Sara smelled French toast and a pungent black cloud of coffee hanging in the air. She woke up smiling and sat up, shocked when she opened her eyes to see that she was laying in her grandmother’s guest bedroom.

Hadn’t she just blacked out after fighting those two guards in the hospital? What about her murder charges? Her Mother’s funeral? So many loose ends. How could she possibly be on the opposite side of the country when it seemed like she was still in the northwest a few seconds ago.

What was that fire?

Sara didn’t even bother to change out of the white shift she found herself wearing. Instead, she raced down the stairs, through her grandmother’s old Victorian home. “Grandma!” She hopped down the last step into the kitchen where her grandmother was setting down a plate of food for her. “What the f--

“Watch your language.” Even though the woman was ancient, she was sharp as a whip, and she looked like she was still in her fifties.

“What happened?” Sara crossed her arms across her chest.

“You don’t remember anything?” She poured herself a steaming pot of tea.

“Oh, I remember plenty.” She sat down and threw a piece of egg in her mouth, washing it down with a gulp of coffee. “I remember setting two hospital guards on fire with my mind. I remember strange voices showing me how to do it. I also remember being chained up and forced into a hospital after being accused of my mother’s murder. What I don’t remember is traveling from the west coast to the east coast.”

Sara's grandmother sighed and pulled her enormously long gray hair back to her shoulder before sitting down across from Sara. “I brought you here the night it happened. The police called me and told me you needed a place to stay so I had you flown out. They escorted you into my care. When you got here,” she laughed, “you were so delusional.”

“Oh, come on,” she shot up out of her chair. “The last thing I need is to be lied to. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?” She leaned forward to confront the woman who was completely undaunted. “I’ve been chained up, locked in a cell, drugged and hearing voices for the past 24 hours. Now I think, after what just happened, you owe me a bit more than that heaping pile of bullshit.”

Her grandmother reached over to a porcelain container full of creamer at the center of the table and spooned a small amount into her coffee. She stirred it around, staring at the liquid while she did. Then she tasted it and set the glass down. By the time she went to grab another spoonful, Sara had all but lost her patience.

“You’re not going to tell me a single thing are you?” She stared down at her grandmother as the woman poured the next spoonful in and swirled it around. “Well, are you?”

“Just eat your food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Of course you are,” she laughed jovially. “You’re probably so tired you’re about to fall over, and you don’t even know it.”

Sara sat silently with her arms crossed and her chair pushed away from the table. She met her grandmother’s eyes. “This little bullshit charade will get you nowhere with me.”

“Watch your fucking mouth.” Sara's grandmother seemed to grow ten feet.

Sara grabbed a piece of dry French toast and stomped up to the guest room. The second she got inside, she tried to summon the blue fire. She tensed her whole body. Her head shook, and her lips trembled, but there was no fire, no voices.

Her grandmother's house was no better than the hospital. In some ways, it was worse. She should've died. Now she would be forced back into the real world where she would have to accept that her mother was gone.

This was her worst fear come to life. She had lost her home and her family--her support base and now she was going to have to keep on living. It was possible to move on, but she didn’t want to do it. It went against every single fibre of her being. Her mother should be there with her, plain and straightforward. She should’ve been allowed to die. Why couldn’t she die?

There was a soft knock on the door. Sara whipped around and opened the door. “I’m sorry I--I don’t know what to think.”

“I’m telling you the truth, Sara. I don’t know what you saw, or what you think happened, but I’m not going to lie to you and play into some silly delusion.” Something in the way her bright green eyes met made Sara almost want to believe her, but she knew her grandmother was lying. “Come on.” Margaret took Sara’s hand and led her down the stairs and into the kitchen where the table had been cleared, and a vase of roses had been set in the center. They both sat down across from one another, still holding hands. “How do you feel, Sara?”

“Like I lost an arm.”

Margaret nodded understandingly.

“Do you know anything about my mother’s death?”

“No, just that she was attacked.”

“I don't know.”

“You must know something.”

“I know what you have to do,” her grandmother said. “You have to heal. I’ve found that the best medicine for grief is a healthy dose of real life. You can’t just sit around here doing nothing. What do you think about going to school?”

“No.” She responded immediately.

“It starts in an hour.”

“No.”

“You’re going.”

“Grandma…” Her head fell back. “Seriously.”

“I’m not letting you wallow in pity. I’m doing what I know is best. You need a distraction to cut all of that noise out of your head. Everyone thinks the same thing, you know. They tell themselves it’s their fault, that they can’t live without the person that died. It’s all bullshit. We all die, and we all have to get over it. The sooner you do, the easier life will be.”

“It’s not your place to say a thing about how I’m coping with this.”

“Say what you want, but I know you're taking on the burden of your mother's death. You're blaming yourself, and it's only going to end up driving you crazy. Stop. Get ready. It’s your senior year. You’re nearly through it. You don’t want to mess that up.”

Sara’s fingernails still had blood stains underneath the surface, and her hair was wild. “I look terrible.”

“Then wash up and take your time. It’s not like they’re going to get on your case if you’re late.”

“Alright.” Sara got up and walked upstairs. To her surprise, her clothes were already hung up in the closet, and she had her backpack sitting on a desk next to where her grandmother set her laptop. All she had to do was find the right outfit, and she was done.