You've Got This, Girl!

YOU GOT THIS, GIRL!

The first sound Amelia heard was the crackling. Like someone was scrunching up the cellophane that fruit baskets are wrapped in. But louder. A lot louder. And it wasn’t just the crackling sound. There was an undertone of whooshing. And popping. The longer it went on, the louder it become, the harder it was to ignore.

Amelia knew that she was still asleep, but there was something pulling her towards consciousness. She resisted. She was tired, bone-tired. Her eyelids felt glued together. And they were heavy, so very, very, heavy — impossible to open. Her eyes felt gritty. She awkwardly pulled a pillow over her head, trying to blot out the sounds. It didn’t matter, whatever the crackling, popping, whooshing was. She just wanted to go back to sleep.

Then something changed. It was the air itself — almost like the air was being pulled out of the room. She couldn’t get her breath. It was like trying to breathe with a pillow over her face.

How would I know what that was like? She wondered. Did it happen to me? Maybe … but when … it doesn’t matter … sleep.

But Amelia’s little voice was screaming at her

Wake up! Wake up! 

But she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. She just wanted to sleep

Her mind was fuzzy, her limbs leaden. The room was spinning. The change in the air seemed to exacerbate her feeling of vertigo.  It took enormous concentration just to try to move her limbs.  

What’s the matter with me? Why am I soooooo woozy? … And tired?

Heck, she couldn’t even move her fingers without thinking hard. She knew that there was something wrong, but her blurry mind couldn’t make any sense of it.

Wake up! Wake up! said her little voice.

She wanted to, but she just couldn’t. It was easier to ignore the inner voice and go back to sleep. So tired.

WAKE UP! WAKE UP!

“I can’t,” she slurred.

Her mouth was dry and tasted like what she figured cotton balls would taste like. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

She giggled.

Like cotton balls would taste! Who eats cotton balls?

She rolled onto her side, her face towards the wall.

WAKE. UP. NOW!

Then she smelled it. The room wasn’t supposed to smell like this. It had been dank, and musty. She remembered that. This smell was different.  

As she fell back into unconsciousness, a memory drifted in to her mind. Her family, camping, sitting around the campfire, cooking dinner … around the campfire. The smell of burning wood. Burning wood …

FIRE!

Her eyes flew open. All she could see was the grey cinder block wall, speckled with white mold, tiny bits of mortar sticking to the rough surface of the bricks.

FIRE!

She tried to sit, but the world began to spin faster and faster, forcing her back down to the mattress. What was the matter with her? Why was she so out of it? And, where was she. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. She was scared, but didn’t know why.  

Where am I? How did I get here?

Her limbs felt heavy and non-responsive. But she had to move. She was in danger … danger because … she couldn’t remember. Just a little more sleep …

FIRE!

Again, she opened her eyes, trying to bring the room into focus. She swung her legs over the side of the metal cot she was laying on. Her head reeled. Her stomach heaved and roiled. She bent over and threw up on the floor.  

The sound was all around, deafening — an all-encompassing sound that filled her entire brain.  

DANGER! DANGER! her lizard brain shouted.

That was it! There was a fire! And it was nearby.  

She could smell the smoke — an acrid smell. Not the pleasant smell of a campfire, but the smell of burning plastic, chemicals in the air. A toxic mix. The room was dim, but she could see smoke seeping under the door. She had to stop it.

She tried to stand, and fell to the floor, whacking her back on the frame of her cot, knocking the breath out of her. The jolt sobered her — a bit. She tried to stand, again, without success. The room was filling with smoke, the grey poison leaching into the room. It was becoming harder to breathe. Her lungs felt seared and constricted. She grabbed the thin blanket off of the bed, and summoning all of her strength, crawled to the door, and shoved the blanket into the crack between the floor and the door.  

She knew she needed to get out of the room. But how? She didn’t even know where she was, or how she had gotten there. Nauseous, dizzy, and confused, Amelia looked around the room. She was definitely in a basement. How long had she been here? There was no light in the room, but there was a small dirty window high on the wall where the light seeped in. There was nothing else except than the cot.

Hopeless!

Her eyes filled with tears, from frustration more than the smoke. She sat in the middle of the floor, and cried. 

“You are smart! You are resourceful! You are capable!” Her mother’s voice echoed in her head.

“I’m not,” she whispered.

“You are better than this! You can find a way.”

“I can’t.” Tears flowed down her filthy cheeks.

“Amelia Jane Conners! Do not give up!" her mother admonished. "You have to try!”

“How?” She looked around the room. There was a door, and there was a window. She couldn’t reach the window, and the door … She hadn’t even tried to see if it was locked, had she? She staggered over to the door. Touching the steel door with her fingers, she quickly pulled them back, pain radiating from where they had touched the surface of the door.

No way. It was too hot to touch, so the fire was near.

Damnit!

Desperately, she looked around the room. Smoke was beginning to seep in through the ceiling. The room was getting hot. Sweat covered her body, rivets ran down her face. Her clothes stuck to her. It was only a matter of time before the flames would make their way into the room, and she would die.

No! That’s not going to happen!

She staggered back to the bed, and using all her strength, started to push the bed towards the window. It was stupid heavy. She was wobbly on her feet, so she sank to her knees and started to push.

Screech!

The bed moved.  

Screech!

Just a couple of inches, but it started to move. She pushed harder. It moved. Again, and again, and again, until it was under the window.

Amelia crawled onto the bed. She was exhausted. She tried to stand, fell onto the mattress.

