Page 2 of Phoenix
As soon as the man rolls off me, I jump to my feet to look at where my house was. I can’t even see it anymore; it’s covered in flames and smoke. There’s nothing left.
“MOM!” I yell and begin running toward it as fast as I can, even with Lou still strapped to me. Someone grabs my arm before I can get too close, and they pull me back and hold me so I can’t move against their huge body. “MOMMY!” I keep yelling but it’s too late… she’s gone too.
I was meant to be her superhero.
Chapter 1
Present
Jessie
“Good evening, I’m sorry to disturb you, but my car has broken down, and you guys don’t seem to get any signal up here,” the thoroughly wet man shouts at me, trying to make himself heard over the gale force winds and heavy downpour of what looks like sheets of rain. “Mind if I use your phone?”
My mind begins ranting at me, literally shouting all manner of curses from behind my carefully trained neutral expression. I told you not to open the door!
“Er…” I eventually emit through my trembling lips, which I instantly shut again in an attempt to hide just how anxious I am. The longer I stare at him, the more I notice his intimidating physique, including both his height and build. He looks like he could physically pull his car back to wherever it is he came from without even breaking a sweat.
“It’s ok, I’m a cop,” he rushes out, proving how inept I am at trying to hide my fear. He smiles as he fumbles around in his jacket pocket to retrieve his badge and ID. He then sort of leans forward to show me, obviously trying not to get too close and frighten me even more. I could almost feel bad for him if I was a normal person. Alas, I’m not normal; normal was stolen from me a long time ago.
Glancing at all the details, together with the clear-as-day photograph of him in his badge holder, I reluctantly nod. I don’t think I’m allowed to refuse a police officer, but a large part of me is still considering throwing the door closed in his face and switching off all the lights. But then he raises his brow, as if to question my reluctance. Such a subtle act, but one that says, ‘Do as you’re told, little girl,’ and I find myself feeling like a child all over again.
Forced into submission, I open the door wide enough for him to walk inside. After a moment or two of indecision, he cautiously takes the opportunity to shuffle in, looking very much like a giant drowned rat. He literally leaves little puddles of water in his wake, causing my own slipper socks to get soaked through. My feet turn cold which only adds to my discomfort.
I shut the door behind him and instantly revel in the near silence after being overwhelmed by the storm’s orchestra outside. Breathing in deeply, I take a look at him, briefly imagining he just took a dip in the sea, fully clothed; something my father once did when I started to struggle against the current one summer. It was only the first time I nearly died as a child. The stranger before me looks at the way I am studying his sorry state and begins to laugh at himself. I force a smile even though I can admit he does look pretty pathetic right now, him and his huge muscles that only cause me to hunch away from him.
“Give me two minutes,” I finally utter, holding up two fingers as I back away to go and grab some towels and old clothes my father wouldn’t mind me lending to a perfect stranger.
Running upstairs, I realize he could very well be rummaging around down there, trying to rob me or find some sort of murder weapon with which to gut me. However, when I return to the pool of water by the front door, he is still standing there, shaking his hair like a wet dog. He senses my staring, quicker than the average person, though I put his sensitivity down to his years on the force. He looks up and smiles appreciatively, so I dutifully hurry over with the towel and clothes.
“There’s a bathroom just through here,” I tell him, then push the door to my left open so I can switch on the light. “These are my dad’s clothes, but he won’t mind. I can’t remember the last time he wore them.”
“That’s really kind of you,” he says warmly, to which I dismiss his compliment with a shake of my head at the same time as I nervously back away from his friendliness. He takes the hint, nods, then retreats inside of the bathroom to change.
Before the stranger in the bathroom can walk out, I decide to try my parents again. The cop was right, signal up here along the coast, particularly in a storm like this, is mostly non-existent, no matter what network you’re on. So, I grab hold of the landline and begin dialing, but when I place the receiver to my ear, there’s nothing, not even a dialing tone. It’s dead.
“Everything ok?” the guy asks as he steps out of the bathroom wearing Father’s old sweatpants and fitted tee. It’s not so much as fitted on my father, but on this man, it only outlines every dip and crevice across his broad chest and washboard stomach. It’s intimidating. The ink wrapping around his arms and creeping up from his neckline doesn’t help to settle my nerves either. In fact, I look away awkwardly, feeling somewhat embarrassed by his presence which is no longer drowning and completely pathetic looking. That look now belongs to me.
“Er, I’m afraid the phones are dead,” I tell him, gesturing to the storm outside because I’m apparently unable to use my voice to fully explain.
“Marvelous!”
The guy rubs the back of his neck and looks to the floor with an exasperated expression on his face.
“Doesn’t your car have a radio or something?” I ask sheepishly because quite honestly, I have no idea what a police car has inside of it, just that it has more technological ‘stuff’ than a regular vehicle.
“It does, usually, but I think the electrics are out,” he sighs as he looks up to the ceiling with a sag of his shoulders. “How far are your nearest neighbors?” he asks as he folds his mammoth-sized arms. He then fixes me with a stare that has me feeling like I’m being questioned for some ill-thought-out crime that was both stupid and wrong.
“A couple of miles, down the hill,” I reply with a nervous shrug of my shoulders. I then begin shuffling toward the kitchen, doing what one can only think of doing in such an uncomfortable situation as this. “Can I get you some tea or coffee, Mr…?”
“Flynn, Warren Flynn,” he says and holds out his hand to shake mine. It looks like it could engulf my entire head if he wanted it to, but I eventually accept it. Surely, if I’m going to be safe with anyone, it’s a cop…right?
“A coffee would be great, thanks.”
“Sure, please, take a seat.” I show him into the living room where I have a fire lit and a few lamps creating a cozy atmosphere. “Do you take sugar or milk?”
“Nope, just black and hot, thanks…?” He lands his giant body onto one end of the couch; I think the armchairs would have buckled under his sheer size.
“Jessie,” I eventually tell him, wondering if it is a crime to give a cop a name that isn’t legally yours. But my real name died a long time ago; I don’t even like to say it anymore. I take my chances, then sneak away into the kitchen to make some drinks, savoring the relief of these few moments of solitary confinement.