A Burning Desire

“Don’t forget we have to tidy up the house tonight. Rebecca will be here tomorrow.”

Those were Stacey’s last words to Rodney before the fire. He’d grunted, not looking forward to having a houseguest, then kissed her goodbye and left for work. That night, when he turned into his street, the house was already well ablaze. Eyes fixed on the window where Stacey usually waited with a book, he hit the gutter as he stopped, almost falling out of the car in his urgency to get inside, to save her. Sirens increased in volume behind him as he sprinted towards the house, but he barely registered that they were there, ignoring the logic of waiting for trained firemen with safety gear.

Slapping his hand on his pocket as he reached the front door, he realized he had left the keys back in the car. Stacey always insisted on keeping the doors locked, wary of opportunistic thieves. Rodney checked the handle anyway and kicked the door in frustration. Not wanting to waste time running back to the street where the car lay idling, he grabbed the ornamental owl from the steps, ran to the outside of the room where Stacey was likely to be and hurled it through the window. He’d never been more grateful for the old-fashioned twist locks they hadn’t yet got around to replacing. Easy to break into, especially if you break the glass first and reach in. Lifting the window and stepping over the sill, he dropped to the ground before he could inhale too much smoke. Moving like a spider around the room, he scanned as he went, hoping for a glimpse of Stacey, hoping more that she was already outside.

Getting into his car after it had been sitting in the summer sun for hours was nothing on this heat. Rodney tried to ignore the fire and focus on finding Stacey, but it was starting to feel as if he would be burned to a crisp even without flames directly touching him. Even at floor level, visibility was limited, and he started to wonder if he would find her, even if she was in the room. What if she was already outside, or in another part of the house, and he died in a futile attempt to rescue her? Should he get out and let the firemen find her?

There! Was that a foot? Stacey rarely wore shoes inside the house, or outside if she could help it. He slithered in that direction, grabbing the bare foot as soon as he was close enough. The leg moved slightly as he made contact, as if refusing his touch. She was alive! Moving closer, he could see she had been burned badly, but she was alive!

Turning, he tried to make out where the window was. The last thing he wanted was to get turned around in all the smoke. There! The broken glass lay on the floor, marking his entry point. The owl stared at him, accusing. He had to get her out, get them both out. Pulling Stacey towards him, he tried to stay as low as possible. Nearing the window, he took as deep a breath as he could manage, then stood with her limp body in his arms. Almost tumbling through the window, they landed on the garden bed. As Rodney got his bearings, he saw firemen approach. “Save… her…” He collapsed, glimpsing the firemen near Stacey as he fell unconscious.

When Rodney had recovered from his smoke inhalation, he went to check on Stacey, but she was still unconscious. As soon as he was allowed, he stayed by her bedside, willing her to wake up, pleading with her not to leave him. Between the burns, bandages, and tubes, she hardly looked human, let alone the woman he loved. He managed to get hold of a copy of her favourite book, reading chapters of Jane Eyre at a time, hoping his voice and Brontё’s words would help to rouse her. He couldn’t imagine a world where she didn’t get better, so he kept hoping, and kept reading. His voice choked up as he reached the chapter with the fire so, after an apology to the sweetheart he hoped was listening, he began the story again.

Rodney lost track of time as he read, watching for any sign of life. He slept when he had to, staying as close as the hospital staff would allow. Hours, days, or weeks could have passed as he sat there, reading, praying, and hoping. He’d been approached by authorities at one point, but all he’d said was that he’d been at work, and to stop bothering him. All he cared about was the person in front of him.

Returning from a bathroom break in between readings, he sat down and took her hand. “Please come back to me,” he whispered, gripping her hand between his as he examined her face. The swelling was going down, and he hoped that was a sign she might wake up soon. He looked up as footsteps approached. Expecting more medical staff, or someone who wanted to question him about the fire, he was surprised to see their neighbour in the doorway.

“Hey, Rodney. How you doing?” She leaned on the doorframe, watching him, waiting for permission to enter.

“Melody. Come in. I was just reading to Stacey.” He picked up Jane Eyre and showed it to her. “It’s her favourite book, you know.”

Melody walked in slowly, almost reluctantly, and took a seat in the chair. “Rodney.” She looked at the hands folded in her lap, the looked up at him with a pleading look in her eyes. “I had to come in. You wouldn’t listen to anyone, and you need to know something.”

Rodney looked back at Stacey. What could he possibly need to know now? Stacey needed him. Nothing else mattered. When he looked back at Melody, he could read the dread in her eyes. Whatever she had to tell him was not going to be good news.

“Rodney. Stacey… You know her sister was coming to visit, right?”

Rodney bolted upright. “Rebecca! Did anyone contact her? She was supposed to visit the day after. I never thought… I mean, I was injured, and Stacey…”

Melody bit her lip and looked at the hands twisting in her lap before looking Rodney in the eyes again. “Rodney, Rebecca came early. She surprised Stacey by coming to my house and asking me to invite Stacey over for lunch. She was already here.”

“She was here? Rebecca? Where is she then? Is she somewhere in the hospital? I need to check on her, let Stacey know she’s okay.” Rodney stood up. “I should find out, for Stacey.”

Melody stood and moved over to the door, holding up a hand. “Rodney, sit down.”

She moved towards him, guiding him back into the chair and grasping both his hands, then kneeling in front of his chair. “You don’t need to go looking for Rebecca, Rodney.” Melody looked over at the bed. “She’s here.”

Rodney just stared, heartbeats thumping in his ears. “No…” It was barely a breath. He pushed Melody’s hands away and moved to stand over the figure in the bed. She was swollen, burned and bandaged, but she was Stacey… wasn’t she? The two sisters were pretty similar to begin with, but he couldn’t have made a mistake, could he? He leaned close and looked into her face, examining each feature, looking for something unchanged by the burns.

Moving to her hands and arms, he pushed up the sleeves, trying to find something that would prove Melody wrong, that it was Stacey. He couldn’t think of a single identifying feature that Stacey had. No scars, birthmarks, or tattoos. Yet he found one. A scar on the right arm, from the last time Rebecca had stayed with them. She’d had to have surgery on her arm for some reason that he’d not paid attention to, staying with them while she recovered. It was her. Rebecca, not Stacey. He looked back at Melody, still holding Rebecca’s arm, not caring about the tears that had started. “Where is she? Please. Is she here?”

Melody sat him down again, gently removing Rebecca’s arm and placing it on the bed. “Rodney, I’m so sorry. She didn’t make it. The fire… I was out. Nobody else realized that Rebecca was here, or that she was even coming, and so when you brought her out, everyone thought she was Stacey. They only found Stacey this morning.”

When Melody left hours later, Rodney remained there. He still refused to leave Rebecca’s side, reasoning that he was the only family she had left.

As she got into her car, Melody breathed a sigh of relief. The sister’s untimely arrival had almost messed everything up. She’d been able to adapt her plan, however, and might even be able to use Rebecca to divert suspicion, if necessary. Some carefully placed items in the house, a door made to swing shut behind her as she left, appearing to be closed by another person, and two people to blame. The perfect crime. Rodney would grieve for a time and then, eventually, he would be ready to move on.

She would have him, no matter how long it took.