Twisted (27 page)

“I love you, Lyssa.” He goes back to stroking my hair. “Tell me you love me too.”

I don't move. I just keep waiting, my eye trained on the door- way. There are sporadic pops and crackles that are so loud, if I closed my eyes I would think there were fireworks going off right next to me. I watch sparks shoot from the flames and catch on the ancient wallpaper. Some of the pieces burn off and float through the air like snowflakes. All the while I take the shallowest of breaths, making sure my body barely moves.

“I
said
, tell me you love me,” he hisses.

My lungs scream for air.
Turn to stone, like your garden statue. Stone can't burn.

“Lyssa?” The pressure of his chest on my back lets up. “Lyssa?” I feel his hand on my shoulder as if he's about to turn me over.

Time!
Like a slippery eel, I flip myself around and knee him in the groin.

He groans in pain, curls himself into a ball, but his body is still lying across one of my legs.

I have to get him off. Sitting up, I brace myself against the dresser, jam the heel of my free boot square into the middle of his face, and grind. He groans again, covers his face with his hands, and rolls off my leg. I'm free.

Coughing and spitting out gobs of blood and black goo, I pull myself to my feet. I want to run, but I'm lightheaded and my eyes and throat are burning. I head for the bedroom door. I'm almost there when something goes wrong and my knee gives out — the one that cracked when I fell. I end up right back flat on the floor.

I look behind me. Aidan's starting to come around.

I scramble up and limp the rest of the way to the door. Every step is like a hammer to my kneecap. I'm about to cross into the hall when suddenly the flames flare up, as if someone poured gasoline on them. They're more than waist high — a giant blazing hedge blocking the threshold. The intense heat causes me to shrink back.
Shit.
What now? My plan was to lock Aidan in once I got out. But even if I make it through these flames, there won't be time. I'd have to stand in the middle of the fire to lock the door.

Just go.

There's scuffling behind me. I glance over my shoulder. Aidan's on his feet, but he's stumbling around, holding his head. I spin back to the hedge of fire. Do I bust through or jump over? My knee makes the latter impossible.

“Lyssa,” Aidan moans like wounded animal.

Go!

I protect my face with both hands and lunge forward, trying to dive over the flames. My body lands with a thud. I lift myself up on my elbows to catch my breath. My jeans are scorched and smoking, the hairs on my arms are brittle and singed, but I'm in one piece. The fire is all around me, licking the walls, curling onto the ceiling. Sparks rain down on my clothes. I slap at them before they catch.

It's at that moment the lights flicker and go out, making the
glow of the flames seem brighter, but making the house seem darker. The smoke is so thick, I have to stay low to the floor just to breathe. I check behind me again for Aidan. It's a wall of black — I can't tell. I'm hoping that I wrecked his face enough so that he can't see, so that he won't be able to find me, or better yet, that the fire hedge has him trapped.

Dragging my busted leg, I slowly inch along the hall, feeling my way. The sound of the fire is deafening — a million pop- corn machines working overtime. The floor is littered with unidentifiable debris, and I wince when my hand comes down on broken glass.

I keep going. I brush up against something lumpy and bulky, and my heart instantly tightens in my chest.
A body.
Holding my breath, I tentatively pat the shape. Uncontrollable sobs burst from me when I realize it's just the duffle bag that I dropped in another life.

Using the bottom of my T-shirt, I wipe my eyes, wipe the sooty snot from my nose, and prepare to move on. If I squint, I can make out the outline of the front door. The smoke is thinner there — all the fire seems to be behind me.

I'm filled with hope, total elation.

I start crawling, wishing I could use my other leg to speed things up. I don't remember the hallway being so long. The front door is getting clearer. I'm almost there, when like something out of a horror movie, I feel the clamp of a hand on my foot.

“No!” I scream, turning onto my side. I know before I even look. There's Aidan on his stomach, his face puffy and mangled, unrecognizable, his hand wrapped around my ankle.

“Let go!” I twist my foot back and forth, bang it on the floor, anything to make him open his hand.

He squeezes harder.

This can't be happening.
I reach out for something to hold on to. I manage to get my fingers around the door tread of the vesti- bule and pull, hoping I'll slide forward. But I'm not strong enough. He holds me back like an anchor.

“All I ever did was love you.” His voice is broken, his breathing ragged.

“Aidan!”

