Ruby Red Marionette

seven | invest

//: Isaiah to the side. 

The smoke was almost too thick to see through. I could feel Yvette beside me, pelting through the commotion, trying not to trip and fall like I was. I could’ve closed my eyes, and it wouldn’t make much of a difference.

I did close my eyes at one point; the burning sensation filling them was too much to bear. But we weren’t the only ones outside; almost everyone had left their houses, desperately following the scent of fire in the air. They followed the smell, we followed their footsteps.

Ironically, as we got closer to the scene, the smoke eased up. Either that, or we were already used to it by the time Yvette and I were among a crowd of about sixty people who stood just feet away from a building that was now down to shreds. I recognized the place; I’d never looked at it too much, but I knew where it was. I remembered passing by it. I could draw a picture of what it looked like before it was reduced to a pile of wood and cement.

“Folks, get back, please.” A policeman shouted to us. “There’s nothing to see here. Stay back.”

Reluctantly, we all took a few steps back. Yvette was speechless beside me, watching the whole event with eager eyes, as if she was waiting for something. I followed her gaze to the ambulance trucks in front of the remains, and found myself waiting, too: casualties. That’s all we were interested in. No one cared about this no-named establishment that everyone just passed by and said nothing about. The building didn’t have a beating heart, a life to lead. All we wanted to know was who was inside, and whether they were still breathing.

A new car arrived on the scene, a black Honda with police sirens on the dashboard. Undercovers.

They opened the door, squinting at the horror before them and waving the smoke out of their eyes. They had guns on their waists and determination in their eyes, as always: Charlie’s boys. He wasn’t with them, though.

I exhaled as the weight of worry was lifted from my shoulders. He wasn’t with them. One less thing to be concerned about.

“Geneva?”

I quickly turned around, fearing that somehow Charlie arrived on his own and my relief was in vain. But it was a female voice. Batul.

“What are you doing here?” I asked her. Tyler was by her side, paying no attention to us. He cupped his hands around his eyes, peering at the scene.

“Same reason you’re here. Everyone heard it, everyone felt it.” She looked wistfully at the scene.

Yvette appeared at my side like an afraid child, intertwining and then separating her fingers. The routine seemed to calm her.

“This is my friend Yvette,” I told Batul. “And these are Batul and Tyler.”

Tyler paid attention to the mention of his name, and then glanced at Yvette for a few lingering seconds.

Batul gave Yvette a compliment about her height, and asked if she was a model. Yvette grinned and began to explain to her that her passion was dance. The small talk continued and my interest faded, so I slipped away from them and to the front of the crowd. The police officers who were ordering that we keep back were shouting at the left side of the crowd. I watched them for a few moments, making sure that they were occupied, and then made my way over to Charlie’s assistants. They were questioning police officers, holding up their usual pens and notepads. Both of their pads were battered and old, with rotting edges and broken spirals. They’d been doing this for a while.

“Remember me, Carl?” I smiled at the rude one. He looked up at me, piercing irritation immediately consuming his face. He seemed to have gotten fatter - and taller - since I last saw him. His hair had thinned, too.