Chapter 5 - Fire, Fires, Fired

Floorboards creaked under the young girl's bare feet, but she didn't even seem to notice. In her small, pale hands she clutched a note, hastily scribbled after a night's worth of hard thought, and nothing was going to stop her from pushing it underneath her sleeping sister's bedroom door. Tootie doubted that Vicky would be woken by the ancient floorboards; she was a heavy sleeper at the best of times, but something told Tootie it would be best to be well out of the house before Vicky had a chance to read her letter. She knealt down outside of Vicky's familiar door and pushed the note underneath it, her thin white nightgown riding up and making her feel a chill. Shivering she retreated back to her own room, bundled herself up into something warm, and set off for the library.

-

Why did Vicky feel so hot? Flames that surrounded her licked at her feet but seemed to be somewhere else altogether. When she put her hand out to touch them they were cold and strange, and definitely not where the heat was coming from. She squinted through the fires that surrounded her, looking for a way out but meeting only more flame. Tears flooded her eyes and a scream built itself up in her lungs, but then she saw it. A figure in the distance, walking slowly towards her. Vicky didn't have to wait that long to realise that the silhouette belonged to Timmy. She sighed heavily, doubting he would be her saviour. Above his head two brilliant white lights glowed and darted about one another, no bigger than Vicky's overused fist. She wanted to know what they were, but they were too bright to make out.

She wanted to turn away, but she could feel the flames creeping in, threatening to engulf her. Her eyes locked onto Timmy, who appeared not to have seen her, and she sighed and waited to be swallowed. He looked as though he were about to pass her by.

"Vicky?"

She hardly wanted to believe her ears. An instinct deep inside told her not to give herself away, but to yell and curse and tell him to leave. But he was her only chance, and though Vicky may have been depressed she was not suicidal.

"Help me Timmy," she said with pleading eyes. Timmy neared the flames cautiously, but with a determined look on his face. The two white lights opted to wait behind, and Vicky felt an irrational anger towards them. She felt, somehow, that they could help them both, but instead they were just sitting on the sidelines and letting Timmy struggle. Timmy reached out, and his fingertips brushed the flames. He pulled it back quickly.

"It's too hot," he told her. Vicky noticed that all was silent except for his voice.

"Not it isn't," she replied, and she put her hand straight in the flames to show him. He watched as she stood there for a moment, obviously not being burned, and he tried again. The flames scorched his fingers.

"It hurts too much, it's too dangerous," he said, looking at her with tears in his magnifcent blue eyes.

"It's ok," Vicky insisted in a desperate voice. "You can come through."

"I don't want to," he said, looking to the floor. "I'm scared."

"Of the fire?" Vicky asked.

"Of what's on the other side."

-

As usual, it was the need to vomit that roused Vicky from her drunken slumber. She rushed to the bathroom in her usual fashion, noticing something crinckled under her feet as she did so but she didn't pay it much attention. As she wiped her mouth, she thought of the dream she had just had and what it meant. The fire, she was certain, was her attitude and the mean way in which she had always treated Timmy, and though it obviously hurt him he clearly wasn't afraid of it. It was as though he was frightened to find out that there might be something more to someone as shallow and as cruel as Vicky. If she was honest, she had been rather frightened to find that out herself.

And then there were those two bright lights.

She stumbled back to her bedroom, knowing that she needed to find her clothes before she was late to work. The shower could wait for another day. Again, the paper crunched under her foot, but this time she was in no real hurry and took the time to pick it up. Her name was scrawled across the outside of the paper, which had been folded in half. Shrugging, she opened it up and read silently to herself.

Vicky,

We're not exactly best friends, and I doubt we ever will be. I don't know why but I know it isn't our fault. But you are still my sister and I still love you, and I don't want you to be hurting.

I don't know who's to blame for getting you so upset, and you don't have to tell me. It doesn't matter. I know you're smart enough to figure things out for yourself and the last thing you need is help from your little sister. But I don't think this is something you can solve with words or fists, and I don't think you do either.

I'm not sure what to say, because I know I can't fix this for you.

Just don't let it turn you into someone you'll hate. That's not the Vicky I know, and I know it's pathetic but that's all I have to say.

Love,

Tootie

Vicky screwed the note into a ball and threw it into her wastepaper basket, not giving it another thought for the rest of the day. She crossed her room and sat down on the edge of her bed, looking around on her bedroom floor for her shirt. She woke up an hour and half later.

-

"You're two hours late!"

Vicky hunched her shoulders and threw her bike helmet onto a nearby table. "Sorry Mr. Arnold," she said simply, walking up to the notice board and plucking down a delivery sheet. "Where first? McArthur Street?" Mr. Arnold, a short, balding man who always wore a string vest, bared his teeth at her.

"I don't like your attitude," he growled. Vicky gulped and stopped on her way to the door. Vicky's work record was not exactly perfect, but she had always seen Mr. Arnold as a fairly leniant boss who would let her tardiness slide from time to time. It never occured to her that one day she might push him too far.

"Um, I'm really sorry sir," she said, trying to sound as subservient as possible. It was very important to Vicky that she kept this job, especially as she was no longer babysitting Timmy.

"That's not good enough this time I'm afraid Vicky," Mr. Arnold said, looking almost sorry. Vicky swallowed thickly and picked up her bike helmet.

"What are you saying?" she asked nervously. Mr. Arnold ran his fingers through what was lft of his hair.

"I'm saying that after you finish out today it'd probably be better if you didn't come back tomorrow," he said sadly. Vicky stared at him.