“This isn't how it's supposed to end, not for us.”

“Oh yeah?” I squirm some more, point my toe — better chance of my foot slipping out of my boot, and then his hand. It doesn't work. “How the hell is it supposed to end?”

“You're supposed to remember that you love me,” he sobs.

“Jesus Christ, Aidan!” Then there's a sound. My eyes widen
. Sirens.
“Hear it? They're coming. It's over.”

“It'll never be over.”

In terror, I watch as tiny flames ignite on the back of his sweater and travel up his sleeve. His face is contorted in pain, but he still holds on. Then I smell a horrible smell. It's the skin on his hand as it turns black, shrivels and slides away, exposing red, jellied blood beneath.

“Aidan! Let go!” But as I shake and wiggle my foot, the flames follow a natural path and jump from his hand to my leg. White-hot, searing pain zaps through me like a current as my jeans start to burn. I'm sure I'm going to pass out. Frantically, I rock my leg in an attempt to smother the flames. “Aidan!” I shriek. “Please!”

I look ahead at the front door — so close I can almost touch it. I look back at Aidan. His hair is smoking. “Please,” I beg.

For a split second, our eyes lock.

“Sometimes things just need to be done,” he croaks. And I feel him let go.

I'm momentarily stunned by his release. But I snap out of it. I whip my legs up under me, get on my knees, and, with every last bit of life in me, I throw myself at the front door. My hands manage to grab on to the knob before I collapse. The door swings open, and I tumble onto the porch.

Freezing air fills my lungs.

I gulp and gulp.

It will never be enough.

Dragging my body down the steps, I land in a pile of snow. I cry out loud when the icy crystals touch my burning skin.

The sirens sound closer, mixing in with the roar of the trucks.

As I lie there, Aidan's last words to me echo in my head. A memory surfaces from some faraway place, and I'm transported back to that night so long ago. That night he beat those two guys almost to death. For me. After it was over, he said, “I only did what needed to be done.” I remember how I felt. And now I remember what I said to him as I cleaned the bloodstains from his hands.
“In this whole world, Aidan, you're the only one I love.”

Aidan
. I lift my head, look back at the front door.
Can I make it
? There's a rumble and a crack as the beams holding up the porch roof collapse, bringing it crashing down, blocking the door.

I lay my head down, close my eyes, and feel the tears trickle over the side of my face into my hair.

Everything gets quiet. Even all the pain goes away.

My life never does flash before my eyes. Only Aidan's face.

EPILOGUE

Three Weeks Later

“I
t's pretty busy. We should buy all four tickets now in case it fills up.”

“Good idea,” I say, untangling my fingers from his to dig out my debit card.

He gives me a disgusted look. “Would you put that away?”

“Fine,” I sigh and limp over to lean on the windowsill. My leg still aches when I put weight on it for too long. I slide my crutches along the wall behind my feet so I don't trip anyone coming and going from the theatre.

I watch him punch all the information into the ticket machine. He keeps glancing over at me like he's making sure I'm still here. Since the fire, he's been overprotective, but I don't mind. I sort of like it.

He checks his watch. “Erin's always late. Why don't you go find us some seats? Theatre 10. It'll be more comfortable than sitting on that.”

I smile. Liam, my protector. “Okay, see you in there.”

When I get to theatre 10, the usher won't let me in yet because they're cleaning up after the last showing. She takes in my crutches and points to an upholstered bench a little way down the hall.

I sit and read the posters advertising upcoming movies. People file past me, back and forth. I like to people-watch. But something draws my attention to two girls in particular. It takes a second for it to click, for the words to form. “Marla? Jodi?”

They stop and turn in my direction. We make eye contact. They both say, “Lyssa?” in unison.

A moment passes, like no one is sure what to do next.

Finally I stand and say awkwardly, “H-hi.”

When they come over they see my crutches propped up against the wall. “Sit, sit,” Marla says.

I do.

“This is so bizarre,” Jodi says. “We were just talking about you, wondering about you. Marla saw someone who reminded her of Aidan. Freaked her out a bit.”

“Of course I knew it wasn't,” Marla explains. “It's just, well, it got me thinking, you know?”

“Sure.” I nod. Another moment passes. “So … how are you guys?”

“Never mind us,” Jodi says. “How are
you
?”

“Yeah.” Marla looks down at my leg stretched out straight in front of me. “Are you okay?”

