Page 4 of Phoenix
“I know,” I whisper and laugh nervously, before looking away with a crimson heat infiltrating my cheeks at an alarming rate. “Do you want to go and sit back down again, or shall I show you the spare room?”
Given that it’s nearly ten o’clock and the storm is raging more than ever, I’m guessing he’s staying over for the night. I suddenly wish my door had locks, even though they usually freak me out more than they comfort me.
“Are you sure?” he asks, looking very conflicted. He can see I’m nervous about a complete stranger staying in my house all alone, but then, what choice does he have?
“Well, the storm is probably worse than it was when you first arrived, so I guess you may as well have somewhere to sleep,” I reply with a nervous shrug, “unless you want to brave it?”
“Thank you, Jessie,” he replies formally, “a bed would be nice for the night, but only if you are comfortable with that?”
I merely nod and begin to walk toward the door, ready to show him the room on the opposite side of the house to mine.
The stairs creak beneath my feet, offering the only sound to do battle with the wind and rain outside. I feel Warren’s heavy presence behind me and try to curl myself away from him, so we don’t run any risk of touching one another. He’s warm, I’m cold. As soon as my foot hits the top step, I breathe out slowly and begin my path along the hallway which is devoid of any photographs or paintings. Once upon a time, there were many pictures of me, along with my parents. I would have been about ten years old in them, smiling and being content in the blissful ignorance of things that children don’t even appreciate at the time. Those pictures came down afterward.
Finally, we reach the door to the spare bedroom, and I turn to smile awkwardly, gesturing for him to go inside. It seems beyond fortunate that the bed was made up for this rather unexpected turn of events, but I’m grateful for small mercies. The thought of hanging around with him in such a small space, to make up the duvet, pillows, and bed sheet, would have been enough to bring me out in hives. He nods before stepping inside and looking around at his surroundings for the night. It’s then that I consider that Warren Flynn is just as much in this awkward situation as I am; he just covers his anxiety much better than I do.
“Help yourself to a shower or whatever,” I utter and quickly go to grab a couple of clean towels from the airing cupboard next door. I place them on top of the bed before stepping back toward the door. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning then.”
“Yes, thank you again,” he replies with a smile before pulling my father’s t-shirt over his head with one hand. His immaculate and masculine body is covered in a myriad of black ink and my mouth drops open over the image of him. Thankfully, he pretends not to notice and turns around to grab one of the towels. His back is just as impressively built as his front, but the only tattoo gracing his skin is a large and intricately designed phoenix. Its wings spread up across his shoulder blades; its claws are out in an attack position, while its determined face is fixed dead in the middle of his olive-toned skin.
“Good night, Jessie,” he says from over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” I whisper and make a beeline for the stairs, my escape route out of this stifling situation.
Chapter 2
Niamh (Jessie), 11 years old
“Did you see the dragon who lives over the hill?” I ask my best friend, Tammy Baker. We’re walking up toward my house and trying really hard to chivvy one another along the steep gradient of the road. We could have gone to her house back in the village, but she has two older brothers who like to play ‘Murder in the Dark’ which is a cover-up name for ‘I’m going to beat the crap out of you in the dark and being a girl won’t make me go any easier on you.’ Besides, my place has a lot more toys than hers, being that I’m an only child who is spoiled rotten by her over-protective parents.
“Nah, I stopped believing in that old dragon a few months ago. Sam said I was too old to believe in such ‘fucking shit’ before he tripped me over with his size seven army boots,” she sighs.
Her confession makes me feel silly and immature for always looking out for the mythical dragon who has fueled my bedtime stories for years. Stanley, a timid, green dragon, lives in one of the cliffside caves, just behind the lighthouse that stands a couple of miles from my bedroom window. He lives alone and is desperate for a friend but he’s also too shy to come out and meet anyone. The story goes that if you find one of his shiny scales, he grants you a wish. Mom and I have been scale hunting many a time, Tammy used to come with us.
When we were both eight years old, we wished for a proper slumber party with ice cream and pizza. That weekend, our wish came true; it had been the most magical experience of my life, even better than Christmas. When I was nine, I wished to see Stanley in real life. Two whole weeks passed by before I received a letter covered in scrawl and seaweed. It was from Stanley, telling me he had come to see me every night, but I was always asleep. He knew I would be and that was why he came at this time; he was too scared that I would find him frightening and would no longer come to look for him in his cave. By age ten, the magic began to fade, and I pretty much guessed that it was all an elaborate ruse to try and keep me little and inspired by fantasy. Still, I loved Mom for it, so I pretended, for her sake, that I still believed in it all. Ironically, our roles changed, still using the same imaginary dragon that had kept me young and innocent all these years.
Back to the here and now, Tammy being nearly twelve, me a few months behind, and we’re still climbing the hill, with only the sound of our huffing and puffing to break up the silence. However, within the blink of an eye, it begins to rain heavily and with a strong wind to whip against our backs. It’s not uncommon for the weather to suddenly change like this, though that fact doesn’t make it any easier when you’re trying to scale this hill.
A growl of an engine and a couple of bright beams reaching around in front of us force our feet onto the muddy grass bank at the side of the road. We don’t bother to turn around to see the car, we just take it as a given that we should move over for any approaching traffic.
“Excuse me,” a man shouts from the car window, “can you help me? I’m hopelessly lost!”
Tammy and I look at each other before turning to face the guy with long brown hair, thick glasses, and a ridiculously expensive suit wrapped around his shoulders. It matches his pristine-looking black Mercedes which is now forcing us even further into the mud due to the sheer size of it on this single-track road.
“Where are you heading?” Tammy shouts back before walking closer toward the guy’s window. Tammy is the leader in our pairing, whereas I am the dutiful follower. My parents know it, Tammy knows it, and now this guy knows it. I can tell by the way he glances past her and smiles in my direction. It doesn’t comfort me in the slightest. “The main road is back the other way.”
“Can I get to the town that way?” he calls over so we can both hear him, even though Tammy’s the one helping, not me. She nods and he smiles with all his teeth, looking like the Big Bad Wolf in human form. “Thanks, girls, you’ve been really helpful. Can I offer you both a ride?”
“Wow! Really? Thanks, Mister.” Tammy grins while I shake my head at a rapid pace. “Come on, Niamh, it’s pouring and I’m already tired from having to climb Mount Everest to get to your house!”
Tammy gives me one of her warning looks that reminds me of where I stand in our relationship.
“I’ve got the heaters on in here and the seats are warm too,” the man tempts us, “I’m sure it will only take me a few minutes to get you up to the top. I have to turn around anyway.”
Without warning, Tammy grabs hold of my hand and pulls me into the car. A waft of new leather, cigarette smoke, and the fake smell of pine air freshener hits me like a wall. I want to run from it, to breathe in the smell of rain and salty air outside, but Tammy has such a grip on me, I feel as if I have no energy to fight her off. The door closes and I hear an automatic locking sound as she shuffles over to the other side of the back seat. It is, indeed, warm and toasty in his leather-clad car, but it’s not at all comforting. I instantly want to get out, but I’m trapped.
The guy smiles at us before pulling up toward the top of the hill, making a fifteen-minute walk in the torrential rain a mere two-minute journey. My heart races the whole time, but when I see my house, I let out a relieved breath and go to grab the door handle so I can make a break for it as soon as is humanly possible. However, he turns the car around first, so I have to wait rather impatiently to get out. Tammy rolls her eyes at the sight of my concerned face but as soon as he revs the engine and moves away from the safety of my house at speed, her exasperation, along with mine, soon turns to the horrified shock.
“What are you doing?!” she screams as she tries to yank at her door handle. “Let us out!”