Days passed, as days do, and I settled very quickly into a familiar routine of class, reading, lounge-time, chatting with friends, writing... and staring at my flame-battered sketch page. I had turned it aside and made a couple other sketches of ideas, even turned those ideas into short stories for class exercises and bits of poetry for myself, but it kept falling back open to that page. Regina and I were growing closer, which was fun, but also weird; the world had changed a fair bit in the short years since I'd been in high school, so I felt ancient compared to the eighteen-year-old. Since she was also from a different part of the world and a different culture, it felt like she and I were started from very distant points, but she was also around a lot, so we both tried to bridge that gap.

Kammy, meanwhile, was busy. Often I saw her briefly, flickering in and out. Despite the fact that the lounge wasn't between the entrance and her bedroom, though, she always popped by and stopped to talk with anyone there, and still managed to maintain (as far as I could tell) her schedule exceptionally well. It became her pride and joy in the second semester, that she had figured out how she could keep everything in order, without, she enjoyed pointing out, coffee, tea, energy drinks, or any drugs.

And Rita. Rita wasn't around often, mostly I saw her in passing. She was spending more time with her theatre friends than with her dormmates, which was reasonable. Performers often stuck together, and did performer things together. I caught a few of her social media posts; apparently a bunch of university theatre kids did a flash mob thing at the train station that looked kind of fun. I guess they cleared it with security and whoever else because while they were there doing a bunch of Shakespeare scenes in the rotunda with megaphones and improvised costumes, no one in authority told them to leave. They were in part promoting the university's fall production of MacBeth, which was a pretty neat way to do it, I thought. Certainly the online reactions were positive, and they had a few people stopping by to watch for a few minutes at a time, instead of just glancing in passing or paying attention for a couple seconds before moving on.

I was, admittedly, impressed.

It was a Friday, though. I was walking back from my last class of the day. The wind was a bit chilly, so I had my light jacket on but unzipped. Another student was sitting on the front step, one I'd seen here and there but who seemed uninterested in socializing. I'd first spotted her on the way to breakfast the first day, green hair and large glasses, kind of... dumpy, if I was feeling judgmental. She was looking at something on her phone, a neutral, maybe slightly unhappy or puzzled, expression on her face.

She wasn't wearing headphones or earbuds, so I could hear the sound from her phone. There was a strange, rough guitar, and a singer I couldn't understand, given that it was soft and a bit distant. But there was something there, something in it. I paused, standing by the steps, trying not to stare at the woman sitting there, trying not to make it obvious that I was listening. If my sandals had laces I would have bent down to fake tying them, but instead I didn't have much of an option but to pretend I was looking at birds.

"I know you're there," the green-haired student said, neutrally. Maybe she was a bit amused.

I turned, prepared to deny that I was doing anything, and met her eyes. There was maybe a hint of a smile on her face. Not ready to stammer a mindless excuse, I let myself be silent.

"The music does that to people sometimes," she continued.

I took a breath before answering. I had so many questions. "Yeah?"

There have been moments in my life where I was unbelievably stupid.

She didn't laugh at me, for some reason. She just shrugged. "I don't get it. It's neat, it's something I've never really heard before, but yeah, some people just get stuck by it. Or stuck to it, I guess."

"Who is it?" I asked, finally able to voice at least one question.

She shrugged again. "Some small-time folkie or something. Called Tempest."

An image flickered in my memory. A phone picture. Rita Dior, with five other people on the beach.

"Anyway, I gotta go." The green-haired woman stood and shut off the music, and I, for lack of a better term, woke up, the world coming back into focus. A car was approaching, slowing down, likely the woman's ride. "Hey, I'm Zeyla, by the way."

"Huh?"

Like I said. Sometimes, stupid.

"See you." Zeyla got into the car, and before I could react any further, she was gone, and I was left with an image in my head, a bit of dimly-heard music that stalled out my brain, and...

Heat. Fire.

Fuck.

Before I knew what was going on, before I even knew what I was doing, I was up two flights of stairs, down a hall I never went down, and knocking on a door I had never knocked on.

