Damien
"Boss, we did it."
Jonathan, my hotel manager, stared at me with the proudest grin stretched on his wrinkled face. "My wife would be proud of me now. I was part of this achievement."
"Of course, Jonathan." I smiled back at him. "After the fundraiser, meet with Jack. He has a special package for your daughter's high school graduation."
Jonathan beamed. "Thank you, sir!"
"No, thank you. All of you." I looked out into the large hall from the balcony where we stood. "None of this would have been possible without you."
"No, sir. We're not indispensable. There are many out there who would do a better job, but you gave us this opportunity. We should be thanking you." He bowed slightly.
I let out a slow sigh, watching my staff move around diligently, attending to guests. “I beg to differ, Jonathan.” I turned back to him. “No one else would have brought the passion you all put into this.”
"You've been good to us, sir. Not all bosses can do nearly what you've done. You paid for James's tuition so he could study at the school of his choice. Juliet's baby is out of danger thanks to you. Henderson…"
"Jonathan, please. That's enough." I shifted uncomfortably. "You all deserve every bit of it."
"Sir, Bridgette is getting married next month."
"Really?"
"Yes. She'll come tell you officially after the event. I'm just giving you a heads-up."
I threw my head back and laughed. Bridgette was a handful. Jonathan's praises were nothing compared to hers. She'd hug me ferociously and kiss my hands like I'd saved her life.
"Well, thank you for the warning."
We made our way down to the hall where the event was in full swing. I greeted guests, shook hands, and moved toward the front just as my name was announced.
I climbed the stage and stood before the crowd, ready to begin the next phase of my life.
Then I saw him.
Julian. Standing at the entrance, smiling at me.
The scene fractured.
Two images overlapped. Julian in different suits, different moments, but with that same smile stretched across his face.
Then came the gut-wrenching scream.
I looked to the side and saw a staff member run out, his arms engulfed in flames.
People started screaming. Panic erupted. Everyone rushed for the exit at once, bodies slamming against each other, hands and limbs tangling in the doorway.
I swung into action, directing security and the medic team.
Smoke began seeping in from all sides, crawling rapidly into the large hall.
"The sprinklers! Why aren't they working?!"
"I don't know, sir." Jack appeared at my side, alarmed.
"Sir, the fire extinguishers! They're all gone!" Jonathan came running.
I froze, my heart plummeting into my stomach.
I slowly turned to where I'd seen Julian standing.
He was gone.
"Sir…"
"Sir…"
Their voices echoed in my head, getting distant and muffled.
"SIR!"
I jolted back to reality and began directing everyone.
We managed to free the door, allowing people to move through, though it was still slow. Too slow.
By then, we could see them. Red, angry flames rushing into the hall like a bull charging toward a man in red.
People were hurt. Some critical. But everyone made it out alive.
Or so I thought.
"Jonathan! Your wife is in the kitchen!" one of the staff yelled.
"What?!"
"She came with food about an hour ago…"
"Jo, wait!"
But he was already running. Straight into the burning building.
He'd told me earlier that his wife had been worried sick about him. Since the preparation began, he hadn't been sleeping or eating well.
"Where's the fire service?!"
"Two minutes away," Jack said, grabbing his hair.
"That's too late!"
I removed my jacket and made to run after Jonathan, but hands grabbed me, pulling me back.
"No, sir. I'll go." Henderson appeared, still in his chef's uniform. "I'll help Jonathan."
"No, no, Henderson, wait!" I tried to break free, but my guards held me tight.
"I'll come right out, sir. Don't you worry." He gave me a small smile.
Poor Henderson. Always trying to seem bright in the darkest situations.
I struggled as I watched him run toward his death, but my men wouldn't let go.
"Sir, your grandfather ordered us to keep you safe."
"No, no, NO! They'll die in there!"
"So will you, sir."
I fought. Threw punches. Threatened. But they wouldn't budge.
I watched in horror as the flames grew larger and larger.
Then a massive explosion erupted, sending us flying in different directions.
I opened my eyes.
I was on a podium. In front of reporters and people wailing all around me.
Camera flashes blinded me. The questions came all at once.
"Sir, sources say it was an electrical malfunction. Is this true?"
"Some say it was a huge gas leak, sir. What do you have to say?"
Then the accusations started.
"You killed my sister!"
"You're evil. You didn't care! You let them die in there."
In their arms were placards and pictures of my staff.
Fifty-two-year-old Jonathan, my hotel manager, and his wife Nancy, who had been my nanny.
Thirty-year-old Henderson, one of the top chefs in Aberdeen.
Thirty-two-year-old Bridgette and nineteen-year-old James, both concierges.
"You're a murderer!"
"You should have died with them!"
I shut my eyes tightly and took several steps backward until I hit a wall. I slipped down to the floor and covered my ears as the voices got louder and more menacing.
"Stop. Please stop!"
I yelled, pressing harder against my ears as the voices grew unbearable.
Then suddenly, everything went quiet.
I waited for the voices to resume, to torture me like they always did.
But nothing came.
Except footsteps.
The footsteps got closer. I squinted into the darkness, but everything had turned foggy.
When I was certain the footsteps should have reached me, they stopped.
Then I heard it.
The slow drip of water directly in front of me.
At first, I thought I was in the bathroom, that I hadn't locked the faucet properly. But when I looked closer, goosebumps swept over me.
It wasn't water.
I followed the droplets to their source. A wet, pale wrist, deeply sliced through.
My body began jerking violently from the realization.
She'd been found like that in the bathroom. Forensics said it was self-inflicted.
I looked up at her glassy eyes, surrounded by a pale, hollow face. She still wore her nightgown, covered in that red liquid. The one they'd found her in.
"I'm sorry," I said through gritted teeth. "I should have saved him. I'm so sorry, Bianca. I should have saved Henderson."
"But you didn't.” Her voice echoed. "You let him die. You let me die. You killed our unborn child."
"I'm sorry!"
"You deserve to die too."
She revealed a shiny knife, raised it high, and brought it down swiftly.
I closed my eyes as a single tear slid down my face.
I shot up from bed, gasping and shivering as the cooling system blasted cold air against my sweat-soaked body.
With trembling hands, I reached for my medication on the bedside table and popped a couple down my throat, downing them with a glass of water.
I stared into space.
They were getting worse. My nightmares. My panic attacks.
I thought I was fine. I'd been sure I was fine. The nightmares were still part of me, but the panic attacks had been rare.
Not until I'd climbed that podium.
Then everything came crashing back.
My doctors had warned me against this. But it had been six years, dammit!
Six years!
Was I this weak?
No. I wasn't.
I would only be weak if I let this win.
I reached out and took my phone.