by C. S. Won
“Mr. Erste? We need to . . .”
“I didn’t mean to!” His face screwed into a panic, he spun around and whipped his arm carelessly, smacking Caroline back against the wall. She went with a yelp—arms raised too slow to catch the blow or cushion her landing—and felt the brunt of the strike in her left cheek, skin hot and tender against her fingers. She pushed a hiss through her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut. That fucker hit me. She looked at him, anger rising within her.
“Why the hell did you hit me? What—”
The fire took her in an instant, dancing up from her skin in a rollicking blaze. A maddening red swirl washed over her world, as if someone had taken a bucket full of crimson paint and blinded her with it. For a moment, she felt nothing, and was even confused as to why all the colors of creation had gone so awry. Had Adam hit her so hard that he disrupted her vision? But then she looked at her arms and saw the flames dancing off her skin, which burned away in large strips to expose the softness underneath. She touched her scalp and felt a wreath of fire, the smell of her burning follicles strong in her nose.
She screamed. The pain came all at once in a thousand different ways. Not a single pore on her body was spared from the flames, every crease and fold and taut of skin subjected to a pain unimaginable. She slumped to the ground on her knees, still screaming, and tried to brush the fire off with her hands in desperate strokes, but her efforts only seemed to agitate the fire into a stronger blaze, which rose higher and stronger. She fell to the ground face first and began to roll side to side, hoping the water on the floor could extinguish the flames, but it was useless. The fire resisted and refused to yield.
Caroline stopped moving. The roar of the fire dimmed. The pain dulled, agony leaking from her body until she eventually felt nothing. The world grew dark; she found herself surrounded by empty, black space, floating gently into the void.
Chapter 11
Jae turned up the radio.
“. . . According to our sources, the fire started out somewhere in the burn ward, spreading down several floors and into the main lobby area where it was finally stopped. Several eyewitnesses claim a man was releasing something from his hand to spread the fire; although, they were not sure if he was using a weapon or something else entirely. Spokespeople for the Atlanta Fire Department and the APD said an investigation is still ongoing and would not confirm eyewitness accounts. Six people have been killed so far, with about a dozen others injured . . .”
Jae lowered the volume, unease eating away at him. He looked at Madeline sitting in the passenger side of his car, staring out of her window with a strained curl to her face. She fussed with the black dress draped over her, pulling and picking at it with nervous twists of her fingers. Her hair was knotted up in a swirling bun, so intricate in its design that Jae had no idea how she managed to tie it by herself. Around her neck hung a loose, silver band dazzling with a flawless luster, the end of it nestled just below her neckline. The glow from her engagement ring flickered as she turned her finger.
“I’m sure your friends made it out in time,” Jae said, reaching over and giving her knee a good squeeze.
Madeline pinched the ring in her fingers and began to spin it around in a circle. “I’ve been trying to call, but no one is answering.” She looked at him. “Was it a terrorist? The news made it sound like someone was attacking the hospital.”
“I don’t think it was a terrorist attack.”
She reached into her purse and brought her phone out. “You’d think someone would at least call and give us an update.”
“I’m sure we’ll hear something soon.”
Madeline sighed, cupping her brow. “God, what is going on, Jae?”
“What do you mean?”
“First there was that lightning storm, then the comas, then your newfound strength, and now this hospital fire. It’s like we can’t go a few days without something happening. Why now?”
“You’re reading too much into it. I doubt there’s a correlation between all these events.” He cupped her knee again. “Don’t stress yourself out over this, honey. Tonight is your night, remember? Once the wine starts flowing, all your worries will be forgotten.”
She slipped her hand over his. “I do love my wine, but . . . not tonight.” She frowned. “It’s just doesn’t feel right considering the circumstances.”
A jingle sounded from Jae’s pocket. He took his phone out. Unknown Caller.
“Huh,” he said.
Madeline leaned over. “Who is it?”
“Doesn’t say.”
