The Fireproof Girl

by Loretta Lost

  Zack places his hand on my shoulder, but I grab his wrist and twist it. “Don’t touch me,” I whisper, but I immediately release him when I realize it is only Zack. “Sorry.”

  He looks disturbed and upset. “I’m… I’m here for you, no matter what.”

  I frown. “Hey. How did the detective know about the scholarship fund in my name? I never mentioned it.”

  “He must have done some quick research online?” Zack suggests.

  “That sounds so awful, Senator,” the detective is saying. “I can’t imagine what it feels like to lose a child.”

  “I was never the same after my little girl died, Detective.” Benjamin sighs and reaches up to loosen his tie. “Do you mind if I stretch my legs?”

  “Go ahead,” Rodriguez says with a hand gesture.

  When Benjamin gets up, I watch his movements carefully. Every muscle in my body grows tense, even though there is a glass between us. My fists clench into little balls. The senator moves back and forth in the room idly before heading precisely in my direction. A small, almost imperceptible gasp escapes my throat as Benjamin stares at me through the glass.

  I know that he cannot see me, but it almost feels like he can. Are they absolutely, one hundred percent certain that this two-way mirror cannot be seen through? By anyone? If he looks closely enough…

  “Sorry for getting distracted in my line of questioning, Senator. This is about Cole, after all. How did you meet him?”

  Benjamin’s thin lips curl upward in what can only be described as an evil smile. It sends a shiver through my body. “It’s funny you should mention that, Detective. After my little girl died, I went crazy. I found myself searching the whole country for her, refusing to believe that she was actually dead. That was how I met Cole Hunter. It turns out that he had been dating a young girl matching my daughter’s description in a suburb outside of Los Angeles. It was a false lead of course, and the little girl attending Catholic school was not my Serena. My heart was crushed.”

  Benjamin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sleek leather wallet that matches his shoes. He clutches it tightly in the palm of his hand. “I never gave up hope, though, Detective. I still have the suicide note that my sweet Serena wrote to me. I read it every now and then, and tell myself that there is no way. There is no way that a girl so smart, so beautiful, so full of love and life, could kill herself. Maybe, even if she really intended to die, she somehow survived her own attempt. What do you think, Detective? Have you ever seen someone change their mind or fail at suicide?”

  Rodriguez clears his throat. “Well…”

  “Oh my god,” I whisper in horror, afraid that he can hear me. “Zack—”

  “I know.”

  Benjamin keeps talking, and he keeps looking directly into the mirror. Directly at me. “Most of us get deeply depressed, don’t we Detective? But the will to live is almost always stronger than the desire to give up. People don’t give up so easily, do they? People keep trying. It’s in our nature. People keep living, no matter how hard it gets. We almost can’t help it. Don’t you think so, Detective?”

  I study Benjamin’s facial expressions carefully, moving closer to the glass. There are a few new lines around his eyes, but the same sharp, calculating irises buried inside a sheath of aging skin. His eyebrows are lowered in concentration as his lips curl ever-so-slightly at the corners.

  “Do you see this?” I ask Zack. “He’s interrogating the detective. He’s watching his facial expressions through the mirror.”

  “Yeah,” Zack says quietly.

  Rodriguez stutters. “Well, Senator. I suppose I hadn’t thought about that very much. Are you asking these questions in relation to Cole? I know you worked with him recently. Did he seem depressed to you?”

  “He did seem… off. I kept in touch with him over the years, since I met him when he was a boy. He seemed a lot healthier and more energetic in the past. That’s why we fought, Detective. It was our first opportunity to work together, and Cole didn’t seem to be putting his heart and soul into the project. I erected Serenity Towers as a monument to my little girl, and my love for her. Cole knew that, but he didn’t share my vision. He even refused to name the building as I wished. I spoke to Cole in detail about what I wanted, and I really thought that he was just the man to give me my building. I thought that he could understand my feelings. He had recently suffered the loss of someone he cared about deeply, as well, you see.”