No answer.

I knocked again, and again, trying not to alert anyone else, but still trying to get the attention of anyone inside. I must have been there five minutes, thumping on an empty dorm room door, until I gave up in frustration.

No one was around, so I escaped public embarrassment, but not private shame. I headed back downstairs to my own room, evening reading and writing plans pushed aside, and set up my laptop on my desk as quickly as I could. Right behind the sketchbook with the image of flames and the sense of the angelic choir staring at me.

A video site was loaded, and I started looking up Tempest. That didn't get me very far, so I tried refining the search however I could: music, folk music, guitar, poetry, whatever. I clicked music video after music video, hearing a variety of different sounds (and more than one scene of Shakespeare), but not that sound. I needed confirmation. Resolution. Something. It was almost too much.

I glanced down at my desk. At the paper. At the fire.

I added 'fire' to my search.

There it was. "Fly From the Flames."

I hesitated. I wasn't sure I really wanted to hear it.

I saw the upload date. I couldn't keep myself from laughing.

The day, the day after I had my nightmare.

It could have been coincidence. I could have written it off, if I didn't listen to it, as just the random occurrence of a bizarre universe.

But I had to know.

I clicked.

There was silence, and a blank screen. Words appeared.

Music and lyrics by Tempest Kind

They faded out, and others faded in.

Visualization by Lyric Norman

Okay, no way that was a coincidence, at this point. Lyric was the other name that Rita had mentioned.

More text was fading in.

Fly from the Flames

Slowly, the bottom of the screen started to turn red. Little wisps of coloured smoke curled up as the first notes of a distorted electric guitar came from my speaker.

Those notes made my laughter bubble up again, not in joy but in disbelief. I knew that sound, those chords. They were the same ones that the choir had sung in my dream, telling me that they could not call to me.

I stopped it there. That was enough for me, at that moment. I couldn't take any more of the weirdness. Then I looked at the clock.

9:12.

I had been searching for hours. I had missed dinner. The cafeteria was closed. Most on-campus restaurants would be, too. Which left...

I sighed.

The bar. Second Draught. Decent food, high prices, loud music, lots of young people dancing and getting drunk. My only bet unless I wanted to get on a bus, and I really didn't want to get on a bus, so I straightened up, touched up my eyeliner and lipstick, decided that I would at least look a little fancy. It was a Friday night, after all. Maybe I could get someone to buy me a drink.

And maybe I could deal with that other goal I'd set myself, too.

I pulled out my clubbing clothes with a bit of a grimace. Despite how much I could enjoy makeup and jewelry, I never much cared for showing my body off, so the tight light-blue tee that didn't quite reach my waistline and the matching skirt that didn't get past mid-thigh usually sat untouched in my closet, even when going out.

"One must make sacrifices," I said with a sigh, pulling my sweatshirt over my head.

Fifteen minutes later, I was leaving my room, looking what I thought was my most fuckable, at least in a way that was still publicly decent. I didn't have the athlete body of Kammy or Regina, so I didn't really want to show my whole tummy, and something completely form-fitting just highlighted how much I didn't have upstairs.

There wasn't anyone in the lounge, which was no surprise for a Friday night that early in the school year. As exam time and final papers got closer, the lounge would be more popular than the various other spaces around town. A lot of residents who lived somewhat nearby would also go home for the weekends, so it really wasn't too much of a shock that the street was empty. Our dorm was on the edge of campus (a decision made something like seventy years ago when the university allowed women to join, and never really revised) and Second Draught was in the campus student centre in the middle, so the quiet walk took the usual ten minutes to the large central structure, and then another five to get upstairs and to the bar, which could have been two but I wasn't going to take the elevator.

The bar wasn't too loud, yet; there was a tendency to turn up the music over the course of the night. I made my way to a small table with two chairs, sat down, and a waitress with a bright grin popped up almost right away.

"What can I get you?" she asked in a strong voice. The nametag on her black crop top said 'Lois.'

