CHAPTER SIX: SCARS

Flame tossed and turned. He fluffed his pillows and lay down. He hid under his covers and shut his eyes – but nothing worked.

All of a sudden, he heard a distant voice protest.
“What do you want from me Max?”

It was his aunt.

Flame jolted up from his bed and noticed a bright light creeping from under his door. What was happening?
He furrowed his brows, quietly creeping out of his bed – concentrating on the conversation outside.

“It’s 2.30 a.m. for God’s sake! Couldn’t you have at least waited until morning?”

“And risk letting the kids find out?”

Maxwell Banker?

He crawled towards his door and noticed their voices getting further away until he heard a door shut.

“They must’ve gone into her study...” he muttered to himself. “What’s Mr. Banker doing here?”

He slowly opened his door and stepped out into the hallway, wincing at the sudden flash of light. He began treading towards his aunt’s study, hoping not to make noise. As he reached the study, he kneeled by the door and placed his ear against the keyhole. He heard Max’s voice.
“What about the Garnet Fire, Alex? How do you explain that?”

The Garnet Fire?

“The fire was an accident, Max!” Alexandra snapped.

“No, it wasn’t, and you know that!”

Silence.
Why were they arguing?
Flame shuffled in his place.
What was going on?

“We both know she did it, Alex! Now if you’ll just listen–” Max insisted.

“She’s dead, Max! She has been for twelve years, and she’ll stay dead!”

Who were they talking about?

“Don’t lie to yourself, Alex! You know she’s still alive and you know she’s back!”

 “So what? She left him! I was the one who raised him for twelve years, not her!” Alexandra’s voice began to tremble.

Flame’s eyes widened in terror.
No... Ashlynn Speed was dead. She died when–

“I treated him like my own son!” She persisted. “So, what if she tries to take him back? Who do you think he’ll go with?”

“Don’t say it...” Flame breathed, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please don’t...”

“His aunt who loved and cared for him all his life, or the murderous mother who left him when he was nothing but a small child?” Alexandra finished, her voice cracking.

Flame gasped, instinctively covering his mouth. Oh no...

They went silent.
He stumbled to his feet, sprinting back to his room. The words lodged themselves into his chest, burning into his heart.
Murderous?

He heard the door of the study open.

“Who’s there?”
His aunt called.

“Must’ve been the wind.”
Max suggested.

Flame jumped into his bed, pulling the covers over himself.
She can’t be...

His lungs began to tighten with panic and tension as his chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm.
Why..?

He yanked his pillow and buried his head beneath it, struggling to steady his breathing.
No... please no.

He forced his eyes shut.
“She’s dead,” he tried to convince himself. “She’s...”

***

It was black. Pitch black.
Duct tape suppressed her screams of terror. Thick ropes stabbed the skin around her wrists. A putrid smell mixed with moisture penetrated her nose. Muffled, distorted voices echoed through her mind.
She hadn’t felt like this since...

They snatched her blindfold off. The distorted light burned itself into her tormented eyes as silent, bitter tears streamed down her face.

Her crime? She was only five.

“It was your fault...” a tiny voice whispered in her ear.

It was all a blur.
But the feeling remained etched into her memory like an immutable tattoo.

Without warning–
A gunshot.
A scream.
A murder.

The masked men rushed outside. The lights went out. And she was alone.

A flash of fear widened her eyes.
A storm of racing footsteps, men bellowing orders, and a roar of bullets firing back and forth pierced through her ears before–
Nothing.

The ringing in her ears was deafening.

“It was your fault,” the voice came again, foreboding.

A shadow emerged at the doorway. His face: bruised and bloody. His eyes: darkened with terror and something she couldn’t recognise. His hands: holding the menacing weapon that triggered the commotion.

She tried to talk, but the tape on her mouth constrained her words.

“Blaze...” his voice was laced with concern. “Sweetheart, are you alright?”

He pulled out something sharp from his jacket and cut the ropes, freeing her from their merciless grasp. He peeled away the tape on her mouth.

“Daddy!” She sobbed, jumping into his arms and burying her face into his chest.

“It’s okay, angel,” his voice began to grow more distant. “Daddy’s here now...”

His voice drifted off and Blaze found her younger self standing outside her parents’ bedroom door. Their conflict seemed to be the only thing she could hear. The memory she tried to erase. The memory that haunted her.

“It was all your fault,” the chilling whisper replaced the inaudible screams. “He killed them because of you, Blaze.”

“No...” her five-year-old self writhed in angst.

“He left,” it repeated itself, growing louder and more dangerous. “Because of you.”

“No, no...” she reiterated, beginning to grow unsure of what the word even meant.

“No!” Blaze cried out as she bolted up, her eyes wide open, finding herself back in her twelve-year-old body.

She gasped for air, clutching her chest, trying to calm her ragged breathing.
“It was just a dream,” she murmured, relief that she was still in her room drowning out her shock.

“We need to talk.” Someone suddenly spoke from her bedside.

She shrieked, jerking back at the unexpected sight of her cousin sitting on the floor next to her bed and landing onto her mattress.

***

Tim fluttered his eyes open, slowly pushing himself upright on his bed. He yawned groggily, clasping a hand over his mouth as he stretched the other arm. He rubbed his eyes gently, while he yanked the curtains, sunlight flooding into his and James’ room.

He swung his legs over his bed, donning his slippers and glancing at James’ side of the room. He was already awake, lying on his bed and staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Hey, Tim–” he said abruptly, startling Tim. “What’s school like?”

“Uhm...” Tim’s expression clouded with uncertainty. “Well, you learn?”

James pulled himself up to a sitting position, his eyes fixed on the sheets of his bed, unsure whether to continue.
“No... like, the people?”

Tim tilted his head, baffled.
“The people?”

“Yeah,” James nodded his head. “Like, friends?”

Tim’s expression shifted from confusion to shyness as he let out a shaky laugh, focusing his attention on his slippers.
“I don’t really have any friends except Flame and Blaze.”

James snapped his head towards Tim.
“Did you just say Flame?”

Tim nodded reluctantly.
“I know they’re like a year younger than me, but–”

“No,” James interrupted him. “That’s okay, I meant like–”
His face turned a shade of red as he scratched the back of his neck.
“I just wondered... would they get along with the Gemstones?”

Tim folded his arms, his lips curving into a friendly smile.
“Blaze would be a perfect match for them. She’s outgoing, bright, confident and the most popular girl in school. If you’re worried about how the quadruplets will do in school, I could ask her to take them under her wing. They’ll love her for sure!”

“And what about Flame?” James quirked an eyebrow.

“Well,” Tim shifted in his seat nervously. “He’s a lot like me. Reserved. Not many friends.”
“Why?” He added softly.

“Scarlet may have bumped into him the other day,” James gave him an indifferent shrug. “Also, who names their children Flame and Blaze?”

“Well,” Tim rubbed his chin. “If I’m being honest, I don’t know about Blaze. But she used to get bullied a lot for her name. So, I guess Flame picked up his nickname to make her feel better.”

“Oh,” James remarked, taking it all in. “So, what’s his real name?”

“Asher Speed.”