The day of the fire.
A song had been playing in my head all day. I must have heard it in the bar. The tune kept going round and round in my head, like a worn record repeating the same fragment again and again.
Even now, while I waited at the traffic lights, I was humming it under my breath and tapping my fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm.
In a moment, I would arrive, pick up my bartender, and take him home.
Good Lord, he was adorable.
The most adorable creature on the planet.
The way he looked at me, waiting and hoping that I would kiss him again... damn, it felt absolutely amazing.
So I would torment him a little longer.
Just a little.
In truth, my own patience was beginning to run thin. It was impossible to ignore those lips of his for very long.
I smiled to myself.
The sunset today was extraordinary. A deep red and orange glow stretched across the sky, slowly fading into a rich violet. I could not remember the last time I had paid attention to a sunset. Perhaps I never had.
There were no cars on the road, so I allowed myself a brief distraction and stared up at the sky.
And then my heart stopped.
Against that beautiful sunset, rising above the roofs of the buildings, I saw smoke.
It rose from that direction.
From the bar.
Their bar.
No. No, that could not be it.
Someone had probably set a bin on fire. That was all. It had to be. It could not possibly be what I feared.
I pressed down on the accelerator.
But what if...
What if it was?
My thoughts tangled together. I grabbed my phone and, with one hand on the wheel, began to dial the emergency number. It did not matter what it was. A bin or something worse. They could deal with it. That was their job.
After several rings, a high female voice answered.
"What's your emergency?"
Panic climbed into my throat and squeezed the words out of me.
"I believe I see a fire. You need to send someone immediately."
"A fire? Where exactly?"
I heard her typing on a keyboard.
The sharp tapping sound irritated me.
"The old district. A bar… The Little Night… somewhere in that area. Please send the firefighters immediately."
A brief pause.
"I'm sorry, but we don't service the old district. I can't help you."
The call ended.
I stared at the phone in disbelief.
What?
Why?
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Still driving, still glancing down at the screen, I dialled the fire brigade directly. The answer there was the same.
I could not even reach the police.
So I called my secretary.
"Yes, Mr. Moncler, did something happen?" her calm voice asked.
"Yes. Immediately find the contact details of the head of the fire service. Tell them to send firefighters to the old district right now. The Little Night bar."
I nearly took a wrong turn while speaking.
"The old district, sir?"
"Now," I snapped into the phone.
I ended the call and turned onto the street.
As soon as I did, I realised that my worst fears had come true.
The Little Night was on fire.