Rouge

by Isabella Modra

  Hunter saw the death in his empty eyes and the pool of blood around his head and felt instantly sick. She turned away to escape it, facing the wall and the spot where they had tried to rape her, but the man’s dead face was everywhere. She looked down at her hands and singed sleeves. She could still sense the fire within her, just as Joshua had said, but there was no anger. Only fear for what she’d become.

  Tears welled in her eyes as she turned back to the body. Her shoulders shook and suddenly she broke down in sobs, sinking to the snowy concrete ground, her hands reaching out for the man in a silent plea for his life. She was sure someone would hear her wailing, but no one came. No one.

  Unable to push the fire nor the nausea away, Hunter stumbled to her feet and turned to flee when something small and white in the middle of the path caught her eye. She reached down and picked up a half empty cigarette packet that must have fallen from one of their pockets. She sobbed, shoved the smokes into the depths of her coat and ran.

  thirteen

  Joshua paced back and forth in the kitchen. He had no intention of going to work today. Not until he heard from Hunter. So he vowed to stay by the phone in case she called.

  He was angry at her for leaving so suddenly in such an unstable state without telling him where she was going. Didn’t she learn not to do that from their last argument, the one that first brought out the fire? He couldn’t stand not knowing if she was safe or not. She would be brewing with emotion, God knows what she might do. What if she became reckless and impulsive and started using her powers for heroic things like pulling people from the wreckage of burning buildings? The very thought made him sweat and he poured himself a glass of water. If only he’d had enough time to explain properly, to teach her how to control the flames, to implore her to keep her powers a secret.

  She has no idea of the danger she is in if her powers become public. If they found out what she could do...

  A shiver ran down Joshua’s spine. It was a strange feeling, because he was never cold. Cold was his friend.

  Hunter’s powers were one of a kind. The combination of heat, fuel and oxygen creating a supernatural fire inside her as she was formed in the womb would never occur again. That was what scared Joshua the most. Now that Hunter’s powers were almost fully developed, and she was unstable enough to do something drastic, what would stop them from taking her away? What would stop them from threatening him again, from bleeding out the secret of her powers to use for the selfishness of money and power?

  Joshua knew what these people we capable of. He’d experienced it firsthand. Hunter was not stable enough to fight them. She was not strong enough to control the fire inside her, let alone protect herself from the Agents. They would come for her the moment they found out…

  I can’t let them discover her, he thought and skulled the glass of water, pouring another. I won’t let them take her.

  I promised.

  fourteen

  Hunter moved like a ghost through the hallway. Her eyes were dry from tears and the cold wind outside, her throat hoarse and a sick feeling in her stomach. Maybe it was the jitters at being in the dodgiest hotel in New York City. But she knew better. This was how it felt to have someone’s blood on your hands.

  The room she chose was on the second floor and the highest point in the building. As she checked each door for her room number, shouts from a couple of doors down made her jump.

  “Go on, see what it’s like to live off your mother!” came a woman’s scream. “See if I care!”

  A door was thrust open and Hunter froze as a man in an oversized jumper and dirty jeans fell out of the doorway and hit the opposite wall.

  “Fuck you Annie!” he shouted and the door was slammed in his face. “You’ll come back to me, I swear to God!” He wiped a line of spit from his mouth and muttered, “little shit,” before turning to Hunter. “What you lookin’ at, Strawberry Shortcake?”

  Hunter looked away immediately, the hungry look in his eyes reminding her of the scrawny man lying dead in the alleyway, and fumbled with the rusty silver key. She burst into her room before he could shout at her some more, or before he saw her cry.

  The strange smell of rotten carpet hit her directly in the face, the sense of ancient dust thick in the air. Hunter fumbled with the light switch and a tiny bulb hanging on a frayed cord lit up, giving the room an eerie golden glow. It was smaller than their kitchen back at the apartment, with a single bed against the right wall, a bathroom that hadn’t been cleaned, and a space for a kitchen consisting of a single sink, a microwave and a fridge that came up to her hip. The window was open and ugly orange curtains frayed at the edges hung tattered from the roof.

  Hunter stood for a very long time, staring at the room. But all she could see was the empty eyes of the homeless man, his blood and singed clothes, his fear. She threw her overnight bag on the bed and sat down, staring out the window at the black view of another building with no lights on.

  Hunter needed to hold someone. She thought immediately of Eli, but then she forced him out of her mind. How could she look at him again after what she’d done? She was a killer. This power made her a murderer.

  You were defending yourself, a voice reassured her. It was a familiar voice, but now it seemed to have a mind of its own. She knew it was the fire. They would have raped you had you not done something. They deserved every bit of the pain.

  But what she did was far worse than rape. No matter how vile that man was, he was still a person. He might have had a family, kids, a life...

  I killed someone. There’s no excuse for that.

  Those words repeated themselves over and over in her mind. Hunter chose to have a shower, but even if it washed away the smell of the greedy men, it didn’t wash away her guilt. She cried until she had no tears left, and then she fell back on the squeaky bed and dove directly into darkness.

  fifteen

  Sleep was the best thing for Hunter. Even if it was only a few hours, she awoke feeling like some semblance of herself had returned.

