A Strange Fire (Florence Vaine) (11 page)

Frank walks away from the
lakeside, and back towards the barn. I follow despite not wanting to go back
inside. The main reason for this is that I could do without being bombarded
with the emotions of every person in there, but also because I feel utterly
vulnerable and exposed with Frank knowing my secret. A doorway has been opened,
and now that I’m no longer the only one holding the information it feels as
though it is free to be passed on. I have no control over whether Frank reveals
what I can do to another person, and that person to another, and so on.

 My thoughts are cut short,
because just as Frank approaches the entrance to the barn, Caroline comes
rushing out, her face in her hands. I run to her and find that she’s crying. I
can’t fathom what could have caused her to become so upset. Frank makes eye
contact with me just as Caroline dashes into my arms

 I hold her there and ask, “What
happened?” and stroke her auburn hair. Frank turns away then and disappears
inside.

 Caroline pulls away from me for a
minute and wipes the tears from her eyes. I pull a piece of tissue from my bag
and hand it to her. She dabs away the wetness.

 “Caroline, why are you crying?” I
ask her, genuinely worried.

 “I’m such an idiot,” she replies,
barely a whisper. She shakes her head. “I should never have come here,” she
continues.

 “I’m sorry,” I tell her, though
I’m not sure why. I suppose if it weren’t for me then she wouldn’t be in this
position right now. I wonder at the dramatic change in her attitude. I admit
she was a little cautious of the party when we first got here, but when I left
with Frank she seemed to be truly enjoying herself.

 “Oh it’s not your fault Flo,” she
says, shrugging off my apology. “It’s all my own, I was foolish thinking that
Alex would ever be interested in me.”

 Now the penny drops. She must
have made a move on Alex and he knocked her back. Her usually yellow aura has
speckles of mustard here and there, portraying her distress. Sometimes, when I
see the colours of negative emotions I feel like maybe if I could just touch
the areas of disquiet then I could soothe them away. To the casual observer of
course I would be reaching out into thin air, but in my eyes I would be
touching a physical manifestation of the person’s mental state.

 As Caroline begins to tell me
what happened, she’s still close enough for me to touch her aura without her
actually seeing what I’m doing. I trace my fingertips over an area of
discolouration within the yellow and try to project healing thoughts.

 “I was sitting with Alex in the
back of the barn,” she tells me, continually dabbing her eyes with the tissue I
gave her. “The rest of them had gone up to the front to watch one of the bands
play. So, like the idiot that I am, I sat closer to Alex than normal, hoping
that maybe he would try to kiss me. When he continued gulping back that
horrible beer and didn’t make a move I decided to take it upon myself to kiss
him
.
Oh God Flo, you should have seen the look of horror on his face, he drew away
from me immediately and told me to “never to do that again”, I nearly died of
embarrassment. Then he just walked away and joined the others, leaving me there
to feel like a complete fool.”

 I understand now why she had been
crying. God, if I had been in her position I would have been bawling too. “Oh
I’m sorry Caroline. Boys are idiots.” I tell her, in an effort to comfort her,
while simultaneously pinching at a spot of mustard and visualising it being
replaced with a morsel of contentment.

 My jaw almost drops when the spot
disappears and is immediately filled up with the dazzling yellow of Caroline’s
aura. Had I done that? Or was it simply that she began to feel a little better
all by herself? I try the same thing again and am shocked to find it works. My
mind whirls at the possibilities, have I just discovered a new aspect to my
ability?

 Caroline’s eyes are no longer
tearing up, she sniffles and blows her nose and then seems to brighten a
fraction. “God, look at me. I’m such a mess. Anyway, I’m going to have to call
Christian and ask him to come pick us up, there’s no way I can sit in the same
car as Alex all the way home, it would be unbearable.”

 I can see her point. Also, I
don’t think I’d be too comfortable riding home with Frank either, now that he
knows the truth about me. Caroline calls Christian and I can hear him clearly
down the line despite the noise of the bands playing inside. It’s quiet out
here by the lake. I laugh when I hear his exclamations of shock when she tells
him where we are, but soon his tone levels out somewhere between annoyance and
resignation.

 A half an hour later the old
Volvo Caroline shares with her brother pulls up outside the barn and we hurry
to get inside. I want to leave before Frank comes looking for us.

