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“What was your intention with inviting Elijah over tonight?”
Billie’s eyes bounced from Ryan to me. His smile—a smile of an old friend—twisted into something unrecognizable. “I planned on sharing my big finale look with you. In fact—I actually wanted you to try it on.”
He pointed at a voluminous ball gown in the center of the room. An absolutely stunning piece. Must have taken months to make. Every crease and stitch and thread appeared to be placed with great intention, and then there were the small golden scales that were hand-stitched into the dress, each one fitting perfectly with the other, making it seem like an impenetrable shell of shining gold. A long and silky red cowl hung from the neck, matching some of the red shine that appeared in the center of each golden scale.
“But plans change—you should know that. Every drag queen needs to be adaptable.” Billie put the knife down on the sewing table behind him. Ryan tensed next to me. He put pressure on the bleeding cut, but he appeared ready to jump the six or so feet between us and Billie.
“What are you doing?” I asked as Billie opened a drawer behind him without taking his eyes off us.
“Just know I love you, Elijah.”
I gave a jagged laugh. “You don’t love me.” Fuck, was he pulling out a gun? Ryan moved to run, but Billie raised his hand first, a matte-black object held in his palm, thumb resting on a raised red button. What the hell was that? “Billie, stop, please.” I had slipped into a pleading tone, ready to drop to my knees and beg if that would end this.
“Are you ready for the big finale? I wanted you to wear that dress at your first show back. I wanted it to be seen, to be admired, to be remembered for the rest of time.”
What was he about to do? And what the fuck should I do? I felt helpless. Worse than that—useless. I looked to Ryan, unable to hide the fear that rose up like bile. All I wanted was to be lying in bed with my baby, shielded from the world by his strong arms, lost in a field of endless kisses and heartfelt whispers. That’s all I wanted.
All I wanted. Just Ryan. Only him.
And now, it looked like I was about to lose it all. Billie’s eyes filled with a sick glee. He pressed down on the button.
“Turn around or you’ll miss the show,” he said, just as I started to smell smoke in the air.
The dress. Smoke curled up from the scales, each one sending up a tendril of thin gray smoke, turning darker and darker. One of the scales popped, embers flying through the air. Then another, and another. A chain reaction kicked off, and the dress exploded, each scale cracking open in a burst of flame. The fabric underneath must have been made with purely cotton, catching fire instantaneously, the blaze being fed by the thousands of popping gold bombs.
The flames jumped, lighting the various surrounding dresses on fire. It spread frighteningly fast. Before I could even think about what to do, Ryan had a vise grip on my wrist and was pulling me toward the exit.
But Billie was faster. He knocked over a huge wardrobe, blocking the door as it fell and lodged itself between a corner on the wall. Billie laughed as the reflection of orange flames danced in his eyes, tears falling down his cheek and smearing the mascara he wore.
The heat became suffocating, and the smoke accumulated fast, pressing down on us. “The window,” Ryan shouted through the roar and crackle of growing flames. He went for the window, grabbing a chair and launching it at the glass.
It bounced off. Billie laughed even harder. Of course. He’d always been so paranoid of someone breaking in, he must have gotten reinforced windows. Ryan tried pulling it up and open but couldn’t even get it to jiggle. It was locked, with a lock and fucking key.
We were trapped. I started to cough and cry, backing into a corner. The fire spread to the ceiling. Wood cracked and splintered above us. Ryan came down and grabbed me in his arms. “Stay low, baby.” His face was already covered in ash, arm covered in blood, panic blanching his normally composed face.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
We weren’t getting out of this. There was no riding this out. It was over.
“I’m so sorry,” I wheezed out. “I’m so sorry, Ryan. You should never have been here.”
“Stop that right fucking now. We’re getting out of this.”
He grabbed my hand again and scanned the room, looking for an exit. The smoke grew darker, more acrid, my eyes stinging like I’d been staring directly at the sun for the past three hours. Billie twirled around his burning studio as if he were dancing under the rain, arms extended and head back. He’d lost it, and we were going to lose our lives because of it.
