City of Heavenly Fire

Dark Hauntings

Simon stood outside Isabelle's door, deducing if whether or not it would be good to enter. He recalled the way she'd been after Max's death, secluded and angry, but he still did not know what to expect. After the funeral, she'd disappeared until he'd found her earlier that morning, but every time Simon asked her something, she didn't answer. Maybe he should leave her alone; give her time to grieve for her brothers that now walked hand in hand, but perhaps being by herself would only prolong her acceptance.

Simon took a deep, unnecessary breath and stepped forward, just as the sound of a scream echoed from inside Isabelle's room.

Discarding all previous thought, he quickly eased the door open, suddenly afraid at what he would find.

His eyes landed on the bed to her, Isabelle's normally elegant body now appearing almost frail. She was tucked beneath covers, her hair plastered to the side of her face, arms slung over her as if she'd been thrashing. Sweat beaded down her forehead, her eyebrows furrowed as if she were trying to concentrate on something.

Another quiet scream bubbled up her throat and Simon was suddenly there, swapping up a damp rag and holding it to her clammy face.

"Izzy," he said, trying to ease her quietly from whatever dream that was consuming her.

A tear spilled down her cheek just as she flung her body to the side, gripping the sheets until her knuckles turned white.

"Isabelle!" Simon's voice grew more insistent, his touch a whisper against her bruised shoulders and arms. "Izzy, wake up."

Her eyes suddenly flew wide and in response, she brought her fist forward as if to him.

Which she did. Simon didn't even try to move as her fist collided against his jaw, sending a small pinprick of pain scorching up the side of his face.

He grappled her hand back to her side and looked her dead in the eye. "Izzy, it's me."

She looked up at him but it was as if she wasn't seeing him. The fire that usually lit her eyes was now dull. Or maybe it had grown into something else, something he didn't recognize. But he could feel it; her rage was almost tangible as if holding her too close would make him burn.

"Simon," she breathed, trying to focus on him. "I'm sorry. I didn't- I didn't know it was you."

He touched the side of her cheek, ever so lightly. "No worries."

He didn't bother asking her if she was okay. What a stupid, instinctual thing to want to say. How would they be all right? How could he look into this gir'l's face, consumed with rage and plagued by the dead, and ask how she was feeling?

Instead, he lay down on the bed and turned his gaze to her. "What did you see?" he asked.

She closed her eyes and lifted her hands to her face, as if she could reach into her mind and yank out whatever images she'd watched play out.

When she breathed, it was broken and ragged. "I saw him, " she said. "Back in the sewer. He was... calling me and begging for me to help him. But I didn't." She looked over at him. "I was too busy lighting everything on fire."

He sighed and reached for her hand.  Willingly, she took it. 

Simon wanted to comfort her, but he knew she was in a place that he could not save her from. He couldn't fight off her shadows for her; couldn't threaten whatever was hurting her. All he could do was have some place safe for her to return to when she was free from the dark.

She clutched his hand tightly. "And then...And then he turned into Max," she went on. "I tried to stop the fire, but I couldn't. I couldn't keep from burning everything." Tears began to collect in her eyes, silently spilling down her cheeks. "And then we left him. We left both of them, yelling and screaming at me to save them, but I just left."