"Looking for dinner," I replied. "Uh... local beer on tap, and chicken fingers and fries?"

"Which local?" Lois asked. It was a university bar, of course they served a variety of local craft beers.

I shrugged. "What's your favourite?"

She smiled brighter. "I'll get you a pint of Raspberry Heather."

Heather Meadow was a good local brand. I signalled my approval with a nod and a raised thumb.

Lois turned, then turned back, "Oh yeah, just had a big order of chicken and fries, so it'll be a little long for the food."

I waved her off. "No worry, I'll wait."

She trundled off, and I looked around the room. There were a couple girls on the dance floor, but they were mostly laughing at themselves and each other, and a few people sitting at the bar or at other tables. I'd probably seen every one of these people (other than the first-years) at some point in the past, but I didn't know any of them, which was fine. Maybe even preferable.

My beer showed up at about five minutes to ten, and I paid my tab (including the meal that hadn't been brought yet) and gave Lois a good tip. Her advice about the drink was right, it was refreshing and very tasty. Hardly noticed the beer flavour at all, which made it potentially dangerous for me. I'd had an experience a couple years before with a sugary vodka drink that was too smooth, and the less said about it, the better. Since that incident, I'd stayed away from hard liquor and stuck with beer and occasionally wine. I don't even write better when I'm drunk, or high. Sketches that I do in an altered state like that tend to be complete nonsense, gibberish I can't reinterpret, useless to my process.

I was thirstier than I thought, and I had about a quarter of my drink left when Lois came by with the basket of chicken fingers. "Another one?" she asked me.

I shook my head. "Water, though, please, and a lot of it." I knew the food was salty, I was already dry from not taking care of myself, and I'd had some alcohol on an empty stomach. I was going to put away a lot of water.

Lois smiled a server smile at me, and I mentally reminded myself to leave a couple bucks on the table after I left.

I had finished one of five chicken fingers before my water arrived. Not a problem. Things were picking up, Lois was probably busy.

"Everything good?" she asked as she put the glass down. My mouth was full, so I just gave another thumbs-up. "Great, just wave me over if you need something, I'll keep an eye on your water glass."

I nodded and swallowed, but I was too slow to thank her before she rushed off again.

The breading on the chicken was good, as usual, and the seasoning on the fries was about halfway to addictive. The dipping sauce had come out of the fridge and it wasn't great, on top of the problem of sticking cold sauce on hot food. I could have used another beer with my food, just for the flavour combination experience, but the water did the trick for my thirst.

There was a point to my focus on the food, to the alcohol, even to the growing noise and crowd: I wasn't thinking about the music and the sketch and the dream. I pushed myself to engage with the world around me, and not the world within me, just for a while. There were a couple cute guys around, maybe I could risk the dance floor, or have another drink—

And that's when he landed in my lap.

He'd been run into by someone who wasn't being particularly careful. One shoulder later, he stumbled over a chair and landed with his chest on my legs. He was up immediately, apologizing profusely. I judged him to be about a half foot taller than me—so, not particularly tall—and of a dark complexion, though that was tough to be certain in the dim light.

I stood up, looked him in the eye, and smiled, and my smile was met with a confused smile in return. I gestured to the doorway, and motioned to my ear. He nodded.

I led to the hall where it was less noisy, and he immediately started apologizing again.

"I hope I didn't hurt you," he said in a clear voice. "I'm terribly sorry. Mortified, really."

In the better light, I could see he was of South Asian extraction, with long dark hair and bright green eyes. I kept up the smile. "Not hurt at all, really. Clearly an accident."

"Yes, an awful accident. Please, you must let me make it up to you."

I laughed. "It's all good, really, it's fine. I was just about to leave anyway."

He nodded. "I was, too. I was supposed to be here to drive a friend home so he could get wasted, and he just texted me that he wasn't coming. Lost evening."

"I came down because it's the only place left open on campus when I finally realized I'd missed supper." I sat down on a bench. "I have had the weirdest start to the year."