  I need coffee. She hurried down to the front desk of the hotel and asked for a coffee urn, some milk and sugar. After walking with her head down back to her room - past the quiet hall where the drunk had shouted at his wife last night - Hunter locked her door, poured herself some coffee and settled down in the middle of her bed. From there, she watched her reflection in the plain rectangular floor-length mirror on the opposite wall. Her hair was a mess of frizzy curls and there was a look of sickness in the way she sat. She was surprised that she didn’t have nightmares, but maybe the bags under her eyes weren’t from lack of sleep, but from using her powers. She glanced down at her bare legs and arms and noticed the faintest tinge of purple there too. They were bruises from the alley men and proof of their attempted rape. Worst of all, they were proof that she was a killer.

  It couldn’t have been only six hours ago that she had discovered Joshua’s secret lab. Suddenly, everything she’d learned didn’t matter anymore. She no longer cared that her mother was immune to fire, that she died giving birth to her and that Joshua had lied to her all her life.

  Memories of the alleyway flooded into her and the fire began boiling beneath her skin. She still remembered the dead man’s face and thoughts of him haunted her. Had someone found his body? Did the beefy guy go back for him? Did anyone even care?

  It didn’t matter. She had killed someone. For that, she would never forgive herself. More importantly, she would never forgive the fire within her.

  Hunter dropped her head and looked at her arms, where the faintest glow surged through her veins. She could see the fire pumping in her blood like lava dribbling down a volcano. It was still completely unbelievable that this fire came from inside a rock – a rock Joshua seemed to think was not of this world – and leeched itself into her mother’s skin, right when she was conceived.

  How had I not known all my life that my DNA was made up of part human, part volcanic magma?

  As she sipped her coffee, Hunter fo
und herself thinking back to those times when strange things happened and she was always there. Could those insignificant accidents really have anything to do with her? She remembered when she had impressed a bunch of guys in class a few years ago by holding her finger above a candle for more than ten seconds. It was, in their words, ‘the coolest party trick ever’. At the time, Hunter thought nothing of it, happy to amuse them.

  I’ve been a part of you your whole life, said the fire. Hunter gripped her mug tighter in her hand, refusing to listen to the voice of murderer.

  “That’s what you are,” she whispered. “A killer conscience that I can’t control. How do I get you out of me?”

  For some reason, Hunter started to laugh. She found it so completely ridiculous that she was sitting in an old hotel room wondering how she might be able to rip out a supernatural fire that burned inside her body and only came out when she was scared or angry. Hunter laughed so much on the bed that her coffee slopped onto the covers, seeping greedily into the material next to many other stains that she’d rather not think about.

  You can’t, Hunter. The sensation of warmth like dripping honey through her body was something she would never get used to as the truth of the fire’s words hit her hard. I am more a part of you than even your soul. Before you were born, I was there. Before you developed thoughts and feelings and pain, I was there.

  Fear gripped Hunter so suddenly that she grabbed her forehead and squeezed her temples.

  “I don’t want to listen to you!” she shouted, rocking back and forth. “You’re a killer!”

  You may be right, it hissed. But while I’m here, attached to your soul, you might as well face it.

  Hunter stared at her reflection. All her life she had been an outcast. The poor orphan girl. The one with the strange hair color. And then the school slut suddenly exiled from the people she once called friends. Was this just preparation for the life she faced as a murderous supernatural being with a fire attached to her soul? Was that God’s plan?

  If so, why would he give me Eli? Why now, in the middle of all this hurt?

  Hunter decided as she stared at her battered reflection that this was not the person she wanted to be. Eli arrived in her life at the worst possible time, but also the best.

  “I need to control this fire, right?” she asked herself, feeling foolish for speaking aloud. But it helped to hear the words in her own mind. “I need to keep my soul alive. What better reason than to protect the first person I’ve ever met that I truly care about?”

  I will always be here, Hunter. You can’t get rid of me.

  “No, but I can stop you from screwing up my life. Starting now.”

  And so Hunter decided, then and there, that she wouldn’t leave the hotel until she had moved on from the horrible alleyway incident and obtained a firm grip over her powers. On the three occasions that the fire had come out, she had no way of stopping it and her emotions were at their peak. She never wanted to experience the terror of what had been unleashed last night in the alley. The memory itself was still fragile.

  Hunter stared at the ribbons of steam slithering from her half-empty coffee mug and felt the heat ripple into her fingers and the palms of her hands. She closed her eyes and let out a long breath of air. The heat from the mug felt as if it were slithering through her bloodstream on a current. It travelled up her arms, into her chest. Was that where the core of the fire really dwelled? In her heart? Her soul?

  How the hell do I do this? she asked herself. How do I make these flames?

  Joshua had explained that when the volcanic lava had connected with her mother in a moment of passion, a fire ignited. Both the drug and the fire live inside me, therefore I have the power to produce a flame whenever I feel the need to. But do I have to be angry? Or scared? Can I do this simply by feeling the flames within me?

  Hunter placed the mug down on the bedside table. Breathing deeply and concentrating hard - because that’s what they do in the movies - Hunter opened her palms as if she were practicing yoga. She listened to the air coming in and out of her nose and mouth, felt the heat coursing through her veins. But it was calm, just like a gentle breeze. Nothing happened.