  “Oh?” the detective asks. “Who might that be?”

  “His wife,” the senator says softly. “I know that Cole loved his wife deeply, and was broken up by her leaving him. That’s why I thought he could understand how much this building meant to me. I may not have been the greatest father on the planet. I may have made mistakes, but what father doesn’t? If there was a chance that my little girl was out there, somewhere in the world, I wanted this building to be a message to her. I wanted it to be an apology.”

  “That’s—that’s a beautiful sentiment,” the detective says softly. “I’m sorry that Cole didn’t design the building strictly to your specifications.”

  “He did the best that he could,” Benjamin says, turning to glance at Rodriguez, “considering that he was a man with a broken heart. He wasn’t healthy, Detective. He was only half the man he used to be, when he was younger. Do you know what a broken heart will do to a person? Being abandoned by someone you love. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

  “I have some idea,” Rodriguez responds.

  Benjamin turns back to look at me, and places his palm flat against the glass as he speaks. “That’s how I felt when I lost my little girl. It’s funny how a child can come into your life, and change everything. Having a daughter—it makes you a better man. Because there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to protect her. To find her.”

  My eyes dart over his face, scanning frantically for information. I find him to be hard and stoic, as though he is playing poker. The only hint of emotion is the thin sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. Somehow, even that seems intentional. His attention to detail is remarkable. His hand on the glass—familiar, with a scar running across his palm, in a gesture of peace. I gulp down a lump of fear in the back of my throat, admitting to myself that these words—they are for me.

  He is speaking to me.

  “I thought that if I could build something beautiful enough, in her honor, that my Serenity would forgive me,” Benjamin whispers. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted; her forgiveness. And even if she isn’t here, on this planet anymore, maybe those buildings might be tall enough to stretch to heaven and send my love to my little angel.” He removes his palm from the glass, and begins to trace a heart on the two-way mirror.

  It looks like he is pointing directly at me, and it makes my stomach churn with nausea. I take a step backward, warily.

  “But I know she isn’t gone. Somehow, I know that I would feel it if she were gone. We have a sixth sense like that, about the ones we love, don’t you think, Detective?”

  Rodriguez clears his throat, and looks in my general direction. There is a tiny twitch of concern in his eyebrows. “Perhaps.”

  Benjamin smiles. He saw it. He saw that tiny twitch of concern in the Detective’s face. He’s won.

  “Sometimes, I just know that I’m going to see my daughter again,” the senator says, stepping closer to the glass.

  I take another step backward.

  “I just feel her presence, you know?” Benjamin says with a soft voice and knowing smile. “I feel her close to me. Sometimes, I think she’s so close that I could almost reach out and touch her.”

  That’s it. I’m gone. Stumbling backwards, I crash into a table and curse before darting for the door and running out of the room. One of my ankles twist slightly in my black heel, and I reach down to rip my shoes off in two quick, fluid motions, before continuing my flight.

  I can almost hear Benjamin laughing behind me. Is he laughing, or am I imagining it?

  I am going insane
. I can hear his laughter inside my skull.

  It reaches every corner of my brain, and I want to scream.

  All I can do is run. I run, and run, and run. I run until I can’t breathe.

  I feel like I am nine years old again, helpless and alone.

  I keep running, even when I can no longer breathe.

  I keep running, even when I can no longer stand.

  All I know is how to run.

  My body won’t stop shivering.

  Sitting naked in the cold, empty bathtub, I hug my knees against my chest as my mind jumps and cartwheels between flashes of the distant past, the present, and the future. My hair is hanging limply and sodden around my face like a haphazard curtain. I am staring blankly through the wet and stringy tendrils, at the patterns on the bathroom wall. The tiles are a creamy-beige color, with a pearly finish, but I can still see the walls of a filthy gas station bathroom from my childhood.

