Two
GRAY
Sweat poured down Gray Cross’s face in rivulets. Heat from the rampant fire above flowed down the flights of stairs, like water on the Titanic. Up and up Gray climbed.
Floor forty.
Floor forty-one.
Floor forty-two.
Of all the fires he handled on a daily basis, high-rise fires topped the shit-cake. People might assume it was because of the countless stairs, or the difficulty of evacuation, or the overwhelming danger of it all—all reasonable assumptions. However, in Gray’s case, it went quite a bit deeper than all of that.
Anxiety built with each step, but he batted it away like an annoying insect. No time to dwell on the past when there were lives to be saved in the present. A guttural groan echoed from the stairwell above him. He picked up his pace, climbing three stairs at a time. As he reached the next landing, Gray found a frail looking woman with violent burns on her arms and a blush of black smoke on her cheeks. She spotted Gray in his gray and neon yellow striped uniform, and relief softened her ever-widening eyes.
“I’ve got a 10-45. Code three,” Gray spoke into his radio.
The woman whimpered as he knelt down beside her.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out of here.” He scooped her up, careful not to touch the burns on her arms. Her breathing was quick and shallow, like someone was standing on her sternum.
“Elevators…blocked…” the woman croaked through a violent cough as she held her head.
“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry. I can make it back down just fine,” Gray reassured her as he began the arduous journey down the stairwell.
He was always in awe of his own strength and perseverance in such situations. Forty-three stories down with a woman in his arms, and he hadn’t stopped to take a breath. As if in slow motion, he came crashing out the front doors. The crisp scent of flames and smoke in the air overpowered the usual underlying city smell of smog and garbage.
He passed the woman off to EMS and turned to look up at the glass skyscraper behind him. Smoke belched out of the windows, which were just over halfway up the building. Five Battalions of firefighters had already made their way inside, attempting to tame the raging flames. Ever since September 11th, the emergency response for high-rise fires had become much more efficient, but the danger of the unknown was ever-present. Would the building collapse? How many civilians would perish? How many firefighters would lose their lives trying to save those of others?
Gray pushed these questions from his mind and bounded back into the burning building, battling the haunting memories threatening to break him.
“You did good today, kid,” Luka, Gray’s fellow bunkmate, said a few hours later. “Joe woulda’ been proud.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Gray responded, toweling his dripping hair. He couldn’t say he loved being called “kid,” seeing as how he was twenty-six and hadn’t felt like a kid in over a decade. But, he’d practically been raised in a firehouse since the age of ten, so he understood the other firemen’s perception of him. They would probably always see Gray as that ten-year-old boy.
“Here’s your mail,” Luka said, tossing a couple of envelopes onto Gray’s bed before leaving in search of food.
Gray shuffled through the mail, only half paying attention to the contents. The day’s events still weighed heavily on his mind. He always got like this after high-rise calls. They seemed to leave him in a dark, brain-muddling place.
His hand stopped on a pearlescent envelope, and his eyebrows met. What the hell? He turned it over, running a calloused thumb over the traditional wax seal with a strange emblem stamped onto it. An anchor tilted on its side. And, a dove with outstretched wings resting atop the stock.
Three
AURORA
Darkness still cloaked the early morning of October seventh. Aurora snuck out of the front door without so much as a goodbye. There was no clear explanation for what she had to do; even she didn’t entirely understand it herself. The only certainty was the overwhelming pressure which seemed to settle upon her chest when she considered not going. So, after leaving an apologetic note on the kitchen counter, Aurora slipped out of the apartment with her candy cane striped suitcase in tow.
It wasn't until she reached the airport that she realized her plane ticket was first class. Had this been clarified in that damned silver envelope, her decision would have been much easier.
First class. Hell yeah.
She’d never been “first class” in her entire life, on an airplane or otherwise. Having a teacher for a mother hadn't exactly been glamorous. In fact, to be able to support Aurora and Daniel—whose medical expenses cost a not-so-small fortune—Anne had to get a second job at a bookstore down the street. And, when Aurora turned sixteen, she went to work down in the Public Market, selling flowers. This lasted only a month until she cussed out a group of pre-teen boys who'd unapologetically knocked over her display—in front of her boss. And, so began her history of short-term jobs.
Pushing away thoughts of the past, Aurora gladly focused on the present. The best part about flying first class was the privilege of waiting in the first-class lounge, rather than having to sit in those saggy airport seats next to a bunch of questionable characters. Buttercup yellow paint covered the walls, making Aurora inexplicably more cheerful. Leather seats lined the perimeter, occupied by a handful of definitely rich people dressed in suits and ties and unimpressed expressions.
Their pinched faces seemed to say, “I deserve this.” Aurora wondered what it must be like to feel as though you belonged to a higher class of humanity simply because of the size of your bank account. And, for once, she didn’t envy them. They looked kind of miserable.
She settled into one of the leather chairs and moaned aloud. A woman dressed in pinstripes sent her a disturbed glance. Aurora didn't care. She was enjoying herself. Because, instead of sitting in the suspended airport chairs situated in claustrophobia-inducing rows outside the magical land of first class, she was here. Aurora wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She could get out her computer and update her social media, but then remembered she wasn't social enough to do that. Then again, social media was for bragging, right? And, she finally had something to brag about. Too bad she’d lost touch with most of her high school “friends” and only really had one adult friend—Shawn, a studious architect by day, a drag queen by night.
