chair from the dressing table and propped it against the bedroom door, ensuring that no one could enter from the hall, and Chenda couldn't run out. He pulled a large bottle out of his pocket, pulled the stopper and started slinging a strong smelling liquid around the room, dousing the dressers, the bed and the floor.
“Chenda,” he said, his eyes clearing of his insanity for a moment. “I am sorry.”
As quickly as they had cleared, the crazed fury filled his eyes again. Daniel leaped toward Chenda, and she felt the full impact of Daniel's weight into her side as the knife pierced her flight coat. The stabbing blow knocked her backwards, over the bench and onto the floor on the far side of the bed. All of the air left her lungs as the pain in her side shot out in waves. For several seconds, she could not move or breath. Crumpled on the floor, she could not see Daniel, but she heard his animal-like snarl and the sound of a match strike. The whoosh of flames dancing to life came next, and still, Chenda could not make her lungs pull in air. She clawed at the knife handle in her side and discovered that it had come free from her body, but was stuck somehow in the coat. It dawned on her that one of the many hidden buckles had caught the knife, keeping the long blade from fully entering her body. She could feel sticky blood flowing from her side, but the wound didn't feel too deep. The buckle had turned the force of a killing stab into a solid punch that had merely knocked the wind out of her.
After what seemed a choking eternity, she drew in a little air and rolled onto her side. She tugged on the knife again, finally freeing it. She saw Daniel hunched over one knee, rifling through her carpet bag as the flames rose around the room. He picked up Edison's pocket watch, admired it for a moment and moved to put it into his own pocket.
Chenda's mind flared with the rush of her own blood.
He stabbed me!
He's left me to burn!
He killed Edison!
Without another thought, her body started to move. In a single maneuver, she stood, stepped forward and swung the knife in a two handed arc. The blade sank deep into Daniel's neck. His body arched backwards, a hand flailing for the knife. Daniel's spasm knocked Chenda backwards onto the floor. The fire leaped around her as she struggled away from Daniel's thrashing body. She smelled burning hair and realize it was her own. She beat the flames around her face with her bare hands as she crawled toward the open balcony door; it was the only bit of floor left that wasn't burning. She checked herself for a moment, leaning her back against the carpet bag, brushing her burnt hands around her head checking for any more fire. She glanced back at Daniel, lying still on the floor, flames licking his motionless body. During his thrashing, he had dislodged the knife from his neck, and it lay on the floor next to Edison's pocket watch. Chenda reached forward, her hands shaking, and snatched the knife and the watch from the fire. She shuffled back onto the balcony clutching the objects to her, the knife ready to defend against another attack, and the watch suddenly feeling like a protective talisman – a bit of Edison to comfort her panicked mind. The skin across her knuckles had gone pale white, and each drop of Daniel's blood showed clearly across her hands. She could feel the burns on her palms, and the sticky dull ache in her side, but these pains seemed to be borrowed, like they belonged to someone else, and weren't hers to bear.
The flames grew hotter, engulfing everything in the room: the bed she had shared with Edison, her dressers full of fashionable clothes, his picture on the bedside table, the space they lived and loved in. Their life together was burning away. The raw heat pressing against her bloodied face pushed her back, further onto the balcony. She pulled herself to standing and threw the carpet bag over the rail. Tucking the knife into her pouch-belt, Chenda threw her legs over
“Chenda,” he said, his eyes clearing of his insanity for a moment. “I am sorry.”
As quickly as they had cleared, the crazed fury filled his eyes again. Daniel leaped toward Chenda, and she felt the full impact of Daniel's weight into her side as the knife pierced her flight coat. The stabbing blow knocked her backwards, over the bench and onto the floor on the far side of the bed. All of the air left her lungs as the pain in her side shot out in waves. For several seconds, she could not move or breath. Crumpled on the floor, she could not see Daniel, but she heard his animal-like snarl and the sound of a match strike. The whoosh of flames dancing to life came next, and still, Chenda could not make her lungs pull in air. She clawed at the knife handle in her side and discovered that it had come free from her body, but was stuck somehow in the coat. It dawned on her that one of the many hidden buckles had caught the knife, keeping the long blade from fully entering her body. She could feel sticky blood flowing from her side, but the wound didn't feel too deep. The buckle had turned the force of a killing stab into a solid punch that had merely knocked the wind out of her.
After what seemed a choking eternity, she drew in a little air and rolled onto her side. She tugged on the knife again, finally freeing it. She saw Daniel hunched over one knee, rifling through her carpet bag as the flames rose around the room. He picked up Edison's pocket watch, admired it for a moment and moved to put it into his own pocket.
Chenda's mind flared with the rush of her own blood.
He stabbed me!
He's left me to burn!
He killed Edison!
Without another thought, her body started to move. In a single maneuver, she stood, stepped forward and swung the knife in a two handed arc. The blade sank deep into Daniel's neck. His body arched backwards, a hand flailing for the knife. Daniel's spasm knocked Chenda backwards onto the floor. The fire leaped around her as she struggled away from Daniel's thrashing body. She smelled burning hair and realize it was her own. She beat the flames around her face with her bare hands as she crawled toward the open balcony door; it was the only bit of floor left that wasn't burning. She checked herself for a moment, leaning her back against the carpet bag, brushing her burnt hands around her head checking for any more fire. She glanced back at Daniel, lying still on the floor, flames licking his motionless body. During his thrashing, he had dislodged the knife from his neck, and it lay on the floor next to Edison's pocket watch. Chenda reached forward, her hands shaking, and snatched the knife and the watch from the fire. She shuffled back onto the balcony clutching the objects to her, the knife ready to defend against another attack, and the watch suddenly feeling like a protective talisman – a bit of Edison to comfort her panicked mind. The skin across her knuckles had gone pale white, and each drop of Daniel's blood showed clearly across her hands. She could feel the burns on her palms, and the sticky dull ache in her side, but these pains seemed to be borrowed, like they belonged to someone else, and weren't hers to bear.
The flames grew hotter, engulfing everything in the room: the bed she had shared with Edison, her dressers full of fashionable clothes, his picture on the bedside table, the space they lived and loved in. Their life together was burning away. The raw heat pressing against her bloodied face pushed her back, further onto the balcony. She pulled herself to standing and threw the carpet bag over the rail. Tucking the knife into her pouch-belt, Chenda threw her legs over
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