Angel Fire

by Shelley Russell Nolan

  ANGEL FIRE

  by

  Shelley Russell Nolan

  Copyright © Shelley Russell Nolan 2015

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  1

  I stared at the little blue pill in the palm of my hand.

  Tired of waking coated in sweat, with the bed sheets twisted around my legs, I’d taken the last packet of pills from the back of the drawer, despairing that the months spent weaning myself off the medication had been for nothing

  The pill, innocuous and yet seductive, promised a dreamless night and a return to existing on autopilot.

  My hand shook as I lifted it towards my mouth, the sting of failure making my eyes water. Aunt Joyce had predicted that I wouldn’t handle life without medication and would snap under the pressure. I pictured her, the day I moved out, as usual making no attempt to hide her scorn. If I swallowed this pill, I’d be proving her right.

  My spine stiffened and I made a fist.

  No.

  She was the one who was wrong.

  I launched myself off the bed and raced to the toilet. Before I could think twice, I threw the pill into the bowl, flushed the toilet, and watched the water take temptation away.

  I returned to my room and sat on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around my stomach, rocking backwards and forwards. Gradually my breathing eased and I lay down, arms at my sides, hands gripping the sheet beneath me. I stared up at the ceiling, at the shadows cast by the lamp on my bedside table.

  Eyelids impossibly heavy, given weight by weeks of disturbed nights, they closed, and sleep claimed me.

  It felt like I’d only just fallen asleep when I was transported to the room that had haunted me for as long as I could remember.

  I stand in the doorway as the empty room ripples before filling with furniture. Twin timber beds rest against one wall, covered in matching pink quilts with stuffed toys on the pillows. White lace billows over the window between the beds and fairies dance on the pink and white curtains hanging open on either side.

  On the opposite side of the room a brown rocking horse sits beside a large pink and white toy box.

  Neat and tidy, everything in its place, I know that will soon change. My stomach clenches, dread filling my mouth with bile. I struggle to move, to leave the room, but remain frozen in place, helpless to do anything but bear witness as the dream plays out before me.

  The room ripples, and now it is no longer neat. Toys strewn over the floor, quilts thrown off the beds, sheets rumpled. A small child sits on one of the beds. She is beautiful, with golden curls and sleepy indigo eyes, one chubby hand clutching a well-worn teddy to her chest. She is around three years of age.

  She is me, a reflection of the child I had once been. I smile at my former self, enjoying this moment of peace. But it is not to last. The room ripples once more and the dream shifts to nightmare.

  The room goes dark and smoke obscures my vision. I wave a hand in front of my face to clear the smoke away, and desperately search for the little girl. She now stands on the end of the bed, beseeching me with terror filled eyes. A crackling noise behind me makes me spin around and I find myself facing a long hall filled with smoke, flames licking the walls. Mesmerised by the flames, my attention is caught, until a terrified scream has me turning back to my childhood self.

  Fire is devouring the fairies on the curtains as the little girl backs away from them in fear. She looks over her shoulder at me.

  ‘Help me, Andie, please. I’m scared.’ The little girl stretches a hand towards me. Her mouth does not move, but her words echo in my head.

  I try to go to the child, wanting to take her in my arms and pluck her to safety. Then part of the ceiling collapses, blocking my path and I move around it while the little girl silently cries my name. I reach out to her and she smiles as our fingertips touch. Then something grabs me around my stomach and pulls me away.

  ‘No.’ I struggle to break free, striving with all my might to go back for the little girl, hoping that this time the unseen force would relent.

  ‘Andie.’ The little girl screams, backing away as more of the ceiling caves in.

  ‘Let me go.’ Tears stream down my cheeks as I am taken out of the room. I desperately want to go back, to rescue the little girl. Instead, I am picked up and carried down the hall.

  The child’s cries get louder, more insistent, and I cover my ears but am unable to block them out as they are inside my head. Smoke fills my lungs and I choke on it, eyes stinging and lungs heaving. Then darkness takes me.

  I bolted upright, coughing, rubbing my abraded throat, an echo of the little girl’s screams ringing in my ears. My body trembled as an acute sense of loss filled me. I resisted the urge to lie down. Even if I did manage to go to sleep, past experience taught me that the nightmare would just return.

  I checked the time on my mobile phone. Three am. I stared at the wall opposite my bed, still seeing the little girl’s face, my face. I rubbed my eyes, wishing I knew why this dream continued to haunt me.

  The first time had been the night my parents died. All I had were vague memories of waking up in the middle of the night, in a strange room, screaming. I’d called for my mum, only to be told that she was gone, and Aunt Joyce was now my mother. A woman I barely knew, she stood beside the bed, a frown on her face as she stared at me. Then she walked out of the room without saying another word.

  The next morning she’d taken me to see a psychiatrist, who explained away my nightmare as a reaction to the changes in my environment and the trauma of losing my parents. It would go away once I’d settled in at my new home; the shrink had said. But the dreams didn’t go away, and five shrinks later Aunt Joyce found one who said that sedatives were the answer.

