A Low Blue Flame

by A. J. Downey

  Yeah, at seventy-six floors, anywhere from four to twelve apartments per floor, you do the math. Still, if the woman on the back of my motorcycle lived in the Echelon, I wanted to know, just who was she? That place was reserved for the crème de la crème. Just about everyone and everything the working man could possibly hate about the rich was embodied by that building and those who lived in it. So who the hell was she?

  I pulled up under the overhang in front of the place to a shocked look from the doorman and some disgusted looks from some of the tower-goers, and got my cheap thrill for the night. The woman, Lillian, got down off the back of my bike and undid the chinstrap on my helmet. She held it out to me and said, “Thank you.” She didn’t look like a ‘Lillian’ to me. The name was so stiff and formal, when she didn’t give off that entitled sort of vibe.

  “Don’t mention it,” I told her, and before I could ask if she was gonna be okay, she turned and flashed a card on a lanyard at the doorman, who nodded and dragged open the big glass door for her. She clipped across the black marble lobby to the glowing line of fancy optic turnstiles barring the banks of elevators and scanned the card against the black box for it. The LED-lit arrows switched directions, allowing her access, and she walked up to the elevators and pressed her card against the RFID reader below the touchscreen panel. The doors on the nearest car slid open.

  She looked back at me over her shoulder, inclined her head, hesitated a moment, but finally stepped into the car, the doors gliding shut, the rectangle of light disappearing, along with her elongated shadow on the expensive, black marble floor. I found myself wondering if our paths would ever cross again.

  It wasn’t likely. She was guaranteed to be too rich for my blood, clearly, living in a place like this. I shook my head and put on my helmet that was resting forgotten in my hands. I resisted the urge to ask the doorman what her last name was, and took off back into the flow of traffic. I couldn’t blame her for just wanting to go home. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was the same.

  2

  Lilli…

  Rain pattered against the floor-to-ceiling windows of my condo and I sighed. It was storming out there, and Jasper and Marigold, my two cats, were nowhere to be found. The sky rumbled with thunder and I winced, taking another sip from my glass.

  I didn’t feel like I’d belonged here when I’d first moved in, and the debacle with Mark only proved it to me. However, this was my home, bought and paid for with the royalties from all of my hard work, and I wouldn’t give it up. If anything, since the incident weeks ago, I hadn’t left it, preferring to spend my days staring at the blinking cursor in an open Word document, each flash of that little black line echoing the throbbing ache of having my heart ripped out.

  I closed my eyes and missed the next flash of lightning, but jumped none the less. The inside of my eyelids flared red from the light and before I could even open them the thunder crashed so angrily, I thought it was a direct echo of how I was feeling. Shook. I mean, everything did, my body vibrating from the strength of the cacophony. I opened my eyes just in time to watch the glass in front of my face shudder with the impact of that awful sound and then the lights went out behind me.

  I blinked and called out to my home’s system, “Alexa?”

  Nothing. No response. Shit.

  I stared out over the rest of the city. There weren’t many towers out there taller than the forty-fourth floor I resided on, and none of the ones that did exist were in line to obstruct my view, which reached all the way to the bay. I was disappointed to see that lights continued to twinkle in windows out in the rest of the city, all except for in the windows of the buildings immediately surrounding the Echelon. It looked like just our block, and maybe the next one over, were out. Still, I found myself muttering, “Holy crap.”

  I had no idea what it would take to knock out the power to a major city’s grid or even to just a building like the Echelon, but I imagined that it took some doing. That last lightning strike had really been something else. I wondered for a moment if the Echelon had taken a direct hit because it sure had felt like it. I took another sip of the cool, sweet wine in my glass, which was nearly empty, and sighed.

  The power would be back on soon, I hoped. Not that I would write or even keep my laptop on during a storm like this. I hadn’t counted on what it would be like this high up during a storm this severe, and I really should have. It felt as if the whole building swayed, which was unnerving as hell.

  Not as unnerving as how well and how thoroughly I had been duped by Mark, though.

  My thoughts always seemed to circle back to that disaster, even now, weeks on from it. I should have seen it. I should have listened to my instincts. I hadn’t, and now I found myself sipping the last of the wine in my glass just to get the taste of bitter regret out of my mouth.

  I don’t know why my brain insisted on reliving it over and over, but sure, I guessed we could go again. I closed my eyes again, with a heavy sigh as another bolt of lightning forked through the sky.

  The first time we’d met had been electric like that. I’d sat in his lap in the hot tub downstairs and it had felt so right and comfortable. Conversation had led to kissing, kissing had led to intimate touching, and before long we were practically having sex right there in the damn tub with something like seven other people around us.

  I went to down the rest of my wine and swore. That’s right, I was out, time for a refill. Still, my brain insisted on gaily carrying on with my emotional torture.

  I’d been so weak not to question it and I blame it on my hormones. I’d been hot for him like you wouldn’t believe, and against my better judgment, had invited him up.

