Chapter 2: Inside The Fire
- Day 6 of The Wildfire; Year 252 ATP
As Barrett surveyed his front door’s obliteration, a part of him wondered if repairing the damn thing was even worth it. There were four condominiums in the complex. Surely it would be less work and even less of a pain in the ass to pick up what little he had and plop it somewhere else. Still, at least he could be grateful that the damage somehow missed both of the front windows.
He sighed and shook his head. The effort didn’t bother him, the opposite in actuality. It kept his mind occupied. Prevented it from replaying the events, the horrified faces of the -
No, he had to stop. Before it got worse or before he couldn’t.
Tools. That’s what he needed. Tools from the shed to fix this disaster.
Clenching his fist, Barrett stepped over the debris and trekked through the condominium. He traversed the entryway, the living room, the dining room, then opened the sliding glass door to the backyard that greeted him in the same manner that it always had.
Lake Sanord had such captivating power. Even though Barrett had secluded himself from civilization, the waters never let him feel alone. They were always there whenever he closed his eyes, bringing sadness and anger and despair as if they were compelled to remember the final thoughts of those lives lost upon its surface.
The experts in the Capital stated that it was impossible for geographical features to support Scars. That their physical essence wasn’t defined like other objects. So maybe his own mental deterioration fueled the sensation. After all, the nightmares had only gotten worse in the recent months.
But Barrett wasn’t one for worrying about things that he couldn’t change or things he couldn’t prove. He had a front door to repair and bullet holes to fill up. Construction and gardening were his hobbies here on the lake’s shore, so he had plenty of resources for both. He safely kept them in the unpainted, aluminum shed in the back corner of the yard. Unlocking its metal door, he gathered the necessary supplies - hammer, nails, drill, putty, wood, saw.
Once everything was out front, he went to work. The beating sun felt comforting against his back. It gave him life. It gave him energy. It gave him a much needed sweat. And it seemed that it wouldn’t stop until well into the night.
Yet, two or three phases into his reconstruction effort, Barrett heard a mechanical roar. He stood up, brushing off his hands against the rough fabric of his cargo pants. From what little he could see through the ornate iron fence that surrounded the complex, Barrett spotted the distinct features of the Feronix approaching. Top-of-the-line military vehicle that heralded the arrival of an Archangel if the procession behind it wasn’t a clear enough indicator.
“Great,” he muttered.
Setting the hammer in his possession down, Barrett resigned that he was no longer going to get anything productive done. Not with all of the commotion that this brought. Oh well. Like he could do anything about it.
Archangels went where they pleased. Did what they pleased.
The Feronix slowed to a halt between the lot’s private garages. A door opened and a woman appeared. Adorned in black naik leather that covered almost every inch of her body, she slammed the door shut. Pulling her auburn hair into a ponytail, she set out on foot for the massive archway with an entire squad of armed soldiers.
Upon nearing, her guard split down their center-line and aligned themselves against the perimeter. They stood motionless, except for the two responsible for opening the iron gate for their superior. But then they too became stone.
She crossed the threshold and smiled. “Bare.”
“Nicole.”
“You seemed surprised to see me.”
“Something like that,” he said.
At first her expression contorted into annoyance. This caused him to tense. It wasn’t as if he purposefully forgot that she was coming. He was just preoccupied last night with defending his homestead. And now his peace would be short-lived because it slipped his mind that today was the day that Nicole came to visit.
Then as soon as the expression had formed, it vanished. She giggled before moving forward and wrapping her arms around his torso. Nestling her cheek against his chest, she hummed. Barrett could feel the vibrations through his black under-armor.
“Your heart’s beating fast,” she said. “I wonder why.”
With another giggle she released him. She moved forward, forcing Barrett to step aside, and stopped for a brief moment at the destruction before her feet. Again, she giggled. Outstretching her left hand, a bright energy enveloped the skin. The door that he had slaved all day to repair ignored said effort. Splinters and cracks and all other imperfections formed back into the whole - the same puke-green door that came with the condominium package. She smiled and slipped inside. Judging from what Barrett caught of her expression, Nicole was very pleased with her performance.
Barrett pinched the bridge of his nose while in pursuit. The woman had already begun discarding her clothes. Her overcoat. Her bracers. Her boots. Her pants. Strewn across his entryway floor. She left only her t-shirt and her boxer-shorts on. After a final stretch she sunk onto the couch.
“You know that leather goes on the kitchen floor, right?,” he said.
“Shut up and get over here,” she said, sprawling out. “It’s been a long week.”
His living room could be considered a cozy enough sanctuary from the harsh world. While the bedroom followed a more austere approach to interior decorating, Nicole refused to let that apply to this particular space. To complement the cream brick fireplace, she had shipped to the estate a brown leather chair, a beige suede couch that apparently never left her possession, an end table made from white Warrenise lumber, a hand-knotted area rug from the artisans of Discipline, and a lamp with a base of obsidian that didn’t work.
Nicole claimed that the merchant who sold her the damn thing said that it was supposed to illuminate things forgotten, whatever the hell that meant. Barrett had tried anything he could think of to fulfill the prerequisites. Nothing. Nil. A small issue in the grand scheme of things, he guessed. He didn’t use the living room that often anyway.
He took a seat at one end of the couch. It wasn’t long before Nicole found her head in the confines of his lap. She clutched onto his left arm, raking her fingernails across his skin. A soothing sensations that seduced Barrett into leaning his head back and closing his eyes.
“So what happened to the door? Did you lock yourself out?”
“No,”
“Did it look at you the wrong way?”
“Nicole…”
“Did you scare it?”
“Would you stop?”
“Oh, I know. The other doors were jealous so they hired an assassin.”
Barrett chose to remain silent. But it seemed she found her amusement elsewhere. Her hands moved to his. A fascination with his appendage as she touched every inch of it, his fingers being especially interesting to her for some, undefined reason.
“So, I have a thought,” she said.
“Does that mean-”
“Maybe it didn’t want to be a door any longer. Maybe it wanted to be free.”
He should have known better. “I’ll leave.”
“No,” she said. Her grip on his arm tightened. “I’m done, I promise.”
The next few moments were spent poking the same spot on his arm multiple times. Once she was bored, Nicole sat up and ran her hand along his cheek against the stubble. She frowned for a brief moment.
“I have something for you,” she said, smile returning. “A present.”
“Oh?”
“It’s outside with my guard. I’ll have them bring it in before I leave tomorrow.”
“What is it?”
“What do you think?” she asked. Her hand settled on his leg right above the kneecap. “It’s tea. They call it Oyra across the Manifest. They say that nobles value the taste very highly. I thought you might like it.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” he said.
“I know.”
“Well aren’t you special?”
“Very.”
Neither of them diverted their gaze. On edge they sat, waiting for the other to make their mistake. A game of concentration and stubbornness where the stakes were high and the consequences were real.
There came a knock at the open door. “Excuse me?”
Barrett turned his head and a caught a flick to the ear in response. “Damn it, woman. That’s foul play and you know it.”
“No such thing, scoundrel.”
The person at his doorstep was Clyde, the poor lad from last night. He had shaggy, chestnut hair and tattered clothes. Three masked soldiers stood behind him, their automatic weapons pointed at his gut.
“Could you please?” Clyde asked. “I was coming to apologize for all the trouble and to thank you for your compassion and then -“
“I understand. Nicole, call your men off.”
She motioned for them to do as Barrett said. But the grin she wore. Oh, no.
“So,” she said, “you’re the door assassin, I presume?”
Barrett sighed.
