Red Nights Read online

  A nurse gently guides me back down to the table, and if I weren’t so weak, I’d fight back. “You need to calm done, honey,” she says sternly.

  “No,” I try to scream, but my voice sounds like rusty air scraping through my throat. “I will not calm down!”

  The doctor shakes his head, and I feel a needle pricking my skin. “Ouch,” I cry.

  I’m cold. And I’m so tired…

  * * *

  I wake up to find Mom and Dad seated beside me. Mom has a tissue pressed up against her nose, her eyes glued to the floor. Dad’s forearms are resting on his knees; his head hangs between his arms. I want to sit up, but my muscles aren’t moving as quickly as my brain wants them too. Instead, I twist my head to the side, feeling disconnected, like my mind can’t keep up with what’s happening. The oxygen mask is still in place, but I pull it down to my chin. “Mom…Dad,” I slur. My voice sounds unfamiliar. It’s hoarse and gravelly. My throat feels like I’ve swallowed sandpaper. They lift their heads, and Dad falls to his knees, bringing himself to my bedside. Mom drags her chair over to the bed and grabs my hand. Her eyes are red and puffy, and mascara is streaked down her rosy cheeks. Her short blond hair is a mess, waves pointing in every direction. Her blouse is wrinkled and untucked, and she’s wearing tennis shoes with dress pants. I’ve never seen Mom like this. She’s always well put-together, no matter the occasion.

  “Sweetheart,” Dad says. “You’re going to be okay. The doctors said you inhaled a lot of smoke, but besides that, you’re going to be fine.” If I’m going to be fine, why are they crying so hard? I’ve never seen Dad cry. Ever.

  “What about Blake?”

  Mom explodes with some kind of horrible moaning sound I’ve never heard before. Her chin is quivering; her lips are slightly parted. Her eyes are large with tears acting like reflecting pools beneath her lashes.

  “He’s in a coma, but—” Dad’s cries grow louder as he attempts to speak through them. “They said it isn’t looking promising, Felicity. The burns are too much, and he inhaled too much smoke.”

  Blake is going to die. No. He can’t.

  Dad clears his throat and squeezes his hand over mine and Mom’s. “They’re waiting for you to say good-bye.”

  I don’t want to say good-bye. I’ll be giving them permission to do whatever they’re going to do to make him go away forever. I’m the reason he doesn’t get to finish his life. I didn’t save him. “I can’t,” I cry. I’m scared.

  “Please, Felicity,” Dad says, looking at me through his glossy blue eyes, “For us.”

  * * *

  A doctor who has visited my room frequently over the past forty-eight hours knocks before entering. “Good morning, Felicity. How do you feel?” His eyes are set on my charts, his pen dragging down from the top of the page in a line.

  “Okay, I think. Everything kind of aches.” Especially my heart.

  “That’s to be expected,” he says. “You know, you’re a very lucky young woman.” He looks up from his clipboard. “You really are.” I feel like laughing and explaining the definition of “luck” to him. He must see the look of disagreement on my face. Or maybe he’s wondering if I’m capable of any expression besides scowling. “There’s a detective in the waiting area who needs to speak with you. Once he’s finished, we’ll be releasing you.”

  “Why does a detective need to speak with me?” I know why. And I don’t know why I just asked. Somewhere in the back of my head, I thought these details would all just work themselves out on their own.

  “Standard procedure.” He moves in closer and places a hand on my shoulder. “Good luck with everything. I know this is hard, and it’s going to get harder, but you survived. And you should be thankful for that much.”

  Almost the second the doctor leaves, another man walks in, dressed in business casual clothes and a stern expression. He’s around Dad’s age, and looks like an all-work no-play type of man. “Miss Stone?” he confirms. I nod, pushing myself up into a sitting position. “I’m Detective Earnst.” He reaches out to shake my hand. “I’ll make this quick, as I know you want to get out of here.” And say good-bye to Blake forever? I’d rather stay.

  “You can take as long as you need,” I tell him.

  He raises a brow and hands me a clipboard with a piece of paper covered with questions and a large box for a written statement. “Could you fill this out for me first?”

