Stick with me, guys! It will get more normal, I promise ;P

Chapter Two

Assumpta could barely see for all the smoke and the people frantically scrambling to find out if their beloved sons and brothers were okay. Ambulances and fire engines were everywhere, their sirens creating a horrific noise rivalled only by the ringing in Assumpta's ears. A large tent had been set up near the seminary's main gates, and this was where panicking families were sent to enquire about their loved ones. Most people had escaped from the building, they were told, and had registered on the list of survivors. Another list, marked 'missing', held the names of those who remained unaccounted for.

Waiting in line at the tent for an agonising twenty minutes, Assumpta looked anxiously about her. She knew she had no right to be here, among the terrified mothers, grandmothers, fathers, sisters... She had no claim on the knowledge of Peter's fate. What was she to him, anyway? The keeper of his local bar? His friend? Even she didn't know. But there was no one else to come for him; his family was in England, and flights would probably be cancelled for days...

A middle-aged woman to Assumpta's left let out a long, loud wail. Her son, it seemed, hadn't registered on the survivors list. Shuddering, Assumpta looked away. She turned her eyes, instead, on a mother and father enveloping their son, a young seminarian, in a desperate hug, crying in their thankfulness that he was safe.

'Yes, ma'am?'
A weary looking ambulance officer was calling to Assumpta from behind a table in the tent. She had reached the front of line. It was her turn. Her legs turned to jelly as she made her way, terrified, to the table, and told the officer Peter's name.
She told herself not to worry, that he would be fine. They'd said most people had made it out, hadn't they?
But, as Assumpta knew too well, Peter Clifford was not 'most people'.
'I'm sorry, ma'am. He's not on our list.'
Assumpta's face, pale before, now took on a sickly green shade, and her breath left her again. This time, however, there was no bar to support her. She shakily made her way over to lean against a tree, and sank down to the ground.

From this position, she had a perfect view of the building. Despite the efforts of many black silhouettes which she assumed to be fire fighters, Saint Gabriel's still burned.
Was Peter in there? Was he struggling to get out? Or was he already...?
Tears began rolling down her cheeks.
Had he died thinking she was angry with him? Had he died thinking of her at all? Or had he succeeded to forget all about her, like Father Mac had told him to?

Through her tears, she could see one of the black silhouettes moving toward her... probably to tell her she wasn't allowed to sit so close to the fire. Hugging her knees, she brought her head to rest on them, and squeezed her eyes shut. If she couldn't see him, he couldn't see her, and maybe he'd leave her alone.

The silhouette's voice came soft and wistful.
'Assumpta?'
Her head shot up.
'Peter?'
She stood to look him over, making sure that it was really him.
Peter was alive, but it was anger, not joy, that immediately filled Assumpta. She hit him in the chest as hard as she possibly could in her current, shaken state.
'What the hell is wrong with you?' she shouted, her face reddening, 'Survivors are supposed to register at the ambulance tent by the gate! You were supposed to register at the tent, Peter!'
She hit him again.
'I thought you were dead!'
She was furious. How could he do that to her? How could he put her through that? How hard was it to put your name on a damn list to say you're alive?
Assumpta looked up at Peter's face, fully prepared to deliver her most wrathful glare. But, with one look at his sad, sympathetic eyes, she dissolved into tears.
'I thought you were dead,' she repeated, softly.

Peter was absolutely overcome with emotion. She had come... She had come all this way in the middle of the night to find him. And she had been so scared.
He stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around her.
'Shhh,' he whispered into her hair, 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...'
All the anger left Assumpta, and she savoured the feeling of being in Peter's arms... something she had thought, not five minutes ago, that she would never, ever experience. He held her while she cried, and, gradually, he felt her breathing steady.
'Are you alright?' she asked him, pulling away to look at him properly.
'I'm fine.'
'But, you've got...' Assumpta's face turned white again, as she noticed the blood on Peter's shirt.
'It's not mine,' he assured her, gently taking her hand.

They both jumped, as an entire wall of Saint Gabriel's crumbled with a loud bang, spilling pieces of burning material all across the grass. Panic suddenly gripped Peter, as he thought of a thousand chilling scenarios... What if there was another explosion? What if the people who did this returned, armed with guns to aim at the growing crowd?
'You have to get out of here,' he said to Assumpta, 'It's not safe for you.'
'Well, it's not safe for you, either,' she replied, indignantly.
'Assumpta, there are still people in there. I have to go and help.'
'No, you don't!' she said, clearly thinking this a ridiculous notion, 'I'm not going anywhere without you.'
Peter took the key to his hotel room from his pocket, and pressed it into Assumpta's hand.
'Here, take this. Go to the Brogan Street Hotel, and wait for me. You'll be safe there. I'll only be about an hour.'
'Not a chance.'
Never had he found Assumpta's stubbornness more infuriating. There was only one thing for it.
'Look, Assumpta, I don't want you here okay? So just clear off.'
Some of the fire returned to Assumpta's eyes. She immediately knew that he'd only said it to get her to leave, but, still, it did hurt.
'Fine,' she spat, and walked away.

As Peter watched her go, a lump formed in his throat. Walking back toward the flaming building, he tried to fight his growing dread and the nagging feeling that he'd just made a huge mistake... that he'd never see her again.