  “I have a couple of cats…” I’d warned, and when he’d said he’d been allergic, I’d told him I had allergy medicine. I should have seen it for the delay tactic that it was, but I could feel his erection pressed between us. He’d told me only one particular kind of allergy medicine worked for him and what should have been the second red flag had gone up. The third followed directly after when he said he couldn’t remember which brand and that he would know it by the box when he went to get some.

  I’d been disappointed, but at that point I’d thought that maybe he just wasn’t that into me, or maybe I was coming on too strong. I’d shied a little by then and he’d reassured me that he really wanted to, (probably just to spare my feelings), but unfortunately he had to attend his friend’s birthday that night. Still, he’d told me that he really, really, hoped there would be a rain check.

  I’d let him go and figured I wouldn’t see him again, that I’d blown it, that he hadn’t been that serious about it and I’d misread and had fucked up. Stupid, awkward me! It had stung a little bit. I honestly figured he was giving himself an out and that, again, he just wasn’t that into me, but then the knock had fallen at my door later that night. When I’d opened it, he had been standing there looking almost more delicious in a suit than he had been in just a pair of swim trunks in the hot tub downstairs.

  He’d pulled his hand out from behind his back and had shook a package of allergy medicine and I’d smiled and let him in.

  Impulsive as it had been, it had also turned out to be some of the best sex ever. He’d worn a condom, and had been really good with his hands and I had christened my first night in my brand new condo and said ‘Cheers’ to new beginnings.

  Yeah. What a joke. I was the same girl I’d ever been, just in shiny new digs. Stupid… worthless… just like my mother had always told me. Happily-ever-after’s didn’t exist in the real world. I should have known better. Whirlwind romances without any catches or strings attached only existed between the pages of my books. I had been crazy to think that there was anything good waiting for me in that arena.

  I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep, slow breath through my nose, letting it out slowly.

  I just needed to do what I did best. Write the damn books, pet the damn cats, and stay locked in my fortress of solitude.

  I turned around and shuff
led my feet across the plush gray carpet of my living room. I was moving slowly, carefully, so I didn’t stub my toes or trip over anything. It was darker than I could have imagined now that the power was out, and eerily silent. The big behemoth of the building I lived in was never as silent as it was now. You really took for granted the white noise of humming electronics and just the sounds of modern life until they were conspicuously absent. It was even worse when it snowed, the quiet, but that was different somehow, peaceful rather than unsettling, like now.

  I made it to the kitchen safely, the marble tiles cool beneath my feet as I opened the fridge and carefully felt for the bottle of wine. I pulled it out and closed the fridge and hoped like hell I wouldn’t have to haul the contents of it down forty-four stories to be thrown out. I mean, surely the power would be back on before it came to that.

  “Not with your luck, Lilli…” I said to the empty dwelling. I worried about poor Jasper and Marigold. Both of them were older and both of them were cowering beneath the furniture. I didn’t want to pull them out, fearing it would just be more traumatizing than leaving them where they were, but it was frustrating. I could have used the comfort just then, anything to feel less alone.

  I poured another glass of the crisp white wine successfully by sound and by feeling, and let myself feel a little badass for not spilling. I set the bottle down and pressed the cork back into the top but left it out. I wouldn’t be able to find the place I’d pulled it from out of the fridge anyway.

  I sipped and let the crisp, fruity, sweet Riesling with its delicate peach and citrus notes trickle over my tongue. It was a good wine, and while I was no sommelier, I could still appreciate.

  I breathed in and sighed out. I was definitely no sommelier. I was definitely nothing but what I’d always been. A small-town, West-coast girl that had no business making all of this stupid money and had no business pretending like I deserved it, and really had no business trying to date above my station…. Obviously.

  This was only my second glass, but I’d drunk the first quick enough that I was getting nicely buzzed, which I would seriously need if this pity party were to continue. Of course, two was my hard limit when it came to drinking, and I almost never touched the hard stuff because no way was I ever going down the road to substance abuse. No, thank you. I’d had a front row seat to that horror show all growing up and I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes my mother made.

  I thought all the way back to the very beginning as to how I got here, tumbling end-over-end down this particular rabbit hole of thought, plummeting through the layers of my life rather than taking any sort of leisurely stroll down memory lane. Then again, my memory lane looked more like a trip through the haunted wood.

  I felt my way out of the kitchen, careful not to slosh the wine in my glass, barely escaping tripping when I transitioned from tile to carpet, just like I barely escaped falling too far into the deathtrap of memories that were the actual growing-up part of my life. I settled on my first major rebirth, instead of going as far back as my actual birth.

  While I was Lillian September Banks by that original birth, my pseudonym or nom de plume was Timber Philips. Yes, the Timber Philips. The one they were billing as the paranormal Nicolas Sparks.

  My books had the right formula, you see, and had been picked up by one of the big five publishers a few years ago. I thought I’d had something to be proud of when I’d hit ‘New York Times’ Bestseller’ three books in a row after I’d been picked up – but then Hollywood had come calling. Apparently, I’d had the right formula, visual appeal, and adaptability to my books for them to be made into films. I’d gone for it, because, who wouldn’t? And the first movie had earned the studio that had picked it up a lot of money.

  Due, in no little part, to my efforts for them not to fuck it up.