Not wanting to look too out of place by her ogling, Aurora pulled out the thriller novel she'd found in a used bookstore—Huntress Moon. With a female serial killer as the main character, this one was right up her alley. The author, Alexandra Sokoloff, was a woman after her own heart.
She cracked open the spine, removing the plane and ship tickets which bookmarked her page. The unmistakable feeling of being watched pricked at her skin, like mosquitos. Eyes flashing upwards, Aurora scanned the lounge.
Then, like a puzzle, snapping into place, her gaze landed on a young man situated across the room. He sat in one of the seats nestled in the corner by the floor-length windows, which were more like mirrors due to the earliness of the morning. A shock of dark brown hair that waved and curled in an endearing way made him look more approachable than most of the other snobs in the lounge. Something about his demeanor whispered that he didn't belong there. Plus, he wore no suit and tie—just a pair of dark-washed jeans, and a clean, white shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He looked…normal. And his eyes were on her.
The moment Aurora’s gaze met his, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly as he politely looked back down at the newspaper in his hands. She hadn’t done much dating due to circumstances she didn’t want to think about. But, in her many, many jobs, she’d encountered a plethora of men. She’d developed a mental screening process that communicated to her whether or not they were pigs. This young stranger sitting across the room didn’t give her that impression in the least, and she had the inexplicable and foreign feeling of wanting to know him. Their eyes connected again. Her cheeks warmed, and
she forced her gaze back down to the pages of her book, where they remained until it was time to board the plane.
Throughout her twenty-five years of life, Aurora had only been on a plane a handful of times. On each occasion, she’d been squished into coach seats. She'd only been six the first time; nonetheless she remembered being Oreo-ed between her mother and an old woman who’d reeked of cigarette smoke. Another time, on a class trip to Washington D.C., she sat beside an unpleasantly large man who smelled strongly of grease and a mother holding her incessantly screaming child. For five hours. Five.
This first class situation was the opposite of that. And not just because of the lack of unpleasant company. Her seat was twice the size of the ones in coach and about a billion times more comfortable. The seat beside her was at least a foot away, so, even if her currently absent neighbor was large or malodorous in any way, it wouldn’t matter.
The only negative was the overly cheery stewardess with Barbie-pink lipstick, and a hair-sprayed helmet of bleach-blonde hair. The woman spoke in a pitch that was surely too high to be her actual voice, before handing over a menu for the flight.
“Holy crap,” Aurora muttered as she scanned the menu.
Flight Attendant Barbie turned back to Aurora. “Pardon?”
Aurora flashed her a false smile. “Uh…I said I’m going to get the crab.”
The stewardess seemed confused, though this probably happened a lot. Bless her heart.
“That’s a breakfast menu, ma’am. We don't serve crab for breakfast.”
Aurora glanced back down at the menu, frowning. “Right. Guess I’ll uh…have the waffle then.”
“Excellent choice, ma’am. I’ll take your order once we’ve reached our cruising altitude.” Flight Attendant Barbie flashed Aurora a broad, lipstick-stained smile before sauntering off down the aisle.
Aurora sighed and settled back against the seat. The realization of what she was doing still hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Perhaps this was all a clever hoax of some sort. But who would want to play such a ridiculous, and expensive, joke on her? Maybe one of her wealthy students had found a way to rid the world of her malevolent taint once and for all.
“This seat taken?”
Aurora turned to see the curly haired young man who’d been sitting across the room from her in the first class lounge. He plopped into the seat beside her. Now that she had the chance to examine him up close, she noted that he had the most remarkable eyes she'd ever seen: brown and green and honey gold pooling together, like a rare jasper stone.
“The seats are assigned,” Aurora said dryly, though she couldn’t stop looking into his kaleidoscope eyes.
His smile slipped. “I know. It was a joke… Clearly not a funny one.”
The corner of Aurora’s lip quirked upwards. “Clearly.”
He shoved his leather messenger bag under the seat in front of his. “It’s okay. I didn’t figure people from Seattle would laugh at jokes anyhow, due to the Vitamin D deficiency and all.”
Aurora's gaze cut sideways. “I take it you aren’t from Seattle, then."
“You are correct.”
“You’re from a really obscure place, aren’t you? Like, Utah, or something.”
“I guess New York could be considered obscure…”
“New York?” Aurora's head bobbed back slightly. “You don’t sound like a Yankee.”
He laughed at this. “I was born in San Francisco. Lived there 'till I was nine.”
“Why did you move to New York?” Aurora realized this was probably too personal a question to ask a perfect stranger, but went on anyway. “Wanted a new life in the Big Apple? In search of fame and fortune?”
“As a nine-year-old? Nah. My mom passed away, and I went to live with my uncle,” he answered in a more subdued tone.
“Oh… What about your dad?” she asked, before she could stop herself.
What was wrong with her?
“Never met him.”
