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“Ava, open up. It’s me! There’s a midnight tour of a local castle. Yeah, who knew there are castles in Ohio? Supposedly there are ghosts. You know you want to find out.”
Inside, I’d pulled the covers up to my chin and shook my head. I had zero interest in going out in the dead of night, a stormy night at that, to a haunted castle. No thanks.
Also, his words were slightly slurred. I suspected he’d been drinking. It only added to my resolve to stay put.
He said, “Come on, Ava. The night air is good for you!”
That’s when a neighbor had come out of his apartment and told Alexander to bug off or he’d call the police.
I’d breathed a great big gusty sigh of relief when Alexander did as he was told.
Alex had been laughing as he left. “I’ll get you out of that comfort zone, Ava, if it’s the last thing I do!”
I believed him. He was tenacious in his puzzle solving. But this had to stop. I decided I’d call him the next day, when he was nice and sober, and talk it out with him. Make him see reason. Encourage him to get on with his life. To finalize his plans to move overseas.
I’d heard his retreating footfalls on the stairs and the creak of the building’s door as he pushed it open. I got out of bed, padded toward the front window to make sure he wasn’t hanging around, planning to climb the fire escape or something equally as foolish. It was then that I heard the squeal of tires, a sickening crunch, the crack of a windshield shattering, a loud crash.
Heart pounding, I’d raced the rest of the way to the window. Peered out.
A streetlight highlighted the scene below. A car smashed into a telephone pole, its engine wheezing thick, dark smoke.
A crumpled body lying in the street.
Alexander’scrumpled body lying in the street.
Now, I closed my eyes against the memories. Shook them away.
But the guilt wasn’t so easily banished.
If only I’d opened that door.
If only.
A sea breeze whistled through the open window and swirled around me as if giving me a hug. Trying to comfort me.
There was no comfort to be had.
It was my fault Alexander had died. There was no changing that.
Wiping tears in my room at Dez’s house, I slipped out of the bed and headed for the bathroom.
Halfway there, I stopped. Sniffed.
Istillsmelled something burning, the scent acrid, bitter, almost chemical in nature. It reminded me of the time my dad had plugged a portable air conditioner into a surge protector instead of directly into a wall outlet. It had taken only minutes before the protector started smoking and sounded an alarm.
Suddenly fearful, I listened intently, trying to focus. Deep in the distance, I heard sizzling and popping. The fire wasn’t here, in the house. It was blocks away.
I grabbed my robe and ran down the stairs. “Dez! Dez!” I banged on his bedroom door.
A second later, he pulled the door open, his hair a mess, his eyes heavy with sleep. “Sprite! Oh my days, what’s wrong?”
“There’s a fire. In town. I’m not sure where.” I sniffed again. “But I can smell it. I think it’s an electrical fire. It smells like burning plastic.”
His sleepy gaze focused. “You’re sure?”
I nodded. “Positive.”
“Then let’s go find it. I’ll call for help on the way.”