"Please Mr. Arnold! I'll do better!" she begged, but Mr. Arnold just shook his head.

"Look Vicky, I'll level with you. I can't help but think you're a little too old to be delivering pizzas part time for a living. Losing this job could be exactly what you need. The Greenaway kid who just started, he's pretty nifty on his bike and still in high school. He was sniffing around fo some extra hours. You go out there and find something else Vicky, you're better than all this." Vicky nodded solemnly, knowing it would be useless to argue. "It's pretty quiet tonight," Mr. Arnold said as she headed out of the door. "I guess you'll only have about two or three more jobs tonight, tops."

It turned out Mr. Arnold was wrong, as Vicky only had one other job that night.

-

Timmy found that he still couldn't sleep, as he hadn't the night before. He had had so much on his mind that he couldn't even lie still. Cosmo and Wanda had stayed up with him for as long as they could, asking what was wrong and getting no answer, but eventually they had both given in to their fatigue and gone to bed. Timmy sat quietly on the windowsill and stared out to the empty street, thinking about Vicky and wondering why he even cared. A cat curled it's way up the street and slinked under his father's car.

His watch told him that it had just gone eleven o'clock. His stomach growled at him, and with a jolt Timmy realised that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He thought about going downstairs and getting a snack, his parents wouldn't mind as they were away visiting his grandma, but then it hit him. Picking up the phone he dialled a familiar number and ordered a pizza.

He sat nervously on his couch, with just a small lamp on in the corner to illuminate his living room. He wasn't sure what he was doign or even what he was going to say, but he knew his mind wouldn't let him rest until he found out what was wrong with Vicky. It seemed strange to him that nine years of torture was so easily forgotten in the face of a few moments crying in the middle of a shopping centre, but Timmy was at the age now where he knew better than to question people and their strange behaviour when it came to one another. The doorbell rang after what had seemed like no time at all, and Timmy got to his feet to open the door.

Tucked under her arm Vicky held a pizza box, while her other hand held her crash helmet. Her face was set in a familiar expression of rage and scorn, an expression that Timmy didn't buy for a second. She scowled at him and held up the square box. "One twelve inch pepperoni, $14.95," she said dryly, not meeting his eyes. Timmy plunged his hand into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew his wallet.

"Oh no," he said faintly, in a voice that was obviously lying. "All my cash must be upstairs. Come in Vicky, it's freezing out. I won't be a sec." Vicky growled at him and wanted to say that she would rather be anywhere else, but a small sense of longing within her caused her to step over the threshold and into the warmth of Timmy's living room. She allowed herself a small grin when Timmy's back was turned, loving the way that his house felt so much like home.

Timmy thumped down the stairs a second later, holding nothing in his hands that he hadn't had when he had gone up there. Vicky got to her feet and held out her hand. "Can we make this quick Twerp?" she said with a sigh. "I'm real busy tonight."

"You do look a bit run down," Timmy said offhandedly, making out as though he was still searching for his wallet. Vicky's old meaness routine snapped into gear.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, curling her hands into fists. Timmy shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, you know, you just look tired, and yesterday you were bawling your eyes out from the strain," Timmy said lightly. Vicky gasped.

"How did you... what are you talking about?" she snapped, her heart fluttering wildly. Couldn't he tell how much it was killing her just to be in his presence?

"In the mall," Timmy said simply. "You were standing out side of the coffee shop, crying." He noticed that her hair still hadn't been brushed, but it was loosly tied back today.

"What? I wasn't!" she said, but she knew in her heart that it was pointless to deny it. Timmy sat down on his couch, and against all sense and reasoning, Vicky felt herself doing the same. "I got fired," she said humbly.

"Oh," Timmy said, wondering why losing her job would make Vicky cry so much. "You could always get another one," he suggested.

"I suppose," Vicky replied, feeling no desire to mean at all now, just the need to get out of there, go home, and drink the last of her beer.

"That's not all there is, is there?" Timmy asked. Vicky fixed him with a cold glare.

"Why would I tell you anything Twerp," she sneered, feeling the familiar need to hurt him for making her love him again. "What would you know?"

"Nothing," Timmy said quickly, sensing danger. "I just meant that perhaps if you told me, I might be able to help." Vicky snorted.

"Shut up Turner, you only want to know what's wrong so you can get off on it. Go to Hell, I'm not here to entertain you." Timmy winced at her words and got to his feet, feeling an ill-placed anger build in his chest.

"For crying out loud Vicky, I was trying to help you!" he shouted at the red head, who recoiled in her seat. "All you ever do is go around hurting people and never letting anyone in!" He stormed to his door and threw it wide, indicating that she should leave. She got to her feet and offered him a sorry look. "Just tell me," he said softly as she stepped outside.

"No," she replied deifantly.

"Fine then!" Timmy shouted, slamming his door and wondering why Vicky was getting him so worked up. She stood limpy outside of his door, wanting to move but finding she couldn't. From behind the door she heard a muffled shouting.

"You're not just fire you know!"

Vicky slammed her fists against the door. "How would you know!" she yelled, in spite of herself. "You're too scared to find out!" She stormed up the garden path and stopped sadly at the gate, flicking her eyes back to the Turner household.

"I'm sorry Timmy," she whispered so that no one would ever hear. "Um, love you," she said simply, swinging her leg over the saddle of her bike and speeding off into the night.

On the pathway, a green beetle opened it's eyes wide in shock.

-

A/N: Just saw Cosmo and Wanda's love song on 'School's Out' for the first time ever. There's not an appropriate word for how cute it is, so I'll go with "squeeeeawww."