Chapter 1, Continued, Again

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Why are hospitals always so bright? Like, aren't the patients supposed to sleep? That was my first thought when I woke up, my second was: ow. and my third was What happened? I looked around and saw that I was alone in the room. Perfect. Now it’s time to get out of here. I pulled out my IV and took off my finger thing that measures my vitals and immediately knew that was a bad idea because the many monitors surrounding me started going off. It was so loud that I had to cover my ears, but when I moved my arms I screamed in pain. My right arm felt like it was caught in a bear trap, and I could barely move it.

I crawled over to the bathroom (don’t ask why I was crawling) and closed the door, how had I stooped so low. My whole life, I’d been taught that hiding was never the right choice, but I couldn't fight. Footsteps sounded outside the door, female, by the sound of it. Then there were more footsteps, the heavy footfalls and metal clinking of security guards. Why was security there? I wondered. I looked around for something that could do some damage, but everything in the room was attached to the wall. That’s another reason that I literally hate hospitals. So, instead, I crouched down beside the sink and made myself as small as possible. The monitors outside had stopped beeping and the footsteps had grown closer. My heart was beating outside my chest as I waited to be found.

The door opened and I saw a mess of red-brown hair coming toward me above the counter. Suddenly, everything went dark and I was watching my life through a movie screen while it unfolded around me. A doctor crouched down beside me, then turned her head and called out the door that I had been found.
"Are you alright?" she asked kindly.
My Irish accent had been replaced with British as I asked, "What's the date, and who are you?"
"It's July first, 2020. My name is Dr. Glass. I'm here to help you, can you tell me your name?"
"Bex, but the name you'll get off my fingerprints is Maddie." The British voice said through my mouth.
"Okay Bex, Why don't we come out of the bathroom and you can tell me more about Maddie."
"Don't say her name, you'll wake her up." I snapped, my voice an echo. As I was walking back out the door, I glanced at the mirror and stopped. Since when did I have blue eyes? My eyes are bottle green. Dr. Glass asked me questions while she hooked me back up to the monitors and fixed my IV. But every time I answered the questions I was British, and I still felt like I was just watching while the rest of my life went on. Every time the doctor asked about 'Maddie' I felt like I was more in control of myself, and every time I got more and more angry. The doctor kept asking questions about what had happened and all I did was tell her to call Nada Sloan. Then the doctor left and I fell into an injury induced sleep, only not really because I was never really awake to begin with.

When I woke up I was back in the warehouse, tied to a chair just like everyone else. They had a plastic bag around Luke's head and he was screaming in fear. I tried to break free, to save him, but my hands were bound along with everyone else's. Then, somehow, I was standing and I lunged at them—of course knocking them out—I took the bag off and felt for a pulse but he was gone. I hunched over his limp body and pumped my hands rhythmically against his chest. But his pulse never returned and his heart never restarted, so I held him close and rocked back and forth. Suddenly, Luke's body disappeared and I was in a dark room holding nothing but air, no longer my brother's body laid lifeless against my torso. I vaguely registered that there were alarms going off somewhere as I stood. In front of me was a small flame floating in the air and I reached out to it, curious. Gently, I held my hand out to the flame and, almost in response, it leapt into my hand. The touch burned me and I dropped the flame, yelping in surprise. Instead of continuing to float like it should have, the flames fell to the ground. Just before it made impact, I saw that the floor was wet and breathed in the deep, suffocating aroma of gasoline. This was about to be the opposite of fun.

The flame collided with the ground and ignited the gasoline with a roar. I choked on a scream and turned to run away only to be hit with another wall of flames. Everywhere I turned I was met with more fire and I spun one last time, desperate to find a way out. All around me were the orange and blue flames, steadily growing above my head. I felt the heat of the fire on my skin, and in my body. In my heart, in my blood, it was burning. I looked down at my feet and saw that the wall was coming closer, trying to kill me. Before I could try to form an escape plan, I was engulfed in the flames. In the seconds it took to register that I was on fire, I looked at the flames, so close that I could see the details. I could see every detail and it was beautiful, the way the fire danced around me and grew and shrank and flickered. Then came the pain and I dropped to the ground, rolling back and forth as I screamed in pain. Trying in vain to put the fire out, to kill it. It was as though the fire was alive and cutting me open everywhere at once. The pain was worse than I had ever experienced, that was certain. I held up my hands and watched my fingers turn to ash, I watched—not for the first time—as I died, and wondered if it would stick this time. If I would actually die, or if I would survive this again.

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