  Hunter tried to remember how she’d done it before. She was angry at Joshua and Benny, but she feared the men in the alley. They had come close to raping her, and instinct took over.

  The very thought made Hunter want to vomit, so she pushed it away and decided to focus on Joshua. She concentrated on everything he’d done lately to make her angry. He lied to me about my parents, about my past, about who I am and the mutation inside of me. He waited until I discovered it on my own to tell me I could produce fire from nothing, and why? To protect me? To keep me safe? So that I could have a normal life?

  “Guess what Joshua?” she said aloud, surprised at her poisonous tone. The air in her lungs was coming out stronger as the anger pounded inside of her like the beating of a bongo drum. “I’m not normal!” she shouted. “I’m a goddamn fire-breathing freak of nature, and now I’m a killer!”

  Hunter’s breath caught in her throat when she felt it: the surge of heat from her chest into her arms and then the palms of her hands. In the reflection, she saw a glowing orange light ripple through her skin and suddenly her hands caught on fire. Flames floated above her palms, dancing and bending around each other, sparking like a fire sprinkled with kerosene. The urge to run to the bathroom and stick her hands under the running tap burst inside her, but she was paralyzed.

  But the flames weren’t burning her. Her hands felt strangely warm, tingling pleasantly, like the tickle of a hot summer breeze.

  “Oh shit,” she whispered, transfixed. She joined her hands together and watched the flames combine, as if she were holding a miniature fire in her hands.

  After the moment of inclusive awe passed, the sight of the fire reminded her of the alley and she clenched her fists together tightly.

  “I can’t do this,” she muttered, tears spilling over her eyes.

  You have to. For the sake of others, you have to fight this fire. Put it out for good, or at least learn how to keep it inside you. You can’t hide in this hotel room forever, Hunter. Though the fire is deadly, it is a part of you. Use it for good, not evil. Control it.

  The voice sounded like something her parents would say.

  Hunter spent a few minutes collecting herself. She poured more coffee and drank it in steady intervals. Then, she flexed her fingers, shook them and brought them in her lap again. She closed her eyes.

  Summoning the flame without emotion turned out to be simpler than she expected. The fire already lived in her. She just needed to get a metaphorical grip on it.

  A strange sensation rippled through her body, as if a real fire stirred inside her. From somewhere deep in her core, it crawled through her veins and burst from her skin, pouring fourth into a bright orange flame. She soon found that she didn’t need to be angry or scared to produce the fire; it was simply a matter of sensing it in her body and forcing it to her fingers.

  Sometimes the fire put up a fight, acting out and slipping from her grasp like a cheeky puppy who enjoyed being disobedient. After a few more hours of sitting cross legged on her bed clenching her fists together and then watching the fire appear from nowhere, Hunter began to wonder what it would be like to try and set other things on fire.

  Curiosity getting the better of her, and finally on level ground with her powers, Hunter jumped off the bed and yanked the roll of toilet paper from the hook in the bathroom. Toilet paper’s gotta be the easiest thing to burn, right? She set it down on the floor, ripped one sheet from the roll and placed it before her.

  Okay. How does this work? Hunter tried summoning the flame from her core, just as she’d been doing all morning, and let it fill her. She felt the flames burst from her hands and looked down at the piece of toilet paper. Nothing.

  “Oh come on,” she moaned. “I’ve done it before! How come I can set a goddamn stove on fire and not a piece of paper?”

/>   A few more attempts and she found herself puffing, sweat pouring from her back and her forehead. Her head throbbed from so much concentration. In an act of pure frustration, Hunter let out an enraged scream and looked up at her reflection in the mirror.

  “Oh shit!” she yelped and jumped to her feet.

  Her entire upper body was on fire, her red hair flaming like angry snakes, twisting around her chest and her stomach. She closed her eyes, but she could still feel it licking at her cheeks. Please don’t let my hair burn off! She counted to ten, breathing deeply, and opened her eyes.

  The fire had disappeared.

  “God,” she breathed. “I need a break.”

  Snatching her bag from the bed, Hunter left the hotel room and locked her door, suddenly aware of how hungry she was. As she went downstairs, she flipped her hood up over her head and prayed that no one spoke to her.

  The sun shone outside, a rarity in the final month of a New York winter. Hunter moved quickly through the streets - avoiding anyone who looked like they were homeless - to the nearest supermarket she could find. There, she purchased some microwavable dishes, snack foods and more coffee. She had no idea how long it would take her to learn to control her powers, but she hoped no more than a few days. When she took out the fifty from her pocket, her hands scraped the cigarette packet she’d taken from the alley and she bit back another round of tears. No longer feeling the need to smoke, Hunter threw them in the bin on her way out.

  Returning to her room in the hotel, Hunter checked the time. It was mid-afternoon. She made Carbonara and more coffee and sat down on the bed again, watching the sunlight cast slices of light onto the stained carpet. Dust particles danced in the light like tiny stars.

  Hunter knew she wasn’t even close to learning how to control the fire, but at least she had started.