"Missed supper? Oh, you must be a student."

"Yep. Fourth-year, English Composition, planning to finish the degree off next term."

He sat on the same bench, far enough away to maintain respectability. "Nice. I graduated last year, biochem, taking a year and looking for grad programs"

"Cool." I nodded, impressed. "Science never did much for me."

"Careful, I'll talk your ear off about it," he laughed.

"I'm the same if you ask me about poetry."

"Sounds like a fun evening."

I inched closer, hoping both that my move wasn't noticed and that it was. "You really think so?"

"Mhmm, I do. I love listening to people talk about things they love to talk about."

"You know, if that's a pickup line..."

He shrugged. "Did it work?" His grin was dazzling.

I had to laugh. "Let's just go with, 'working.'"

He offered his hand. "Manu."

And I was about to respond in kind when there was a commotion at the door of the bar. Three girls emerged, one being supported by the other two. "Hey, can we use the bench?" one of them asked, her speech a bit slurred. "Think someone put something in her drink."

Manu and I stood immediately. "Of course," I said. Manu went over to help them bring the drugged woman to lie on the bench. "Is there someone we can call for help?"

"I dunno," the other one said, her voice clearer. "We don't know her, she just staggered up, trying to get away from someone or something, I dunno, I guess there's a creep in there. Fuck."

As the ragdoll-like figure was laid out, I recognized a chubby face and a shock of green hair. "Zeyla?"

"You know her?" Manu asked.

"Not really, we only just met, she lives in my dorm."

"Oh, you know where she lives?" the first woman, the drunker one, asked. "Can you get her home or whatever?"

I looked at Manu. He shrugged. "I have my car here, the two of you can get in the backseat and you can give me directions."

I sighed, looking at him, and nodded. "Sounds like a plan," I said, my dreams of orgasm floating away.

"We might need help getting her to the parking garage," he continued. "Fortunately I'm on this level. No need to struggle with the stairs or the elevator."

"Yeah yeah for sure," the sober woman said. "I'll take care of my friend here, I think our night's over, too."

The drunk woman giggled. "Aw, thank you!"

We took a moment of silence, listening to the thumping of the bass from the bar speakers, before I moved towards the bench. "Alright, Zeyla, let's get you home," I said, bending down and getting ready to lift. Zeyla moaned something and shifted a bit; she wasn't unconscious, but she certainly wasn't in a state to get anywhere unaided.

The four of us got her to her feet. It seemed more than was necessary, as once we had her standing, Zeyla was able to keep upright with just an arm around my shoulder and Manu's, and the three of us could walk together pretty easily. The other two, seeing that we had things in hand, thanked us and took off, obviously spooked by the whole thing. And frankly, I couldn't blame them. They were on foot, and there was likely, as the sober one said, a creep in the bar. Someone like that being thwarted might turn to darker methods.

I was glad for Manu's presence. With the encumbrance that was Zeyla, if someone attacked us, we probably didn't stand much of a chance, but a date rapist likely wouldn't be too interested in having potential witnesses about. The walk, slow though it was, wasn't far, and Manu had parked in the garage attached to the student centre right near the second-story entrance, just as he said. Zeyla was kind of floppy, but it wasn't too tough to get her into the back seat of the car behind the driver and get her seatbelt on.

I slipped in the passenger side beside Zeyla and strapped in. The car was nice and spacious. A bit older, comfortable, clean, like it's owner, I thought with a bit of a smile. Manu very carefully reversed the car out of its spot and started driving towards the exit.

"Where to?" he asked me.

"Albuquerque," I replied. "Sorry, old family joke. Know where the Ellen Barker dormitory is?"

"Sure, I think."

"That's where I'm going. We're going."

"Alright." He rounded the last corner. "There gonna be a problem with me going in there?"

"To an all-girl dorm, you mean? Should be okay, you wouldn't be the first." I kept my tone light. "Most guys climb in through the second storey window, though."

Zeyla managed a snort at that. I'd almost forgotten she was there.

