“Phoenix,” I plead with my absolute best attempt at a pouty face. “I don’t know… Don’t you think that’s a bit… _unusual_? Why not something from one of the lists in the baby name book your mother got us? They sell those for a reason, ya know,” suggests Howie. I scowl at this rejection. “Well, I’m sorry that I want our daughter’s name to be as unique as she’s going to be. Whenever she faces trouble in life, I want to be able to tell her that she can rise out of the ashes of any heartbreak or misfortune because she is literally Phoenix. I want her to know that we believed in her even before she was even born.” “That’s nice and all, but what about-“ he is interrupted as the sky and road switch places in front of the windshield. Those were the last words I ever heard from his lips. All I remember was feeling the car smashing, crumpling around us like a cheap tin can and hearing the disastrous, high-pitched screeching along with the sickening wet squelch of what I can only assume was flesh meeting metal. ———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————— I awoke 8 days later in the ICU at Saint Matthew’s Hospital, more sore and confused than I ever thought possible. The constant beep of my heart monitor calms me until I realize the haunting hollowness in my body and soul. _Phoenix_. The beeping steadily grows faster and faster as I gasp for breath, slamming the nurse button for someone, anyone. “Well look who’s awake,” croons a nurse that appears to be in her mid 50’s. “What happened? Where’s Howie? Is he alright? What about-“ the questions come pouring out too fast, taking what little air I have out of my lungs, leaving me breathless and wheezing. “Shhhh, calm down, honey. I’ve got you. I know you’re confused right now, and I’ll answer all of your questions just as soon as you calm down,” she purrs while fluffing my pillow and offering me a sip of water. I gulp greedily, too fast for my sore throat to handle. I sputter, water spraying out of my nose. The nurse exclaims, “Easy, darling! It’s not going to grow legs and walk away! You just take it nice and easy.” I choke a few more times, sucking in what little air I can get in between shudders. “Please tell me what happened. I need to see Howie. I need to know why I feel so…” my voice dies in my throat as I see the nurse’s face deepen with something I can’t quite identify. Pity? She vows to find the doctor assigned to me so I can get all of my answers. As she exits my room, I can’t help but feel _uneasy_. Minutes later a severe looking man, not much older than the nurse, enters the room with a stern expression splayed on his face. “Good afternoon, I am Dr. Clark. It is nice to meet you. I understand you have many questions, and I am here to answer them to the best of my ability. Now, please excuse me, I don’t mean to be crass about your situation, but I have found in my experience that in some cases it’s better to… explain as much as you can to a patient before they ask questions. It is my professional opinion that this is one of those cases,” he states with little emotion. “Mrs. Miller, it is with my deepest condolences to inform you that your husband, Mr. Howard Miller, was pronounced deceased at the scene of your crash. The wreckage of you car was unrecognizable, it is a miracle that you survived. As for your soreness,” he stalls, “that is the result of the emergency surgery you underwent while you were unresponsive. Your uterus was severely bruised and lacerated. Your baby was most likely deceased before the ambulance was halfway to the hospital. For your own wellbeing, we had to perform a complete hysterectomy. I cannot tell you how-“ His voice fades as my ears refuse to hear what he is saying. I feel like I am falling down a tunnel, going deaf and blind. “Phoenix,” I mumble. “What was that, Mrs. Miller?” “I said, PHOENIX! HER NAME WAS PHOENIX AND YOU DIDN’T SAVE HER! YOU LET MY DAUGHTER DIE!” I scream. The beeping grows faster and faster, my desperation growing. The edges of my vision blur as I replay all of the most painful scenes in my mind. Painting the nursery with Howie, hearing Phoenix’s heartbeat with my mom at the ultrasound, the smile that’d tug on my lips as I walk past the baby section of the grocery store, slow dancing in the kitchen while we whisper about how amazing of parents we will be. The tunnel closes, and I plunge back into complete darkness. ———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————— It’s been the longest 2 months of my life. Recovering from the crash while simultaneously grieving has been the most impossible task I’ve ever been given. I lost everything. My husband. My child. The chance of _ever_ having my own family. All taken away by _Devin Broker_, the scum of the earth that took away my life the instant he got behind the wheel after having more than 1 too many Jack and Cokes at the slimy local dive bar. _Devin Broker_. Even his name sounds disgusting. I’ve found that the only thing that seems to calm me when I fixate on all the ways I’d like to kill him is knowing that he will be sentenced and shipped to a dark hole somewhere far away where he will suffer. Not as much as I have, but he will suffer. And that small comfort is enough for now. For now, being healed enough to testify, I close my eyes and imagine of all the horrific things I hope await him in prison. When I open my eyes the following