The Fabric of our Souls

Sirens ring through the streets.

Lanston hands me a cup of coffee as we head outside, blankets wrapped around our shoulders, to see what the hell is burning down at four thirty in the morning.

A bright warm glow lights the sky toward the south end of town.

Lanston sits on the hood of his car and sips his drink. “Think it’s the cornfield? Kind of late in the season for a brush fire though.”

I shrug. “Maybe someone set it intentionally.”

My cup stops before it reaches my lips as one name comes to mind.

Our eyes meet and Lanston pales as we mutter at the same time:

“Crosby.”

The entire town is awake and watching with horrified faces as we race down Main Street. The fire is much too far away to be the cornfield. My heart pumps erratically inside my chest and my throat feels dry.

Lanston hasn’t uttered a word since we got in the car. Fear tantalizes the air around us.

Please don’t be Harlow… please.

I repeat the thought over and over until we’re speeding down the long stretch of road leading to the institute.

My heart drops to my lap as we break the forest line and see firetrucks lined up, spraying water relentlessly at Harlow Sanctum. The entire building is lashing with angry flames, reaching higher into the sky than I’ve ever seen fire climb. A guttural, animalistic cry leaves my lips.

Lanston slams on the brakes and stares at the inferno like he’s been shot in the chest. His eyes are wide and his jaw shakes uncontrollably.

My body acts of its own volition. I throw the door open and sprint toward the burning building. The heat is unbearable, even from twenty feet away. Firefighters’ heads turn as I run past them, some dropping their hoses and chasing after me in their full gear.

“Stop!” one calls out.

But I can’t stop.

Nothing can stop me from reaching Liam.

One moment I’m charging straight for the front doors. The next, I’m on the ground, staring up at Lanston’s anguished face.

He tackled me.

It takes a few seconds for my wits to return to me before I struggle against him and fight with every ounce of strength I have.

His grip tightens and he doesn’t let up.

I scream furiously at him, “Liam’s inside! What are you doing? Lanston, you’re killing him! Let me go! Let me go! LET. ME. GO.”

I thrash something feral in his strong arms until the energy of the adrenaline pulses out of me and tears berate my eyes. The initial shock becomes a sense of loss I’ve never experienced before, a crushing, hopeless weight that burrows into your very soul.

The wail that crawls from my chest is the worst sound I’ve ever heard anything make, heartbreaking. Lanston cries with me. A few firefighters kneel beside us and urge us to move back to the ambulances.

How Lanston finds the strength to stand and carry me is beyond me. Medical staff lay out tarps and stretchers, anticipating to fill them with injured people, but as the hysteria fades from my shaky mind, I realize they’ve not extracted a single person yet.

Jericho, Yelina, Poppie, Liam, Dr. Prestin, Mrs. Abett, all the other patients and staff inside… There are easily fifty souls inside Harlow. And not a single one has been saved yet?

I lean over and vomit off the back of the ambulance. Lanston holds me desperately and rubs smooth motions over my back in an attempt to calm my whimpers.

How could this happen? Why did this happen?

A man limps from the building with two others on his shoulders. Everyone animates and a team of emergency personnel run stretchers over. I watch as they try resuscitating one. The other they set on a stretcher for immediate treatment and transportation. I break free of Lanston’s hold and run to the stretcher.

It’s not Liam. They’re much smaller than him, but that’s all I can tell. Despair and shock consume me as I stare at the burned human before me. Their skin is gone. All the hair has been singed from their body.

I don’t know who this was.

All I know… is death would be kinder than this cruel fate.

My eyes trace back to the other two. Lanston is at my side, sobbing as he stares down at the person I just verified isn’t Liam. The putrid smell of burned flesh stings my eyes but I blink past the urge to vomit again.

We walk uneasily to the man who carried the two people out. He kneels, mainly unscathed, but covered in soot and coughing horribly. I recognize him as the night guard. An ambulance takes him off site immediately.

The paramedics cover the person they were trying to resuscitate with a white sheet.

I stare at the body before us with hazy eyes—whether it be from shock, smoke, or tears, I’m uncertain.

Lanston grabs my hands and shakes his head. “No,” he whispers, the sound so raspy I know my voice will sound the same.

I don’t listen. Foolishly I don’t listen.

The white sheet has already turned red from the blood. I carefully peel back the corner. A twisted and severely burned woman lies on the stretcher. Unlike the other person, she still has her hair. And I instantly know who she is. The skin on her face is mostly unscathed but the rest of her…

“Yelina?” Lanston asks with an absent, heartbroken tone.

My stomach churns and tears fall unwarranted. My lips are numb and my fingertips sting. My chest hurts from the shock, the pain of loss, and my illness. I take staggered, wheezing breaths and shake uncontrollably.

“Hey, stop fucking around,” Lanston says softly, as if she is sleeping. “You’re transferring to a different treatment center tomorrow, remember? You can’t… You can’t—” He chokes and sobs.

I pull Lanston close to my chest and cry with him.

“Wynn, you’re pale. Hey, what’s wrong? Wynn?” Lanston jostles me by the shoulders.

“My h-heart.” I barely manage to get the words out. My hands clench and grab viciously at my chest of their own accord. It hurts. It hurts.

He lifts me in his arms so effortlessly, even though I know it’s no easy feat. His warm scent wraps around me and instills warmth through my veins. He murmurs soft, comforting words that are empty of fear, calm and reassuring. The physical pain starts to fade in my chest, but heartbreak is a distinctly different type.

Lanston takes me to the ambulance staff and they check my vitals. They insist on taking me to the hospital due to my blood pressure, but I refuse to leave until they extract more people from the building. They agree, only because I’ve calmed enough for my levels to lower.

But as the minutes pass, as the hours do, we realize no one else is coming out.

We cry together, wrapped in a tight embrace, until no more tears are left.

We sit like ghosts on the blackened lawn of Harlow until the sun rises. Until the firefighters have extinguished the fire, and all that remains are the stones that framed the building.

Police have long since taped off the area. A few detectives tried speaking with us only to receive hollowed eyes and raspy breaths.

They transport us to the hospital without another word.

“Did you catch the arsonist?” Lanston asks the officer tasked to watch us. The man shakes his head. “It was Crosby,” Lanston says in a low, hateful tone. His beautiful hazel eyes are sunken and dark. They don’t shine like they did last night. He looks like an entirely different person. Part of me wonders if I do too.

“The same guy from the cornfield?” the officer asks, noting something down on his notepad.

Lanston nods, keeping his eyes lowered.

He hasn’t looked at me since we arrived here.

The nurse stops in and gives me something that makes me drowsy. I’m reluctant to sleep with Crosby somewhere out there. I refuse to believe Liam is gone. He can’t be. He can’t—