133. This Fire Isn't Normal
Third Person's POV:
Rose turned sharply, sprinting for the stairs, her breath ragged and uneven. The weight of realization pressed down on her like a lead blanket.
If he can leave a rose on my bedroom window… does that mean he can get inside, too?
Her foot barely touched the last few steps when a sharp, acrid scent assaulted her nostrils. She froze mid-step, her entire body going rigid as panic surged through her veins.
Burning. Something was burning.
A sickening dread coiled in her stomach as her eyes flickered toward the source of the smoke, dark tendrils curling through the air like ghostly fingers beckoning her forward.
Heart pounding, she forced herself to follow the ominous trail, step by hesitant step, until she reached the threshold of the living room.
She gasped audibly.
The curtains. The thick drapes she had drawn shut—her feeble attempt at shutting *him* out—were now engulfed in flames, fire licking hungrily at the fabric from the bottom up, flickering wildly in a chaotic dance of destruction.
The glow cast eerie, writhing shadows across the walls, making them look like living entities stretching toward her.
The heat brushed against her skin, hot and pulsing, as if the fire itself was alive and breathing.
Her mind screamed at her to move, to do something, but for one harrowing moment, she was paralyzed. Helpless. Frozen.
Not again. Please, not again.
She turned sharply, reaching into her pocket for her phone, fingers trembling as she struggled to pull it out.
Call the fire department. Call someone. Anyone. But she halted before she could even dial.
What was the point? Even if they made it here in time—which they never did—this fire consuming. Just like last time.
The flames twisted, coiling upward like snakes, and Rose felt her pulse skitter into a frenzied rhythm. It wasn't just the fire itself that terrified her—it was the memory it unearthed.
The fire had come before. And it had taken everything with it. Everything she held close and cherished; her parents. It seems like it's back again in the same place, this it it will take her with it.
The heavy scent of burning fabric clogged her throat, and as the flames devoured more of the curtains, a wave of helplessness crashed over her.
A sob bubbled up in her throat, but she clenched her jaw, forcing it down.
No. No more freezing. No more standing by and watching. She was no longer a helpless child from her past.
A surge of determination flared in her chest, cutting through the fear threatening to consume her.
She had to put it out. She would put it out.
And if she has any chance of that, she needs to take action right the moment.
Shoving down the tide of childhood nightmares clawing at the edges of her mind, Rose bolted toward the kitchen.
Her feet skidded against the tile as she dropped to her knees, yanking open the cupboard beneath the sink. Her fingers fumbled through bottles of cleaner and sponges before finally wrapping around cold metal.
"There you are," she breathed, pulling out the fire extinguisher with a rush of desperate relief.
She sprinted back into the living room, heart pounding in tandem with the crackling flames.
The heat was stronger now, licking at the ceiling, casting a hellish glow over the room. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the pin, aimed the nozzle, and squeezed the lever.
A thick white cloud burst forth, obscuring her vision as she swept it left and right, coating the flames.
The hiss of the suppressant filled the air, and for a moment, a heavy silence followed.
Rose exhaled sharply, shoulders sagging.
But her relief was short-lived.
Before her very eyes, the fire roared back to life—stronger, angrier. The flames surged upward as if mocking her efforts, swallowing the last remnants of the curtains in a violent flare.
Rose stumbled back, her legs giving out as she collapsed onto the floor, hands bracing against the hardwood. Her chest heaved, breath coming in ragged gasps as she watched, horrified, unable to process how—why—this was happening.
This fire isn't normal.