Chapter One: WORLD ON FIRE

Hanna

I never thought I’d be back here again.

Tonight the rain was vicious, lashing my skin furiously. If only it could have done the same on my battered heart.

I was standing outside the bar, my bar, or at least what was left of it. Watching my most treasured possession, burn with a fire that the rain could barely put out.

“Miss Hanna, if you could please step away from the wreckage. You could hurt yourself,” a firefighter said to me. I barely registered his concern.

“Wreckage,” I whispered. “My bar is wreckage.”

He pulled me away rather forcefully, and I merely stumbled along, numb and confused. Hurt, frustrated. Angry to tears.

“What happened to my bar?” I demanded, wrenching my arm from the firefighter’s grip and finally looking at him. I paid no attention to the pity in his eyes, focusing all my energy on the anger building. “What happened to my bar?!”

The man hung his head in pity. “It was an electric short circuit in your kitchens, ma’am. It spread rather quickly because, well, there were other appliances and, ehm, materials, to catch fire.”

It took my brain a little longer than normal to understand him. Electric short circuit? I’d just had an electrician come in last week to inspect all my tools, for heaven’s sake. How did this happen?

“We’re truly sorry, ma’am. If you need us for anything, anything at all, just call, okay?”

Yeah right, I thought. I intended to never have to call these people again.

“In the meantime, we have people that you can reach out to that can help you with… well, living arrangements,” he finished lamely, nodding to my once beautiful apartment a floor above the bar. 

Everything is gone. It’s all wreckage.

I’ve had terrible nightmares before, and I always took for granted how easy it was to wake up from them. I could not wake up from this. I was living it.

The firefighter handed me a worn business card and whispered, “I’m truly sorry.”

I stood there in the rain, feeling my hair curling and sticking to the base of my neck, for minutes after he left, after they all left, wondering what had just happened to me. Why it had happened. Where to go from there. What to do with the number on this card. I realized then, that there was no one I could call. Family, friends, I had none. 

 No one but the number on this card.

With a determination to not look at the remains of my life behind me, I pulled out my phone and dialed the number. It only rang twice before the owner picked it up.

“Spear Real Estate, how can we help you?”

For some reason, it was at that moment that it sank in exactly what my situation was.

 I was homeless. Me, Hanna. Who’d worked her ass off for two years to successfully build a bar of her own, living in a rather luxurious flat in a rather luxurious area. I was homeless because of a fucking electrical short circuit.

I was fairly penniless. There was money in my account, but my assets, my one important asset, was done for. And I’d need both of those things to be able to secure proper accommodations.

I was fucking tired. I almost wanted to just sleep in the street tonight, because what was all the effort for anyway? It would all just burn to the ground.

“Hello? Is there someone there?” The feminine voice on the other side snapped me back to reality, and I sucked in a breath and decided to be a little logical.

“I need a place to stay for the next few weeks,” I blurted, and I couldn’t even feel embarrassed at that.

“Oh.” Was all the response I heard for a few seconds, then, “I’m sorry, might I know your name?”

I pictured my sister facepalming at me right now and then burned that thought, just like my world. “Sorry. My name is Hanna.”

“Okay, Hanna.” I could hear typing in the background. “We have a couple of places we could have you look at. Just give me an email address and I’ll send –”

I cut her off. “I need the place tonight.” 

There was a moment of utter silence, and I started to worry that I wouldn’t find a place to fucking sleep tonight and for some reason I started crying.

“Please,” I sobbed. “I just need the place tonight. I have nothing, I’m nothing, I’m homeless,” I cried.

I was aware that I sounded as insane as I was feeling, but I was tired. More energy left me as I cried longer, and she didn’t speak for just as long.

“There’s a place, “ the woman finally answers, and I involuntarily sob in relief. “The thing is, this place is extremely run down. It’s still for rent, but it might be up for renovation soon. I think it’s the best I can do for you on such short notice and no budget.”

I distantly recalled saying I had nothing.

“Would it work for you?” the woman asked. I nodded quickly, wiping tears, before I realized she couldn’t possibly see me.

“Yes ma’am, it would do. But how would I pay you?”

I felt like I could hear her smile. “You sound like you need this, so don’t worry about that for now.”

I nodded again, fresh tears in my eyes. I’d never met an angel before, but there was just no other way to describe this person.

“May I know your name?” I asked her. She replied, “Call me Faith.”

“Okay. Faith. Thank you.“ The words clogged my throat.

She answered, “All good. So where are you? I’d like to take you to this location myself, all right?”

I gave her my address, briefly worrying about what would happen if I went alone. Was it dangerous there? If it was run down, would there be hoodlums and thugs there? Was that why she needed to be with me?

I nearly panicked myself out of it, then thought, what other option do I have?

And so I sat at that curb, alone, refusing to see the ruins behind me, and waited for Faith to arrive. By the time a blue Camry pulled up in front of me, I was ready to be gone from this place.