Where There's Smoke

“Please, don’t do this.”

Ellis took hold of Jack’s hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat to the blade.

Slowly, Kate tilted the can. Petrol glugged out of the wide spout. It splashed over the boxes and containers of ink, ran down into the carpet. It ran across the image of her face that smiled up from the posters, pooling over the cold likeness of the flames.

“P-put some on the curtains.”

The heavy drapes were drawn across the french windows. Kate made throwing motions at them with the petrol can. The fabric stained dark where the fluid soaked into it.

“Now the carpet,” Ellis told her. His voice sounded thick and drugged. The stammer had almost gone. “Work your way over here.”

He stood back as she walked towards the settee and chairs, sloshing liquid from the can as she went. It was more than half empty now. The room reeked with petrol.

“Now pour it over them.”

Kate shook her head, mutely. Ellis put the blade back to Jack’s neck. His eyes were bright. Kate could see that his pupils were black and dilated.

“Do it.”

Emily began to cry in lost little sobs, a counterpoint to Angus’s huskier wails. The can felt slick in Kate’s hands.

“I can’t!”

Ellis’s breathing was heavy. He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

Kate didn’t move.

“I said f-fucking give it to me!”

There was urgency in his voice now. “P-please!”

She backed away from him.

He blinked, rapidly. “Remember what you said?”

He was reaching into his pocket, moving away from Jack now. “They threw it in the incinerator, you t-told me. Remember?”

He pulled out a box of matches. “I’ll show you what suffering is,” he said, and as he opened the matches Kate flung the petrol can at his face.

It struck his upraised arms, a swirl of liquid hanging in the air behind it like a tail, and then Kate was running past him.

She felt a tug on her arm, but didn’t stop. She ran down the darkened hallway, careering into Jack’s boxes and pushing them over behind her. She slammed into the front door. It was locked. Kate wrenched at it until she heard a noise from the lounge doorway, and turned to see Ellis emerging.

She ran upstairs. The landing at the top was in darkness. There was a banister railing edging the open side where it overlooked the downstairs hall, and from it Kate could hear him blundering over the boxes. She pushed herself away, into the deeper darkness of the upstairs corridor. A pale square at the far end showed where the window was, and by its faint light Kate began to make out textures in the shadow that were the doors. They were all closed. Lungs burning, she ran past them, one by one. She reached the end of the corridor. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Kate opened the nearest door and went in. The room was even darker. She stood with her back against the door and faced the blackness. It was unrelieved by even a glimmer of light, but a sweetness of talcum powder and crayons told her she was in Emily and Angus’s bedroom. A door was opened further along the corridor. Kate felt for a lock or bolt. There was nothing. She moved blindly into the room, hands outstretched in front of her. She tried to remember if there was anything she could use. Anywhere to hide. She jumped as she walked into a bed. Feeling her way along it, she came to the bookshelf. And the wall. She groped across its unyielding hardness. Her heart thudded when she barked her shins on the small table. She reached out to steady it and her hand hit a lamp, almost knocking it over. She grabbed at it, heart thudding. A second door was opened. She gently set the lamp upright and shrank back against the wall. She pressed herself into the cranny between the bookshelf and table, knowing the shelter was illusory. Her breath came in rasps. She tried to quiet it, listening for the sounds from the corridor. Another door opened, nearer. There was a dull ache in her arm. She reached up to touch it, and almost cried out at the sudden slash of pain. Biting her lip, she touched her arm again. This time she was more prepared when the petrol on her fingers stung the long cut above her elbow. She remembered the tug on her arm as she ran past Ellis, thought about the sharp length of the knife. She felt sick. The door of the next room along was opened. Kate squeezed her eyes shut. Bright flashes of light danced in front of her. The cloying stink of petrol was nauseating. She heard the scuff of a footstep from outside and folded her arms over her stomach. She could feel her heart beating, banging against her ribs, and thought of the smaller one keeping time with it, a tiny pulse of innocence. The door opened. It made a whispering sound of wood on carpet. Kate opened her eyes. She saw nothing, only blackness and fading sparkles of phosphene after images.

“Kate.”