Flames of Revenge

Falling

13th March 1872

FELIX JAMES ST LUCA

I had once believed that I was invincible. I had also once maintained the belief that I was free of delusional beliefs. Oh, the sweet irony.

I used to have nightmares as a child, nightmares where I would fall and fall and fall into a bottomless black void, and nobody was there to catch me. And when I would wake, my small face tear streaked and my small body soaked with sweat, no one was ever there to reassure me. I always woke alone.

And so, ever since those fateful childhood days that shaped the man I became, I have only ever truly feared two things - Falling, and being alone.

I cannot tell why I let go of Frankie's hand. Truthfully, I do not know. Maybe he could have pulled me out. Maybe I underestimated his strength. And besides, it wasn't like me to just give up. I am the king of lost causes, after all.

All I know with certainty is that once I let go, and my footing was lost, then I was falling just like I did in those dreams of mine, so long ago.

Down.

Down.

And then the ground, rushing up to greet me.

The strangest thing of all was that it did not feel as it should have. I expected pain like I had never felt before, as I knew exactly how far I had fallen and heard the sound that it made, that god-awful thud. I have seen men die from less. And sure, there was pain, wracking my body. But what I felt after that was a strange numbness, a coldness in my limbs and my chest. This, I knew, was worse.

"Felix!"

I could hear Frankie shouting for me. Panicked, fearful shouts. I tried to shout back, but my body would not obey me. When I tried to take a breath, my lungs burned and heaved. My voice would not work, and I could only just open my eyes. I could see nothing though, not with the smoke. Oh God, the smoke.

The fire.

It burned, it stung, it suffocated. For a while, I could think of nothing but. My mind was so preoccupied with the pain, but soon enough lucid thoughts returned. Clara, Joshua, Frankie, Oliver, Dexter, Whitney, Que, Nicholas. Everyone, their faces swimming through my mind. And Genevieve.

Perhaps it was best that Frankie could not hear me. He will think me dead, and that is perhaps for the best. He will take his children to safety now. If he thought me alive, he would walk through flames to find me. Yes, it is for the best.

But it hurts. It is selfish of me, but it hurts to let them leave me.

"Ge..ne....vieve..."

I had only ever spoken her name once before, when I told her I loved her in front of everyone. Until that point she had only ever been Anna, my Anna. But it mattered not to me what name she took, nor whose daughter she was, nor what values were forced upon her. It only mattered that she was mine, my Genevieve. I'm sorry, my dear. Sorry that we will not get the chance to live the life we wanted. Sorry.

I love you.

I could feel the flames on my skin now. They had been crawling ever closer, and now were upon me. I screamed and screamed as much as my broken voice would let me. It hurt, it hurt, like nothing I could imagine, oh it hurts my hair my skin my clothes everything is burning and it hurts please no no no more no more please

God no

please make it stop

Lord

Oh it HURTS

MAKE

IT

STOP PLEASE PLEASE

PLEASE ANYTHING JUST MAKE IT STOP

I

DON'T

WANT

TO

DIE-

Death came for him in waves.

First there were flames, and the intense wall of heat that burned around him. He felt in on his skin, in his chest, burning his lungs when he tried to breathe. It was all encompassing, swallowing all chances he had to speak, to move. It took all of these things at once, knocking the air from his lungs and he closed his eyes.

Then, there was only her face. Her last words to him, the last words he had said in return. When he would look back he would be glad, glad for the fact that these were to be his last thoughts. He loved her.

Then there was nothing, a pull to a deep tide of blackness with nothing but the words 'I don't want to die' left on his lips. A primal panic. And instinctive drive towards survival. He tried so hard to cling to his life. He really did.

Finally, a hand. A bright flash of light, and a hand out to pull him along. To guide him to what came next. He accepted the offering hand with either the determination of a man who wasn't ready to give up yet, or the desperation of a man who had nothing left to lose. It was impossible to tell which.