 “What the
hell
were you
thinking Car,” says Christian. “Mum would have a manic break if she knew you’d
gone out with John Danson’s boys.”

 “Don’t Christian please, I’ve
learned my lesson okay, so you can quit the lecture.”

 Christian looks at me in his rear
view mirror for a moment, then asks, “So what exactly happened?”

 “Oh Jesus Christ,” says Caroline,
burying her face in her hands. “I can’t talk about it, you tell him Flo.”

 I cough. “Um, C-caroline and Alex
had a falling out.”

 “What kind of a “falling out”?”
Christian asks, his expression contentious.

 God. Why do I have to be the one
to explain everything?

 “Caroline kissed him and he told
her not to,” that’s about as polite as I can put it.

 Christian sputters a laugh and
grins at his sister. “You got turned down by some guy, so what? I thought you’d
been assaulted or something.”

 “It was humiliating Christian,
you’re a male you wouldn’t understand,” says Caroline before turning away and
focusing intently on staring out the window.

 Christian looks at me in the
mirror again and rolls his eyes, I return his bemusement with a shrug and then
there’s quiet until we get back to Chesterport. They drop me off at Gran’s and
I tell them I’ll see them at school on Monday before hopping out of the car and
going inside.

 The house is silent when I get
in, and dark, all the lights are out except for the one on the landing. Gran
must have gone to bed. I go upstairs and change into my pyjamas, then I come
back down to the kitchen to fix myself something to eat. I make a turkey and
lettuce sandwich with mayonnaise and pour myself a glass of orange juice.

 I’m about to sit down at the
table to eat, and nearly drop my plate when the telephone on the wall beside
the fridge begins to ring. I put down my food and go to answer it quickly, so
that the ringing doesn’t wake Gran up.

 “H-hello,” I answer cautiously,
wondering who could be calling the house of an elderly lady at ten past
midnight on a Friday.

 “Florence?” says a familiar
voice, it takes only a second for me to recognise it as Frank’s. He sounds out
of breath, like he’d been jogging or something. “Is that you?”

 “Yes, hi, how did you get this
number Frank?” I reply.

 I can tell that he’s smiling when
he responds, “You knew it was me.”

 “I recognised your v-voice.” I
say shyly, getting embarrassed and going red in the face even though he can’t
see me.

 “You left. Why?” he asks,
suddenly serious.

 “Caroline was upset, Christian
came to pick us up.”

 “You should have told me you were
leaving. When I found you were gone I was worried.”

 “Oh, I’m s-sorry, I didn’t
think,” I tell him, even though I purposefully left without speaking to him.
Now I feel guilty for that.

 “Just,” he takes a moment to
catch his breath, “don’t do it again.” Again? Does he actually still want to
hang around with me? He seemed so distant when we finished our conversation
earlier.

 “Are you okay Frank? You sound
out of breath.”

 “I was running,” he replies.

 “Why? Weren’t you driving
tonight?”

 “I was. But I ran home to call
you when I couldn’t find you anywhere beside the lake or in the nearby woods.”

 I laugh. “You ran all the way
back to Chesterport? How? That would have taken hours.”

 “My house is on the outskirts.
And I’m really fast.”

 Hmm, perhaps that’s the key to
the colour of his aura, orange
does
indicate stamina after all. My heart
sinks, perhaps there’s nothing more to the fire than simple athletic ability.

 “Wow, that’s - wow, you should
like enter the Olympics or something.”

 “You sound impressed,” he
answers, his tone amused.

 “I am. I didn’t think it was
possible to run that fast.”

 “Well, I’m glad my speed
impresses you,” he laughs.

 I blush, for no apparent reason.
I take the phone over to the table with me so that I can eat something while I
talk, my stomach is growling for food at this point. There’s silence while I
take a bite out of my sandwich. Frank doesn’t seem bothered by the gap in the
conversation, he stays on the line. I can hear the gentle sound of his
breathing, no longer hurried.

 “Are you eating?” he asks.

 “Yup. Turkey sandwich if you must
know.” I tell him, still chewing. I don’t talk to people over the phone much,
it makes a nice change. Since the person can’t actually see me I’m more
relaxed, and my speech flows better.