  Every night, for the next fifteen years, my aunt would appear with a glass of water in one gloved hand and my dose in the other. She’d pry my mouth open and toss the pill into the back of my throat. Then she’d hold my mouth shut, grab hold of my hair and wrench my head back until I swallowed. Only then would I be allowed to take a sip of water. The nightly ritual never changed, and I learned early on that my tears and childish pleas were useless.

  In the beginning I actually welcomed the pills. They would halt my dreams for a time, and some days Aunt Joyce would let me play in the backyard with my brother, Daniel, if I hadn’t woken her the night before. But the dreams inevitably returned, my outside privileges revoked, and a visit back to the shrink would result in an increased dosage.

  The older I got, the stronger the dose, until it became impossible to shake off the effects the next day. Thoughts dull, unable to fully engage with the people around me, I muddled my way through high school and retreated inwards. Daniel was my only friend. Then he finished his apprenticeship as an electrician and moved out of home. I was alone, imprisoned in a body that did not feel like it belonged to me.

  Then I turned eighteen. Legally an adult, with no real awareness of what that even meant, I’d packed my bags and caught a taxi to Daniel’s flat. His flatmate had found living away from home too expensive and returned to his parents, so I’d decided to take his place.

  Daniel hadn’t been pleased to see me, but he’d let me stay and so far it seemed to be working out. I was halfway through my first year at Easton University, studying nursing, and worked part-time at a local nursing home. My income, along with the subsidy I received from the government, covere
d my share of the rent and kept me fed. There wasn’t much left in the bank once the bills had been paid each week, but I was happy to forgo new clothes or nights out to escape my aunt’s religious adherence to perfection.

  I was the antithesis of perfection.

  Aunt Joyce was not able to hide her relief when I announced I was leaving home, a far cry from the reaction Daniel had received a year earlier.

  I sighed, shaking my head to banish such gloomy thoughts, and reached for the book on my bedside table, keen to lose myself in someone else’s life for a while. I was at the end of the first chapter when a loud bang set my heart racing.

  ‘Daniel?’ I wrenched open my bedroom door and stepped out into the hall as another bang, followed by the sound of breaking glass came from the kitchen. I sped down the hall and skidded to a stop when I saw Daniel pulling a piece of glass out of his palm.

  ‘Oh my god, what happened?’ I made my way to his side, skirting the broken glass.

  He blinked at me, body swaying, and eyes bloodshot.

  I frowned. ‘Have you been drinking?’ This was not like Daniel. He was usually so serious; he hardly ever had more than two beers. Yet here he was; smelling of alcohol, barely able to focus as he held his palm up for me to inspect.

  ‘I dropped a glass,’ he said, slurring his words.

  ‘I see that.’ I took his hand and ran it under the cold tap to rinse off the blood before I inspected the jagged piece of glass imbedded in his palm. I prised it free, pleased to see it left only a small cut. I grabbed a tea towel and wrapped it around his hand, then led him around the broken glass and over to the small dining table.

  I made him sit down and put his uninjured hand on top of his injured one. ‘Hold that while I get the first aid kit.’

  He gave me a bleary smile and nodded, slumping down in the chair until his chin was sitting on his chest.

  I got the first aid kit from the bathroom and ran back to the kitchen.

  Daniel was no longer sitting at the table. I searched for him and found him lying face down on his bed, snoring softly. He didn’t move as I undid the tea towel and wiped the puncture wound with an antiseptic cloth. Then I placed a dressing over it and smoothed it in place.

  I replaced the first aid kit in the bathroom and grabbed the dustpan and brush, making quick work of the mess in the kitchen. I was putting the broken glass in the rubbish bin when I heard a strange noise. It sounded almost like someone crying. Eyebrows raised, I tiptoed to the door of Daniel’s room.

  Daniel lay on his bed, curled up on his side, back to me. Sobs wracked his body. I crept further into the room, hesitant to intrude yet wanting to help. I got close enough to touch, to see that he was clutching something to his chest, when he spoke.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Angel. It’s all my fault.’ He kept murmuring the same name over and over again. ‘Angel.’ Goosebumps rose on my arms each time he said it, and I rubbed at them, shivering in the cool morning air.

  Maybe this Angel was Daniel’s girlfriend and they were going through a break-up. Not that he’d ever seemed serious about any of the girls that showed up from time to time. Tall and fit, with the same indigo coloured eyes as me, teamed with light brown hair, he attracted them without even trying, but I didn’t think I’d ever heard him mention a girl named Angel before.

  I would ask him about it in the morning, when he wouldn’t be embarrassed to have his little sister find him crying drunk over a girl. I went back to my room, lay on my bed and closed my eyes, vainly hoping that this time my sleep would be dream free.

  When the first ripple subsides, instead of a child’s bedroom, I am surrounded by trees, moonlight creating dappled shadows on the grass at my feet. Through gaps in the trees I see a high fence topped with barbed wire. I walk towards it. Then I hear running footsteps behind me.

  I spin around. A young woman dressed in a white nightgown runs towards me. Barefoot and with long golden hair flowing behind her, she emerges from the shadows and the light of the moon illuminates her face.

