The Fire

Chapter Twenty-Four

Present

I didn't know where I would go or how I would get there. I just let my mind wander endlessly whilst guiding my feet along the pavement. I felt the eyes that were burning into the back of my head slowly melt away as everyone returned to their own problems and forgot about me. God, I wish I was them; being able to just turn my back and shrug off everything, wouldn't that be wonderful? But I hadn't had that feeling of carelessness in a long time – nearly 3 years to be exact.

The darkness consumed me, and I had no clue where I was. There were no blaring headlights on the road and the light from the streetlamps were incredibly dim: only giving off a gentle, yellowish glow. I saw a sign for my street so headed in that direction. It was only then that I realised the goosebumps on my arms: acting as a blanket while I suffered from the lack of any kind of jacket covering my shoulders. I wanted to call my mum, but I still needed an excuse as to why I was coming home so early.

I'm still here.

The words were repeating themselves over and over again in my head, like a tape recording, or an echo.

It couldn't be James. It just couldn't. Which meant he was in prison for no reason whatsoever, and I'd blamed him for everything.

My whole "J" theory was completely out the window and I had nothing else to go on. I was completely and utterly alone, he had isolated me and he could finally get what he wanted but whatever that was I didn't know.

My feet were killing me, I'd been walking for about twenty minutes straight in my little golden heels. My house finally came into view and I had my whole plan figured out. I'd run upstairs, go into the bathroom and make myself semi-presentable to eliminate the tear tracks that I knew would have stained my face. I would tell my mum that I didn't feel well so I got Pyper to drop me home. That should keep her out of my way and have time to think things over.

My numb fingers fiddled with the cold clasp on my bag until I eventually opened it and grabbed the freezing metal of my keys. My head snapped around to the hedge to my right. I could have sworn that I heard a twig snapping but the following rustle assured me that it was probably a bird.

I practically ran to my front door before I unlocked it. As I turned around, I saw the outline of a figure on the opposite side of the street. In a hooded jacket.

I shut the door and ran upstairs into the bathroom. I could hear my mum in pursuit.

"Soph? Is that you? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, mum, it's me. I got Pyper to bring me home cause I wasn't feeling too well."

"Oh okay, do you need anything?"

"No, I'm sure I'll be fine. I'm just going to go to bed."

"Okay, well I'm just downstairs if you want me."

"Night, mum."

Once I'd heard the living room door shut, I quickly ran into my room.

I was back here. Back to square one. But this time, I didn't have Josh and Millie to help me – I had no one.

I was alone.

The man I saw at the door just a few moments ago sank in as I grabbed a makeup wipe from my bedside table and began to scrub at my face. I was pretty unphased by my sighting; knowing I couldn't do anything about him must have had this effect on me.

I didn't know whether I was happy or not about the fact that The Hooded Man wasn't my brother. On the one hand, it meant my brother wasn't a murderer...but on the other hand I still had no clue who killed Josh and Leah, and my brother was in prison for no reason.

My mind felt like it was overflowing and yet I just felt empty. I had cried out all the emotion so that there was nothing left to feel. I felt like I was trapped in a small box that was locked from the outside, and The Hooded Man held the key – only he could let me escape, but why would he? He must find it pretty fun watching me helpless, vulnerable and unable to do anything of my own accord. I had been happy for just a fraction of a second, and he couldn't even let me have that.

My eyes began to burn from not blinking; I had been staring at the wall in a hypnotic trance whilst thinking through everything. My left cheek had broken out into a red rash from scrubbing at it for so long with the makeup remover: I moved on to the other side of my face while I one-handedly pulled down the straps of my dress, looped them out through my arms and stood up to remove it. I sat at my dressing table to find the last few remaining traces of make-up before clumsily chucking it into the small bin in the corner of my room, adjacent to the door.

Grabbing the neatly folded pyjama set from underneath my pillow, I shoved each of my legs through the trouser holes and pulled the t-shirt over my head. I headed towards the window and urgently pulled the curtains across; I was paranoid about a similar incident to the day I was doing maths homework a while ago now. I didn't want that creep watching me sleep – I didn't know his limits, and that's what scared me the most.

I spent most of the night tossing and turning in sync with the thoughts in my head that were churning like butter in a barrel. By the time morning came, the permanent bags under my eyes had darkened to the extent where they looked more like bruises. Millie had messaged me with the reassurance that nothing exciting had happened last night and I didn't miss out on much – most people had either fallen asleep or left by the very early morning. Also, the expected sympathy from her that would make me feel guilty wasn't that horrific. Just the usual, "I understand" and "whatever this is, you'll get through it." I wanted to believe her. I truly did. But for the first time in a long time, I was certain this would never end, and I wouldn't get out of this alive. I knew that wasn't the attitude to have, however, I couldn't stop myself from presuming the worst because that was all that had happened since this guy had entered my life. My friends had nearly died, and most had actually lost their life – by this point I didn't care if I died, as long as Millie was safe, that was okay – and James of course.

I spent Sunday dreading the return to university the following day. I had a lecture at 10am and couldn't miss it; my finals were soon, and, at this point, I was failing miserably and had just started to bring it back until that message last night. At this point, even if I lived, there was no way I would get a job. I also hoped no one would ask about Christian.

My plan was to keep my head held up high, my chin up and act like nothing was wrong. When, realistically, it couldn't be worse.