Chapter 76

Fiona

I turn over again, sucking in a much-needed gulp of air and trying to chase away the heaviness sitting on my chest. The weight feels like exhaustion, but then a lack of sleep wouldn’t make it this hard to breathe.

A cough fights its way up my throat, nearly choking me as I turn my head into my pillow. I struggle against the feeling of suffocation and lift my head again, only for the tight, burning of my chest to increase.

Crawling across the bed, I reach up, flick the switch on my bedside lamp, and look around. A haze covers my room, so I rub my eyes to wake them up. Then, I blink but the haze doesn’t go away. In fact, it grows thicker, almost like when you burn something in the oven and smoke fills the room.

The tightness in my chest spreads to my throat as a itchy sensation fills my eyes, and when I look toward my closed bedroom door, I notice an orange glow coming from the hallway.

Confused, I push myself out of bed, stumble to the door, and reach for the handle.

The moment my hand touches the knob, I shriek and pull away. The burning pain that sears my palm leaves behind a bright red mark, and my mind screams at me.

“What the hell?” I whimper when my palm aches as I move my hand. Cradling it to my chest, I spin and grab my robe from the end of my bed. I pull it on over my skimpy night-dress with my good hand, but my hand hurts too much to tie the belt.

Fire! My brain warns me a little too late.

My heartbeat picks up, racing in my chest as panic begins to build. I hadn’t left any candles burning because I don’t have any. I didn’t leave the oven on as I hadn’t used it today.

Without meaning to, I take in a deep breath and begin coughing as thick, hot smoke seeps into my lungs. I gasp for clean air, sending me into another coughing fit, because the longer I stand here, the more smoke fills the room.

Think, Fiona.

I glance around my small room, my eyes landing on the window. I’ve never opened it before, but it’s worth a try. Nothing like climbing out two windows in one day to get you feeling like a ninja.

With one hand cradled to my chest and the other covering my mouth and nose, I shuffle over to the window. Flipping the little lock, I use my good hand to shove at the window. Nothing happens. It doesn’t even budge a little bit.

I try again, using my body weight and leaning into my arm.

Again, the window doesn’t open, and a frustrated scream tears from me, sending me into another coughing fit. A painful scraping feeling claws at my throat with each cough, making me wince. At the same time, my eyes grow tired and begin stinging. I rub at them, but it seems to only make them water, which blurs my vision even more.

Shouldn’t someone see this? My neighbors?

Do they not see what’s happening?

Is it not visible from outside?

I pound my good hand against the glass, ignoring the pain that sparks and travels up my arm. My heart thrashes against my ribcage, my stomach churns, and my head swims.

The air in the room grows thicker and hotter with smoke, and I gasp and heave just to breathe smoothly, or at least as normally as I can while choking on the fumes. I hunch over, hoping there’s cleaner air toward the floor, but I still wheeze while trying to breathe.

My legs wobble beneath me, and my vision blurs. I stumble, nearly falling on my bed as my head swims with dizziness.

Get out! My body pleads, fighting against the weakness trying to take over. You can’t pass out, Fiona. If you pass out, you die.

Shaking my head, I push myself up and look around the room.

My phone!

If I could call someone, they could help me. My mind immediately goes to Ethan. If I can call Ethan, everything will be okay.

Ethan will come… except he won’t.

My heart lurches.

I forced him to leave. He’s not here. He has no idea.

Turning, I slide my hand over my mattress, searching every inch, only to come up empty. I squint, trying to see through the darkness before I remember that I don’t have a phone right now. The kidnapper got rid of it.

I search the room, breathing shallowly through my hand as I try to think of an escape. I can’t get out through the window, so my only option is to find a way through the front door, which would require me to make it out of my room.

Blinking against the smoke, I slowly crouch and shuffle my way to the bathroom. If I’m going to make it out of here, I’ll need something to open the door with. Burning my hand further isn’t an option.

I push down the rising panic, tired of feeling scared and helpless, and grab a towel from under the bathroom counter. I do my best to keep calm as I crawl to the bedroom door, wrap the towel around the knob, and turn it.

A wave of scolding heat hits me as the door opens, and I cry out, falling back. Pain scrapes through my burned hand when I catch myself with it.

Flames, bright, hot, and orange, lick up the walls, engulfing everything. I pull the towel to my face, ignoring the singed smell coming from the cloth.

You can do this, Fiona.

I repeat the encouragement several times, needing it as I crawl forward, dodging flames and falling pieces of décor. If I can get through the hallway, I can get to the living room, and if I can get there, I can make it to the door.

Inch by inch, I force my way forward, only stopping when I need to shove something out of my way with the towel in my hand.

Wrong move.

It catches fire, and I drop it with a cry to crawl faster away. Something burns at my ankle, pulling a scream from me. I slap at the small piece of wood, whimpering and biting my lip as my already burned hand gets singed more.

Make it out.

Get out.

Go.

Forcing myself to keep moving, I claw at the floor and pull myself forward until I reach the end of the hallway. I blink and squint, trying to see, but all I can see is fire. It’s everywhere; on my sides, above me, behind me, in front of me.

It burns faster than I can move.

Flames roar ahead, blocking my path to the living room, trapping me within the hallway.

Terror curls its hand around my heart as I’m forced to stop moving and look back over my shoulder. The fire travels into my room, cutting off my only way back.

There’s no escape.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t move.

I… I can’t think.

My arms and legs wobble, giving out beneath me.

My body feels like a five-hundred-pound weight is pressing against it, pinning me to the floor as the fire blazes around me. I gasp for air, finding nothing but thick, cloying smoke that chokes and burns my insides.

I blink, trying to draw in air, but it gets stuck, and I wheeze, bringing a hand to my chest as if that would dispel the blockage in my throat.

I fight against the darkness pulling me in, fight to stay awake, fight to live, but everything grows into this blob of hazy orange heat.

“E-Ethan,” I whisper, regretting that I’d pushed him away, wishing I could see him one last time as I slip into the nothingness waiting for me.

I’m sorry.