“It better not be McAdams. He knows it’s your night off.”
“He knows. Maybe he’s just calling to provide an update on the situation.” He accepted the call. “Hello?”
Static answered. Not the loud buzzing kind, but a distorted sort of hum, crackling every few seconds or so.
“Hello?” He said, again. No voice answered back. He looked at Madeline and shrugged. “Wrong number, maybe?”
“Jae?”
He turned back to the phone. “Yes, hello?”
More static, and then: “. . . Can . . . hea . . . me.”
“Can I hear . . . ? Yes, but barely. Chief, is that you?”
“N . . . it’s . . . never mi . . . listen, you have . . . he’s coming . . .”
“What?”
“. . . Coming . . . you. You have . . . beat him . . . prevent . . . fut . . .”
He pulled the phone away, frowning at it. What the hell was going on?
“Gabe, is that you? Are you messing with me, man?”
“No . . . listen, Jae . . . coming . . . wants to . . . ki . . . won’t stop . . . you must . . . before . . . too late.”
He shook his head. “Whoever this is, I can’t understand what you’re saying. Call me back once you get a better signal.”
“Has to . . . now . . . I can’t . . . back.”
Jae ended the call.
“Who was that?” Madeline asked.
He stared at the call log, studying the Unknown Caller entry. “I don’t know”
“What did he want? Was he from the hospital?”
“There was too much static. I couldn’t understand.”
“Prank call, maybe?”
“No, I don’t think so.” He put the phone back in his pocket, lips dragging into a frown. Even though he didn’t understand what the caller was saying, the voice itself sounded familiar—but not familiar enough to place a face to it. He sifted through the catalog of names and album of faces he knew, trying to find a match, but nothing stood out to him. Who was it?
They pulled up to the entrance of Restaurant Eugene, the doorway glowing yellow from the lights inside. Keys jangled and the engine died down, bathing the interior of the car in darkness. Two lanky valets hastened their way toward them. One saddled up next to the passenger side door and opened it for Madeline, head bowed at a slight angle as he waited for her to exit, and the other moved next to Jae’s side of the car, doing the same for him with practiced grace. Car keys and car numbers were exchanged, and before Jae knew it, his car vanished, disappearing to some secret parking spot just around the corner. He looked at Madeline, and she gave a shy sort of smile. She made her way next to him, heels clicking sharply against the smooth gravel, and curled a hand through his arm, engagement ring sparkling in plain sight for everyone to see.
Inside, the air hummed with conversation, laughter, and the tinkling of silverware. Aromatic smells—cooked meat and sweet wine—wafted through the room. A soft glow draped the interior, fluorescent lighting discarded in favor of oaken, waxed candles placed strategically at the center of every table. Attentive waiters—dressed in an inoffensive uniform of black slacks, white dress shirt, and long aprons—glided along the floor with disciplined precision, their arms full of dishes, weaving their way in and out between the tables of feeding diners.
The host walked up and greeted the couple with a big smile. “Hello, welcome to Restaurant Eugene. Table for two?” She asked.
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br /> “Yes, we have a reservation for 7:45 p.m. It should be under the name Jae Yeon,” Jae said.
The host took the binder from her podium and flipped through the pages. “Let’s see, 7:45 p.m. Jae Yeon . . . 7:45 p.m. Ah, here we are. Yes, of course, Mr. Yeon, we have your table already prepared. Please follow me.”
The host, clutching two menus in the nook of her arm, guided them to a booth situated next to a large window that offered a generous view of the lamp-lit streets of uptown Atlanta. Leather squealed softly as Madeline made her way in, and Jae followed suit, settling in comfortably next to her. The host leaned over and handed them their menus, then stopped.
“My goodness, what a beautiful ring,” the host said, putting a hand to her chest. “Are you . . . ?”
Madeline smiled. “Thank you. Yes, I’m getting married!”
“Congratulations!” The host leaned in for a hug. Madeline sat up in an awkward position to catch her and throw an arm around her. They pulled back and the host beamed at them.
