Dust tingled my nose, causing me to sneeze. I squinted into the glare of the late afternoon sun. Reds, oranges, and yellows filled the cloudy sky. The colors of fire.
But there was no fire. No more smoke.
Trees surrounded me with their autumn leaves ablaze. I stared in wonder at the fat maple leaves dripping from the branches. A rhythmic clip-clop on the other side of an iron fence revealed a tan horse pulling a wagon and kicking up dust on a city street.
The laughter of young children reached my ears. I stood in a school yard with girls wearing long dresses, big bows in their hair, and lace-up boots. Boys dressed in tweed pants and jackets.
Where was I?
“Lily?” I twisted, searching.
A small girl ran from the crowd. Her red hair blew behind her as she dodged their jeers. A stone sailed toward her. Then another. The children threw rocks and taunted her.
The girl barreled toward me. Her tiny hands balled into fists. Her face scrunched in hurt and fear. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
I opened my arms to her.
And then I stood in a sweet-smelling bedroom with yellow wallpaper and tall windows. On a four-poster bed, a regal woman with dark hair twisted in a bun gathered the red-haired child from the playground in her arms.
“Mama, no one will be my friend. No one!” the girl wailed.
The mother smoothed her daughter’s tangles. “It’s only because they are afraid of what you do.” The mother tried to mask her own sadness. “Do not fret. You have your sister. She will always be your friend.”
And then I stood outside on a sloping lawn bordered by majestic pines. Beside me two girls played with porcelain-faced dolls. The red-haired girl was older now, maybe ten. The slight, dark-haired girl beside her looked younger. A whistle caught their attention. A boy in overalls kicked a stone down the nearby road. He spotted the girls. “Freak!” he called. “Freak!”
“Don’t listen, Belinda,” the younger girl soothed.
The red-haired girl’s face had already crumbled. Color rose to her cheeks as the boy continued to cry, “Freak!”
In a shower of sparks that made me jump, her doll burst into a bonfire. Fire ate at the doll’s petticoats and satin dress, then slowly moved to singe the moss-green grass.
Belinda now sat on a moss-green sofa with her hands folded on her lap. Older still, maybe sixteen, her hair held back in a braid.
Across from her sat the regal woman and a heavyset man with a turned-up mustache. Andrew and May Helliman. His face was grave. Hers was tearstained.
“It’s the only way.” Belinda’s mother twisted a lace handkerchief as she spoke. “Cousin Katherine has agreed to take you. I hear her cottage in Bristol, England, is quite nice.”
“I don’t want to be sent away! I don’t want to go to England. I don’t know this cousin.” Belinda couldn’t control her tears.
“It’s not a choice.” Her father refused to look directly at his daughter. “The doctor said it’s the only way. After that boathouse fire . . . everyone knows you’re a danger, Belinda.”
“You and Margaret are all I have!” Belinda wailed. “I promise not to start more fires. I promise!”
“The doctor said the only other choice is to have you locked up.” Mrs. Helliman pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. “We can’t do that. You must leave.”
“I won’t!” Belinda said defiantly. Her expression had hardened. “You can’t make me!”
Her father rose to his full height, towering over his teenage daughter. “Yes, I can.” He gripped her arm and dragged her out of the room and upstairs. “You go first thing in the morning.”
The lock on her bedroom door clicked loudly from the outside. Belinda tried twisting the knob desperately, but the door wouldn’t budge.
There was no way out until morning. Until she was sent away.
Suitcases, already packed by one of the Helliman servants, lay waiting by the door of her bedroom with the pink-flowered wallpaper. Belinda crawled to the wall and knocked four times. Her secret signal to her sister.
Margaret returned the knocks from her bedroom on the other side. Belinda pleaded through the thin wall for Margaret to unlock her door. They’d run away together.
Margaret kept repeating, “I’m sorry.” She couldn’t or wouldn’t open the door. She told Belinda to sleep.
“No!” Belinda howled. As she moaned, her hair took on a darker hue. Redder. Angrier.
No longer in control.
They couldn’t send her away. By herself.
Red everywhere.
No Margaret. No friends.
All she saw was a curtain of red.
Until the suitcases burst into flames.
Belinda watched in awe as the yellow fingers of heat grew higher and higher. It was as if she were in the audience, viewing a play on a far-off stage. Then the flames leaped to the windowsill, igniting the wood with a ferocity that shocked her into action.
“Wake up! Everyone get out!” She grabbed a cotton blanket folded at the foot of her bed and flung it in hopes of putting out the fire. The blanket disappeared into the flames.
Into the flames that engulfed the bedroom.
Into the flames that traveled down the hall to the bedrooms where her family slept.
“It’s all her fault,” I said. I’d seen Belinda start the fire that killed her family.
“No, it’s not.”
I blinked. I was back in the hotel room. Smoke everywhere. Laura still struggling with the window.
Lily pressed a cool washcloth to my face as I sat on the carpet. The TV static, the shower, and the blinking clock had stopped. How long had I been like this?
“It’s not her fault,” Lily repeated. “I don’t know where you went in your mind, Sara, but you were talking the whole time. Narrating what you saw.”
I pulled the washcloth away and eyed Belinda, still hovering beside Lily. “It was bad. She did it.”
“No. It was a mistake,” Lily said simply. “Belinda didn’t mean to start that fire or any of the fires. She had no control. She needed help that no one could give her.”
“That’s what’s so dangerous.” I couldn’t shake the image of those flames.
“She’s lonely, Sara. She lost her family and her sister. She needs a friend—that doesn’t make her bad. Everyone judged her unfairly.”
The smoke drifted away. Belinda’s clenched jaw softened. Laura stepped from the window and moved toward the door.
I thought about all the times I’d been quick to judge. I’d thought Delilah was destructive when she’d really been baking muffins. I’d thought George Marasco wanted to destroy Midnight Manor on the boardwalk when he’d really wanted to save it. I thought the soldier spirit was trying to spook me when he’d really wanted to find Lady Azura, his true love. Had I been wrong about Belinda?
“She may be lonely, but she starts fires,” I said. “She scares me.”
“Even though you can see her and I can’t,” Lily said, “I know what I feel when she’s near, and I don’t feel scared. I want to help her.”
“Take me home,” Belinda said in a low voice. Her glow had dimmed. She searched Lily’s face with her now-dark eyes. “Take me home with you.”
“She wants to go home with you,” I told Lily.
“It’s open!” Laura cried with a giddy laugh. The door suddenly swung open, ushering in a rush of cool air. “Let’s get out.”
“I’m not leaving without her,” Lily said.
Laura waved us to hurry. “Who? Sara?”
“Belinda.”
“Whoa!” Laura lifted her arms in protest.
“Sara?” Lily asked. She raised her eyebrows, and I knew what she wanted.
“I don’t know if I can,” I admitted.
“Please.” Lily said. “I trust you.”
I nodded. I’d try.
I never, ever thought we’d be doing this together. But what else can you do when your best friend needs help?