morning I’m immediately met with a wave of anxiety for what the day has in store for me, for _Devin. _Instead of choking down my typical breakfast of eggs and coffee, I find myself at the Stop-and-Shop around the block, purchasing a corny lighter with a flame design on it and my first carton of cigarettes in my life. Funny, I’m 29 years old and I’ve never bought cigarettes, but something about today sets me on edge and I need to break my routine. Something in the air feels… _off._ As I put out my second cigarette before opening the front door, I notice small cracks around one of the hinges where the paint is beginnng to chip away. The raw grief hits me all over again as I’m hit with the memory of Howie and I arguing over the color and him painting it what he wanted in the end. I run my fingers over the small areas where the wood is exposed. It’s only been 2 months and pieces of him are already starting to crumble and blow away with the breeze. _I want to die._ Suddenly my phone rings, tearing me out of my dreary stupor as I see the caller is my attorney. I pick up immediately, desperate for more advice or a quick pep talk about how to keep it together today when I come face to face with the one person in the world I believe should die every slow, painful death possible. “Hello?” I nearly gasp. “Good morning, Mrs. Miller. Do you have a minute to talk?” “Of course! Is it about the trial? I’m about to get dressed and make my way-“ “Umm yes, it is about the trial,” she interrupts. Something in her voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand. “Well, what is it?” I pry. “The trial… it’s been postponed with no rescheduled date. They’re saying that they are opening an investigation on the dive bar and everyone who was there the night of the incident. The chief believes that Devin’s blowing a 0.17 was the result of tampering and sabotage by someone else in the bar. Chief Broker-“ “Wait. Chief _Broker_? BROKER? HIS DAD IS THE CHIEF OF POLICE?! IT’S OVER! THE TRIAL, THE JUSTICE, IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN!” I scream as I throw my phone on our cement front steps with all my might. I grab the threshold, clinging like my life depends on it as my legs turn useless beneath me. My breath comes in ragged sobs and groans. I open my mouth to let out a strangled, pathetic sound as the hazy, dark red rim on the edge of my vision sets in, swallowing me into a blackout so perfect and merciful that it could have only been sent by Phoenix and Howie. ———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————— I regain consciousness to find myself in a strange house that reeks of stale cigarettes and cheap alcohol, legs burning and sweat coating my body. Sweat, and something else. Something pungent. It almost smells like- My attention is caught by the sound of the front door closing. On instinct, I duck into the nearest room, a bathroom, and swing the door closed, save for the small crack I leave myself to look out and figure out where I _am._ As I scan my surroundings, I hear the fridge open and the clinking of beer bottles. And a voice. A voice that sounds like the worst combination of entitlement and something else I can’t quite put my finger on, something more evil. “Yes. I know, dad! I promise it won’t happen again…. Yes…. Yes… I know my limit! I just kept going because there was $500 in the pot for the game and I… Yes… Of course I’m thankful, you’re the best chief of police this town has ever seen, they won’t find out… Yes… Yes… Alright, I’m going to get off here and watch the next game in the series…. Yep, love you too… Bye,” the voice sneers. My head is buzzing, filled with static and disbelief. _Dad? Chief of police? _I’m in the house of _Devin Broker?!_ The man that took my _everything?!_ My focus snaps back to him as he throws himself onto his couch, beer in had, turning on the game and not having a care in the world. Today was supposed to be the day. Today was supposed to be his reckoning. Today I was supposed to get justice. _I will get justice. _I will kill him just like he killed my family. Suddenly, and when he least expects it. I emerge from the bathroom with the stealth of a thief, taking hold of a vase sat on the hallway table. I creep my way into the living room, bringing myself inches away from the back of his head. A wild roar over a touchdown explodes through the room, and I use this as my opportunity. I raise the heavy glass vase and SLAM it down onto his head with every ounce of my strength. The blow lands with a sickening thud before the satisfying shattering shriek of the vase. He goes limp and slides off of the couch onto the floor, face up. It was then, that very instant, that I realized what was mixed with the sweat on my skin- _gasoline_. In a moment of clarity like I’ve never felt before, I retrieve the lighter out of my pocket, eyeing the flame decoration on its side. “You are not special,” I spit at Devin. “You will not rise from the ashes, because you are NOT a _phoenix!_ YOU ARE NOTHING! I hope you burn in he deepest level of Hell!” I shriek. With that, I prop his useless, unconscious body back on the couch. Sitting on his lap, I put my arm around his neck and lean as close to him as I can, until I almost suffocate in his stench. I turn the lighter over in my hand a couple times, smiling devilishly. One flick, one spark, and we’re burnin to ashes.