“You two make a beautiful couple.”
“Thank you,” Madeline said.
“When is the wedding?”
Madeline looked at Jae. He gave a shrug.
“We haven’t decided yet,” Madeline said. “Most likely in the summer or fall.”
“You’re going to make such a beautiful bride. I can already see it.” The host took Madeline’s hand into hers, whispering a “wow” under her breath. “I can’t get enough of this ring.”
Madeline laughed, concealing her mirth with her free hand, and began to fill the host in on the specifications of the ring. She boasted the number of carats, the type of band it used, and all the intricate details woven into it. So enthused was their conversation that nearby diners were taking notice, craning their necks around to see what the fuss was about.
While the ladies gabbed on about the ring, Jae’s thoughts lingered on the phone call. Judging by the timing and overall strangeness of it, he wondered if it really was Gabe prank calling him to rattle him on his big night. But the more he thought about it, the more unlikely that seemed. He detected no sign of amusement or humor in the stranger’s voice, even with the bad reception. A serious tone underscored the inflection, perhaps even a sense of urgency. There was no joking around with whatever message the stranger was trying to relay. About the only thing Jae could say for certain was that the caller was male, which was easy to figure out considering the caller’s deeper voice, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the voice seemed familiar, somehow. It was a common sounding voice, but its unique tone sparked a fleeting sense of recognition, like a memory barely there. Who was it? The chief? No. Tommy? No. Gabe? No. Jae sighed. A name or a face failed to materialize to take ownership of the voice, and it frustrated him. He felt he was so close, and all he needed was just one more piece to complete the puzzle.
He replayed the conversation, or at least the words that he could still remember, trying to piece it together to form something coherent. He’s coming. Won’t stop. Prevent. Too late. What was the caller trying to say? The phrase, “He’s coming,” seemed to offer the biggest clue, but without any context to give it broader meaning, it had Jae scratching his head. Who was coming? Why was he coming? What was the stranger even talking about?
The host excused herself, leaving Jae alone with Madeline. He shuffled the phone call away, storing it so he could think of it on his own time, and turned his attention back to his fiancé. She looked at him, slipping her hand between the empty spaces between his fingers.
“She really liked my ring,” she said.
“Maybe she wants to steal it and become my wife,” he said.
“Never. You’re all mine.” Madeline gave him a kiss.
They picked up their menus and began to peruse the short list of choice food items. It was standard fine-dining fare, with a steak dish, a seafood dish, a poultry dish, and some salad options for the grass eaters. Entrees ranged from $30–45 per item, higher than what Jae was expecting; higher than what he was willing to pay for, he could admit to himself, but it was their night for celebration, so why fret? Eat, drink, be merry, and worry about the money later.
He looked at Madeline. She talked with vigor as she detailed all the items she wanted to try, describing each dish with practiced theatricality, finger skimming across the menu in swirls and zigzags. He rested a hand on his cheek and observed the red glow painting her cheeks, tinted like the rising sun at the eve of dawn. She had a smile that refused to go away, a seemingly permanent scrawl across her lips. It was good to see her like this again—happy. That wasn’t to say she was an unhappy person, because she wasn’t, but he knew how stressed she was during his coma, and to see her moving closer to equilibrium left him feeling hopeful that things were finally returning to normalcy, recent hospital fire notwithstanding.
“I think I’ve decided,” she said. “I’m going to get the spring lettuce for a starter and then the grilled north trout for my entrée.” She set her menu down. “What about you?”
“Well, let’s see.” He looked at his menu. Behind him, he heard the small jingle of the front door opening. “I was thinking about getting the roasted beets as an appetizer, and for my entrée, the smoked duck breast. I’ve never had expensive duck before, so I’m curious to know what it’s like.” The restaurant had grown warm, exceedingly so. It was enough for him to loosen his tie a bit and tug at the collar of his shirt. “Who turned the heat on?” He set his menu down and looked at Madeline. Her mouth was hanging open, staring at something over his shoulder. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“Oh my God,” she said.
