enlightningment

Almost Valentine's Day, and Danielle was having trouble remembering what was so important about it. She knew what the 13th was. The 13th was when she blew up the house of that good-for-nothing, cheat-and-document-the-act boyfriend. She burned it all. Burned the photos, burned his kinky home movies, burned his bed, his sheets, his clothes, his fancy TV and his cheap appliances. She had brought him flowers for his living room, arranged them in a vase so his house would look presentable - she burned those too.

And then something else happened, something about a friend, but it had been erased from her mind. There was...something nice that happened on Valentine's day, but it was gone, now.

I'm too old to be going senile, that wasn't even two years ago she told herself as she made stacks of breakfast toast for Z's family: her family, in the stately Victorian kitchen. She read the paper, looking for clues, but there was nothing to cue her in. Checking the freezer for extra butter, she found ice cream. Ice cream was important in this mystery, it played a part but...

Puzzled, she closed the freezer and carried the toast on a plate into the dining room, where people could grab breakfast at their leisure, as everyone had vastly different schedules, so it seemed.

It had been a few days since her "rescue" from the New York meat-locker. She had a sneaking suspicion that she should be a bit more traumatized by the fact that she was immobolized, suffocated, kidnapped, and stuffed into a small box by God knows who, as part of a bizzare genocide project. She should be afraid of the dark, afraid to go near the windows, and certainly afraid of small spaces. But she felt fine. Better than usual, actually, and the walk-in closet in her new sunny room didn't bother her at all.

The house, though it was not as sturdy as many other houses, being a Victorian, radiated safety. If whoever kidnapped her in the first place figured out where she was, they couldn't get to her now, not with so many powerful people around. There was Allen with his fire powers, Riza, who could turn into anyone she chose, and Gabe, whom she had met only once, but was told that he was a kenetic. A kenetic: could move things with his mind, anything he wanted. That was better than any weapon and a comfort to Danielle, who was beginning to doubt her own abilities.

Why hadn't her lightning fried her kidnapper? He had some sort of force field, true, but even the electrons couldn't find a weakness in it? There hadn't been a situation before that her powers couldn't get her out of, and that insecurity was enough to keep her indoors, with quick trips to the backyard, transporting bulbs indoors for the winter.

She had made fast friends with Harriet, the lady of indeterminate age, who shared her love of cooking and had healed the small punctures in her arms - a small thing, but erasing any reminder of her imprisonment was a comfort. They cooked and gardened together, talking about their families and sharing funny stories. Danielle was kept so busy with domestic pleasantries that she had little time to worry about her job, her old apartment, or her friends that she had to leave behind.

Two days after Christmas and all was quiet in the little cottage behind the two-story suburban house with tree-lined driveway. Danielle hated the quiet. Charolette had gone back down to Florida - her job demanded it, and the landlord and his brood had gone to the grandparents' for the week. Two days ago, the small but tidy one bedroom house had been bustling with friends and loved ones. Danielle had even cooked a ham, to the amazement of everyone. Presents, dinner, dessert, games, drinks, all had been fantastic and made her feel loved and at peace.

But now they were all gone, and Danielle was back to living alone, in her own small space behind a grand house simply bursting with family life. She had been looking forward to the few days off that her boss had given her - no one wanted to buy flowers right after Christmas anyway, not until they started thinking about Valentine's day at least. There was so much she was going to get done - finish those books, learn to crochet again, watch movies, clean like a madwoman, make plans for her spring garden. But after the Christmas mess was cleaned up, the wrapping paper stuffed to overflowing in the recycle bin, Danielle lacked the motivation to do any of it.

What she should have done was follow Charolette home to Florida. Sure, she would be busy since the shuttle just got back from the space station and so she'd not be around to spend much quality time with her girlfriend, but at least Danielle would be alone in an unfamiliar and interesting setting. This place held too many memories, dug up from the recent partying and visitation around the holidays. Too many memories to be alone with.

Normally, she would have left the Christmas tree up until New Years. It used to be, the celebration in her family would extend that long. But now that all the little birdies had left the nest (Danielle being the second to go) and Mom and Dad had taken to spending their Christmases on vacation in tropical locales, Christmas ended when the last dear friend yawned and gathered their gifts for the drive home.

Danielle stared down the tree, which responded by dropping needles on her floor. She couldn't stand to look at it any longer. When last week it was beautiful, this week it was tacky, drooping, and starting to smell a bit moldy. Its glory had left when her friends had, and the sooner it was replaced by the decorations for the next holiday, the better. With a scowl, she scooped out the tissue-filled shoebox and started ripping ornaments off the tree. When they were all packed away she started in on the lights. Damn lights, always clinging to the branches, she was getting sap all over her and they were stuck on this twig like it was glued on with superglue.

Her temper flashed as she yanked on the stubborn light strand, and the room flashed as well as the bulbs flickered on, burned with an intensity that they shouldn't have been capable of, and popped, one by one, down the rainbow-hued strand with tiny smashing noises. Danielle flung the thing away from herself with a curse. Her hair was naturally curly but now stood up in a frantic afro of tightly wound ringlets, crackling with charge. Great! Glass all over the floor, another ruined strand of lights, and...a small canadian pine, once a symbol of prosperity and celebration, now on fire in her living room.

The fire, oh, the fire. That was another time when she felt alone - more alone than she ever had felt in her life. Her then-boyfriend had managed to keep her in the dark about the other woman (Danielle had never learned her name) for so long. Too long. The detective team had found the source of the fire that burned down Josh's house: a secret stash of photos and home movies of Josh and his mistress engaged in acts none too platonic. Danielle had found them while cleaning Josh's place as a special birthday surprise. The crime scene detectives found the source alright, but not the fire's ignition point. No matches, faulty electronics, or trace of lighter fluid. The ignition point had long since gone home, curled up with a quart of rocky road icecream, and sobbed all over the shoulder of Charolette: best friend and soon to be much more. The fire did not send a clear enough message to Josh. Being dumped for another woman certainly did.

After a few more ellaborate curses, Danielle pulled the portable fire extinguisher out of her jacket pocket, and hosed down the tree until it was re-flocked in white foam. Festive. Not for the first time, Danielle wished she didn't live in the middle of the suburbs with so many damn people around. So many people, not with her, just around. Strangers. People who may object to her shooting massive lightning bolts at a safely grounded metal pole. She most desperately needed to blow off steam, but couldn't do so without being completely and utterly dramatic about it. Nothing like a fireworks show to have the fire department roaring down her street. Again.

Vowing to eat nothing but ramen so she could save all her money and buy herself a large plot of land in the middle of the desert where her electrical powers wouldn't attract attention, she instead sat down to see what was on TV. It was a decent way to relax, sprawled on the couch with the TV's powercord balanced between two fingers.