❝I had a conversation with Death, he wants you back ❞
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At the New Year's Eve party, Quincy Sinclair finds the dead body of Alfred Kingsley III. Resident golden boy and incredibly rich, his death was no accident.
By morning, Quincy sees him again...
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The fire roared in scorching hues of orange and red as it towered higher and higher above my trembling body. I felt the heat as it barrelled towards me in painful waves and the flames grew more ferocious, licking at the walls and ceiling. The wooden roof crackled and began to collapse in stages, splashing inside the swimming pool.
Nobody was left in the room, I was alone. I guessed that the sound of glass smashing earlier was them escaping through the windows on the other side of the swimming pool. Unfortunately for me, the windows were barricaded by the fire and so I had to act fast to have enough time to leave through the normal doors.
It was easier said than done, though because, throughout the chaos, I froze. Even as the blaze made no move to quiet down and the hair on the back of my head stood proudly, my feet were stuck in place. I was so close to the peril that just reaching out would have left me with a nasty burn yet I couldn't force myself to move.
I flirted with danger as though we were old friends.
A soft ringing had settled in my ears and every cell in my body as if vibrated in place. I was so pent up with nervous energy yet nowhere to put it. I had no way of letting it free and so it festered until there was no way out.
The world moved slowly around me and though it became increasingly more difficult to breathe and my eyes watered uncontrollably, it wasn't until Kingsley appeared that I even noticed the way my brain screamed at me to move.
He apparated in front of me, half of his body in the flames while his arms reached out and grabbed onto my shoulders. His mouth moved but it took a few moments before his voice slipped passed the defences in my head and resonated within me.
"Quincy!" He screamed as desperation poured out with every word. "Get out of here!"
And I did.
It all clicked into place as I stumbled backwards and away from the fire. Black smoke clouded above the room and it slithered down my throat, my stomach churned.
Kingsley's figure wavered as he latched onto my arm and led me to the changing room, the fire hot on our tails. His grip on me felt more like a gust of wind rather than a real person and perhaps it was stress that was causing him to lose his form. Regardless, I followed the ghost boy as he rushed us through the changing room.
Stubbornly, though, I stopped before we could make a quick escape and instead turned to Kingsley's locker. I ripped it open and threw my hands inside, grabbing at whatever I could. My heart was in my throat as I tried to decide what to save. My fingers shook while skimming through the writing and Kingsley threw what was my hands down to the floor with a guttural growl.
"We don't have time. Damn you, Quincy," he snapped.
He reached over my head and pulled out a navy folder from the compartment and threw it into my chest. Kingsley turned us around again to leave but by that point, we were surrounded.
