Legacy In Fire (Book 1)

Through A Door (Chap-5)

I was obsessing over him again. My sketchpad in my lap, drawing the contours of a face; his face. I was sitting alone in a meadow. Beautiful. Emerald grass, cobalt sky, cotton candy clouds; that kind of beautiful. I had never been here before and I don't know how I got there, but still, beauty like that deserved to be basked in. But while the birds chittered and nature seemed to amuse itself, I was sitting, sketching his face with such zeal, I think I deserved an award for it.

I don't know how I remembered it so unmistakably. Detail for detail, from the exact shape of his nose, to the particular shades of cream and chocolate that made up his complexion; that made up him. The image under my artistic fingers was bursting to life; I couldn't believe I had captured the essence of his visage so impeccably. I could almost reach in and...

It's strange to contemplate, how an eight-year-old, now fifteen still remembers the specific details of a dead father. So don't think on it too much. Just sit down and watch me draw. Preoccupy myself with thoughts of the dead, like the dementia patient I am.

Suddenly the meadow became eerily silent. The birds above muted and when I finally -though reluctantly- drew my head out of the sketchpad, the birds were slowly disappearing. I rubbed my eyes with the palm of my hand to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. But they were actually fading away; a second look and they were all gone.

Like a segue, a smoldering smell ensued the strange disappearance. I looked around frantically only to notice that my scenery had changed. I was now standing in the middle of an ashen forest, chockfull of denuded trees and unnerving nocturnal creatures out in the daylight. I rose my eye level to a tree branch to find an owl staring intently into my eyes, as if it could read my soul. Maybe it could. I wondered how it was in there.

The owl bounded off its branch like a dart gliding true to its bull's-eye, but in this fateful occasion, I was the bull's-eye. I ducked, awarded by a healthy amount of butt to dirt, a nanosecond before the owl could hit me directly. But when I looked up, the owl -placidly and creepy faced- was still perched, untroubled on the branch. I double blinked trying to rid this delirium, and then chose to leave the bird be.

That was when I noticed I had mistaken what time it was. It wasn't daylight. It was moonlight.

But a blazing, encroaching fire, refulgent as day, was surreptitiously invading from the sidelines that tricked my brain into believing it was day. I did something stupid then. I walked straight into it. Undaunted by the heat, by the hungry flames insatiably consuming the trees. A few feet away, I noticed the flames' shade shifting, morphing into something indistinct. Then something so completely palpable, I could almost feel it: two red eyes, adorned with amber flakes of fire. They were synonymous to mine. No.Exactly like mine; But they weren't mine.

I knew.

******

"Jade, Jade, Jade!" I awoke to golden eyes, not red ones. I'm not complaining or anything.

"What happened?" he was tentatively holding my arm, I glanced down to where his hand touched my skin, and he let go. Ouch! That does a lot to girl's ego. "I was downstairs waiting and I heard you scream. What happened? You aren't hurt, are you?" he asked, voice sincerely concerned.

Reality check. I forgot about my mom for a miniscule moment, but that was too long. Maybe the people who took her were hurting her. Maybe she was being harassed. Was she getting enough food to eat? Proper hygiene care? Was she even...? I couldn't even have a smidgen of that thought in my mind.

I looked down on the bed, to realize that I was sitting on the note. That I had been lying on the note. I got up and jerked my head in the direction of the paper. Max's beautiful face became ashen. He looked away from me.

"You can't go," he muttered, imperceptibly, under his breath.

"What was that?" I asked, not sure that I heard him correctly.

"I said that you can't go," he enunciated, giving each word his signature British clarity. "I won't let you." But he still wasn't looking at me in the eyes.

"You don't tell me what and what not to do!" I raged. "It's my mother! My only parent! I have to help her!" I mentally willed him to look at me, but his head stayed insurmountably in place. I didn't know why I was explaining this.

"I didn't say that we wouldn't help her." He turned to look at me then, his tawny eyes, unwavering. "I'll get her saved, use my connections, get her back."

Would that help? Could it help? No the red letters dictated it; it said if I wanted my mom back, I had to be there.

"No, Max." I met his determined eyes, with two of my own. "I have to be the one to go. I have to be the one to free her and you can't stop me from doing it."

"You don't understand-"

"And you do!"

He didn't say anything for a second, just looked at me. Then he looked away.

"No. I don't"

He was lying but I didn't think to care. I grabbed the now crumpled piece of paper off the bed. In the process, the paper ripped. I inspected it, luckily the address stayed intact. Then I headed for the door.

He looked up at me, instantaneously, as I began to walk away.

"I don't want to see you hurt." His voice was gallingly sincere.

"How do you know I'll be hurt?"

"They took your mother and now they want you!" he held my hand, the touch was contrary to his tone, soft and sincere, whereas his voice was hard and determined. "How can you expect them not to want to hurt you!"

"Well I don't care! I just don't want them to hurt my mother!" I freed myself from his grasp and found myself running through a door.

I wondered what would be waiting for me on the other side.