  I study the questions, noting their simplicity. My name, birthdate, address, phone number. As I press the pen to the paper, my hand begins to tremble. I haven’t thought much past what it’s going to be like to see Blake for the last time. But the fact that I lost my house and everything in it is a new reality I’m trying to accept.

  I continue to answer the questions. My handwriting looks like a first grader’s. In the statement, I write down that the fire had to be some kind of accident. I don’t know what I could have done to cause it.

  “Can you also write down a timeline of events from when you got home that day until you noticed the fire?” he asks, pointing to the bottom of the paper. I can’t even remember what happened. Everything is a blur. I came home to what I thought was an empty house, not realizing Blake was actually asleep in his room…he was supposed to be away for the weekend with some friends. I made dinner and went to bed. What else is there to write?

  I scribble everything down in three short lines and hand the clipboard back to him. “This is all I can remember.”

  “Do you have any indication as to what may have started the fire?” he asks, resting his elbows over his knees.

  “I don’t know. I—I can’t think of anything.” I can’t even wrap my head around what the hell is happening right now. How I ended up here. How my life just fucking burned to pieces right in front of my eyes.

  “Investigators discovered that the smoke alarm near the bedrooms didn’t have batteries in them. Were you aware?”

  All of the air is sucked out of my lungs, and my face goes cold. “I took the batteries out last week. They were chirping, and I didn’t have time to…I mean, I forgot to replace them.” How could I do something so stupid?

  “None of the alarms appeared to have been functioning properly,” he adds.

  “I didn’t know the others weren’t working. I only knew about the one in the hallway near the bedrooms.” It’s not like I’ve tested them since I moved in two years ago. I just assumed they worked.

  He nods again, this time with a shroud of disappointment. “Your brother lived with you, correct?”

  Everything is past tense. Blake is about to become past tense. “Yes; he had for a few months. He was in-between jobs and apartments. But I didn’t know he was home that night. I thought he was away on a camping trip for the weekend. That’s why I didn’t think to save him.” The tears return. “He wasn’t supposed to be there.” Why am I being forced to talk about this right now? I don’t want to remember anything, and he’s expecting me to. Doesn’t he care about how I feel right now? About how hard this is for me?

  He straightens up and flips the questionnaire over to jot down notes. Every word I’ve said, for all I know. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us out?”

  “Not that I can think of right now,” I say.

  He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a business card. “If you think of anything, I want you call me right away.”

  I take the card and set it on the bedside table. “I will.”

  He stands up, straightening his pants under his gut. “Thank you. The investigation will probably take a few weeks. As soon as I have any information, I’ll be in touch.”

  * * *

  Not long after Detective Earnst left, Mom and Dad arrived to help with my discharge. Mom brought me some new clothes, which unfortunately, I will never wear again. I won’t ever be able to even look at these clothes after I say good-bye to Blake.

  Dad leads us to the elevator, and Mom loops her arm through mine. We’re walking in silence, as though we
’re headed to an execution.

  The scent of ammonia mixed with urine wafts down the hallway. It’s nauseating.

  My chest only aches slightly from smoke inhalation, but my heart feels as though it might implode from the weight, knowing this might be my fault. This has to be my fault. There’s just no one else to blame.

  When the doors open, I hear beeping and machines pumping air. Bile rises in my throat and I haven’t even gotten to his room yet.

  This is all my fault.

  Dad turns the corner into Blake’s room. The machines get louder. Dad blocks my view, giving me one last second to remember Blake as the bright-eyed, happy-go-lucky brother I’ve always known.

  Dad steps away, and I try to comprehend what I’m seeing. Blake’s face—actually, his whole body—is wrapped in gauze. His eyelids and lips are all that show, and they’re raw and shiny. He doesn’t look anything like my twin.

  Blake and I were born two minutes apart. We’ve always been close. I’m feisty and stubborn, he’s diplomatic and laid back. But visually, he’s the male version of me, with his blonde hair, blue eyes, and a million freckles, though he’s taller and broader than I am. I look more like his younger sister.