"Nah," I continued. "Shouldn't be an issue. Especially if we're helping Zeyla upstairs."

"Upstairs? I hope that's not literal."

I swallowed. "Uh." I said. "Zeyla, what's your dorm number?"

She half-whispered, half-moaned something that didn't actually sound like a number.

"Okay, I don't think that's going to work," I said as Manu waved his credit card at the scanner and the gate lifted so we could drive out.

He brought his car out into the street. "So. The plan?"

I took a deep breath. I couldn't just leave her in the first floor hallway or something. The lounge was the obvious choice, if I couldn't find her room.

"We... have a common area. Couches and stuff. I can stay there with her. It's right by my room."

But it was also up the stairs. And bringing her up the stairs felt impossible.

"Sounds alright to me," Manu said, heading out of the main square of the university and onto the outer roads where most of the dorms were. "There's a loading zone?"

"Yeah, right in front of the main doors."

"Isss good," Zeyla slurred, or something like it.

"Cool." Manu said. He seemed to know the way, so I refrained from commenting and focused on keeping Zeyla upright on the turns, which I could only really do when she leaned in my direction. Possibly sensitive to the situation, Manu didn't go all that quickly.

We drove in silence from then until we reached Barker. Manu pulled into the loading zone as planned, and the next step of the plan began. I stepped out of the car, pretty much right onto the spot where I'd been transfixed by Tempest's music on Zeyla's phone a few hours before. I paused just a moment, until I heard Manu's door opening, and then made my way around the car to help get my afflicted dormmate to her feet. Perhaps the drugs were wearing off some, or maybe we'd got some practice helping Zeyla to the car in the first place, but it wasn't much of a challenge getting her to the stairs.

Up the stairs, meanwhile...

Zeyla seemed to have nothing resembling balance, and wasn't particularly capable of conversing with us. A few stairs took us a lot of energy and time.

"How far to the elevator?" Manu asked, as we all leaned against the door and I tried to get my entry card out of my purse.

The question I knew was coming. I froze internally, feeling chills up and down my spine, but kept pawing through my belongings. "Not... far," I managed to get out without stammering.

One step at a time. I waved my card at the scanner, a lot more frantically than Manu had at the exit to the parking garage. The little beep and the red light turning green told me that at least we weren't sleeping outside.

"Okay. Straight in. Halfway down the main hall. Past the security desk." I opened the door and got my foot into it to keep it from locking again as I scrambled to put my card back into my purse.

"Got it," Manu answered, leaning back and taking some of Zeyla's weight off me as I pushed the door wide enough for us to scramble through without dropping our rescuee. It involved a group pirouette good enough for the Broadway stage, I'm sure, but we somehow got inside.

No one was at the security desk; the guard must have been patrolling or something. Or maybe in the bathroom. Didn't matter, we got to the elevator unopposed.

The elevator.

I hesitated. Could I ask Manu to help Zeyla up the stairs, with an elevator right there? Could I manage that much exertion? Could we safely get Zeyla up a flight of stairs? Safely or not, could we even get her up there?

There was nothing else we could do.

I pushed the call button.

The wait was excruciating, and the sound of the old mechanics didn't help.

The door opened with a grinding screech that seemed to me to be loud enough to be heard all the way across campus, maybe even over the music in the bar we'd only just left.

"That doesn't sound healthy," Manu said offhandedly. Zeyla giggled.

Everything waited for me to move, and I couldn't. The elevator, open, harmless, didn't scare me, but that door would close. And once that door closed...

"Ready?" Manu asked.

No, I thought. "Yeah," I said, hoping I didn't sound as terrified as I felt.

If I hesitated much longer, the door would close, and I'd have to hit the button again, and at that moment it felt like it would take a lot more work to press the button than it would to walk into the elevator.

I took a step over the threshold, felt the carriage give way a bit—a matter of a fraction of a centimetre, but it made my stomach lurch halfway to outer space—and together Manu and I shepherded Zeyla into the small room.

The small, cramped, jammed room.