  No way would I allow Hollywood carte blanche to feed one of my works through their meat grinder. I’d made sure there were provisions in that contract to keep me on as a consultant and to assist the screenwriters and I was glad I did. That first movie had been painful to get out there but the readers had loved it. Thankfully, it hadn’t seemed to hurt the studio none, having me along for the ride, even if it had been like passing a kidney stone for me. I’d been pretty much invited back to help with the next two, much to my surprise and delight, and the process had become much easier.

  Anyway, I went from the girl who self-published her silly little love stories as an unusual and expensive hobby to the girl that was making so much money, she didn’t know what to do with it in a little under five years. It’d been one crazy big leap after another and I was both grateful and saddened by it.

  I felt like a fraud for so many reasons… but the people around me in the business both promised and assured me I was not. I had to believe them, even though I wrestled with the idea of it every single day. Yup. I had a major case of impostor syndrome.

  I returned to watching lightning flash through the clouds, my traitorous brain finally satisfied and calming way the hell down, with the second glass of wine going down even easier than the first. I don’t know how long I stood there, thinking about my life, my books, my mother and her super-destructive alcoholic ways, and of course, Mark, but the edge was certainly taken off. Self-medication for the win, this time.

  I was roused from my bitter and dark musings by a knock on my door and I blinked at my faint reflection in the window glass.

  “Who on earth..?” I murmured, and moved carefully across the room. The knock came again, more insistent this time, just as I reached the door. There shouldn’t be anyone up here. It was a secured building. A really secure building.

  I opened the door to reveal two tall firemen in their thick canvas fire suits.

  “Is there a fire?” I asked, with apprehension.

  The two of them looked at each other and laughed slightly.

  “No, ma’am,” one of them said and turned slightly, letting the emergency light in the hall fall on me. The other, the one on my right, sucked in a breath.

  I looked up at him sharply and echoed the sentiment.

  “Oh, hi, it’s you,” I breathed, and he smiled, pleased that I’d remembered him.

  “Hi, back,” he said with a slight laugh. “It’s me.” He had a bright white smile and it set off a flurry of butterflies in my stomach. I didn’t know how to feel about that. This was definitely a new plot-twist in the story of my life.

  “What can I do for you gentlemen?” I asked, politely.

  3

  Backdraft…

  I took back every fucking curse word, bitch, and gripe I’d uttered dragging my ass up forty-four stories worth of fucking stairs.

  Blaze and I were from different houses, but it took more than one house to canvas every occupied apartment or condo that this building had, with over seventy-six goddamn floors. I’d let Blaze have the list, I hadn’t even thought to check for her name… Lillian.

  Like I would ever forget it.

  Blaze wasn’t a dumbass and could see there was something telegraphing between me and the woman. He kept his mouth shut, and I didn’t know whether I wanted to kiss him or curse him.

  “What can I do for you gentleman?” she asked politely.

  “Oh, nothing,” I said, caught off-guard by the question, really just bowled over by how beautiful she was. My memory hadn’t done her justice. She looked amused and I realized I was acting like a star-struck idiot.

  “I’m confused, if there isn’t a fire, then what are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Safety protocol, ma’am. Your building has a contract with the city,” Blaze explained, but she didn’t move her eyes off of mine.

  “Oh,” she said, simply.

  “You doing okay?” I asked softly and I wasn’t asking as a matter of safety protocol. She leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and took a sip out of what was probably not her first glass of wine, and, if I had to guess, wouldn’t be her last tonight, either.

  “As well as can be expected,” she
said, with a rueful smile.

  “Sorry to ask, ma’am…” Blaze said politely with an ‘aw shucks’ tone. “I wouldn’t happen to be able to use your facilities, would I? It’s been an awfully long climb and there hasn’t exactly been an opportunity.”

  “Absolutely, sure, go ahead.” She stepped aside to let him through and he handed me the clipboard. He shone his light at her delicately painted toes; she had one foot crossed over the other beneath the hem of her satin nightgown and robe, like a child caught out of bed with her hand in the cookie jar. It was adorable, and I guess adorable was maybe what I heartily needed a dose of after Tori. The fucking bitch.

  Blaze went down her hall and disappeared into her bathroom, shutting the door so it was just me and her.

  “I never got your name,” she said softly and I smiled.

  “Friends call me Backdraft,” I said and she held out her hand. I took it gently and shook it. Could she be any cuter?

  “Lillian, Lillian Banks.”

  “Nice to meet you again, Lil.”

  “You too, Backdraft.” She blushed in my headlamp over the way I shortened her name and laughed slightly over the unusual awkwardness of mine and I smiled.

  “Emmet, if you prefer something a little more normal,” I said. “Emmet Calder.”

  “Oh! No, if Backdraft is the name you prefer, than that is what I shall call you. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise.”

  She’s sweet. Not entitled, I thought. Definitely rich, and totally not a bitch. I liked what I was seeing.

  I let her small, soft hand go and she took it back. Silence engulfed us and I felt the need to say something, anything before Blaze got back, so I blurted the first thing that came to mind.

  “Been thinking about you. You know, since that night.”