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There were still lights lingering in Lottie's eyes, the reflections of sparks hanging in the air. Those distant embers and the faint smell of smoke singing her nose hairs were the only signs that the burning rubble that was once a plane had flown, before it fell in a terrible, Icarus-like blaze, taking Lottie's now ashen heart down with it. As the others panicked and raised a ruckus behind her, on the shore, Lottie just stared at the blue sky and the awful remnants of fire that were stark and golden against it. Golden, like Laura Lee's hair, like Laura Lee's scar in the sunlight. Golden, like candles, like halos, like the beautiful light Lottie had witnessed during her baptism. (She felt so full, then, so right, even with the visions, because Laura Lee was at her side, with firm hands and unwavering faith.)
She had screamed until she couldn't scream anymore, and though her throat should have been sore she didn't register any pain. Nor did she register the cold of the water (the baptismal water) that she had waded waist-deep into. Lottie was simply numb to everything except the fire dancing cruelly before her eyes. She was unable to think, only two words running across her tangled and livewire mind. Laura Lee, Laura Lee, Laura Lee...
(She loathed that mind, she loathed herself, for not untangling the tragic prophecy sooner, for not realizing that fire and light and Laura wasn't salvation but doom.)
Eventually, they had to send someone into the water to get her, to lead her out. Misty, who tugged her by the arm and led her back to shore. Lottie wished they would have just left her there, let her stay in the water until she became rooted to that spot, forever bound to the place where she last saw Laura Lee.
"C'mon, Lottie," Misty coaxed her, like one would urge a deer in headlights to move along. "There we go, there we go."
The others were waiting, when Misty pulled her from the water, and Lottie hated it, hated the way that they looked at her, with a mix of pity and wariness. Like she was some sort of broken thing, a sick freak — like her own parents looked at her, like everyone but the girl that was now gone (gone too soon, gone and taking Lottie's heart with her) looked at her. It made her want to tear throats out with her fucking teeth. While her mind raced with fire and light and Laura Lee, always Laura Lee, Lottie had one coherent train of thought. I'd trade every single one of you to get her back, if I could.
She didn't say that out loud, though, she just looked at them, intensely, as if daring them to start up with platitudes and useless sympathy. Coach Scott looked down at the dirt. Jackie tried to hold her stare, but eventually looked away. Taissa did hold it, but seemed uncomfortable. Van and Shauna looked at each other, exchanging sorrowful glances. Misty shifted her weight between her feet. Further up the shore, the faint sounds of crying drifted down to the lakeside. Javi, for sure. Akilah was crying as well, but quietly, while Mari and Nat and Travis hovered around. Lottie didn't care, though, she didn't give a fuck about any of them, about anyone in the world who wasn't Laura Lee.