  After wandering around for hours, running and walking down busy streets, through parks filled with palm trees, and along the water, I found myself heading back to the hotel. I didn’t know where else to go. My feet were growing sore and raw, and I only had my heels with me. I considered returning to Cole’s house and firing up all its emergency security measures, but I didn’t want to risk being seen by anyone who might be watching the house.

  On my way back to the hotel, it began to rain a little, soaking my hair and my new black dress. I had to put my heels back on because the bottoms of my feet were getting tender. However, walking in high heels requires a lot of strength and balance, and after wandering around for hours, I was far from being able to walk at my usual brisk, confident pace. I had to wobble forward miserably, one step at a time, with each step being excruciating.

  When the door to the bathroom opens, I jump a little.

  “Sorry to startle you. I knocked, but there was no response,” Zack says with concern. He looks over me, as if to make sure that I haven’t slit my wrists or tried to hurt myself, before moving to my side and crouching beside the tub. “You’re shaking, Soph. Didn’t you want to take a shower?”

  I don’t respond right away.

  When I finally part my lips to speak, they feel cracked and dry, and I can’t find any words to push between them.

  Zack reaches out to touch my shoulders and brush my hair away from my face. “God, you’re freezing. Let me turn on the water.”

  He turns on the tap, and tests the temperature with his hand as the water begins to fill the tub. At first, I feel the sharpness of cold water against my toes, but then, slowly, the warmth begins to build as the water pools around my feet. Zack reaches for a clean towel and allows it to get soaked with warm water before gently using it to clean and warm my face and neck. He wraps the towel around my shoulders before reaching for the hotel soap and beginning to slather my feet. He carefully washes away the debris I had accumulated from walking around barefoot, before turning off the water and letting the dirty water drain out of the tub. I immediately miss the warmth from the half an inch of water that I had been sitting in.

  Why had I been sitting in an empty tub, anyway? I stare at the faucet and taps in confusion, wondering why I hadn’t turned them on. Am I really that absentminded?

  When Zack begins to refill the tub with warm water and gently splashes some over my arms and knees, I begin to remember who I currently am, and where I am, in this moment. He brushes his hand over my temple, combing his fingers through my tangled hair. Slowly, my body and mind begin to thaw as the warm water surrounds my hips and thighs.

  I hadn’t even realized that I was frozen.

  Turning my head to look at him, I try to actually focus on the man sitting before me, and not all the ghosts of men inside my head. I see the deep concern on Zack’s face, as he tries to take care of me. Reaching out, I grab Zack’s hand and squeeze it thankfully.

  “You still have those guns Lucy gave us, right?” I ask him hoarsely.

  “Yeah,” he responds, gesturing to his belt. “Don’t worry.”

  Nodding slowly, I look around the bathroom, trying to gather my bearings and formulate a plan. “Okay,” I say softly, deciding that I’ve had enough of being weak and pathetic.

  I reach into my mind and flip the switch. I feel better now.

  I stand up, ignoring that I am naked, and grab another towel, drying myself off before wrapping it around my body. “Did I receive any phone calls?” I ask Zack, aware that I left my wallet and phone with him when I ran out of the police station.

  “Yes. Levi called from Karachi at the request of his father, and said he has some information for you. He says you can call him back anytime, but it’s not urgent, because he has everything under control.”

  “Of course, he does. Anything else?” I walk into the bedroom, using the towel around my shoulders to dry off my hair.

  “Uh, yeah,” Zack says, following behind me. “Mr. Bishop sent you some more details about Cole’s will, and Miranda called reminding you that you’re in charge of the company now, and that she could really use some help if you could come into the office tomorrow morning, or whenever you’re feeling better. Or if you have a break in the investigation.”

  I nod, tilting my head forward to wrap the towel around my scalp and roll up my hair, before slinging it back to hang behind me. I grab the handle of my backpack and toss it onto the bed before arranging some pillows for back support. Finally, I climb up onto the bed and dry off my hands and arms on the towel I’m wearing before reaching inside the backpack for the stack of Cole’s letters.