In truth, there was probably enough space for three groups like ours to fit comfortably, but as the door closed, the elevator carriage seemed to shrink around me.

I was shaking. I couldn't move. I was locked in place, and it was all I could do to stay upright and not collapse in a heap in the corner.

"Could you—" Manu began, but I cut him off.

"No." Quick, decisive, firm. I couldn't. Full stop.

"What?"

"I'm..." I swallowed, hard, probably audibly. My heart was thumping in my ears so hard I was a little surprised that blood wasn't squirting out of them. "Could you just..." I nodded towards the buttons in front of me.

Manu gave me an odd look, but manoeuvred himself awkwardly to reach past me and managed to put a finger on the button. "Second?" he asked.

I nodded, a lot, and quickly.

He pressed, and the carriage lurched into action, and I nearly lost my lunch right then and there. My breathing came in short, sharp gasps, and I pressed my free hand against the wall to keep it from crushing me. Every creak and bump of the elevator felt like the prelude to a five-hundred-kilometre drop deep into the core of the earth.

When the door opened and let a wave of fresh air into the elevator, I nearly abandoned my charge to dive to the solid ground of the second floor. I hurried out of there as fast as I could without dragging Zeyla. Manu kept up with me perfectly well, seemingly anticipating my haste. We took the few remaining steps to get Zeyla onto a couch, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Unable to help myself, I sunk to my knees.

Manu put a hand on my shaking shoulder. "Claustrophobic?"

I nodded, gulping down air. "I... usually..."

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me." He paused a moment, then said, "Do you need me to stay?"

Just until the morning, I thought, you can sleep in my bed. "Just until I catch my breath, that'd be, uh... perfect."

"Need any help?" There was genuine concern in his voice.

I shook my head. "Nah, this isn't the first time I've babysat someone sleeping off booze. Or worse. I have my phone if there's an emergency, and there are other girls around."

"Alright." It was his turn to seem a bit nervous. "Okay, then, uh, I'll see you around?"

"Manu." I got to my feet. With the fear starting to leave my body, anything I might say seemed easy by comparison, a state I knew wouldn't last, so I took advantage. "You fell into my lap, literally. We were connecting there for a moment. It would be a stupid waste of potential if I didn't at least give you my phone number."

It was his turn to look relieved, until he reached into his pocket. "... shit," he said.

I raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"I, uh... don't have my—"

I grabbed my phone from my purse. "Put your number in. I am not missing this chance."

He laughed, taking my offered device. "What if I can't find my phone?"

"I would bet that either you forgot to bring it with you—"

"Nope, I had it at the bar."

"... right. Then it fell out while we were helping Zeyla, somewhere?"

"Or I just left it in my car."

"Or you just left it in your car, yeah, that would explain it."

He handed my phone back to me. "Call me sometime?"

"Sometime? Like Hell." I immediately started tapping out a message. "You are getting my number, and you're going to invite me out for dinner tomorrow."

He laughed again. "You got it."

Zeyla snored once, loudly, breaking the tension somewhat.

I let out a slow breath. "Seriously, Manu, thank you. These past couple weeks have been fucking weird and I could use a break."

"You got it." He turned back towards the elevator, and I sat in a chair where I could keep a friendly eye on Zeyla. He paused and turned back to face me. "I can't promise that a date with me wouldn't just be more weirdness, though."

"If it is, I'm sure I can take it."

He grinned, pushed the elevator button, and was gone.

I let go of all the tension in my body, and started to feel the aches of the physical exertion I'd just taken part in. I leaned my head back against the headrest of the armchair and closed my eyes.

A moment later, a blip from my phone made me look.

Told you it was in my car, the message said.

I smirked. See you tomorrow? I typed back, and didn't hesitate before sending it.

You bet.

I leaned back again and dozed, keeping an ear on Zeyla's breathing, until just after midnight when one of her friends came upstairs and saw the two of us. She took over the late shift watch, I told her where I was if she needed me, and I went to bed, exhausted.

The fire on the page, and the fire in my dreams, didn't bother me that night.