“No!” she said, channelling her mother. “I Will Not Die Here! I Will Get Out!”

She tried to stand again. This time she could reach the window.  

She smiled.  

“I can do this!” she said aloud. “I’ve got this!”

She swung the tiny glass window up, and gripped either side of the frame, and tried to pull herself up. And fell back onto the mattress.

“No,” she wailed. “NO!”

Amelia struggled to her feet again, grabbed the side of the window, and heaved. She pulled herself up about six inches. And fell onto the mattress again.

“Fuck!”

She sat on the mattress, and started to sob. She was exhausted. She couldn’t breathe. And she couldn’t pull her own weight up through the window. She was doomed.

Smoke was billowing into the room, now, leaking from the ceiling and walls.

She didn’t want to die. She really, really didn’t. She had to get out.

I need a ladder.

She looked at the bed. That was it! Her ladder.

She pulled the thin, stained mattress off the bed, and started to heave the bed onto one end.

It seemed like she worked in slow motion, but she got it up, and leaned it against the wall. She could use the bed springs as her ladder.  

Legs shaking, hands struggling to make purchase, Amelia moved up her impromptu ladder.  

Half way up, the blanket under the door caught fire.

WHOOSH!

That is not good, she thought.

She tried not to look, but couldn’t help herself. Turning, she started to sway, and the bed started to slide.

“NO!”

With her last ounce of strength, she climbed up and through the window.  

Fresh air! Nothing had ever smelled so good, so clean, so … pure.

She pulled herself farther out of the burning building. But she wasn’t out yet. With her legs still inside, the ceiling collapsed, sending the flaming first floor into the basement. Burning debris landed on her jeans, setting them on fire. She could feel the intense heat searing her skin on her legs. The pain was unbearable. She dragged herself out of the window, and rolled on the ground.

Stop! Drop! And Roll!

She smacked at her jeans, to no avail. They were burning. She could smell the odor of burning denim and burning skin. Finally she just yanked her pants off. Her legs were blistering, charred in spots. The pain was intense.

She lost consciousness.  

********

It felt like she was swimming, and she had to reach to surface. Everything was muted and fuzzy.

Where am I?

Amelia didn’t know. She knew she had been in danger, but she didn’t know from what. She listened.

BEEP … BEEP … BEEP …

She listened longer. The beeps were steady, rhythmic. Almost soothing.

Machines? she thought. What machines?

She heard voices, but they sounded vague, and far away. They didn’t sound threatening. Was she safe? She didn’t know. She could smell smoke, but it wasn’t harsh. It was just a whiff, overlain by the smell of Pinesol and antiseptic.

Smoke, she thought.  Fire?

She tried to remember. Fire … fire and smoke and heat … there was something, a memory. She remembered that she needed to get out. But get out of where? Where was the fire? Then she remembered. There had been a fire, and she was trapped. Obviously she had gotten out. But how did she get out? On the periphery of her brain a memory teased, then danced away. She clenched her fist, and smacked the bed.

Damnit! she cursed. What happened to me? Where am I? How did I get here?

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

“I think she’s awake!”

Amelia knew that voice. “Mom?” she whispered.

“Amelia, sweetie, we’re here!” said her mom. “Your dad’s just gone to get the doctor.”

Amelia fluttered her eyes, squinting at the light in the room.

“Where am I?” she asked.

“In the hospital, baby. You were in a fire. But you escaped. You’re going to be all right.”

Amelia shut her eyes, and fell back asleep.

**********

“Mom?” she squeaked.

She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but she felt, well, not better, but not worse.

This time she was able to swim quickly into consciousness. She wanted — no needed — to wake up, to find out what happened.

“You’re mom’s gone home to shower.  She’s been here for the last two days, non-stop. She hasn’t left your bedside.”

Amelia didn’t recognize the voice. She opened her eyes. Across from her sat a tall Black woman she didn’t know.

“Who are you?” she croaked.

The woman smiled.

“I’m Detective Terry Waits. I’d like to ask you some questions, if I could.”

“What happened?” asked Amelia. “I don’t remember. There was a fire, right? That’s all I know.”

“Well, you were kidnapped. By Jeremy Lincoln. Do you know him?” Waits pulled up a photo on her phone, and showed it to Amelia.

Amelia shook her head.

“No. I don’t think so. He took me?”

“Yes,” said Waits. “He grabbed you off the street on Wednesday when you were walking home from school. You were missing for three days before we found you outside of the house.” She stopped to look at Amelia, unsure of how much she should tell her. “We found you unconscious outside of his burning house.”

Amelia just looked at her, uncomprehending.

“I don’t understand. I was kidnapped?”

“Yes. You were held and drugged, and we think he kept you in the basement. Do you remember any of that?”

Amelia thought.

“Bits and pieces. I do remember the basement, but there was a fire. Did this guy — Jeremy Whatever — start the fire?”

“Yes.”

“And he wanted to burn me alive?”

“He did try to give you a lethal dose of sedatives, first. But you survived. He expected you overdose and die. I suspect he set the fire to get rid of evidence.”

“And I’m the evidence?”

“Yes,” said Waits. “But he didn’t do a very good job of it. He managed to not only set the house on fire, but he managed to burn himself up in the conflagration.”

“It he dead?”

“Yes,” said Waits, watching Amelia.

“Good,” she said. “I hope he burns in hell!”

At that point, Waits was pretty sure that Amelia was eventually going to be okay.