Morrigan froze at the voice, confused by its familiarity. The woman’s voice spoke again, barely audible: [You have to go home. Hurry.]
Mom? That’s what the voice reminded of her as she desperately turned around in the hall. Anxiety suddenly coursed through her, and she couldn't help but shake.
“Did you guys hear that? A woman’s voice?” Morrigan asked, dread seeming to flood her body even though she had nothing to fear.
“I didn’t hear anything,” replied Juro. “You’re looking a little faint, are you okay?” He had no idea why an overheard conversation would have been important, but he saw the fear boiling in Morrigan’s eyes.
“Me neither,” Elizabeth added. She placed a hand on Morrigan’s shoulder to support her weight. “What’s wrong? You don’t look good.”
Morrigan’s eyes widened as she grabbed Juro’s sleeve and started to run out of the hospital, turning around to shout at Elizabeth. “If we don’t come back soon, run to my house! Something’s wrong there!” Her voice was shrill and desperate for a reason she couldn’t explain, but some primal fear was pounding inside her body, threatening to break out.
She let go of his sleeve once they exited the building, and she broke out into a sprint as she dove into the forest. Stumbling across the branches, she couldn’t think about anything but her father’s safety. Whatever, or whoever that voice was, it was in her head, and it was warning her about something. She forced branches away from her face, ignoring the scratches that etched into her legs and Juro’s shouts from behind her. The sky. Oh god, the sky and the black smoke cloud that crept up over the top of the trees, tinting the horizon a pasty yellow.
Morrigan finally broke into the open clearing in front of her house, freezing at the sight of the giant fire that blazed through one side of her house. The side with her father. His screams ripped through the air as Morrigan slammed through the front door, completely forgetting about Juro catching up to her. She let out a cry when she heard her father’s screams cease, and she turned to look down the hall, noticing a small boy fan the fire up to the ceiling. She looked, stared at the little boy who resembled Mr. Brown so much that she felt vomit burn her throat at the very sight of him. She was so taken aback by the sight of him that she didn’t even hear the window in the adjacent room breaking as Juro jumped in.
“Adam?” Disbelief shook through her voice. The little boy she had babysitted, the little boy who came over to their house for holidays to bake cookies.
He slowly turned to face her, his expression nonchalant, cold, even, despite the flames that licked the ground around him. He raised a small hand toward her, violent flames shooting out at her face. Morrigan rounded the corner of the hall back into the living room, watching the fire burst past her, the searing heat forcing her to flinch. She felt herself hyperventilating, the smoke entering her lungs and clogging them, because there was no way this was happening to her. No way that Mr. Brown reported her or that his son was sent out to kill her father, because she’d wake up right now and see her father still lying in that damp room, listening to his eternal radio while staring at the blank, blank wall.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Something boiled inside her, maybe from the flames that started bleeding into the wall, and the bubbles swelled into her throat. Morrigan ripped her gloves off when he appeared in the living room, both of her hands suddenly forcing the fire to rush up to him like a blooming dragon, shock flashing across his face. She manipulated the flames, watching them eat him up as he started screaming, desperately trying to regain control. Morrigan had no time to think about how or why she could control his flames, because the only thing she could think of was how her Dad wasn’t dead, but that this little boy was going to be.
That woman's voice, that woman was in her as Morrigan let out a ghastly shriek, screaming as she charged toward him, flames suddenly bursting out from her palms as he desperately tried to shield himself. He let out a shocked gasp of pain, fear trying to escape from the prisons of his eyes, and ran into the adjacent room, his flames giving out from under him. Before Morrigan could charge after him, the house shook unsteadily as the ceiling collapsed, debris crashing to the ground. The sudden impact sent a shock wave throughout the house, tossing her towards the front door. Her dad couldn't be dead, that could never happen. Crawling for the front door, she coughed up blood as the fire ate through her clothes, ravaging and famished.
Morrigan finally began to cry, hating the way the salty, wet tears felt on burnt skin as she struggled away from the house, the gravel road scratching up the vulnerable skin on her arms. Her nails filled with dirt and ash as she crawled up, up to the green grass. She collapsed on her back, staring at her blazing home as it collapsed in on itself. There was no way Adam could have survived, she thought, and she relied on that thought to keep herself breathing, in and out.
“Morrigan! Morrigan! Where are you?” Juro cried as he ran out from the back of her house, carrying a box in his arms. When he spotted her, he sprinted over to her and held her in his arms as she sobbed, gently moving her up and away from the house. He lowered his head in shame. He couldn’t bear to see her this way, her face contorting as her whole body shook with grief. She was inconsolable, clinging onto him with those same dirty nails, face wet from sweat, tears, and snot.
Her eyes slowly wandered over to the box, untouched by the fire. “What’s that?” she croaked, propping herself up onto her elbows while fighting off tears. She had never seen it before in her house, and it was clearly important if he ran in to get it.
Juro furrowed his brows and remained silent, only opening the box for her and placing them in front of her. Morrigan’s eyes widened as she looked at him in disbelief, her lip quivering once more as she wiped her tears with the back of her blackened hands.
She gently filed through the box, her breath shaking and growing louder as the realization set in. “It’s all the letters I’ve written to him….” She scanned each letter, finding ones dated back all the way to when she was too young to write them herself, and her mom had to help her. “At least he never threw them away,” she added, giving a shaky laugh.
At the bottom of the box, she stopped. Countless white letters stacked on top of one another were all addressed to her. She looked at them, grabbing them as she looked at each one. To Morrigan. Morrigan. For Morrigan. She flipped the first one over and looked at the date. Today. The latest one was from this morning.
“I’m sorry, Morrigan. When your father got sick, he needed me to help hide the letters.” Juro looked down at his hands, guilt washing over him.
Morrigan tried to silence her sobs as she opened the letter, ripping off the seal and unfolding it. She thought her father never read any of her letters or wrote her back, and she hated him for it. So much so, she never said goodbye to him this morning. Or that she loved him. She left him there, alone with only that empty, empty static.
She read.