Jae turned. Standing near the entrance, with his hospital gown frayed and burned, his scarred, burnt face scanning the restaurant, and his amputated arm wrapped tight in a coil of bandages, was Adam. The restaurant quieted, conversation dying into frightened gasps, forks and knives clattering onto dishware, faces stretched in shock as they stared at the burnt man standing before them. It seemed as though the entire world had stopped, Adam’s presence alone enough to suspend time itself.
Jae stood up from his seat. “Adam?”
He turned at the call of his name, eyes moving in the immolated mural of his face. His brow turned inward into a fierce scowl. “There you are.”
“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you—” Jae looked at Adam’s gown. A splatter of dried blood was streaked across his chest and waist. “Christ, what happened? Are you okay?”
Adam made his way toward Jae, naked feet padding softly against the wooden floor. An undeniable anger marked his face. Lips showed a hint of gritted teeth, and his eyes were so bloodshot they may as well have been bleeding. As he came closer, the bandages around his stump loosened and uncoiled, unfurling bit by bit with each measured step he took, finally falling into a clump on the floor. Whispers of disbelief hummed in the air, unblinking eyes fixated on his stump and the tapestry of burn scars across his body. People slinked away when he got too close, averting their gaze and lowering their heads as if it were a sin to gaze upon him.
Adam raised his hand toward Jae, fingers stretched out like claws. Jae backed away, sensing something was awry. How did he know I was here? He positioned himself in front of Madeline, shielding her. He wasn’t quite sure why he was acting like this, so on edge and anxious, but Adam’s sudden appearance—not to mention the blood on his gown—did not sit well with him.
A thin, tall man with a manicured moustache and outfitted in a tailored navy suit, stepped in front of Adam’s path. Judging by his demeanor and attire, Jae pegged him as either the general manager or owner of the establishment. With chest and chin held high, the man raised his hand in a “halt” gesture and spoke, trails of sweat streaking over his lips.
“Derelicts are not welcome here. You need to leave, sir, immediately,” the man said, pointing a finger and waving it at the door.
“Who are you?” Adam asked.
“The maître d’”
“Get out of my way before you
get hurt.”
“Your presence here is making our patrons uncomfortable. Unless you are here to dine . . .” The maître d’ looked him up and down and shook his head in a disapproving manner. “. . . which I highly doubt, then you need to leave the premises, right now. If you fail to comply, I will call the authorities.”
“I won’t say it again. Get the fuck out of my way.”
The maître d’ leaned around Adam. “Christina, call the police. Tell them to be here as soon as they can.” The host nodded, picking up a nearby telephone. “The police are now coming. Leave, or you’ll be spending the night in jail, sir.”
Adam turned and looked at the host over his shoulder, glaring at her with squinting, hateful eyes. The exposed muscles in his jaw squirmed. After a moment, he turned back around, fingers curling into a fist, and looked at the maître d’, who stood brimming with defiance, unwilling to stand down, his expensive suit now soaked through with sweat.
“I’m here to see . . . a friend, that’s all,” Adam said, lowering his voice into a less threatening tone. “I’m not here to cause any trouble.” His pointed at Jae. “That’s my friend, right over there; he knows me. Ask him if you don’t believe—” The hate in his eyes suddenly dissipated, and the faintest crack of a smile flashed across his burnt off lips. “Madeline,” he said, taking a step forward.
“You need to leave right now!” The maître d’ put his hands on Adam.
Instinct propelled Jae forward. “No, don’t!”
“Why you—” Adam whisked his hand forward and the maître d’ found himself stumbling over, cheek swollen and bright red. A wave of stunned murmurs bubbled up from the gathered diners. The maître d’ looked up, his face scrunched up in anger, all pretenses of formality gone. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, looking like he was ready for a fight, and stood up.
