The Matchbox

Chapter 4

PART 4

I woke in a blindingly white room. When I tried to move, I found that I was attached by my arms to IVs and tubing.

What had happened to me?

I pushed myself up gingerly with my elbows, flinching as the IVs tugged at my skin. My throat felt so hoarse, and when I tried to call out to see if anyone was there my voice came out as a frog-like croak.

Groaning, I leaned back against the bed, searching with my eyes. There was a whiteboard on the wall nearby that read, “Pt. Name: Lea McCarthy, Physician: Dr. Henrietta Marks, Nurse: Sara R.” I was definitely in a hospital.

I reviewed my memories. I had been running, with my dog, and there had been smoke and another person. Tracy had been there—my friend. Was she alright?

Even though I tried to stay awake, waiting for somebody to come, exhaustion took over my body and weakness made me close my eyes.

The first thing I heard was a familiar voice. Confusion made me blink and look around. The lights were harsher now, sunlight streaming through a window to my right.

“Lea? Lea?” the voice I recognized was saying.

It was difficult to see who it was. I rubbed my eyes, and realized my contact lenses weren’t in. That explained things. Squinting, I peered through a blurred haze.

The speaker had dark hair and a vaguely feminine figure. She moved closer, making it easier to see her. “Mom?” I muttered.

“Lea! You’re awake! Thank heavens!” she cried, practically falling over as she embraced me.

“Where’s Tracy?” I asked.

Mom was quiet. When I cleared my throat—which hurt a little, still—she finally sighed. “Lea, Tracy’s missing.”

“What?” I screamed. Then I grabbed my burning neck and whimpered, curling around myself.

“Shush, Lea,” Mom said gently. “You shouldn’t be talking. You had so much smoke. Just rest.”

My eyes were squeezed shut to block the pain, but I heard her footsteps retreating and the soft click of the door as it closed behind her. I remained still in my bed, hating the IVs and my own weakness. Why couldn’t I have refused when Tracy tried to convince me to go out into the woods? Now she was probably dead. They would find her charred remains somewhere along the path….

I choked on tears and sobbed for what felt like hours.

The next people I saw were my sister and father. The visit felt like a haze, and when they were gone it was as if it hadn’t happened. They left just as my room was beginning to darken. The window showed no more sunlight, and I closed my eyes.

My dreams were hauntingly disturbing. I saw Tracy, and Fang, and Roxie, and they were all burning and writhing in pain. A deep, sharp voice kept floating through every nightmare, whispering in my ears.

“This is only the beginning….”

When I awoke, it was still dark and I must have been screaming, because a nurse ran in and gave me something to drink. I realized too late what it was, and before I knew it I was asleep all over again. Something in the sleeping medicine must have thwarted the nightmares, though, because neither voice nor images returned.

The police came to visit me the next day. I was rather miffed that I hadn’t been warned and allowed to change into something more presentable than a hospital gown. They weren’t the most empowering of garments. Whoever invented them probably did so to keep patients under control with embarrassment.

The policeman introduced himself as Officer Cummings and shook my hand. He took a seat beside my hospital bed. My mother had brought in my glasses earlier so I could actually see him.

“I hope you’re feeling well enough to talk today,” he said sympathetically. “We have a lot of questions that need answered as soon as possible.”

I nodded. I was feeling better, but I still wanted to conserve my voice as much as possible.

“I’m going to ask you some questions for the record. One: your name is Lea McCarthy?”

I nodded.

“Were you in the woods near Amber Trail on the night of November 26th?” he asked. I noticed his tape recorder, and the little green light that meant it was turned on, listening to every word I said—which was kind of creepy, when I thought about it.

“Yes, I was,” I croaked. I rubbed my throat. My frog-like voice would be immortalized on the tape recorder. What a pleasant thought that was.

“We’ll try to keep this short. I’m sorry,” the officer said, noting my condition with a sorry glance. “Were you alone that night?” he continued the questioning—interrogation, it felt like.

“No. I was with Tracy Summers,” I said. I moved my glasses aside so I could wipe my eyes as they began to tear. “And we both had our dogs.”

“Why did you decide to go into the forest?” Officer Cummings asked.  To my irritation, I could hear disapproval in his voice. He probably thought I was stupid.

“Tracy wanted to look for clues. I knew that if I didn’t go with her, she would just go alone, and that would have been worse,” I said. My throat was starting to feel a little better as I exercised it, but I still had to reach for the cup of water beside my bed.

“When did you realize the forest was on fire?” the policeman asked.

“The dogs went bonkers. Then we smelled smoke, and we ran. Tracy called 911.”

The officer just nodded to everything I said and asked question after question. By the time he was finished, my water glass was empty and my throat felt like it had a tiger trapped in it, ripping it apart from the inside.

I still didn’t have any idea what had happened to Tracy. When I asked Officer Cummings if he had heard anything, all he would say was something about confidentiality and how I had to ask Tracy’s family if I wanted details.

That night, alone in my hospital room, I couldn’t sleep. I was finally off the IVs, so I sat in the chair by the window, looking out at the distant forest. I could see the burned scar—black, desolate, and haunting—from where I sat.

A chill ran up from my toes all the way through to my fingers. Shivering, I clutched my blanket tighter around my shoulders.

The door behind me creaked. Whirling around, I saw no one. The door was still firmly closed. Swallowing hard, I returned my gaze to the window. The moon was waning, and the darkness made me consider turning on the lamp by my bedside.

A footstep rang in the quiet room. I leapt out of my chair, grabbing for something—a weapon, a heavy book, anything—but all was fine. Taking deep breaths, I started to make for that little lamp, knowing that if I could just get a bit of light in this room I would feel safer.

Before I could reach it, I suddenly thought of those words. “This is only the beginning.”

Clenching my fists, I said into the darkness. “Guess what? Now the end is near, wise guy. And you’ll be the one to come up short.”