(no subject)
Aug. 6th, 2005 10:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amityville_sweetheartShe's dreaming again. The same one.
"Gene?" she says, shirt still pulled up over her mouth.
"Uhh," he answers, still bent over in the grass, holding his stomach.
"Can you breath?" She's not even looking at him. She's looking at the barn. The fire sounds like war, crackling and splintering wood, pops and bangs. She's got ash in her hair, and her lungs burn and feel tight and she can't get her eyes to water.
"...Yeah," he finally says after a moment, staggering to his feet.
"Go get Pamela Denni. Call 911," his sister's voice says calmly, almost numbly.
"But Casey--"
"Go," she insists. Then, after a moment, she shoves at him. "RUN!"
He does run. He's going as fast as he can, but she knows it isn't very fast at all.
She stares up at the house. She can hear things clanging and breaking and something running around at break-neck speed. It's rushed. It's frenzied. It's not thinking about her, or Genie. It doesn't hear them. It doesn't even know.
She sits down on the grass, staring down in front of her.
She remembers when she was just a little girl, and she used to fall asleep on her papa's lap in church. She'd lean around the edge of the pew to get the cool air coming in through the open front doors. It was a tiny church. No air conditioning. Her mother would always slap her hand, and she would pretend she was still asleep.
She could remember the licorice candy-- the Cin-Cins in her papa's coat pocket. She would sneak into her parents' closet, and close the doors behind her. She'd sit on the floor under all of the good sunday clothing, and reach her hands inside the coat pockets, digging for a stash of the candy. One time she'd found an entire pack, and eaten all of them. She was very sick the next day, and mama gave her a lashing she still hasn't forgotten.
And finally she remembers accompanying her father to the hardware store. He always picked her to go over the boys. She'd wander around and screw nuts onto bolts, and ask what that does, and can I get one of these?, and papa, look, lookit what it does! And he'd say yeah pumpkin-head, 'm busy right now. Or your mother'd never let you play with that, but maybe when she goes shopping next week I'll show you how to use it, huh? and a wink.
And sometimes she'd stop to look at something, and get distracted, and he'd call from three aisles over where are you, Roary Corri? And she'd come skidding down the aisle, standing beside him while he spoke to an employee, looking as if she'd been there all along. And he'd say you went invisible, Roary Corri! And sometimes the helper would smile and say what a sweet little girl. So quiet.
That's what papa always called her-- Roarin' Corrine, usually added with a sarcastic note from mama the little girl who never said a word.
And she thinks, pretty indignantly, that she did say something from time to time, but no one ever really listened. She thought maybe the less and less she said, the more people would pay attention when she did speak. But no one ever really did. No one even really noticed when she started talking again, except for papa. And then he left.
She stares up at the house. Everything's gotten very quiet. There are sirens in the distance. How long has she been here? Not sure.
She stands, staring down at her father's blank stare. He looks almost like a gaping fish she realizes with some horror, and she pulls his shirt up to cover his face.
There are people walking towards her now. Gene is next to Jake, the volunteer firefighter from the hill. They're both staring at the house, at the busting windows and the popping and banging aluminum siding. Then the roof comes down in a puff of smoke and ash and red, and Corrine finds herself jumping back just as Gene is jumping forward.
Jake and Officer Paits and the Denni boy are all trying to pull him back, and he's screaming, screaming worst than in the barn, and Jake says not now not now too late boy you're gonna die no one'd be in there. And Corrine thinks of how wrong he is when the EMTs pull her away.
She watches from the stretcher as the fire begins to die out minutes later; as the firemen stand there watching quietly, bewildered; as Gene gives her long, numb looks.
For the first time she realizes how much pain she's in. She can't feel her arm. The air isn't coming. Something's pressing down around her skull, squeezing it like a vice.
It all goes black.
Corrine Bertrand wakes up, staring around at her empty apartment. There's nothing but the sound of her cat purring at her feet. She pulls the blanket over her head, and listens carefully.