  I shudder under a sob I refuse to release. How can I live knowing I’ll never see him again, never hear his…

  I switch places with Dad so I can be closer to Blake. I feel uneasy being next to him, something I should never feel around my brother. I slide my hand gently between his curled, bandaged fingers. I don’t want to cry in case he can hear me, but I can’t stop the tears from coming. Seeing him like this…it’s killing me. “It’s all my fault, Blake.” I should be lying where he is right now. I feel numb, I can’t think straight. My memories of our lives together are playing like a movie in my head, but the film just ran out.

  How is this good-bye? We’re twenty-five. Things weren’t supposed to go like this.

  I lean over and place a kiss on his bandaged cheek. “I love you. You’re the best brother I could have asked for. I’m so sorry I let you down.” Everything hurts so fucking much. I don’t know how I’ll be able to live with myself now. I hold my breath. “I’ll look for you in the stars, just like Gran always told us. I’ll talk to you every night. I promise.” It’s all I can take. I run to the bathroom, vomiting into the toilet. Black fluid, from the smoke. I don’t know where it’s all coming from, but it keeps coming until I heave nothing but dry air. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the heart.

  It’s evident now. Our heartbeats were both discovered at the same time.

  Now only one will remain.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I’VE THANKED FIFTY PEOPLE for coming. They’ve all given me their condolences—the hand on my shoulder with a slight squeeze, and the tiny one-sided smile. An array of nasty perfumes and colognes have assaulted my nose, which don’t mix well with the spread of cold cuts and bunches of fragrant flowers set on the table beside me. Maybe it’s the emptiness of my stomach making me feel sick, or possibly the memory of Blake’s seared flesh…I can’t get it out of my head.

  Or maybe it’s just the guilt.

  For the first time in my life, I’m claustrophobic. Mom and Dad downsized their house after Blake and I moved out. They bought a one-bedroom condo, which seems smaller than the living room in our last house. I guess this works for them, but it’s not exactly the best size for dozens of our closest friends and family, which is why I’ve been standing by the front door for the past two hours keeping the exit close by.

  Most people haven’t had the balls to ask me what happened. They probably don’t want the details, and I don’t blame them. The ones who have said something have given their “don’t blame yourself” spiel.

  My vision glazes over as I watch the dark-clothed crowd chat in whispers. Are they talking about me? Telling each other I killed Blake? Pairs of eyes take turns, looking at me every few seconds. I feel like I did in grade school, sitting at a cafeteria table alone while everyone talks about my freckles, my underdeveloped body, and my nose always being in a book. I’m not that girl any more; part of me wants to climb on the table and announce that Blake’s death is, in fact, my fault. I just left him there to burn. I was so preoccupied with my own life that I didn’t even know he was home. Maybe that would make the chatter stop.

  These people are relatives, and Mom and Dad’s friends, and they’ve always admired me—a young woman with her head on straight, striving for a big career at a young age. It felt like I’d had the word “success” tattooed on my forehead from the time I received a culinary scholarship during my senior year of high school. I won a bunch of young chef awards, which secured me a spot at the Culinary Institute of America in New York. After spending most of my formative years as a hermit, I’ve silently enjoyed every second of the attention. I was my parents’ pride and joy.

  It’s amazing how quickly things change.

  God. I need to get out of here. I’ve spent the last hour planning my escape. The thought of finding a quiet place to sneak a cigarette weighs on my mind, something Blake would chastise me for if he were alive, especially after having been hospitalized for smoke inhalation just last week. But he’s not here now, which means no one is going to give me a dirty look or lecture me on how my one cigarette a day habit will kill me. Blake is dead. Gone. And I’m pretty much dead inside.

  Screw this.

  I push through the screen door and stalk down the front three steps as I suck in the sweet April air. I used to love the after-rain scent, but now it just reminds me of tears.

  “So sorry I’m late, Felicity.” Aspen, my sous chef from Sur Le Feu and my closest friend, steps out of her polished black Explorer, hopping on one foot as she slides her sling-back on the other. “Honey.” She reaches out for me, tears in her eyes, waiting for a hug.

