Page 1 of From the Embers

prologue

Denver

Twenty-three years ago…

The roar of engines wakes me out of an already restless slumber. I’ve been tossing and turning all night. It’s strange for me because I usually sleep like a baby with no troubles at all.

But there’s something different about tonight. The still air is almost eerily calm, at least it was when I turned in for the night. The sky had turned an ethereal dark blue before the deep red sunset shadowed its mark over the top of the landscape.

Me and Daryl—my best friend and neighbor from across the street—were playing video games earlier, until his older sister, Carrie, came in with her new telescope because she claimed the best view was from Daryl’s bedroom window. Their little white maltese, Sammy, was jumping at her heels excitedly. Maybe he was feeling the energy of her excitement of what tonight’s viewing would bring. And then his little sister, Adelaide, chimed in on the act.

“Sisters are so annoying,” Daryl complained as Carrie busily set up her new contraption like we weren’t even there. I didn’t mind it so much—Carrie often bakes cookies with her mom and they’re pretty good cooks if you ask me. Adelaide, even though she’s only four, likes to decorate them. Their chunky chocolate chips are the absolute bomb. I’m always down for a snack at Daryl’s place and his mom doesn’t seem to mind us eating them out of house and home.

With very little sleep behind my eyes, I rub them, throw the duvet back, and hop out of bed into the warmth of the Chicago summer. Maybe it’s the heat that has kept me restless tonight, I don’t really know, but as I shuffle over to the window to see what all the commotion is about, my bedroom door suddenly flies open, making me jump.

“Denver!” My father’s voice sounds frantic, and him bursting in like this has a wash of dread coating me from head to toe. My blood runs cold at his face, which is half ashen, half relieved to see me.

“Dad?” I manage. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes soften as he walks toward me just as I pull the curtains back, my eyes widening as they focus on what’s happening below.

Across the street there’s flashing lights. Sirens. Chaos. Smoke.

My eyes find Daryl’s house, diagonally opposite to ours. Their place is red brick with white trim, black shutters that frame the windows, and a charcoal gabled roof.

But staring at it now in horror—engulfed in flames—I don’t even recognize it as the same house.

“OH. My. God,” I whisper-shout.

Dad’s strong hands land on my shoulders and I spin, shaking, to face him.

“What’s happening?” I ask. It’s a stupid question, I know. It’s glaringly obvious that Daryl’s house is on fire. But somehow asking it, hoping for a different answer, might mean I’m just in a dream. One big, fat, terrible dream.

“Your mother is downstairs finding out. I just needed to check on you.”

“But Daryl!” I cry, my voice shaky and panicked as I point back to the window. How could this happen? I was only over there a few hours ago. “Carrie! Adelaide! Sammy! Mr. and Mrs. Wilder!” I push past him and make for the bedroom door.

Dad bounds after me and I take the stairs two at a time. Mom’s holding my little sister, Abigail, in her arms. She’s the same age as Adelaide. Her little cheeks flush pink with wide eyes as she stares at me over Mom’s shoulder.

“Denver!” Mom pulls me into her with her free arm.

“I need to see!” I say, struggling free. “Please, Mom.”

“Dad is going outside. Stay with me and Abi, please.”

I watch Dad stride past me, he’s all authority and care, even clad in his striped pajama bottoms and Chicago Bulls t-shirt that he sleeps in.

“I’ll just look from the front,” I tell Mom, following Dad out to our gabled porch for a better look. I hear her call out after me, but I pretend not to hear. Nothing could have prepared me for what I see once I’m out there, so maybe Mom was right. The commotion is growing, a crowd is gathering, and people are running around the side of the house. I keep walking slightly behind Dad toward the curbside, the blazing inferno forcing me to look at it. It’s angry and mean, the neon flames and deep red overtones remind me of that ethereal sunset out from Daryl’s window earlier. It was calm then, pretty even. There isn’t anything pretty about this.

I remember Carrie pulling the curtains back to position her telescope and little Adelaide wanted the first look. How can that have been only hours ago? There was nothing angry or mean about how I spent this afternoon, eating cookies, playing video games and listening to Carrie point out all the constellations.

As I glance either side of me, I can see the entire street is lined with concerned neighbors doing the exact same thing at the curb. My feet are rooted to the spot, my dad is talking to the neighbor, though I’m not taking in the words being said. I stare up at Daryl’s bedroom window and I see… I see him. I hedge closer, even though the fire trucks are blocking the road and there’s shouting, colossal chaos, and heat like I’ve never felt in my life.

“Daryl!” I yell. But it’s useless, he can’t hear me, nobody can… But I need to get to him.

I need to do something… My feet are moving before I even know it. Suddenly, I’m running toward the burning house instead of away from it like I should be.

My eyes are stuck on the upper floor of the house where Daryl is struggling to open the window… I don’t know how long it’s going to take to get a ladder up there, all I know is I need to get to my best friend.