Art Decade

Yves. I was almost grateful for the fire when it came. Almost happy about the flames suddenly engulfing the downstairs blocked-up windows, swallowing the cheap wooden panels like they were nothing. It put my vision back into focus. I stood and stared just like everybody else, except I had already been facing the building so I didn't have to jump around in alarm. I'm not sure whether I would have been able to. I watched it happen maintaining this dazed state, and when the second loud crash sounded my eyes ceased to be blurry. I wiped the water from my face that I could no longer explain, feeling the rush of heat and sound in its place. At the third crash, I turned around to face the ambulance, maybe I wanted to miss what happened next.

Anne. I fell backwards onto the pavement and barely felt it because of what I saw around forty seconds after the first bang inside the building. The board on the downstairs window to the right of the house flew off with a smash and a figure climbed out of the huge hole it left. At this point I lost track of what was happening. The figure was instantly rushed at by the paramedics and taken into the ambulance, I sat on the freezing tarmac understanding nothing. Gabriel was about ten metres from where he had been sitting moments before, standing in front of the fire in the middle of the road, just watching.
The fire engine arrived in less than ten minutes; we're pretty central, despite all the back alleys to navigate. People in red and yellow suits join the veritable rainbow that is the array of emergency services now saving, questioning and extinguishing everything they can of this weird, empty street. A secret place in a city this busy. It could have been a sanctuary. I have the overwhelming feeling that the parts every character present has played in the drama that has just occurred has simply got to have some kind of common factor.
As I reach inside my coat pockets for warmth, I feel a little scratch. I'm worried that I know exactly what that common denominator is.

Yves. I'm shoved aside as paramedics dive into the ambulance, digging out more equipment, ferrying it to the second party of them who are crowding a newcomer to the scene- a newcomer who smells of smoke, looks far worse for wear but is absolutely recognisable as Anton.
Realising this I rush to his side, doctors trying to push me out of the circle but I catch hold of his hand.
-What are you doing here? Why were you in there, god, Anton, are you alright?
He stares at me, notably dizzy for a second until he seems to focus with a sharp shake of his head. He opens his mouth to mouth something but gets stuck, coughing loudly. He tries again.
-Christie.
I have nothing to do but laugh a little at how much sense that makes.
-I thought as much.
Anton tries to speak again, I can see how much effort he's putting into it, still choking on smoke.
-He's....he's a fucking psychopath...
He's coughing with laughter now and the doctor looking at him is trying to keep him still. He attempts to bat her away with an arm that has red marks around the wrist. He winces as he moves, as far from the way he'd make every movement impossibly smooth before this.
-Don't believe her. Don't believe Anne, she doesn't know...Christie made her...
He's properly choking now, and a paramedic pushes me away asking me to kindly leave for a moment.
Anne? Anne must be the girl who found Cassie. For a second I'm angry at her but that's washed away as I cringe at the memory of Christie's voice, persuasive and forever changing. I screw my eyes shut as tight as possible and open them hoping that none of this has happened. I survery my surroundings, however, to an intense disappointment, until I remember the most vital of details. The focus of this screwed-up landscape. The aim, the idea, the heart of this...I walk towards Gabriel unnaturally slowly as he turns his head to me in a similar fashion, maybe it's just my head distorting the speed of everything...I reach him, now sat down on the cold concrete looking desolate. I wrap my arms around his tiny-looking figure and we stay in the middle of the street outside the burning building in perfect silence for a very long time. His eyes are closed, and this is a rare thing for him. It's almost worrying, considering that he might not be opening them because they'd give away what he thinks, and he doesn't know what he's thinking. I want him too look at me so I can know what to make of it all myself. I remain contented simply looking at him, however, staying here for as long as he wants us to.

Anne. Anton is in the ambulance. Cassie is in the ambulance. A house is on fire. Two people are all each other has and I almost took that away from them. I can't help but know, inconsolably, that I am the reason for this destruction.
I open my palm.
'You're welcome.
C.Stone.'
I may be the reason, but I'm not the only reason.
The blonde lady approaches me. She takes the card wordlessly from my hand and throws it into the flames that the firefighters have almost completely put out. She wipes a tear I didn't know existed from my face and stands, just watching, for a full five minutes.
-I think this is it.
I look up at her to see if she'll elaborate.
-He's outdone himself. There's no one left to hurt, no one left to get at. I didn't know about you though...I'm so sorry.
Why would she apologise to me? I created this, I was the instrument, the player, maybe not the conductor but definitely a large part of it.
-I'm sorry too. For all of this, it was me. Did you know that? It was me.
-It wasn't. It never is. It is always, always Christie. You owe him nothing. Like everybody else.
She starts walking away from me.
-I'm going to see how Anton and Cassie are doing. Coming?
I'm so grateful for this invitation I couldn't possibly express it any other way than finally convincing my legs to move forwards.