Erasing Faith(62)
“Well, it’s a good thing you married me, then,” I whispered instead.
Wes’ crooked smile appeared for the first time all night and I knew, no matter what happened, we’d be okay.
***
He was gone before I woke up.
I knew he would be — he’d warned that he had an early workday before we fell asleep — but that didn’t stop me from missing him. The note on my pillow was simple: a lopsided heart, drawn in pen on a piece of computer paper. The heart was messy, masculine — not quite closed at the bottom, with two uneven sides, as though he’d never found himself in a situation that called for drawing such a shape before.
I wasn’t sure if that made me happy or sad.
Rolling over, I grabbed my phone from my nightstand and saw that it was still early — barely six o’clock. The screen displayed a blinking red icon, indicating I had a new voicemail, and I quickly tapped on it, thinking Wes might’ve left me a message. The voice that burst through the speaker was familiar, but it didn’t belong to the man I’d hoped for.
“Faith, it’s Istvan. Look, I know you weren’t on the schedule this weekend, but I really need you to come in. It’ll be five hours, tops — Sunday shifts are special delivery only, no regulars. Janice is on-call today but she’s sick — some kind of stomach flu. I’ll even let you start early, if you can get here before we open at ten. You’ll be in and out, I promise. Plus, Sunday pay is double rate. Call and let me know.”
I sighed and fell back against the pillows, considering my options.
Either I could sit here all day pretending to study and obsessing about Wes every five seconds, or I could pick up a few extra hours at Hermes and distract myself while making some cash. Sunday shifts were always sleepy. There were few deliveries and even fewer couriers on staff — at most, one or two girls were on-call. Plus, if Istvan was running the show, I knew he’d let me get an early jump on what few parcels we had. I’d be out by noon — plenty of time to obsess over Wes later.
I called Istvan back and agreed, promising to be there within the hour.
Before I got out of bed, I flipped onto my stomach and buried my face in the pillows, smelling Wes and smiling at the thought of seeing him again tonight. If this — him and me, together — was the new normal, I certainly wasn’t complaining.
Fifteen minutes later, I’d shrugged into a tank top and jeans, stuffed a clean uniform into my messenger bag, scribbled a note for Margot, and was out the door.
Just the start of another normal day in Budapest.
***
I was alone. Terrified. Running for my life.
How did it come to this?
Ashes drifted like snowflakes in a hot, hellish blizzard. I choked down smoke as I ran through the blackened maze of passages. Hands thrown out to the walls for guidance, my fingertips were soon coated in ebony dust. I could feel the heat radiating beneath the pads of each fingertip ― the fire raged just inches away, on the other side of a perilously thin barrier. The smell of charred furniture and smoldering wood stung my nostrils and made my eyes water as I stumbled along, praying for salvation of any kind. I wondered vaguely if I’d make it out alive. If I’d ever see the ones I loved again.
Wes’ face flashed in my mind and abruptly my eyes were stinging from more than just the pungent smoke.
I pushed all thoughts of him away, knowing they’d only torment and distract me.
Despite my disorientation, I knew where I was. The Hermes office — I’d been here a million times. I knew these corridors like the back of my hand. On a normal day, I could walk them blindfolded.
Today wasn’t a normal day.
Today, I was lost. There were flames licking at my back, as a bright inferno tore through the space which once housed the fifty or so wooden lockers in the staff room. My cubby was burning into ash behind me, the fire consuming everything with greedy, white-hot tendrils that raced up the walls to the ceiling overhead.
Blinded by the thick smoke, I blundered through the dark until I’d left the fast-creeping flames behind. I rounded a corner and dragged in a gulp that was equal parts smoke and oxygen. Bitter and toxic, it hardly soothed my screaming lungs, but I was relieved to be breathing at all.
My relief was short-lived. I was all too aware that even if the fire didn’t burn me alive, the noxious fumes entering my lungs with each labored breath would kill me just as quick. Thick smoke swirled in the air above me, gathering in a roiling, poisonous cloud on the ceiling and turning once-familiar corridors into an unnavigable maze of passages.
I didn’t have time to think.
I ran.
My mind raced with fear and adrenaline pumped through my veins like a narcotic, fueling my flight. I could hear men yelling in the distance, though it was hard to tell whether their cries were of pain or anger.
My coworkers.
Trapped. Burning alive.
The sizzling fire still roared at my back and, more terrifying, I now heard the foreign crack of gunfire, ringing out every few seconds like a macabre metronome. The bullets whizzed closer as the blaze chased me down hallway after hallway.
It didn’t make any sense. It was Sunday — no one was supposed to be here this early, except me, Istvan, and a skeleton crew of other employees. When I’d arrived, the front doors had been unlocked but the offices seemed totally abandoned. I’d made my way to my locker with a secret smile on my lips, thinking of Wes and the things he’d said to me last night.