"Okay, we need to get this plastic out from under him," I said.

"Why?" Peter asked.

"Because we're going to burn this thing to the ground, they're going to investigate it, and they're going to be awfully suspicious as to why the floor was covered in burnt plastic."

"You watched a lot of crime shows as a kid, didn't you."

"My antisocial childhood is not my main concern right now," I said as I began to move the things Randall had used to hold the tarp down. Peter helped me and then dragged the body parts off of it so we could roll it up.

We leaned it up in a far corner and then got to work moving everything back into their old spots. Everything needed to look as close to normal as possible. We worked in a hasty silence. All I wanted to do was hug him and not let go for a very, very long time. All the things I'd seen and experienced were nearly too much for me to handle. I'd died that day, technically. And I might have murdered somebody, but I wasn't sure if it counted or not. That debate was for another day.

We positioned the body in the most inconspicuous way we could think of, and then went to wash the blood off in the big basin sink.

"When we set it on fire, we're going to have to hang around for a bit to make it believable," I said.

"Not to mention singe off the stains on our clothes," Peter added. I could tell by his face that he was sad, but I didn't know what to say to fix it.

We began pouring gasoline all over the place, saving an entire canister for just his body alone. He needed to be so burned that there was no more body left to heal. I felt kind of bad burning all the plants, but I didn't know what else to do.

When we were out of gas we set the containers by him. The story was that he'd tried to kill us and himself by setting us all on fire. That should be relatively believable.

I pulled my hair into a bun to avoid singeing off too much. While I did it I decided it would be worthwhile to finally take off the gloves. When I saw the flesh beneath them I was a bit taken aback. The skin had replaced its dull gray shade with an angry red.

"Looks like this stupid rash is going to pay off after all," I said, admiring it, "It looks like a real burn."

Peter smiled, but it was weighed down with sadness. I knew he wasn't happy about what had happened, but he had to know that the other option was worse.

He grabbed the book of matches and pulled one out, "Are you ready?"

I nodded, taking a deep breath and holding it.

He struck the match and then tossed it on Randall's body, followed by the entire pack. The fire caught on quick spreading around the room in a matter of seconds.

Peter turned to me, "This won't kill us, but it's really going to suck."

"Yeah, I figured," I said before taking his hand.

We watched everything burn, this entire place, built just for me, going up in flames. I couldn't help but feel a sense of security in the severity of the flames. It was over, I never had to go back. I never had to see the place I died in again.

The flames began to nip at us. I held out the hem of my skirt where the demon had wiped the knife and it burned up quickly. I also held the bloody collar of my shirt out, at least enough to disguise the blood. He was getting harder to see but I could tell he was doing the same.

Then Peter and I both began hacking wildly. The air was so thick I felt like I should have been drinking it through a straw. Peter grabbed me by the arm and motioned for me to start making my way to the door.

Flames bit at us from every direction, and the smoke made me feel like I weighed a thousand pounds. But we made it to the door.

I yanked it open, yowling at the hot metal of the doorknob, but I didn't let go. Peter ran through, pulling me along with him.

We collapsed on the sidewalk, right below the plate with my name on it. It took a few minutes for us to catch our breath as we laid curled up on the ground.

Once I felt like I could breathe again I looked over at Peter, who was still hacking up a lung.

"We need to move away from the building." I croaked.

He just nodded and followed me as I began crawling down the sidewalk. We didn't get too far without running out of energy and just opting to lean up against the neighboring building.

We were silent for a minute, the only sounds belonging to the burning greenhouse and our haggard breaths.

"I'm sorry," he wheezed, and I turned my head towards him, "I should have done something. I should have tried harder. I'm sorry you have to be like me."

And as I stared at that sweet face with my favorite smile and the only eyes that had never just glanced past me, I had the strangest urge to begin giggling. It came out sounding a bit like coughing, but his confused expression told me he got the point. The sound was soon lost in approaching sirens.

I knew what was ahead, the memory of Randall's dying words still echoed in my mind. The other ones. I hoped it wasn't what it sounded like, but I knew it probably was. Then there was my new body-mate, and who I would one day become. But for right now, we were free.

So I just shrugged, "Oh well, I mean, you're pretty good for being so far gone."

The End of book 1