I try to smile. “A little beat off, that's all.”

“We heard about the fire. That you almost died.”

“Yup.”
That pretty much covers it.

Jodi motions toward my crutches. “So what's the damage?”

I raise my eyebrows. “You mean to me?”

She gives me a sheepish look. “Yeah. For a start, anyway.”

“Burns mostly. Some bad ones on my foot and leg, some not so bad ones on my stomach, arms, and hands. Oh, and I smashed my knee.” I twist up my mouth. “Kid stuff, really.”

“But you're going to be okay,” Jodi says.

I nod, and Jodi shoots Marla a look. “I think I'll use the wash- room before the movie starts,” she says. “Give you two a chance to … catch up.”

We sit there, trying to figure out what to say to each other.

“You look good, Marla. How are you? Like really.”

She smiles. “I'm good. Like really.”

“You seem … different. Happier.”

“I am. I go to these group therapy sessions. It's done wonders for me. I'm back to work at the bookstore, I've registered for some courses at NSCAD — I'm actually excited about what's next.”

“The College of Art and Design? That sounds amazing. I'm so happy for you. You deserve it after … well, you know, after everything.”

“It's not like you're not due for some happiness.”

I don't say anything.

She frowns. “You must feel lucky, at least … considering the alternative.”

“Yeah,” I say. “That's me. Lucky.” I realize my tone sounds kind of sarcastic. “And they say I can have plastic surgery. It will help hide the scarring.”

“Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?”

“I guess.” I shrug. Maybe I'm supposed to keep the scars. As a reminder. “It's something I'll think about later, maybe.”

She gets a thoughtful look on her face. “I'm sorry about Aidan,” she says.

“Why?”

“I loved him. You did too.”

When I don't respond, she asks, “So, any word? Have they found him?”

It's only been the last day or so that I've stopped jumping every time the phone rings. “No,” I say.

“I can't believe he made it out,” she says.

I think about the last time I saw Aidan, his face bashed in by my foot, his clothes catching fire … it makes me cringe inside. “I can't believe it either.”

“Are they really sure?”

“As sure as they can be. They didn't find a body in there.”

“Couldn't he have just … burned up?”

My throat clenches. “I don't know,” I whisper.

“Sorry. You probably don't want to talk about it.”

“I can't believe that you do.”

“No, I talk about it a lot. It actually helps, it really does.”

I give her a doubtful look and shift the way I'm sitting. A twinge of pain darts up my leg. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What did Aidan say to you on the phone? What made you refuse to see me that day I came to your place?”

She looks all around the hall, everywhere but at me. I can tell she doesn't want to tell me. “He told me you guys were in love, always had been, and that you were moving back home together.”

I'm not that surprised by her words. “Thanks,” I say. “I just wondered, that's all …”

We don't say anything for a bit after that. Marla breaks the silence first. “I read in the paper they discovered his car aban- doned at Point Pleasant Park.”

“Yeah, over by the beach.”

“I don't get it. Like, didn't anyone see him drive off? Leave the scene?”

“The car was never at the house that night,” I say. “They told me it was parked one street over. He must have gone through the backyard.”

“He would have had to have planned that.”

I nod.
He planned a lot of things
. “And then he just left it there, at the park.… His keys, phone, wallet, and watch were all in the trunk.”

Her face goes a little pale. “Do you think he … but the harbour's frozen, right?”

“Only along the shore, I think.”

“I'm going to be dreading the spring thaw. I pray they don't find anything.”

I turn my head for a second and swallow down something hard.

She smoothes out some non-existent wrinkles on her pants. “I never thought he was in that bad of a way, you know?” she says softly. “You've got to wonder what made him just snap like that.”

“Yeah.” I don't bother to correct her, to tell her that Aidan didn't just snap. That this wasn't the first time. But I'm the only one who knows about what he did to his mom, what I think he
may
have done to Vince. I haven't told anyone, not even Liam. I don't know why. Or if I ever will. To change the subject, I say, “I still have Bingley.”

“Oh God. Poor Bingley.”

“Do you want him back?”

“Could you maybe keep him for now? Jodi and I are talking about getting a new place — one where the heat works when it's supposed to. I'll track you down if we do.”

I remember the sauna-like apartment. “Sure, no problem. He and Liam have bonded anyway.”

“Liam?”

