Amber Sparks

Lewis Payne was what most people called an honest man. He was ordinary looking, his glasses slightly askew on the bridge of his tall nose. His hair was unruly, the chocolate strands hastily pushed from his forehead. He had a strong build, not too fat or skinny, tall or short. He wore a black suit everyday, and a simplistic blue bowtie. He was an accountant, a very uninteresting job that paid decently, although he never spent a cent. His parents bought most of his things for him. In fact, his house was simply his house as a child, resold to him.

He drove a cream-colored Camry, a birthday present from his dad, who had just recently turned sixty. In fact, he had been returning from his parents' house after the celebration when a bright vision caught his eye.

A girl sat on his porch, her vibrant carrot hair looking misplaced compared to the dull beige house and tan shutters. Her hair was a nest of flames. She had an odd glow about her, almost an unearthly quality, the glow that all people had as a child. She stared out into the street, with an unreadable gaze.

He turned off the engine. Was she homeless, he wondered? He approached the girl cautiously, scanning her hands and her clothes for potential weapons. There were none.

"Miss?"

Hesitantly, the girl raised her eyes, peering curiously at the man. "Hullo." she said flatly. "I'm afraid I've been locked out of my own home, sir."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Thoughts scrambled in his head. Did he know this girl? It wasn't possible, he decided. He would've remembered her eccentric hair. "You must be mistaken,” he said at last. "This is my house."

The girl’s eyes were suddenly moist with tears. And then, she broke down, her tears streaming down her face. It was as though a dam had suddenly exploded, and the river was finally released; she started talking rather quickly, almost so quickly Lewis could not pick up what she was trying to tell him. "But my stepfather… he's after me. And I don't have a place to go to." She finished, her voice dropped to a low undertone. "He's quite wicked, you know. I tried telling my mum, but she wouldn't listen. And now she's gone, and I know. He said he'd kill me to shut me up!" Her eyes had gone very large, her green irises swirling with nervousness.

Lewis took a deep breath, and suddenly, he short of breath himself, although logically, she was the only one who had a reason to be lacking oxygen. Suddenly, the effect of the party he had just attended changed to cold fear. "Are you..." he looked uncertain. "Serious?"

The girl nodded, though the answer was apparent in her eyes.

Lewis couldn't breathe. His first instinct was to yell at her, anything to make her leave, anything to stop her from jeopardizing his simple, ordinary life. But something stopped him.

Perhaps it was her clear, pleading eyes, the innocence that shone in her aura that made him waver, and in the end, he knew he could not leave this girl in her condition.

"All right," he gave in. "Step inside."

The girl gave him a grateful grin and stepped inside the humble home. She looked around wondrously. The inside was as ordinary as it appeared on the outside, but the air was thick with the clean smell of cotton. Photographs were lined neatly on the wall, and a grand piano sat in the corner of the room, slightly freckled with a covering of dust.

“It’s beautiful, sir,” she murmured, her young eyes drinking in every detail of the house.

“It’s Lewis. Make yourself comfortable,” Lewis said gruffly. Though he didn’t admit it, the comment blossomed in the pit of his stomach. He approached the stove, ready to make a fresh cup of tea.

The girl sank down on the cushiony loveseat and stretched lazily. “I haven’t been in a house quite this nice, since my father was alive.”

Lewis looked at her. “Your father’s dead?” He didn’t mean it to come out so harshly, yet the words seemed to reverberate throughout the room. He panicked slightly, thinking that he had offended the girl.