn and Aurora?” He pointed to each of us as he said our names. “We don’t get many visitors here, the younger crowd these days thinks reading is overrated.” He was smiling to himself like he had told a good joke. How cute and old manlike.