The fire crackled, getting louder. Lynda could smell the smoke, and she could feel the heat prickling on her skin. Idly, she wondered why a fire would be getting louder.
She was sitting in front of the fire; it wasn't as if she were moving towards it, or it towards her.
Surely, it wasn't moving towards her?
"And that's how the fire began?"
"Yeah. Yeah, must've been. "
She remembered. She'd touched the electrics, and they had sparked, knocking her back. She had fallen hard. And, she didn't remember getting back up.
"Fire. How did I get out?"
She knew he was right. She knew he was right even before she saw his face, before she realized she'd been talking to the dead.
Death had been his choice. It wasn't going to be hers.
She wanted to wake. She would
to wake. She would call for Spike, and he would find her.
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