We have that in common, Aurora thought, falling silent. She wasn't typically this candid with people—especially men. Perhaps her subconscious was aware she would never see him again.
“I’m Gray,” he said after a period of silence.
“Is that supposed to be the emo version of the term ‘I’m blue’?”
And, here comes the dry sarcasm that so effectively drives men away.
Rather than shooting her a strange look, though, he chuckled. “My name is Gray.”
“As in the color?”
“As in short for Grayson.”
“Why not go by that and avoid the confusion?”
“Believe it or not, you’re the first person to be confused by it.”
Aurora glowered at him for a few seconds before turning away again.
Gray swiveled to face Aurora. Leaned towards her. Rested his forearms on his knees. Folded his hands together.
Aurora leaned back to put distance between them, a subconscious reflex.
“Are you going to tell me your name?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“Why not? I told you mine.”
“I didn’t ask.”
Gray looked down, and then a sly smile spread across his lips. “Okay, just tell me the first letter, and I’ll try to guess.”
Reluctantly, she turned toward him, her eyes locked on his. “You’re not going to guess it.”
“We’ll see.”
Ten seconds ticked by. Then: “A.”
“A? Hmmm. Ashley…?”
“No. Why is that always everyone’s first guess?”
Gray chuckled, a warm, rich sound. “Okay, not Ashley. Um…Amy?”
“Nope.”
“Autumn?”
The corner of Aurora’s mouth quirked at this. “Closer.”
“Closer, huh? Hmm. How about…Aurora.” The way he said her name was like a caress, and it made her skin tingle, though she hid this from him.
“How did you guess that so quickly?”
“I’m just really good with names,” he said smoothly, and Aurora narrowed her eyes at him. “Or, I have excellent eyesight, and your ticket is sticking out of your bag.”
He nodded towards the travel tote at her feet where her ticket bookmarked her novel.
She glanced back up at him, repressing a smile. “Clever.”
The plane began its journey down the tarmac. Aurora turned back to look out the window to see the plane readying itself for takeoff. Her back pressed against her seat. Her hands tightened on both armrests. Her heart felt bigger. Heavier.
Her visceral reaction didn't escape Gray's notice. “You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who would be afraid of flying.”
“I’m not afraid,” Aurora lied. Her wavering tone was unconvincing.
“You wanna squeeze my hand?”
Aurora glanced at Gray then, raising an eyebrow. “What?”
“Just an offer. I used to squeeze my mom’s hand when I was little—at the doctor’s office. I hated shots. Still do, actually. There’s something unnerving about a sharp metal object plunging into your skin… you don’t have to, I’ll just leave it here like this, just in case.”
He held his hand out, palm up. Aurora examined it against her better judgment. It was callused. Rough. But inviting all the same. An invitation she refused, even if he did have enchanting hazel eyes, and smooth, dark waves of hair. Just the thought of grasping his hand was tempting and caused her stomach to swoop as if she’d just swallowed something warm and satisfying.
Turning away, Aurora looked out the thick glass. “I think I’ll manage.” The plane gathered speed until finally lifting off of the runway.
Her stomach dropped as the plane rose. The aircraft hit the clouds with a small jolt. It was enough to force Aurora’s left hand to fly out and clasp Gray’s right.
When they touched, she felt a peculiar sizzling sensation in the pit of her stomach. A sensation that overpowered any uneasiness she had of the flight ahead.
And that’s when part of her—
the part she always ignored—somehow knew she was in trouble. Major trouble.
Four
GRAY
Aurora’s hand was small. Soft. Smaller and softer than Gray’s own. He'd expected this, of course. What he hadn’t been expecting was the curious sensation pulsating through his body, as if thousands of minuscule bubbles were simultaneously bursting within his veins.
Deep blue eyes locked on him now, slightly wider than before. The plane bumped again, pulling Aurora’s gaze away from him. Squeezing her eyes shut, she held her breath and clasped his hand tighter, drawing a small smile from him.
“I thought you said you weren’t afraid to fly.”
“I’m not,” Aurora said, breathlessly, “I’m afraid to fall.”
Gray glanced past Aurora out the window. The plane had passed through the clouds into an interminable, inky, blue sky. The sun peeked above the horizon, a ribbon of pink blending seamlessly into dark blue.
“I think the worst is over with,” he said.
Opening an eye, Aurora peered out the window, and her body relaxed back into her seat. She turned back to Gray, her gaze moving down to their still-clasped hands. Slowly, she loosened her grip on his and pulled her hand back, keeping her gaze averted.
“Well,” she said after a moment, “I guess I can cross holding hands with a stranger on an airplane off of my bucket list.”
Gray thought of all the hands he'd held, small and large, after pulling loved ones from a fire, or after failing to do so. "Happens more than you think," he said, “when people are afraid."
Aurora’s sarcastic smile faded, and she fell silent, glancing over at Gray again. Her tough exterior was a front; Gray could tell by the vulnerability in her dark eyes. He found himself wondering what event in her life had caused her to put up such impenetrable walls. Judging by the way she’d acted towards him, he’d assumed it had something to do with a man.
Etheria (The Halo Series Book 1) Page 2