 “Sounds good. Hmm, now I’m
hungry,” he says. “I’ll have to raid the fridge when I get off the phone.”

 I laugh. “Oh well, I’d give you
half my sandwich if you were here.”

 “Is that an invite?” he replies
in a low voice.

 Again I blush. “I’m in my
pyjamas, and I don’t think my gran would take too kindly to me having friends
over in the middle of the night.”

 “Too bad. In your pyjamas eh?”
his voice is like silk. “Now that’s something I wouldn’t mind witnessing.”

 I suck in a breath. The idea of
Frank being here with me now, alone in a quiet house in the dark of night makes
me shiver. In a good way. He must have noticed my breathing shift, because when
I don’t say anything, he continues, “You are
so
easily embarrassed,
Florence.”

 “I’m not – oh you’re teasing me.
Okay very funny.”

 Frank laughs gently. A wave of
tiredness comes over me and I yawn.

 “You’re tired. I’ll let you go.”

 “I’m not tired,” I protest,
though it’s pointless because I’m speaking through an inevitable second yawn.

 “You are,” says Frank. “Get some
sleep, I’ll see you in school on Monday.”

 “See you.” I reply, and then
reluctantly hang up the phone. Albeit, glad that Frank didn’t bring up any of
the unusual things I’d revealed to him earlier tonight by the lake.

On Saturday I’m preoccupied with
thoughts of the night before, in particular what occurred when Caroline had
been upset and I had experimented with her aura. My eyes hadn’t been playing
tricks on me, I had definitely caused the change in her colours, and there
was
a slight change in her mood afterwards. She hadn’t been half as upset once I’d
shifted some of the hurt and distress signified by those horrible patches of
mustard.

 I stand in front of the large
wood framed mirror in Gran’s bathroom and practice on myself. I am being brave.
It’s not often that I will bring myself to look at my own colours. Not only
because I don’t like to analyse what is within them, but also because of the
painfully blinding nature of my aura.

 It’s more of a tone than an
actual colour, and it is also uncomfortably bright, constantly sparkling
harshly. For some reason it’s always edged in violet. It’s like looking
directly into the sun and hurting your eyes, or having smashed shards of glass
fall into them. It’s not so bad around my arms and legs, but in my centre it is
overwhelmingly bright. That’s probably because my centre is where I feel my
emotions most strongly. In my heart, at the pit of my stomach, sometimes in my
lungs.

 Once I look closely, I can see a
grey spot above my left ear. Grey is always negative. I know what this grey is
indicative of - worry. The spot represents my worry over revealing too much of
myself to Frank. I pinch it and envision calm replacing it, I’m not expecting
any major difference to occur, but shortly after I’ve focused on dissolving my
worry with calm I find myself feeling distinctly better. There had been a
weight on my mind and suddenly it is gone.

 Wow. This is something I never
imagined possible, and immediately I think of my dad. If I can change my own
frame of mind by manipulating my aura, then does that mean that I could do the
same for Dad? Could I focus on destroying those parts of him that make up the
violent addict and begin replacing them with the traits of a good, loving
parent? The idea actually scares me quite a bit. I’m used to having little or
no power at all, and now suddenly I’ve discovered this whole new part of
something I’ve almost always considered a hindrance.

 Later in the day I find myself
with not much to do. I’ve finished all of my homework for the weekend and I was
never one for TV. I have my favourite shows, and if they aren’t showing I’m not
bothered watching anything else. Gran has been out in the garden at the back of
the house nearly all day tending to her plants. I call to her and tell her I’m
going to go for a walk into town, then I grab my coat and my keys and head out.

 The day is mildly sunny, as I get
closer to the centre of Chesterport I see more and more groups of teenagers
hanging about, laughing and joking and having a good time. It makes me feel
sort of lonely. I haven’t been here long, so although I have made some friends,
I still feel like an outsider.

 Through no conscious intention of
my own, I find myself walking towards that book shop again, the one named “Book
Worms” with the friendly blond woman who works there. But when I’m halfway
there I get that feeling again that I’m being followed. I don’t hear any
footsteps like before, nor do I feel any breathing on the back of my neck, but
what I do get is the mysterious tension. The sense of foreboding, like my body
is trying to tell me to run and hide. Whatever this is, it isn’t normal.
Obviously. But when have
I
ever been normal?