  “You’re going to read those?” Zack asks.

  “Yes. I could use some privacy.”

  “I don’t think it’s wise for me to leave you alone with the way the Senator...”

  I look up at him. “Make yourself useful and get me a coff—er, chocolate milk.”

  “Chocolate milk?” he asks in surprise.

  “Yes. I’m cutting back on caffeine.”

  “Since when?”

  “Zack, just get me something to drink. A bottle of water would be fine. I’m going to work on this, okay?”

  “Sure,” he says finally.

  I wait for him to leave the room before reaching for a letter. My hands don’t shake or hesitate as I reach for the flap and open the thin sheath to retrieve its contents. I unfold the letter calmly, and allow my eyes to soak up Cole’s familiar handwriting.

  This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. It always used to feel like Christmas morning to receive a letter from Cole. As long as I remind myself that he is still alive, these words do not have the power to upset me. Anything that’s broken can be fixed, as long as he is alive.

  Benjamin’s words come hurtling back to me.

  Somehow, I know that I would feel it if she were gone. We have a sixth sense like that, about the ones we love, don’t you think?

  It felt like he was directly mocking me. But there is another possibility. Maybe that’s just the way he is, and after three years of living with him, I have picked up some of his thinking. Am I like him? I don’t care. Am I right? Is there a chance that Cole is alive, or do I just think so because I faked my own death? If he is gone, what’s the point of anything?

  I push this doubt from my mind and focus on the words before me.

  Dear Scarlett,

  I got it. I actually freaking got it. Can you believe this?

  They selected my designs for a megaproject in the new DHA city outside of Karachi. It’s going to be one of the biggest projects I’ve ever worked on. Bigger than Tokyo. Bigger than Germany. Dozens of apartment buildings and condominiums, on virgin landscape. I really feel like I am making a contribution to the world—helping to build a whole new city. A master-planned, self-sufficient city, better than any ever built.

  As I write this, I am staring at an unopened bottle of champagne—your favorite kind. I know I should celebrate my success, but without you here to share this bottle, I don’t feel like it’s right to open it up. I wish you were here.
Victory doesn’t feel the same without you. It feels like… it isn’t victorious enough.

  Could we meet up? Just for a day or two. I can fly over there for a weekend and we can grab some food and talk. I would love to discuss this project with you, but more importantly… I just need to see you. It’s been too long, and I don’t know how much more I can take. Letter writing is all good, but I would give anything just to sit close to you and look into your eyes. We don’t even have to talk.

  Sitting with you in silence is one of my favorite things to do.

  I miss that brain of yours. Miranda has some cool ideas for this project, but most of them aren’t going to be in the budget. I’m going to try to convince the developer that spending money up front will alleviate maintenance costs in the future, but you know how these guys are.

  I keep trying to imagine what you would say if you were involved in this. Would you give me crazy ideas to make everything more complicated and frustrate the hell out of me? Tell me how each unit needs to be wired with cameras because women can’t be trusted to be honest about domestic abuse. Tell me how we should have wireless monitors hooked up to the collars of family pets, triggering emergency lockdown measures based on their elevated heart rates. Tell me anything.

  I miss the way you always made things complicated.

  I allow myself to get lost in carefully reading the words, and even reading between the lines. Sometimes the most important words are the ones that go unspoken, and I know Cole well enough that I can see the hidden meaning behind each sentence, and feel everything he felt while writing.

  Taking a deep breath, I dismiss this letter as unimportant and skim the rest of it before placing it in the beginning of a “read” pile. Someday, when all of this is over, I will go back and carefully read each letter for personal reasons. But I need to be professional, now. I pick up another letter randomly, but this time, from closer to the middle of the pile. I don’t think reading them chronologically will help.