  I stop breathing, time standing still as she halts in front of me, staring at me with my own eyes. The vision smiles, eyes filled with joy. I smile back, marvelling at the replica that my dreaming mind has created, though there are subtle differences. The vision has hair that hangs below her waist in gentle curls, while mine falls halfway down my back and I have a side swept fringe. But our faces are the same.

  The vision steps forward and takes my hand. ‘Andie, help me.’

  It is eerie to hear my name, in my voice, coming from a vision whose mouth doesn’t move.

  ‘They’re hurting me, Andie. Please, you have to find me. Make them stop hurting me.’ Tears form in her eyes, the hand holding mine gripping tight.

  ‘Who is hurting you?’ Though I know this is a dream, the desperation in her eyes has me longing to make her fear go away.

  ‘They are.’ The vision points back the way she came, and I can just make out several figures running through the trees in the distance, torch lights flickering as they search.

  Sounds drift in the still night air, and I hear voices calling, still too far away to make out the words. I strain my ears, listening carefully, and then gasp as what I hear sinks in.

  They are calling for Angel.

  The fear in the vision’s eyes intensifies and she shakes my hand. ‘Please hurry, Andie. I need you. Help me.’

  Her form wavers, though she clings to my hand so hard it hurts, and soon I can see through her. Then she vanishes completely, leaving me with four half-moon shaped indents in the back of my hand.

  Heart pounding, I opened my eyes, still seeing that terrified face, my terrified face. I pulled the quilt up to my chin in an attempt to ward off the sudden chill that gripped me.

  Where had this new dream come from? Had it been triggered by Daniel’s out of character behaviour and his mention of someone called Angel?

  The burgeoning dawn sent gentle light through the open window and I reached over to turn off the lamp, wincing as the movement caused pain to flare on the back of my right hand. I held it in front of me and stared in shock at the four distinct nail marks, just like the ones from my dream.

  Then a voice sounded in my head. ‘Help me, Andie. Please, save me.’

  I launched off the bed, pulse racing as I scanned the room. I flicked on the light, dispelling the shadows but doing nothing to calm my thoughts. I was wide awake, alone in my room, hearing voices. A strange current moved over my skin and the hairs on my arms rose.

  I wrenched open my door and bolted down the hall to Daniel’s room. He was fast asleep, lying on his back, one hand holding something on his chest. I wanted to wake him, to have him reassure me that I wasn’t going crazy, that a voice, my voice, hadn’t just spoken to me in my room, to explain away the marks on my hand.

  I put a hand on his shoulder, ready to shake him, but hesitated. If I told him what had happened he’d be sure to mention it to Bill and Joyce, who would take it as another sign of my defectiveness. Joyce would ramp up her campaign to get me back on my medication, and maybe this time Daniel would side with them. I couldn’t bear it if he started to look at me with disappointment in his eyes too.

  Maybe I imagined the voice, the dream affecting me more than I’d realised. I rubbed my arms and gazed at Daniel, fear giving way to curiosity when I realised he was holding a photograph. I leaned over, wondering if it was a picture of his girlfriend, this mysterious Angel. But the bulk of it was obscured by his hand and all I could see was part of the background.

  I carefully prised the photo out from under his fingers. My knees buckled and I gripped the bedhead to stop myself from toppling over.

  Identical twin girls with golden curls and indigo eyes smiled up at me. A caption beneath the photo read ‘Andrea and Angela, 3yrs and 5 months’ and below that was the date the photo had been taken, fifteen years ago.

  2

  I stumbled out of Daniel’s room and retreated to my own, unable to tear my eyes away from the proof that I ha
d a twin sister. Where was she? Why had no one told me she existed? How could I have forgotten my own twin?

  I sat on my bed, tears falling on the photo. I hadn’t forgotten, not completely. My dreams had shown me what I’d lost, over and over again.

  Angela was Angel.

  Anger swamped me, burning away my tears. My aunt and uncle had dragged me to countless psychiatric sessions, forced me to take sedatives, all of it designed to wipe away any memory of my twin. I clapped a hand over my mouth.

  The fire. That must have been how Angel died. That was what my dreams had been trying to tell me, to make me remember.

  I sat on my bed for hours, staring at the photo, running my finger over the smiling faces. Why couldn’t I remember her and our time together? Why had they kept it from me, robbing me of the chance to mourn her?

  I heard Daniel get up and go to the bathroom and I stood. It was time for answers.

  I marched down the hall and waited outside the bathroom door, tapping my feet as I waited for Daniel to emerge. As soon as he opened the door I thrust the photo in front of his bloodshot eyes.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me I had a twin sister?’

  The colour leeched from Daniel’s face. ‘Where did you get that? Have you been going through my things?’

  ‘As if that matters. I had a twin sister, and no one told me. How could you do that? How could you pretend that you didn’t know what was going on, why I was having the same dream night after night? She died in a fire, didn’t she?’

  He nodded, holding on to the door jamb, a queasy look on his face. ‘I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but everyone said it was best not to.’

  ‘Everyone, or just Bill and Joyce?’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t call them that. You know they don’t like it.’

  I stifled a snort, and shook my head. ‘Unbelievable. They’ve had you lying to me for fifteen years, and you’re still defending them.’