"Gene?" she says, shirt still pulled up over her mouth.
"Uhh," he answers, still bent over in the grass, holding his stomach.
"Can you breath?" She's not even looking at him. She's looking at the barn. The fire sounds like war, crackling and splintering wood, pops and bangs. She's got ash in her hair, and her lungs burn and feel tight and she can't get her eyes to water.
"...Yeah," he finally says after a moment, staggering to his feet.
"Go get Pamela Denni. Call 911," his sister's voice says calmly, almost numbly.
"But Casey--"
"Go," she insists. Then, after a moment, she shoves at him. "RUN!"
He does run. He's going as fast as he can, but she knows it isn't very fast at all.
She stares up at the house. She can hear things clanging and breaking and something running around at break-neck speed. It's rushed. It's frenzied. It's not thinking about her, or Genie. It doesn't hear them. It doesn't even know.
She sits down on the grass, staring down in front of her.
She remembers when she was just a little girl, and she used to fall asleep on her papa's lap in church. She'd lean around the edge of the pew to get the cool air coming in through the open front doors. It was a tiny church. No air conditioning. Her mother would always slap her hand, and she would pretend she was still asleep.
She could remember the licorice candy-- the Cin-Cins in her papa's coat pocket. She would sneak into her parents' closet, and close the doors behind her. She'd sit on the floor under all of the good sunday clothing, and reach her hands inside the coat pockets, digging for a stash of the candy. One time she'd found an entire pack, and eaten all of them. She was very sick the next day, and mama gave her a lashing she still hasn't forgotten.
And finally she remembers accompanying her father to the hardware store. He always picked her to go over the boys. She'd wander around and screw nuts onto bolts, and ask what that does, and can I get one of these?, and papa, look, lookit what it does! And he'd say yeah pumpkin-head, 'm busy right now. Or your mother'd never let you play with that, but maybe when she goes shopping next week I'll show you how to use it, huh? and a wink.
And sometimes she'd stop to look at something, and get distracted, and he'd call from three aisles over where are you, Roary Corri? And she'd come skidding down the aisle, standing beside him while he spoke to an employee, looking as if she'd been there all along. And he'd say you went invisible, Roary Corri! And sometimes the helper would smile and say what a sweet little girl. So quiet.
That's what papa always called her-- Roarin' Corrine, usually added with a sarcastic note from mama the little girl who never said a word.
And she thinks, pretty indignantly, that she did say something from time to time, but no one ever really listened. She thought maybe the less and less she said, the more people would pay attention when she did speak. But no one ever really did. No one even really noticed when she started talking again, except for papa. And then he left.
She stares up at the house. Everything's gotten very quiet. There are sirens in the distance. How long has she been here? Not sure.
She stands, staring down at her father's blank stare. He looks almost like a gaping fish she realizes with some horror, and she pulls his shirt up to cover his face.
There are people walking towards her now. Gene is next to Jake, the volunteer firefighter from the hill. They're both staring at the house, at the busting windows and the popping and banging aluminum siding. Then the roof comes down in a puff of smoke and ash and red, and Corrine finds herself jumping back just as Gene is jumping forward.
Jake and Officer Paits and the Denni boy are all trying to pull him back, and he's screaming, screaming worst than in the barn, and Jake says not now not now too late boy you're gonna die no one'd be in there. And Corrine thinks of how wrong he is when the EMTs pull her away.
She watches from the stretcher as the fire begins to die out minutes later; as the firemen stand there watching quietly, bewildered; as Gene gives her long, numb looks.
For the first time she realizes how much pain she's in. She can't feel her arm. The air isn't coming. Something's pressing down around her skull, squeezing it like a vice.
It all goes black.
Corrine Bertrand wakes up, staring around at her empty apartment. There's nothing but the sound of her cat purring at her feet. She pulls the blanket over her head, and listens carefully.
