Chapter 1, Omniscient

The summer, misty dawn arose with an immortal flame. The clouds were grey, a storm looming in the horizon. The neighbors awoke in awe, admiring the engulfed mansion.
Anaïs rose from her bed, interrupted in her slumber by the luminescent flames of stark oranges and chartreuses. She walked to her window, gasping with utter disbelief. She exited her bedroom, and tiptoed to her boudoir. Grabbing her hairbrush, Anaïs finessed her golden hair, then entered abruptly into Maëlle's chamber.
The room was in total decay, masqueraded by spiderwebs and cracking paint. A deliberate contrast to the quarters of Anaïs.

"Maëlle, the Porter house is a pile of ashen remains! Come look!" Anaïs spoke.

She said frantically, "Maëlle, wake up! Get your lifeless --- out of bed!"

Maëlle lied motionless, neglecting her sister's words. She tossed in her bed and covered her head with a pillow. Anaïs ran out of the bedside, quickly put on coat on top of her nightgown, then left the confines of her manor. She swiftly hurried to the tragic destruction of the mansion.
The neighbors all gathered around the flames. The disbelief and shock was palpable, yet feelings of and glee fulfillment overcame every heart.  It was odd for the neighbors to be ecstatic in a time like this, however their motives seemed justified.

"Ah, Miss Brighton, beautiful seeing you here." said a man with decrepit skin and grey hair.

"Mr. Cadoway, likewise. Do you know the circumstances?" Anaïs said sternly

"No, but the truth shall prevail." He grinned

Anaïs turned her attention to Mrs. Porter who wailed in grief. She seemed to be only survivor. Her husband and her beloved children, all forsaken. No one comforted her. The mob pretended little to acknowledge Porter's wife's presence. Her agony spoke in her tears, yet her reputable appreciation was of little. Marietta barely was a wife, but now ever more, she was a widow.

"Cadoway, you should comfort that poor damsel. You were once her confidant."

He laughed.

"Young girl, she's been married, nor is she young, no longer."

Anaïs grimaced, yet still felt an ounce of sympathy. An array of colored lights came parading down the street, the vehicles armored in black steel. A man in a blue suit approached Marietta, said a few inaudible words, then handcuffed the woman. The woman tried to escape within the crowd, but she was hopeless. She felt pain, but not for herself. The rain began to pour, her dress soaked with mud. Her beauty was tarnished, her wrinkles and imperfections were obvious as the rain purified her face. She was a dead woman. Her once somewhat-cordial reputation, her glorious connections, and her keys to wealth, waved sayonara.
She lied idle, the guards took her into their vehicle. Then it disappeared in the fog, the distance unknown, perhaps she will never return to Monrovia.
Maëlle emerged from the Brighton home, shivering. She ran to Cadoway to greet her uncle. The brisk rain was the downpour of the year, as the town hasn't seen rain in months. The ironic poetry was bliss. A figure with shoulder length hair leaned into Anaïs' ear.

"Anaïs, we'll be okay. Don't you worry, girl." whispered a female voice

Another spoke, a male.

"Our alibis are checked out, we were never in that home."

"What I--what we did, was justice." Anaïs mouthed.

A third figure embraced Anaïs, and held her in his arms. The other young woman wandered back to her home. Anaïs gazed up at the sky, a tear loomed, but fulfillment allowed her to hold back grief. She was still here, safe, alive, and not in custody. Maybe she was crazy, perhaps she had a false sense of security. But for now, she was safe.
She broke the embrace and began to go home. Anaïs wanted to call for Maëlle, but she saw it as barren attempt. Maëlle did what she pleased and was dangerously self-absorbed.
Upon entering the front porch, she twisted the door handle, realizing it was locked. She then smashed a pot of her mother's hibiscus, reached in soil for the spare family key. She unlocked the door, and entered the foyer. The girl called for her parents because of habit, then remembering they were in Burundi for aid work. Within eye's reach she saw a shadow of a man sitting on the love-seat. She knew who it was, she expected bad news.

"Anaïs, there's a problem." His face was serious.

Her instincts were affirmed and she began to shake. Guilt overcame her, she needed a drink.