At Wick's End - Tim Myers [12]
Going through some of the other boxes as I waited for the locksmith, I found the two-foot candle I’d picked up earlier to defend myself and decided it was one worth keeping. I don’t know what made me do it, but I put it on the countertop at the bar and lit it with an igniter I found in one of the drawers. Ordinarily I wasn’t a big fan of scents in candles, but this one had an aroma of cinnamon that made me think of Snickerdoodle cookies, a treat Belle had baked for me as a kid. I decided to burn it an hour a night in honor of Belle, my own tribute to her. As the wick took life, I found myself finally beginning to experience the grief of losing her. Delayed reaction, I guess. A tear ran down my cheek and struck the flame. It wasn’t enough to put the fire out, but it did cause it to sputter for a moment before jumping back to life.
It was as if Belle herself was telling me not to waste any tears on her. The words of her letter echoed in my mind again, and I decided this simple tribute was more in order for a life well led than any service or eulogy.
It was the best way to say good-bye I could imagine.
It’s always hard for me to sleep in strange places, and I there were few stranger than the second floor of River’s Edge when the complex was deserted. I tossed and turned until I finally tired of fighting it. Instead of lying there with my eyes wide open staring at the ceiling, I decided it might be a good time to do a little more exploring in the candle shop downstairs. There was one thing to be said for Belle’s arrangement: it certainly made commuting between work and home easier. As I walked outside to get into the shop, I saw a brief flash of light in the distance, accompanied by a muted rumbling, but it was too far away to matter to me. I had work to do. I had my key in the store’s front door lock when movement caught my attention out of the comer of my eye. The bushes near the building shook slightly, and I wondered if it was just the wind, or perhaps something more ominous.
“Who’s there?” I called out into the night.
There was no answer, and I thought about checking it out more thoroughly, but the darkness was getting to me. I decided the best place for me to be was on the other side of that locked door. I didn’t really breathe again until I was safely inside. No doubt it had just been my imagination, but I still felt better with all the lights of the shop blazing.
I was so lost in the world of candles in At Wick’s End that the storm was on me before I realized what was happening. There was a flash of light, followed almost immediately by the crack of thunder, and instantly I was plunged into darkness.
River’s Edge was without power, and I was alone in a strange place in complete and utter blackness.
Right on its heels, another explosion of lightning ripped through the night, blinding me for an instant as the candle-making shop was bathed in sudden white light. I remembered seeing boxes of decorative matches near the cash register, so I felt my way toward it between flashes of lightning. Outside, the rain was drumming against the windows like fists hammering urgently to get in. I struck a match and followed its brief light to the display candles up front. Grabbing the nearest twisted taper, I lit it, feeling instantly better now that I had my own source of light. It was amazing how much illumination it offered. The flickering flame from the candle in my hand was no match for the next burst of lightning though. As the brutal force of the flash vanished, it was followed almost instantly by a thundering roar that shook me so violently I nearly dropped the candle. I could smell the burning ozone in the air as I fought to get my sight back.
My eyes were just starting to clear when another flash of lightning blasted into the room.
Even worse luck, I happened to be looking toward one of the bay windows in front of the candleshop. The lightning strike was like a blow to the chest, driving me back against a display