  Another hug will make me cry again. I wrap my arms around my body and nod. She ignores my rejection and loops her arms around me anyway. She smells like lemon and cooking oil, another scent that used to bring me happiness.

  “Did you think about what I said last night?” Her hands close around my arms as she leans back to look me in the eyes. “You can’t sleep on your parents’ couch forever. And we both know you shouldn’t live alone right now. Come stay with me.” A thin smile stretches across her peach-tinted lips. “You need a friend. And I’m here for you.”

  She wouldn’t be calling me her friend right now if she knew what I had to tell her. What I should have told her last week. She’d probably hate me so much she wouldn’t be at my brother’s wake right now.

  I’ve been thinking about moving since she brought it up last night. She’s right; I can’t sleep on my parents’ love seat any longer. It’s been so hard listening to Mom cry herself to sleep every night.

  “Okay, but I should tell you something first.” Something that will likely make you retract your offer.

  “I know; you snore. It’s fine. We can worry about that later.” She pulls me in again for a tight hug before releasing me. “What’s important is you said ‘okay,’ which means we’re roomies now. Which also means we will get through this together.”

  Now is obviously not the time to tell her.

  “Thanks.” God, I hate the thought of losing more control over my life. I’ve always been the one to help a friend. I don’t like to take. It’s not me. But until I hear back from the insurance company, I can’t afford to make any decisions.

  “So…what’s this ensemble you’ve put together today?” she asks, her lips pinched to one side. “I think we’re going to need to go shopping later. I know you lost everything.” Her eyes scan over my face, examining me like I’m an exhibit in a museum. “You need cosmetics, too.” Only Aspen could get away with saying this to me right now. She knows I’m not one to leave the house with a hair out of place or without the right amount of make-up—just enough to appear as if I’m not wearing any at all. I iron my jeans. Sometimes, I even iron my underwear. I have to have things a certain way, or else I feel out of sort
s.

  But everything is out of sorts right now.

  I glance down. The black slacks are my mom’s—tapered at the ankle and baggy in the thighs. My blouse has ruffles. And I’m sure my hair must look like it lost a battle with a high-powered hair dryer. None of it matters, though. “Maybe we should just leave now.”

  She shakes her head and gives a disapproving grimace. “Honey, you probably shouldn’t leave. It’s Blake’s wake.” Aspen isn’t normally the voice of reason. She’s the one always sneaking out of work twenty minutes early, snatching food off of people’s plates, and dating the kitchen staff. We’re nothing alike.

  “I guess.” We walk back into the house, reclaiming my spot against the wall.

  Aspen scoots up beside me, nudging her shoulder into mine while scanning the room with a bit of a snarl. “This is so awful.” The words hitch in her throat. “I can’t believe he’s gone. It’s not fair.”

  She’s right. It isn’t.

  Being next to the front door, I’ve seen every person come and go, which means I’m front and center when Tanner Holt walks in. “Liss.” His arms pull me against him as if no time has passed. He offers a warmth I’ve tried to forget over the past year. “I’ve called you like twenty times. Why didn’t you answer?”

  “Oh,” Aspen interrupts, pointing a finger at him. “She hasn’t been answering anyone’s calls. I finally tracked her down last night. Don’t feel bad.” Aspen doesn’t know Tanner, mostly because Aspen and I only met about ten months ago when she started working at the restaurant—shortly after Tanner and I broke up—so mentioning him was never necessary.

  “My phone was in the fire.” I look between both of them. “It’s why I haven’t returned your calls.” Even if I had a working phone, I’m not sure I would have answered anyone’s call.

  Tanner’s arm is still around my shoulders, his hand squeezing tighter as the seconds pass. I glance up to gauge his reaction to the crowd. This was all a little surreal before the wake. I knew what happened—I said good-bye to Blake seconds before he died. I heard the heart monitor cry out that piercing steady sound. I saw his chest expand and collapse for the last time. But it all felt like a bad dream. Until today.