Title: Remember

Characters: OC, Ember

Rating: T

Word Count: 1, 621

Genre: Horror

It was a coincidence. It had to be. There was no way… He had seen the report on the news, another coincidence that he even saw that program. She had burned up along with her apartment. She was the only casualty, but it took dental records to even identify her. He'd felt guilty for just the time it took to convince himself she was already suicidal. Yeah, she probably had a lot of shit going on in her life. God knew she complained to him about her mom enough. It had nothing to do with him. Really, he dodged a bullet with that one.

But damn did she have a nice voice. He missed it when he bothered to think back to her. All these girls he went through, they were nothing special, but singing was all they had. So a talent scout asking them out for dinner? Hell, they ate that up. They were willing to do anything. That girl… well, it was a shame. A damn shame. But it was in the past. There were plenty other singers. And plenty other girls, for that matter.

So when he heard her voice coming from his coworker's cubicle, quiet and tinny, his heart all but stopped. He stood up and peered over the wall. "Hey, Janice," he tried to say conversationally through his dry throat. "Whatcha listenin' to?"

Janice turned her little radio up a little. "It's this new song that's been aaaaall over the radio," she said, flashing him a dreamy smile. "Some girl Ember. Never heard of her before, but for her first hit, I'd say she's doing real good for herself."

She continued to listen in reverence while his heart fell all the way down to his shoes. Ember. That was what she had called herself. It wasn't her real name, she had told him that, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what her real name had been. There was no mistaking that voice, though – she'd sing constantly when she cooked or cleaned or did any menial task, there was no way he couldn't recognize it.

But she was dead. It couldn't be her. He took two more smoke breaks that day than he usually did.

He stopped by the mall on his way back home, ducking into the CD shop. Sure enough, there was a decimated display for Ember CDs. Only a couple left. Against his better judgment he bought one, not looking the cashier in the eye when she tried to chatter about how great the CD was, how well it was selling, how great Ember sang.

When he got back to his apartment he threw it on the table, sitting in the chair and staring at it with red-rimmed, bleary eyes. Did he dare to open it? He felt like the second he did she'd somehow be there, standing over his shoulder. His wandering mind showed the blackened form of a girl, crumbling lips pulling back to reveal gleaming white teeth, the teeth that they had to use to even tell who'd she'd been-

His shaking fingers pulled the box of Dunhills from his breast pocket. The familiarity of it calmed him, and he deftly snatched one out – the box was nearly empty, he had only bought it yesterday – and lit it. He let the smoke fill his lungs until he had to cough it out like a teenager taking his first drag. He was being stupid. She was dead. So that was that.

He threw the CD in the living room trash can, tucked in the corner behind his stereo. He was gonna forget about her now just like he did the first time. It wasn't on his hands. She was a troubled kid in way over her head and took the easy way out. Knocking back a few shots of scotch and Drambuie, he kicked his dress shirt and jeans into the laundry room and collapsed onto his bed, more than deserving of a nap.

When he blinked open his eyes, he knew something was wrong. He could hear music coming from the living room, and he was pretty sure he hadn't put anything on. Then he noticed it was dark, save for a flickering blue light. He bolted up and immediately regretted it. His head swam and little thrums of pain resonated. It didn't matter - he hadn't turned the lights off. Someone was in his apartment.

And that someone was standing at the foot of the bed, looking out the sliding glass window.

The blue light was coming from her. The ponytail she had pulled up to the top of her head wavered and flowed, like a steady stream of fire. The rest of her body was ashen skinned but emitted a soft white glow. This had to be a dream, he decided. He was still asleep. It should've been easy to buy, but the way his arms were crawling felt all too real.

"You've been drinking again," the intruder said calmly, her voice echoing unnaturally around his room. She fiddled with the sleeves of her shirt – of his shirt, he realized. It was the dress shirt he'd put in the laundry room. With a twist in his stomach he remembered how she had loved to wear his shirts and nothing else. He hadn't minded it either. But that was before she'd… died.

So he was dreaming. The whole Ember thing had given him a nightmare about her.

"You had a lot of bad habits," she continued, turning to look at him, cocking a hip. The shirt fell to mid-thigh on her, buttoned messily just high enough show off some cleavage. "Drinking, smoking," her fingers brushed the breast pocket where he could see the Dunhills container peeking out, "Forgetting…"

"B-babypop-" he stammered, then suddenly she was gone from sight. In fact, he was looking out the window now. The pain in his jaw flooded up through the daze, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth from nicking his cheek on his teeth. She'd slapped him. She'd slapped him and he felt it. It was real. Oh God, this was real. He felt his stomach threaten to heave up what little it held, but she grabbed his shoulders, hands burning into his skin, and forced him to look at her, straddling his waist.

"My name ain't babypop," she hissed. Her eyes were flaming almost as much as her hair, bizarrely fluid while still being hair. "But I'm not surprised you forgot that too. You never showed up that day, y'know. I was waiting for you."

He squirmed under her grip, feeling the heat digging deeper and deeper into his shoulders. Tears blurred his vision and he couldn't get any words out. Softly, in the distance, he could hear the song Janice had been listening to at work. Ember's song.

Two weeks, you didn't call.

"You said we were gonna run away. You were gonna leave your girlfriend. I was gonna leave my mom. It'd just be us. I figured you'd remember something like that. So where were you?"

Your life goes on without me.

"I… I was… I d-didn't-" he sputtered out hoarsely, but really, what could he say? He didn't forget. He had skipped town. And she knew it; he could see it in her flickering green eyes.

My life, a losing game.

But you should, you should not doubt me.

She released his shoulders and he fell back with a whimper, trying to crawl back up the bed. He pressed himself against the headboard, watching her pull the Dunhills out of the shirt pocket. "I never was big on these things," she said icily, popping the box open. There were only two left in the box. She pinched one in between her long black nails and slid it out of the package, placing it gingerly between her lips. "Bad for a singer, y'know. I had to keep my vocal chords in good condition. But I guess you rubbed off a bit on me. You were one of the most influential people in my life, after all."

You will remember my name.

She crawled up the bed to him slowly and the panic arose fresh in his gut. The flames of her hair cast horrifying shadows on her face, and the image of her corpse, blackened and crumbling, came back to him. A strangled cry ushered from his closed throat and she grabbed the sides of his face.

"Say my name, babypop," she whispered, baring her teeth in a manic grin around the Dunhill. He couldn't take his eyes off her smile. The teeth they'd used to identify her body. Any chance of speaking flew out his mouth in a breathless keen.

Her nails dug into his face and he could feel the burning touch mix with the cold trickling of blood. A slight smell like cooking meat met his nose and he nearly choked on his words. "E-Ember," he stuttered out amidst the chorus of her song saying the same thing.

"That's not my name," she growled, grabbing his jaw harder. He cried out, now feeling the tears slip out of his eyes. From his peripheral he thought he could see little streams of smoke curl away from her fingers.

"I… I don't remember!" he sobbed, his body trembling beyond control. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean-"

She let him go and he fell back against the headboard, his pleas dissolving into tears. She pulled the last Dunhill out of the box and put it in his mouth, holding his quivering jaw in her burning hands. "You got a light, babe?" she asked innocently. Then everything went up in flames.

Nothing but ashes remain.