“He's the guy I'm staying with. For now.”

“Your boyfriend?”

“It's complicated.” I use that word a lot now.

Suddenly she grabs my hand and squeezes. Still tender from the burns, I wince. “What?”

She releases her grip. “Sorry. It's just I see that guy again, the one who reminded me of Aidan.” She shakes her head. “I guess I'm still a little on edge.”

“No worries.” I scan the sea of faces, hoping to see what, or who, she sees. But then I'm distracted as I spot Liam, Erin, and Josh coming toward us. I wave my hand so they can find me. Liam waves back. They're almost to us when something makes me turn to Marla. Her eyes are wide and flitting between me and Liam. In that moment I figure it out. Liam's the guy.

“That's Liam,” I whisper. “He reminds you of Aidan?”

She coughs, seems momentarily flustered. “It was only for a second. I mean, obviously … up close he doesn't.”

“Yeah, because —” Too late, the gang arrives. “Um, h-hey guys,” I say. “This is Marla. She's … uh …”

“Aidan's old girlfriend,” Marla says without missing a beat, head held high like she's not ashamed of it. I'm in awe of her poise and confidence.

Sensing the weirdness of the situation, Liam holds out his hand. “I'm Liam.” He points behind him. “This is Erin and Josh.”

Marla shakes his hand, and everyone exchanges polite hellos.

“Well, I should go find Jodi,” Marla says.

“Sure,” I say. “It was really great to see you. Maybe I'll see you around?”

“Yeah. For sure.”

We'll probably never see each other again.

AFTER THE MOVIE LIAM
and I huddle in the lobby with Erin and Josh, discussing what to do next. We all agree we're hungry, so we decide to meet up at Pizzadelic for a slice. Erin and Josh leave right away to snag us a table — I don't move so fast anymore. As I button up my coat I glance around the crowd for Marla and Jodi. There's no sign of them. Then I notice Liam take out his phone, scroll down the screen, and frown. I know what he's doing.

“Don't worry,” I say. “She'll agree to the paternity test even- tually. She kind of doesn't have much choice, you know?”

He nods tightly and slides his phone back into his pocket.

Once outside, the wind hits me in the face, cooling my skin. I like being cold now. I like the way the freezing air makes my nose tingle inside.

A light dusting of fresh snow covers everything. Liam holds one of my crutches so I can hold on to him as he helps me across the slippery parking lot.

I study him out of the corner of my eye.
So they're both tall and thin with brown hair. Big whoop. So are a million other people.

“I know I haven't felt like doing much lately,” I say. “But I'm having fun. Thanks for making me get out.”

“How grateful are you? Does it mean I don't have to sleep on the couch anymore?”

I jab him in the ribs with the handle of my crutch.

Smiling, he pulls me in closer, snug to his side.

When we get to the car he starts patting his coat pockets. “Shit. I think I left my gloves in the theatre. I'm gonna run back,” he says as he digs out his keys, “but here, get in and I'll turn the heat on.”

“I don't want to get in. I'll clean off the car while you go find your gloves.”

“No way. You're supposed to be taking it easy.”

“Well, I don't really consider flicking a few snowflakes off the windows hard labour.”

He shakes his head. Gives me that look, like
what am I going to do with you?

I roll my eyes. “I'm not an invalid, you know. Give me the sweeper thingy.”

“Fine,” he sighs, and pops open the trunk of the car. “But I expect a first-class job, missy. No slacking off just because of those crutches.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say as he passes me the snow brush. “Just go, would ya?”

I lean my crutches against the side of the car, and starting at the back, I sweep off the snow and work my way to the front. I'm about to clear the windshield when I stop. The brush tumbles from my fingers, clattering against the side mirror on its way to the ground.

There's a loud pulsing sound in my head, like that's where all my blood is now.

Quickly I check over one shoulder, then the other. My eyes drop to the pavement. There's a smattering of footprints around the car — mine, Liam's, random others from people who parked beside us. Then I spy one lone set that breaks away from the pack. It leaves a diagonal trail leading down to the bottom of the parking lot, which edges along a four-lane highway. I stare at the cars whizzing by for a long time.

The electronic
beep-beep
of someone unlocking their car brings me back. I bend down and scoop up the brush. A sense of calm settles over me as I slowly make a sweep across the windshield, erasing the giant happy face drawn in the snow.